MORLAND'S GARRULITY.

WHEN George Morland lived at Warren-place, there was a lady who frequently attended his painting levees for the chance of procuring a cheap picture; and, as it was no misnomer to call her Wheedle, she was generally called by that name: This insinuating lady, however, was more remarkable for curiosity than ready wit, and if she could succeed in coaxing the painter out of a cheap bargain, she was not over scrupulous about the means by which she attained her end. Amongst a number of other foibles, vanity was not her least; and she could run over the names of twenty of our most elevated personages of both sexes, with surprising volubility, who were in the habit of daily familiar conversation with her.

The most remarkable circumstance, relative to this lady's personal attractions, was a very florid complexion, which ill-natured persons attributed to rouge; but her servant, with more probability, always declared her mistress was more indebted to certain strong waters, which have a tendency to inflame the complexion of those who are constant in nothing but the use of them. However this might be, the said Mrs. Wheedle, one day, when but two of the painter's male friends were present with her, pointing out several improvements which she wished him to make in a very fine landscape, intended for her, which was then nearly finished.

George, as usual, paid very little attention to this female connoisseur, and began asking indifferent questions of all present. This seemed to wound the vanity of Mrs. Wheedle, and she appealed to his friends in the following manner, respecting the propriety of the alteration she had pointed out. “Gentlemen,” said she, "I have tried to convince this dear positive creature, that if he would only make a little water in the fore-ground, just by where the women are spreading their linen to dry, it would be a vast addition, and contribute very much to the effect; now, I ask you, gentlemen, if my conception be not just ?" A half smothered laugh being all the answer the lady received as yet, she continued" Pray, my dear Morland, is it not as easy for you to make water as to make land, or in short any thing else? answer me, I say, you wicked, provoking creature-can you really make water?" "Yes, Madam," replied George, "every day, thank God." The laugh was now began by the painter and the whole of the party, which being by this time increased to five, by the entrance of Mrs. Morland and her sister, they all joined in the loud laugh, till their sides were sore. But Mrs. Wheedle was not to be laughed or fooled out of her opinion, as she said, and therefore resolutely declared, as the picture was for her, and she was ready to pay for it," that she would sit down till Mr. Morland made water." Here the laugh began again, with

more intemperance than ever, especially when Mrs. Wheedle took her seat, and George observed, that she might sit there long enough, for whenever he felt himself obliged to do what she wanted him to do there, he would certainly go down stairs. Here the lady smoked the jest, and, being of a very goodnatured sociable disposition, joined in the mirth she had thus innocently created, till the wholesome fat that adorned her comely frame seemed to dance upon her wearied sides and chest.

SALVATOR ROSA'S MANIFESTO CONCERNING HIS SATIRICAL PICTURE LA FORTUNA."

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IN Salvator Rosa's celebrated picture of "La Fortuna," the nose of one powerful ecclesiastic, the

eye of another, were detected in the brutish physiognomy of the swine who were treading pearls and flowers under their feet- -a cardinal was recognized in an ass scattering with his hoof, the laurel and myrtle, which lay in his path; and in an old goat reposing on roses, some there were who even fancied the infallible lover of Donna Olympia, the Sultana Queen of the Quirinial!

The cry of atheism and sedition-of contempt of established authorities-was thus raised under the influence of private pique and long-cherished envy it soon found an echo in the painted walls where the Conclave sat "in close divan," and it was bandied about from mouth to mouth, till it

reached the ears of the Inquisitor, within the dark recesses of his house of terror. A cloud was now gathering over the head of the devoted Salvator, which, it seemed, no human power could avert; but, ere the bolt fell, his fast and tried friend, Don Mario Ghigi threw himself between his protegé and the horrible fate which awaited him, by forcing the sullen satirist to draw up an apology, or, rather, an explanation of his fatal picture. This explanation bearing the title of a "manifesto," he obtained permission to present to those powerful and indignant persons in whose hands the fate of Salvator now lay; Salvator explained away all that was supposed to be personal in his picture; and proved that his hogs where not churchmen, his mules pretending pedants, his asses Roman nobles, and his birds and beasts of prey, the reigning despots of Italy.

CORREGGIO'S POWER OF EXPRESSION.

CORREGGIO appears to have delighted in the expression of the milder passions; and in those of love, affection, and tenderness, he is almost without a rival. He has discriminated, with equal felicity, the different shades of grief, and has beautifully contrasted them in the dead Christ, painted for the church of St. John. It is profound in the Virgin, tender in the Magdalen, and chastened in the third female figure. He has also manifested his power of

indicating manly dignity in the St. George; and though he seldom embodies the fiercer passions, he has shown his ability in the class of expression, by the figure of the executioner, in the Martyrdom of St. Placido, which was copied in the St. Agnes of Domenichino.

LORENZO LIPPI'S FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.

LORENZO LIPPI's "Flight into Egypt," owes to the good natured assistance of Rosa's pencil, that it was ever finished to contribute to the fame of its author. It happened that Salvator Rosa, in one of those fits of idleness to which even his strenuous spirit was occasionally liable, flung down his pencil, and sallied forth to communicate the infection of his far niente to his friend Lippi. On entering his studio, however, he found him labouring with great impetuosity on the back-ground of this picture; but in such sullen vehemence, or in such evident ill humour, that Salvator demanded, "Che fai amico." "What am I about?" said Lippi, "I am going mad with vexation. Here is one of my best pictures ruined; I am under a spell, and cannot even draw the branch of a tree, nor a tuft of herbage."

"Signore Dio!" exclaimed Rosa, twisting the palette off his friend's thumb, "what colours are here?" and scraping them off, and gently pushing away Lippi, he took his place, murmuring, "let