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crushed his frame, he could not bear the loss of blood, nor endure the trial of a severe operation. It is commonly said that men who receive bad wounds will often prefer to die rather than bear the torture they occasion. I think such cases are few; for it is in the prospect of coming death that the mind clings most to hopes of continued life. Lannes, the bravest of men, though deprived of both limbs, certainly did not wish to die. Resenting the advice and handlings of the surgeons, he once declared to me when I came to see him, that they deserved hanging for treating so infamously one who was a marshal! The fact was, he had just overheard one of them intimate to me in a whisper, not meant to reach his quick ear, that it was impossible he could ever recover. [He had previously said to them, in angry remonstrance, What! do you think I'll peril my young life by submitting to your butcherly cuttings?'] During his cruellest suffering he still kept asking for me: if present, he would clasp me as if I could give him life; if absent, his mind still clung to my image: it seemed as if he could think of no oneof nothing else. This was in him a kind of instinct. Nevertheless, he must really have loved his wife and children more than he did me, and yet he did not speak of them, simply because he had no protection to expect from them. As he was their natural protector, so did he think me his. I was for him something tutelar, something apart from

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and superior to himself: a kind of second Providence to him, which he dying implored to arise and save him! A report has been spread about that he died furiously reproaching, nay, cursing me. It was alleged that he had taken an utter aversion to me: how absurd! Lannes, on the contrary, adored me. And, on my side, I always knew him to be one whom I could most rely upon, under all circumstances. I do not doubt that, in the freedom of one of his proud, fiery moods-for he was an outspeaking man-he may have blurted out some word of disregard; but had any one else done the like, he would have broken the head of the speaker at once. On the other hand, who can be quite sure of any one? Still, I do not think that, had he survived till the disastrous times which followed, in Lannes' nature could have been found that carelessness for the honour of his country, that ingratitude to me, which many others manifested. After all, there is little probability that, even if he had survived his last wound, he could have escaped his death in battle for any length of time. So there was small likelihood of his ever being exposed to the temptation which corrupted others. But if he had been in life when the crisis came, he was one whose talent and gallantry would have gone far to raise his country from the depression brought about by the invasions and spoliations inflicted on it by its enemies." A. B.


In the heart of one of our most ancient cities, surrounded by the picturesque memorials of a past age, was WILLIAM ETTY born, on the 10th of March, 1787. York, as it once stood-with its narrow winding streets, its ruined walls, its Bars and Barbicans and Posterns, its houses with their quaintly-gabled forms and carved conceits, on which played restlessly the lights and shadows-nurtured the painter's early genius, and first made him feel the poetry of life. His father was a miller and gingerbread baker, and his small shop, with its gilded wares, was famed the county over.

himself the son of an artisan, but adopted by a wealthy widow of distant kin as her heir. Her marriage to the humble Mr. Etty, then a miller at Hayton, gave great offence to her parvenu brother; and as he had it in his power to do so, he at once dismissed her husband from his situation, and left the young couple to struggle alone with the adverse stream of fortune. Their industry and worth soon overcame these temporary difficulties; and when William-the seventh in a family of ten-arrived, they were comfortably settled in their business. His Mrs. Etty was a woman of unusual mother was the sister of an "Esquire," | energy and talent. The impress of her

painted on the tea-chests in the grocers' shops; at night he came home, and amused himself by copying, from recollection, what he had seen. These quiet years too soon ran out, and years of busy and unwelcome toil succeeded. When only eleven and a half he was apprenticed to a printer at Hull, and sent from his mother's apron-strings "to swim the sea of life."

A rough course was before him, and one of many temptations; and now the sense of duty, and the love and fear of God, fostered in him by his parents, stood him in good stead. The Hull Packet was printed at the office where he was engaged. As a compositor, he was hardly worked, sometimes at his case till twelve o'clock at night, and required to be up again by five in the morning; but what grieved him most, and made his position most irksome, was the loss of Sunday-for the newspaper appearing on Monday, he was allowed no day of rest. His love of drawing did not yet forsake him; in the office, at odd moments, he sketched on the floor, or walls, figures that often deceived from their verisimilitude, but that brought him into trouble with his unsympathising master; and in the kitchen he lost the good graces of the servant, as he sat in her way, poring over his slate. But he scrupulously abstained from infringing on the hours of work, or permitting his tastes and aspirations to divert him from the acquirement of his trade. His brother Walter, thirteen years his senior, and who had already pushed his fortunes in the

character was evident in all household arrangements; and to her, more perhaps than to any one, was William indebted for the habits that insured his success. The family means were scanty, and his elder brothers had already drawn largely upon them. His education consequently suffered at school it was brief and meagre in the extreme. Abroad, there were the inspirations of the old town, that kindled his imagination before he was conscious whence the influence came. The Minster, with its Gothic glories and resplendent colours, was an especial object of attraction, and spoke a language to him that he was not slow to interpret. There-though his parents were Methodists, and he sometimes accompanied them to chapel-he with the instinct of an artist preferred to worship. Already his aptitude for design had become manifest. His first crayon was a farthing's worth of white chalk; and another, simpler and still less costly, was a stray coal, charred by himself in the fire. Woe to the uncovered floor or wall that he approached. At the dameschool he slipped into endless scrapes; and on the advent of breeches, and under other supervision, when his pockets had become a depository for the whole arcana of his art, he speedily recommended himself "to unfavourable notice in pedagogic quarters." His "first patron" was a Mr. Hadon, a respectable tradesman, who, purchasing gingerbread at the shop, had taken notice of him and commissioned a "horse," for which he remunerated him with a penny. Another patron was the neighbouring whitesmith, who, besides occasional half-world, came at length to his rescue; and pence for chalk, would give him the use of his broad sheets of iron, and broader shop-floor, to sketch upon. His mother one day, by way of reward for some of his virtues, permitted him to use some colours, mixed with gum-water; and the pleasure afforded "amounted to ecstacy." His first box of paints was a later acquisition, given him by one of his brothers. His school-fellows recal him as an ungainly-looking little fellow, with large head, and sandy hair " standing all ways"-in manners more like a girl than a boy, timid and quiet, often teased by them, and not associating much with any one, but constantly sketching in his copybooks. During play hours he wandered about the city, looking at the prints in the windows, studying the busts, or admiring the Chinese figures

recognising the indications of talent, secured a promise that he should be permitted to exercise his favourite art at all lawful times of leisure. Though plodding diligently forward in the beaten track of duty, Etty dreamt only of being a painter. "Everything," he would say in after days, "spake to me of the greatness of Art; all that passed through my hands as a printer. And I fed my soul with the prints in the printsellers' windows." Now, too, he was visited by the impulse to read. His accomplishments at school extended little beyond reading and writing; and the foundation of whatever book-knowledge he possessed was laid at this period By his efforts he surmounted the disadvantages of his slender education, and taught himself more than the

ordinary run of artists ever know. The last years of his apprenticeship dragged heavily on; he counted the years, weeks, days, and even hours; yet honestly fulfilled the indentures to which his parents had pledged him. At last came the long-anticipated day, October 23, 1805; and the " golden hour of twelve," watched for on the dial-plate of Hull high church, struck his deliverance. From that date to within a month of his death, an everrecurring entry in Etty's letters and diaries is this: Anniversary of my emancipation from slavery;" but to the struggle consummated then, the painter was wont to ascribe the whole success of his after life.


For three weeks after this auspicious event, Etty worked as a journeyman printer, "expecting every moment a summons to London." He had written to his uncle, a gold-lace merchant (in the firm of Bodley, Etty, and Bodley), entreating his permission to pursue his chosen art. His uncle hesitated, but finally agreed to have him on a visit for a few months, that he might judge of his capability. The zealous aspirant was at York when the joyous news arrived. His provident mother packed his little parcel of necessaries for him, and would with them have enclosed his printer's apron; but he refused to take it. He would follow his true calling, and that "if he got but threepence a day at it." Arrived in the modern Babel, his patrons, as a first test of his powers, requested him to draw a favourite cat. Out came the crayons from his waistcoat pocket, and with facility and spirit, and to the life, he completed the picture. Other similar commissions fol. lowed-all in execution equally approved. In fine, William's fortune was made, though it was yet long years in reversion. His brother Walter promised to find him in cash; and his uncle in a home; and then, in his nineteenth year, and near its close, the object of his ambition seemed achieved, and happiness unknown before to be positively in his grasp. It was like the exultation of a young athlete, proud to join in the race, and full of hope and fire before one step is taken towards the goal.

Etty had to begin with the elements at an age when most of his profession are studying how to apply them. One year was passed in solitary application,


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in drawing from prints, or nature, or from anything he could get hold of. My first academy," he tells us,* was a plaster-cast shop. I drew in heat and cold; sometimes, the snow blowing into my studio, under the door, white as the casts." In time he completed a drawing from the antique, which he thought might be shown as a specimen of his skill. Accordingly, he secured an introduction to Opie, and by him was passed on to Fuseli, the Keeper of the Royal Academy, who admitted him as Probationer of the Academy's schools. This distinction of student, long coveted and now highly prized, brought him into close alliance with many a now celebrated name. There Collins, Jackson, Mulready, Hilton, Leslie, and others, were studying for fame; there was Wilkie, already painter of the Village Politicians, and painting the Blind Fiddler; and there, too, sat Haydon, burning with the zeal that, fed by pride and circumstance, was to blacken and consume his life. "Poor Haydon ! glorious in his enthusiasm," thought Etty, as he mourned over his end. To him he always acknowledged himself indebted for encouragement, and would declare that, but for his persuasion, he should hardly have persevered.

Mr. Gilchrist informs us, in his Lifet from which we derive the principal facts of this sketch-that Etty used in private to relate that at first, while knowing little of art, ere London or Academy had been seen, he had thought to paint Landscape: "The sky was so beautiful and the effects of light and cloud. Afterwards, when I found that all the great painters of antiquity had become thus great through painting Great Actions and the Human Form, I resolved to paint nothing else. And finding"-this was later "God's most glorious work to be WOMAN, that all human beauty had been concentrated in her, I resolved to dedicate myself to painting-not the draper's or milliner's work-but God's most glorious work, more finely than ever had been done."

But before this settlement of purpose, there were many difficulties to be encountered. Sir Thomas Lawrence was now the reigning prince of painters by general consent, in default of a better.

*Art-Union Autobiography.

+ Life of William Etty, R.A. By Alexander Gilchrist, of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law. Bogue.

His style had a certain fascination for Etty, and its influence upon him was the greater from an arrangement made between them at this time. His everliberal uncle paid down a hundred guineas to Lawrence to take his nephew as his pupil for one year. A room was accorded to the student, with full liberty to copy Lawrence's pictures, and to ask advice at such moments as his master might chance to be disengaged. In that Greek-street attic began another struggle, finally crowned with success, but heavily taxing all his powers of endurance. The excellences of Lawrence were of a kind not easily copied, and his incessant occupations prevented his rendering much, if any, assistance to his pupil. "I tried vainly enough for a length of time," says Etty, "till despair almost overwhelmed me. I was ready to run away. My despondency increased I was almost beside myself. Here was the turn of my fate." A voice within said, Persevere; and, though almost beaten, he obeyed its behest and triumphed. Before the year's expiration, he could copy Lawrence somewhat to his own satisfaction, though probably not really to much permanent advantage; but it is a proof of the natural excellence of his genius that he contracted so little enduring evil from this continuous study of the great mannerist. He was glad, when the time came round, again to be perfectly free; once more "the old masters and nature" became his models; by day he drew heads, and in the evening the figure. Daily was he found without fail at his post in the Life-school, delighting in an attendance destined to exceed all precedent for constancy. Sometimes he was employed by his late master in making copies, but the "servility of imitation annoyed him. Far more congenial were those pursuits that led directly to independent excellence. There was no lack of enthusiasm in his studies of anatomy and his drawings from the living form, or in his careful scrutiny of the great masterpieces of his art. Light and colour were his favourite themes of ex

periment. "I established theories of action of the human figure; endeavoured to compose my groups on the principles I had drawn from an extended study of Nature, not only in the studio and in the academy, but in the streets, fields, rooms -wherever the spontaneous actions of the figure pre

sented themselves. For on this mainly depends their grace, truth, and beauty."

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In 1809, Etty's uncle died, and he lost the kind home that, for nearly four years, had sheltered and cheered him. A handsome legacy was a poor compensation for such a loss, but it was of critical service in the deepening struggle. His brother Walter, now a partner in the gold-lace business, continued to stand by him, and, when necessary, to lend a helping hand. The coming years were to justify this generous reliance on his genius; but as yet no glimmering streaks of light played on the horizon to betoken the dawning of a brilliant success. The silver and gold medals in the Antique, the Life, and the Painting Schools were competed for, but none of them gained. Pictures were sent for exhibition, but returned year after year, both from the Academy and the British Gallery. It was hard toiling up the rugged steep, but the traveller had a brave heart. "Deep was the wound my vanity and self-conceit had received. But it was a deep cut in order to cure. I began to think I was not half the clever fellow I had imagined. Indeed, I began to suspect I was no clever fellow at all. I thought there must be some radical defect. My (former) master told me the truth in no flattering terms. He said I had a very good eye for colour; but that I was lamentably deficient in all other respects almost. I believed him. I girded up my loins, and set to work to cure these defects. I lit the lamp at both ends of the day. I studied the Skeleton, the origin and the insertion of the muscles. I sketched from Albinus. I drew in the morning; I painted in the evening; and after the Royal Academy, went and drew from the prints of the antique statues of the Capitoline, the Clementina, Florentine, and other galleries. I returned home; kept in my fire all night, to the great dismay of my landlord, that I might get up early next morning, before daylight, to draw. In short, I worked with such energy and perseverance to conquer my radical defects, that at last a better state of things began to dawn, like the sun through a November fog."

The artist's note-book of this period abounds in emphatic entries of resolves and maxims to stimulate and sustain him in his exertions. His enthusiasm betrays itself in their frequent repeti

to knowledge, I may be ever conscious of Thy goodness, and use them to the advantage and good of society, for Christ's sake. Amen."

But while this process of self-discipline was quietly preparing Etty for great achievements, he at last obtained admission to the long-sought arena of fame. One of his "ideal" piecesTelemachus Rescuing the Princess Antiope from the Wild Boar-found a place on the walls of the Academy's Exhibition in 1811; and in the preceding year, he had secured a similar honour at the British Institution by his Sappho. An entrance once gained, we find his name recurring in the "Catalogues" of each successive season, attached to miscellaneous subjects that betoken some ambition, but as yet no fixity of purpose.

tion, and in the plentiful use of italics and capitals. Use yourself to that way of life which is best, and custom will make it delightful," is an oft-recurring recipe for failing effort. "Be steadfast and firm in pursuit; not idly turning to this thing and that, and trifling away your time in subjects foreign to the art." "The continual dropping of water weareth away stones." "Study and labour are the price of improvement." "EARLY RISING is a shorter path to eminence than SLEEP." "Above all things," he writes, in words of his own, "endeavour to bridle the sensual passions. For be assured, their gratification in an unlawful way is always attended with much more disgust, remorse, and pain, than real pleasure; which, I am persuaded, is to be found only in a generous, upright, and virtuous conduct, accompanied by those fascinating charms which attend intellectual and refined pursuits." Then there is a series of "Aphorisms and Remarks," relating to his art, which demonstrate the wisdom of the culture he bestowed on himself. "Form must, above colour, be attended to;" "DRAWING is the soul of art," are early mementos, interspersed with elaborate observations and precepts. In one place, for instance, he records a discovery respecting half-tints; and to impress on his mind its vast importance, makes a "Memorandum and RESOLUTION. That I should think the best way in future would be: First night, to correctly draw and outline the figure only; Second night, carefully paint-in the figure (with black and white, and Indian red, for instance); the nexthaving secured it with copal-glaze, and then scumble on the bloom; glaze in the shadows and touch on the lights carefully. And it is done.-It is a mortifying proof how vast is art, how narrow human wit'-to reflect how long I have painted, and that I should have neglected this very essential part of good colouring so long. But now, having my eyes open, I trust I shall ever be alive to its importance; not go on painting over and over again every time getting deeper and deeper in error; but endeavour to make every part of my work tell; nor do over to--and make himself a cup of tea in the night what I did last night-O, Father of every good and perfect gift! do Thou be pleased to assist my blindness; and grant that in this and all other advances

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Etty was now nearly thirty, and had studied his art for eleven years. In the autumn of 1816, in accordance with a long-cherished wish, he started on a journey to Italy, to complete his education-his brother furnishing the needful supplies. But the step proved a complete failure-the only one in his long career. For a moment he faltered in devotion to his calling; his heart had transferred its affections. Shortly before his departure, he had fallen in loveone of my prevailing weaknesses "and this "miserable madness" prostrated his otherwise stalwart spirit; new scenes failed to revive his usual ardour, though they ultimately availed to cure the specific disease. His route lay through Dieppe and Rouen to Paris, and thence, through Geneva, to Florence; but his home-sickness magnifies annoyances at every stage. "I hope I shall like Italy better than Paris," he writes, or I shall not feel resolution to stop a year. If I don't, I shall content myself with seeing what I think worth while; and then return." The journey across the Alps introduced him to combinations of form and hue altogether novel, and neither a heavy heart nor the petty grievances of the way quite sufficed to repress his admiration of the grand and exquisite scenery that alternated along the route. No milk is to be had here, no tea, or anything genial; he has to bustle about-great tea drinker as he is


dirty kitchen; and to-day, alas, he has the mortification to find his pewter teapot with a large hole broken in it by travelling. But then out-of-doors and

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