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THE LIFE

J. M. W. TUENER, R.A.

VOL. II.

THE LIFE

OF

J. M. W. TUENER, R.A.

FOUNDED ON LETTERS AND PAPERS

FURNISHED BY

HIS FRIENDS AND FELLOW ACADEMICIANS.

BY

(*-. WALTER THORNBURY.

" Nature's most secret steps
He, like her shadow, has pursued." — Shelley's Alastor.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1862.
The right qf Translation is reserved.

LONDON :
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STBEET,
COVENT GARDEN.

CONTENTS

THE SECOND VOLUME.

PAGE
CHAPTER I.
TURNER AT PETWORTH  1
CHAPTER II.
turner's poetry  16
CHAPTER III.
TURNER'S FRIENDS AND CONTEMPORARIES  34
CHAPTER IV.
TURNER AND THE ROYAL ACADEMY  98
CHAPTER V.
TURNER'S CHARACTER  Ill
CHAPTER VT.
TURNER AT QUEEN ANNE STREET  172
CHAPTER VII.
THE ORIGIN OF SEVERAL PICTURES  182
CHAPTER VIII.
TURNER ON VARNISHING DAYS  186
CHAPTER IX.
MR. RUSKIN AND THE TURNER CRITICS  190
CHAPTER X.
TURNER AS A CORRESPONDENT  228

Vi CONTENTS OE THE SECOND VOLUME.
¦ CHAPTER XL pag«
goo
TURNER'S VENETIAN PICTURES 
CHAPTER XII. OAR
THE BUSINESS MAN  CHAPTER XIII.
TURNER AND CHANTREY  ^53
CHAPTER XIV.
THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE IN OLD AGE  259
CHAPTER XV.
THE ARTISTS' BENEVOLENT FUND  266
CHAPTER XVI.

TWILIGHT .

272

CHAPTER XVII.
THE TURNER PORTRAITS  314
CHAPTER XVIII.
turner's genius  325

APPENDIX.
1. COMPLETE CATALOGUE OF TURNER'S ENGRAVED WORKS . . 352
2. PICTURES EXHIBITED VBY TURNER, 1787-1850: 
ROYAL ACADEMY  367
BRITISH INSTITUTION  385
3. PICTURES GIVEN BY TURNER TO THE NATION  387
4. MISCELLANEOUS COLLECTIONS  393
5. AUTHENTIC COPY OF TURNER'S WILL ......... 409
NOTE TO VOL. I. p. 386  423

THE LIFE

OF

J. M. W. TURNER, R.A.

CHAPTER I.
TURNER AT PETWORTH.
Turner was often at Lord Egremont's, and spent
some of his happiest days there, fishing with Chantrey
and his old friend, George Jones, R.A. The kind,
.rough, honest master of Petworth liked him, and the
pair of eccentric men got on well together.
For the subsequent chapter I have to thank my
clever young friend, G. Storey, Esq., a rising artist,
whom Leslie directed in the right path.
"Petworth House is a large aristocratic-looking
. place, fronting a park which is surrounded by twelve
miles of good wall. I do not think it would look well
in a picture, as it is a long, straight, white building,
full of windows, but the interior is very fine; you
walk through rooms of white and gold, large and
light, and through marble halls and carved chambers,
with the eyes of pale ancestors looking down upon
you, some that seem ghosts of the long-departed, some
living pictures of fair beauties still breathing; all
VOL. II. B

CARVED FRAMES.

enjoying perpetual youth, for which they may thank
Vandyke, Reynolds, Romney, and others. There is
a grand staircase decorated with a French version of
the classics; and a fine gallery, built by Lord Egre-
mont, full of English pictures, antique statues, and
some fine specimens by Flaxman. ' St. Michael over
coming Satan,' is a grand work ; but to go through
the catalogue of all the treasures would require a
volume and a year's study. The rich glowing har
mony of the fine old masters makes a man forget
his sorrows and his sins, puts his soul in tune, en
nobles his mind, and humbles his vanity; that is, if
he has anything of the soul of an artist within him.
The carved room, the work of Grinling Gibbons and
his pupil Ritson, is pre-Raphaelitism in wood : mira
culously-worked clusters of leaves, and flowers, birds,
&c. &c, from top to bottom, all exactly like nature
without the colour, are intermingled with fiddles,
flutes, antique vases, and every variety of object diffi
cult to execute.
" Turner's pictures are unfortunate in being sur
rounded by these carvings, which are of a light brown
colour, and I longed to paint a black line all round
them. They also suffer from being placed in front of
the light in two ways : first, it is difficult to see them ;
and secondly, the sun has seen them, and growing
jealous of the rival sun in the beautiful picture of
' Chichester Canal,' seems to have shown his revenge
by cracking it all to pieces ; vowing, ' One day that
sun shaU set for ever.' But I must not make com
plaints against a place that I enjoyed so much. I
was enabled to study the pictures unmolested, and the

PAGAN EPITAPHS. o
generosity of the owner prevented me from feeling
that I was there on sufferance.'
" Behind the house is an old church with a new
steeple; it contains some old monuments, and a sit
ting statue of Lord Egremont, by Baily; here also
lies all that is left of many of the Percies, Earls of
Northumberland, and others of the Egremont family.
The churchyard contains some curious messages from
the dead, written in verse : one man gives the reason
of his death as follows :
' " I left this earthly world behind,
A crown of glory for to find ;'
and another, making the best of a bad job, says :
" ' Could you so happy be as I,
You'd not care how soon you'd die j'
another kindly tells us to
" ' Behold and see the grave
Where I lie sleeping;
Whilst glorious angels have
My soul in keeping.'
and a lady, who might rank with a modern poet for
vagueness, and who is quite Turneresque in mystery,
says: " ' I am as grass when in its bloom,
My morning sun rises at noon.
Weep not, dear friends, but think of me,
And hope that Christ will set me free.'
" However, there is one serious epitaph that might
really be a voice from the tomb :
" ' Dear reader, 'tis a serious thing to die,
Thou soon must find it so as well as I.
If for our works we bliss or woe receive,
Dear reader, 'tis a serious thing to live.'
ile trying to read some others, nearly oblite-
b2

""fvTi:

4 THE PROUD DUKE.
rated, I could not help thinking of the contrast between
the content of the dead and the discontentedness of the
living. Here are mortals, with scarcely a bone left,
telling us they are happy and comfortable, and who
are yet fain to speak to the living, though Time rubs
out their last speeches.
" In the centre of the town, opposite the inn, in the
Market-house, is a bust of William the Third, in flowing
wig. The maid told us it was a statue of Henry the
Eighth; it might be Henry the Ninth, as it was as
much like one as the other. The poor seem well
cared for, judging by the charity-school, almshouses,
hospital, and house of correction. The almshouse,
for twenty poor widows, is a very pretty old brick
building. While I was looking at it, a pretty little
dove-like girl, with soft eyelashes, stood in the
porch, making a sweet contrast to the age within and
without. " To return to Petworth House. The greater part
of the present building was erected by the proud
Duke of Somerset, James's favourite, Overbury's
mortal foe, and the father of the beautiful angel,
Lady Ann Carr, whose portrait by Vandyke is so
matchless. The duke and duchess spent their last
days here, doubtless holding in their hearts many
terrible secrets. But to begin upon the historical
interest would be getting miles out of our range. I
was much struck with the fine old massive walls,
especially by lamplight; these, going away into in
tense darkness, were most impressive. In the long
passages, or cloisters, one might paint sunny ' De
Hooghes,' and the courtyard and gardens ringing

THE THAMES.

with the clear sound of birds, doubly loud in the
still and peaceful air, would make good backgrounds
for many of our painters of Cavalier subjects.
" The following notes were written in front of the
pictures : —
"33. A grand sea-piece by Turner. The waves
are full of wind, and the wind full of strength ; the
sky looks stormy; some small frigates are beating
into harbour, a fine old Indiaman is waiting for a
favourable wind ; while a man-of-war, lit by a stream
of light that breaks through the dark clouds, is lying
at anchor, her white masts and giant sides rolling
about ; and behind her is the black storm.
" 5. ' The Thames at Weybridge.' I mention this
picture as most highly finished ; the foreground is
large and beautiful, and every leaf truly and exqui
sitely drawn.
" 21. 'The Thames near Windsor;' has a fine sky,
a very sweet little girl carries a baby, which baby
is holding out its little joyous arms to its mother.
On the river, fishermen are engaged with their nets ;
but the water looks dirty.
" 108. ' The Thames at Eton.' Another very
lovely picture, full of peace and poetry, extremely
simple, but rather yellow with age. The calm river
winds away by the distant college, summer trees are
reflected in it, white swans swim in it, and some men
in a punt fish in it ; but the effect of the picture is
subdued, and after the sun of those in the carved
room is little more than darkness.
"46. ' Echo and Narcissus.' This is simply grand
as a line of Homer. The scenery is very true and

6 "ECHO AND NARCISSUS.
vivid; a deep blue bay, in the distance pale moun
tains, and an ancient city built round the brink of
the waters; rocky hills rise round the valley in the
middle distance, which is full of rich deep-coloured
autumn trees. In front of the wood, Narcissus be
wails over the image in the stream, crying, ' Alas !'
Echo, with her hand raised, and her ear attentive to
catch the voice of her cruel lover, repeats, ' Alas !'
he, raising his hands in admiration, saying, ' Beau
tiful!' she repeating, 'Beautiful!' and, indeed, I
must needs be another Echo, and say also, 'Beautiful !'
" There are some sweet Gainsboroughs, of course
very inferior to Turner as regards drawing and
knowledge, depth and vigour, but sweet in the ex
treme. A tree is only a tree with Gainsborough,
whereas with Turner it is a willow or an oak besides
being a tree. Yet there is such tender sentiment,
such harmony of colour and composition, that his
pictures are pleasant to the eye as music to the ear;
while Turner lays hold of us with a firm, a giant
grasp, Gainsborough steals into our hearts like soft
melody, and we can but say, ' Play on, gentle mu
sician.' 28 is a most charming sketch by this artist.
A shepherd and shepherdess meet at a fountain
whither they have led their thirsty cattle, while the
summer's day, so hot, was soft declining. The fair
shepherdess sits on the grass, looking up into her rosy
lover's face, and delicate trees, bending gracefully
over, enclose this tranquil place of rendezvous. It
truly is a pleasant pastoral. There are also many
good specimens of the old landscape painters.
" Petworth Is a very quiet, pretty old place, and, as

COUNTRY SCENES. 7
a thorough contrast to the din and smoke of London, is
most delightful. You wake in the morning to the sound
of the blacksmith's forge and the singing of birds ;
you look out upon the blue sky, on picturesque roofs
of the old time with richly coloured tiles, a fresh
little green garden, and fine massive stone walls of a
venerable grey. You come down to breakfast at the
inn, roused by the pleasant smell of ham and eggs ;
and while they are getting ready, you take a little
ramble to look at the valley that sinks away, like an
enormous green wave, from the Petworth-house side of
the town. The church clock sometimes tells me that
I am rather lazy. I am most fortunate in the wea
ther — it is beautiful, and the sun shines in through
the red curtains, giving a cheerful aspect to the clean
breakfast-table that makes the coffee and the shining
dish-covers look still more enjoyable. We have houses
here of the most picturesque period, and judging
from the smallness of some of the windows, I should
say they belong certainly to the dear old dark ages.
We artists take great pleasure in gable-ends, over
hanging upper stories faced with quaint and curious
tiles, and doors just big enough for one small man
to get through. The town is remarkably clean, and
the inhabitants, to all appearance, most orderly and
respectable. The boys about here have not learnt
the art of rudeness. I thought I was in the last
century when I saw some of them in their little grey
knee-breeches, white stockings, tail coats, shiny but
tons, and round caps, playing at marbles, their plea
sant voices seeming almost as innocent as the bleat
ing of lambs. The park is pretty, although the trees

O NATURE S PAINTING.
are not very fine; but there are plenty of nim
ble, graceful deer scampering about over the downs.
The long hills in the distance, always delicate in
form and colour, add much to the beauty and variety
of the scenery ; and, indeed, were I writing to some
one else, I might say of this place, —
" ' Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.'
" I took a most delightful walk with a very pleasant
guide, who led me over a common, through woods
ringing with the music of birds, and bright with count
less primroses. We were greeted by the hoarse crow
of the pheasant, and by the always distant cuckoo. At
every turn some fresh picture opened upon us — now
a far outlying view going miles and miles away ; now
a quaint old cottage, or a farm with its tumble-down
barns and moss-covered walls. Almost every variety
of picturesqueness peculiar to Old England seems to
abound unmolested either by the artist or the model
farmer; indeed, so delighted was I with all I saw, so
fresh and hopeful at this early spring time, that I
thought of taking up my abode here for awhile, in
order to study the great beauty that Nature, left to
herself, can bestow upon the meanest object, not
only by the delicate working of her moss-spreading
fingers, her infinite variety of lovely leaf and flower
industry, but by the various lights that sun or moon,
night or day, cloud or blue sky, cast, altering into a
thousand pictures one modest valley. To-night I
sauntered almost sadly, and in a somewhat sentimental

THE SOUL OF NATURE. 9
mood, to that valley where in the morning I had seen
the little boys of the last century playing at marbles.
The calm moon shone down on the graveyard through
the black firs, casting their long shadows down the
dusky slope, flowing away in subdued mystery over
the wide view beyond, sending down another gentle
but ample stream behind an outstanding hill ; behind
it, dark delicate trees, swimming away over to the
distant hills, and so softening them with light that
they almost mingled with the sky, the glittering sky.
There was no sound but that of the little brook,
rising clear and constant in the distance; the only
inhabitant of that vast and still scene was a little
bat, monarch of all he surveyed, and an old horse,
that one might almost have taken for a ghost of one
of the departed, sauntering slowly in the grass.
Such scenes teach the artist something of the deep
soul of Nature, which, unless he can get at, his pic
tures are but worthless, cold, material pieces of
cleverness; forgotten as soon as left, admired, per
haps, but never loved. I once heard a remark from
a refined and witty lady which struck me at first as
odd, but of which I have often felt the truth. She
said that she did not care for any landscape that
could not make her cry. I remember noticing two
drawings of the same old castle (I forget which),
one by Turner, and the other by a very ordinary
drawing-master. The latter had painted it in its cold
every-day reality — had almost photographed it — and
we turned it over at once. But the other was by
Turner; he had gone down to the other side, where
there was a river; he had gone there when the calm

10 TURNER FISHING.
light of evening was lying along at the back of the
black ruin ; the waters were still ; the sullen walls
were reflected clear and deep in the stream; the
castle itself towered high above, and one seemed
to look up to it with reverence and with sadness.
The day departing, the strong walls broken down by
time, and the deep, still flowing river, flowing on
through the dark night of the future, made me think
of the littleness of every-day life, and the greatness of
that other life that only the soul can understand.
And all this beauty, all this solemn majesty, depended
on Turner's choosing his time and his place, and on
his feeling that the sentiment of Nature was her
noblest attribute.
" There is a pretty little lake in the park where
Turner was so fond of passing hour after hour with
his fishing-rod. It is a pleasant place, especially on a
summer's day ; full of tranquillity and delight, little
troops of ducks swimming on its sparkling waters,
timid fawns nibbling on its green banks, and birds
whistling out of the reach of bird-nesters, enjoying their
own on the very tiny islands that dot its surfaee, and are
hardly large enough for the many roots of the trees
that grow out of them, some standing in the water,
and dabbling in it with the ends of their delicate droop
ing branches. The ceaseless cry of the noisy rooks
harmonizes well with the scene ; they chatter to us of
bygone days, perhaps tattling of lords and ladies that
they have seen grow up and pass away — for may not
some of them be nearly as old as the ivy-mantled
walls beneath them, or even, to take a poetic licence,
as the great house, the great jewel-case, that contains

THE LAMP-PICTURES. 11
so many treasures ? At all events, some of them may
remember Turner. The lake lies along in front of
the house, about a quarter of a mile away from it :
here used the old painter to come day after day
to pursue the gentle sport ; the people say that some
times he used to catch some ' little things] but I ex
pect that the ' little things ' he caught are here in his
beautiful pictures. They are indeed beautiful ; and if
they were put into a dark room, they would light it.
How shall I re-describe them, when every time I look
at them it is like turning over a fresh page in a fine
poem. Two of them represent the lake in the park
(I am speaking of the panel pictures in the Carved
Room). In the one taken from a window of the house,
the sun is sinking, glowing over the grass, making
long shadows of the stags that grow out towards you
as you look at them. Some cricketers are enjoying
the evening in lusty sport, and from the distant hills
great Apollo bids them farewell, his golden locks
streaming from his rosy face as he drives swift on his
burning chariot to the west. But it seems to me
that the other picture (142) is grander a good deal
in subject; it is a nearer and larger view of the lake.
Here the glory of the sun is supreme, and (do not
think me too fanciful, but I must have my own way
in telling things) he sits like a great king on a flaming
throne, the glory of his crown reaching to the highest
arch of the pale blue heavens; at his feet are the
golden waters blushing to reflect the beauty of his
majesty, the autumn trees all cringe before him as
he pours his burning light through their trembling
leaves; men seem small, and we forget the little lake

12 " CHICHESTER CANAL.
in the park; here are no cricketers, nor do the stags
in the foreground interrupt the contemplation of the
vast mind living in the scene; although one,, like a
love-sick Narcissus, is dipping his lips to the stream,
where his own lips are rising up to meet him. The
glowing heavens are reflected deep down in the lake
behind him. Nor must I forget the white moon,
whose faint crescent reminds us of night, makes a
contrast to the bright day ; she is calmly waiting to
play her part, and to follow the glorious sun with
her grey and silvery lustre.
"A view of 'Chichester Canal at Sunset' is full of
light, and yet solemn, calm, and almost plaintive.
There is even gentle movement in it, for the smooth
waters glide along and carry us with them into the
picture. We all know that the sun does not go out
like a candle, yet the old way of painting it was
nearly this. But here the sun, though partly sunk
behind the hill in the distance, seems by its intensity
to be in front of it, and to burn a fiery gap and hollow
in it. I dare say you have often noticed this effect
in nature. I cannot help thinking that I would
rather have this picture of the four, but I do not
pretend to pass judgment. Turner, instead of trying
to make the sun look bright by surrounding it with
darkness, has made it look brighter by surround
ing it with brightness. So truthful is the effect
that we begin to class it with the real sunsets that
we remember to have seen, and forget that we saw
this one in a picture. Nothing could be simpler than
the composition : a river in perspective, a long horizon,

LADY ANN. 13
and an old ship ; yes, that old ship fills it with human
interest ; now no longer buffeted by the waves, this
perilous adventurer, this hero of many battles with
the winds, rests for awhile by a green bank that is
fringed with summer trees and long rushes ; its little
pennant droops listlessly from its tall masts, that rise
into the gentle breath of evening and sink down re
flected roots in the living waters.
"Fully to enjoy these pictures we must shutout
all the surrounding objects with our hands, but
whether or no, as we look at them, we soon forget
everything else. As mere decorations they are perhaps
inferior, but there is no need for me to say that
Turner's pictures are deep mines of jewellery and
thought, and to see them we must study them.
Perhaps on this account the first glance at them is
sometimes disappointing. The fourth picture, 'Brigh
ton Pier,' I cannot describe, for the sun of the others,
still dazzling my eyes, prevents me from enjoying its
cooler beauties.
" Lord Egremont was much beloved by all who
knew him, for none could do so without feeling the
influence of a frank, generous, and kind heart.
" Vandyke himself painted some most lovely por
traits in the old house, and they still hang in the
White and Gold Room there, filling it with sweetness
from their lovely eyes. There is one called the ' Blue
Lady' (Lady Ann Carr, mother df good Lord William
Russell), a great favourite of Leslie's, I believe, as
indeed she might be. She looks perfectly happy,
and Vandyke must have been perfectly happy when

14 EVENING.
he painted her, for she makes you feel perfectly happy
to look at her.
" Eight of Turner's early pictures hang in the
gallery devoted to British artists, in company with
Reynolds, Romney, Leslie, Gainsborough, Hofner, and
Wilson. (There is such a lovely ' Woman in White,'
with downcast eyes, by Reynolds.)
" Compared with his own later works, they are the
careful studies of a humble man; yet through this
humility alone he was enabled to obtain full mastery
over his more profound and daring subjects. No. 39,
' Evening,' is one of the sweetest landscapes that I
ever saw. Some beautiful willows, exquisitely drawn,
lean over a quiet pool, where a red cow stands bathing
her feet in the water, and her back in the warm rays
of the setting sun that come through the leaves and
branches, filling the whole picture with a rich evening
glow; but I will forbear from any longer description,
for there would be no end to it. Looking at this
picture is like taking a summer evening's ramble in
the fields; it fills one with the same pleasant
thoughts. " There are four beautiful views on the Thames : one
very delicate in colour, and most highly finished. In
the foreground, a proud peacock, perched on a piece
of a ruined palace, seems to typify a poor descendant
perched on the forgotten pride of his ancient family.
The rest I have not time to describe, nor is there any
need. The picture called the ' Mustard-pot,' Turner's
' Jessica,' is a roundabout proof that Turner was a
great man ; for it seems to me that none but a great

"JESSICA." 15
man dare have painted anything so bad. It is a life-
size portrait of a lady's cap dummy looking out of
window, with one hand on a bell-rope, and the other
amputated by the frame.
" Petworth is worthy of a pilgrimage on foot. It
is full of peace, and the pilgrims are kindly re
ceived."

16

CHAPTER II.
TURNER'S POETRY.
Turner was a dumb poet ; his brush was a lightning
conductor, but his pen a torpedo. Perhaps no one
ever more vigorously wrestled for a blessing with the
Angel of Poetry ; perhaps no unlucky bard, not even
Tate or Brady, got more unlucky throws and more
vexatious falls. He all his life, as his sketch-books
prove, seems to have beguiled his time by efforts at
verse, generally utterly wanting in rhyme, and
always lacking and stammering in sense. True
rhythm, harmony, music, variety, everything is
wanting ; though there is sometimes a grand sounding
line, sometimes a happy epithet offers a sustained
dull clock-beam cadence imitative of Pope, showing
that in Turner's brain the organ of " Tune" was not
altogether undeveloped.
The following extracts from the longest fragment
found among the papers of the dead painter will
satisfy even the most sanguine enthusiast how fal
lacious were Turner's hopes of ever becoming a great
poet, ambitious as he must always have been of such
an honour : —

CHELSEA. 1 i
"To that kind Providence that guides our step
Fain would I offer all that my power holds (?),
And hope to be successful in my weak attempt
To please. The difficulty great, but, when nought
Attempted, nothing can be wrought,
Though (?) thankful for the mental powers given,
Whether innate or the gift of Heaven.
Perception, reasoning, action's slow ally (?),
Thoughts that in the mind awakened (?) lie, —
Kindly expand the monumental stone,
And, as the .... continue power (?)."
" A steady current, nor with headlong force,
Leaving (?) fair Nature's bosom in its course,
But, like the Thames, majestic, broad, and deep,
Meandering quickness (?) in each circling sweep,
Through variegated Chelsea's (?).... meads,
To Twickenham bowers that .... reads (?),
In humble guise (?) should each my (?).... assume
My self-reared (?) willow, or the grotto's gloom,
'Twould be my pride to hold from further scorn
A remnant (?) of his .... which once the bank adorn.
What once (?) was his can't injure, but — "
" If then my ardent love of thee is said with truth,
Agents (?) the demolition (?) of thy house, forsooth,
Broke through the trammels, doubts (?), and you, my rhyme,
Boll into being since that fatal time."
" Lead me along with thy armonuous verse,
style! ,
J J rehearse

idyls]

Teach me thy numbers, and thy
Throughout the lingering (?) night's careers to stand (?),
And .... incidents (?) to write by Nature's hand,
The passing moments of a chequered life to give,
To cheer a moment's pleasure that we live ;
To call what's heroic (?) into force and show,
But inimitable alas ! (?) the glow-worm's fire (?)."
" Prom thy famed banks I'll make way (make my way I),
And with regret must leave, and leave to stray,
Traverse the gloomy heath of Hounslow wild (?)
Render (?) more dreary the remembrance side (?)
That by the .... nettles nowhere tell (?)
Do sore-fraught grains .... rebel
VOL. II. C

fS

18 MAGNA CHARTA.
And wreak full mischief stand around
And air blackens, horribly resound
The rains around, who beat (?) the silver Thames."
" Put (?) arts and the love of war at mortal strife,
Deprives (?) the needy labourer of his life,
Until those days when leagued (?) barons strong
Dared to tell their monarch acted wrong,
And wrung a charter from his fallen pride,
And to maintain its freedom all have died,
The parchM tracks of Memphis . . arid sands,
And planted (?) laurel-wreath in hostile lands.
Thus Nature bravely (?) liberty decreed,
Received the stimulus-act from Runnymede:
A little island still retains the name,
Saved (?) by its parent (?).... Fame (?)."
"Ah ! little troubled seems the humble cot
That marks the island (?), and its inmates' lot !
The meshy nets bespeak the owner poor,
Like (?) to the spider-web in evil hour,
The finny tribe and fancy (?) playful webs
Within its mazes struggles but to die.
Westward the sandy tracks of Bagshot rise,
And wonder .... have the circling skies
Alas ! the gloomy care .... create
.... a princely (?) state
Should hang so long to a clear .... coy."
"Oft changes on the moon the gleam of joy
So fair, so gay, assumes a gloom and woe,
And prince and peasant feel alike the blow.
But distant rising through the darkling skies
The bleak expanse of Sarum's plain arise,
Where mouldering tumuli sepulchral sleep
Gives but a niggard shelter e'en to sheep ;
The stunted .... and holly barely live,
And Nature asks of Heaven a short reprieve ;
The scudding clouds distil a constant dew,
And by the high exposure (?) life renews."
Hill after hill incessant cheats the eye,
While each the intermediate space deny.

OLD SARUM. 19
The upmost one long (?) call to attain,
When still a higher calls on toil again.
Then the famed .... street appears a line,
Roman the work and Roman the design.
Opposing hill or streams alike to them ;
They seemed to scorn impediments ; for when
A little circuit would have given the same,
But conquering difficulties cherished Roman fame.''
" There on the topmost hills exposed and bare
Behold you .... court the upper air,
To guard the road, maintain the watch and ward ;
'Twas (?) then Old Sarum knew their high regard,
The .... ditch ; but here where earth denied
Her kind assistance they by will (?) supplied :
Witness the inmost mount of labour all,
And still remains a monument and wall,
What perseverance can attain and bind
The unconquerable germ that sways the human mind ;
Power on abettance (?) thus by mutual (?) strife
Of priests and soldiers .... to life."
" Peaceful the streams lave now the .... hills,
No warlike clans of hostile armies thrill
The timorous female with dire alarms,
Or tear a vassal husband from her arm's.
Now roams the native o'er the wide domain,
No feudal rights demands or claims,
The recompense of labours all his own,
Content and pleasure crown his humble home
That, by the prattling murmur of the rill
Which, rushing onwards, feeds the valley (?) mill,
Whose stores the neighbouring farms supplied,
And roll (?) a justice (?) newer ear denied.
Close to the mill-race stands the school,
To urchin dreadful on the dunce's stool :
Behold him placed behind the chair,
In doleful guise twisting his yellow hair,
While the grey matron tells him not to look
At passers-by through doorway, but his book.
Instant the .... goes round the louder (?) throng,
Who meet (1) .... we dash (?) along."
c2

20 THE FRENCH PRISONER.
" Close to the household way-worn stone
Her coifs hang bleaching on the .... thorn —
Her only pride besides the thread and reel,
For time had steeled her bosom even to feel;
Though once, in May of life, that half-closed eye
Had taught the proudest of her time to sigh;
But mutual impulse only triumph gained,
And homely love to higher thoughts maintained.
But here again the sad concomitant of life,
The growth of family, produced strife.
Roused from his long content cot he went
Where oft he labour and the .... bent (?)
To form the snares for lobsters armed in mail (?),
But man, more cunning, over this prevail,
Lured by a few sea-snail and whelks, a prey
That they could gather on their watery way,
Caught in a wicker cage not two feet wide,
While the whole ocean's open to the pride.
Such petty profits could not life maintain;
From his small cot he stretched upon the main :
And, by one daring effort, hope to gain
What hope appeared ever to deny,
And from his labours and his toil to fly.
And so she proved, entrapped and overpowered,
By hostile force in Verdun dungeon cowered,
Long murmured 'gainst his hard-thought lot,
Rebelled against himself, and even his wife forgot.
But she, returned (?) yet hoped, no tidings gained
And, fondly cherished, chid (?) — yet hope remained ;
Would sighing pass delusive many an hour."
" By Cross (?) Church ancient walls and .... frowned
That Nature gave by verdant greensward ground,
Amidst a marsh of pashes (?) saved by mounds
That irrigate the meadows, serve for bounds,
To the overwhelming influx of the sea,
Which makes the marsh appear an estuary.
Westward the sands by storms and drift have gained
A barrier, and that barrier maintained,
Backed by a sandy heath, whose deep-worn road
.... the groaning wagon's ponderous load.
This branches southwards at the point of Thule,
Forms the harbour of the town of Poole.

COREE CASTLE. 21
A little ' headlong' on a marshy lake,
Which probably contemptuously was given
That deeps and shallows might for once be even.
The floating sea-weed to the eye appears,
And, by the waving medium, seamen steers.
One straggling street here constitutes a town ;
Across the gutter here ship-owners frown,
Jingling their money, — passengers deride,
The consequence of misconceived pride."
" Southward of this indentured strand
The ruins of Corfe's ruined turrets stand,
Between two lofty downs whose shelving side
The upper (?) mountain for her towers supplied,
Caused by two slender streams which here unite,
But early times give .... of her might.
The arched causeway .... towering keep,
And yet deep fosse, scarce fed the straggling sheep,
While overhanging walls, and gateway's nod,
Proclaim the power of force and Time's keen rod :
Even earth's inmost caverns own his sway,
And prove the force of Time in Scudland (?) Bay,
Where massy fragments seem disjoined to play
With sportive sea-nymphs in the face of day,
While the bold headlands of the sea-girt shore
Receive (?) ingulphed old ocean's deepest store.
Embayed the unhappy Halswell toiled,
And all their efforts Neptune herewith (?) foiled :
The deep-rent ledges caught the trembling keel, —
But memory draws the veil, where Pity soft doth kneel,
And ask St. Alban why he chose to rest
Where blades of grass seem even to feel distressed
'Twixt parching sun (?) and raging wind,
And others here (?) a ... . waters (?) find."
" Disjointed masses breaking fast away
Tell the sad news (?).... and the sway
Of wintry billows foaming o'er;
In fell succession, waves incessant roar,
Denying all approach. Ah ! happy they
Who from mischance .... means convey (?)
Or jutting headland for another takes,
For Nature's jealous — has allowed no breaks

22 PORTLAND STONE.
Of streams or valleys sloping, save but one,
And there she still presents a breast of stone :
Above are downs where press (?) the nibbling sheep,-
Below, the seamews full possession keep.
A little hollow, excavated round,
To a few fishing-boats give anchory ground,
Guarded with bristling rocks, whose strata rise
Like .... scoria to southern skies,
Called Lulworth Cove, — but no security to those
Who wish from storming sea a safe repose.
Whoever lucklessly are driven (?)
From Portland seeks an eastern (?) haven,
Must luff against the south-west gale
And strike (?) for Poole alone the tortured (?) sail ;
For Wight again the safe retreat denies,
The Needles brave the force (?) of southern skies."
" The long, long winter months, but summer skies
Permit the quarry to give up its prize,
The tinkling hammer and the driving bore
Detaching fragments from the massy store :
Then, squared or rough, in a shallow yawl
The wadding (?) workmen by mere strength do hawl :
Invention, kindest friend to weak-formed man,
Taught him the lever, accumulating span.
Seems palsied, paralyzed, hopeless, here,
Even Swanage Dock (?) can't boast a pier,
A single cart conveys a single stone
Into deep water prejudice must (!) own."
" But .... alas ! follow, and we find
That each excuse most savours of the kind.
Hence rugged Portland steps upon our view
And the same efforts tracing but anew,
The ponderous shaft each track contains
Unless a load drags on a lengthened chain,
As down the track-worn step it glides,
And, by its dragging weight, even serves to guide;
Keeps the poor horse beneath the ponderous load
From overpowered adown the shelving road.
Some small endeavours of mechanic still
To ship they sheer overhangers (?) at the will (?)

WRITING ON THE SAND. 23
Of tackle (fixed) place by the jetties ride,
But here no depth of water even at tide
Allows what Nature all around has thrown
With (?) great profuseness : here alone is stone.
Along the south and west no creeks appear,
No bay or harbours, labouring eyes to cheer,
Who, vain watching, throng the creaking shrouds,
When night and darkness mix the gloomy clouds-
Chaotic warfare ! surges tell alone (?)
The trembling pilot to beware, nor hold
An onward course, nor (?) while the cable holds
The struggling ship her bows unto the wind,
Nor rush on danger by the hope to find
Upon the iron coast the Portland race."
" Nor hope amongst direful (?) reefs a resting-place.
Indented (?) west and north a bank extends :
Now to the utmost stretch the eye.
Loose shelving beach thrown up by restless waves
A useful, barren, careful nature craves.
Beneath the western waves the marshes lie, •
Luxuriant, bearing every varied dye :
Even Melcombe sands their safety owes,
Melcombe, whose sands oft bear the lover vows (?)
Whose yielding surface tells the loved name,
But Neptune, jealous, washes out the same.
Alas ! the yielding type commixing gives
Its tender hope and then coquettish leaves.
So hopeful fancy leads us through our care,
Stretch wide our visionary minds, on air
Builds all our inmost wishes could attain,
Even to the sandy frailty of the main.
And ask the blessing which we all desire
To give what Nature never could inspire,
What madness asked, or passion fans the flame,
At once our pilot aud our early bane :
Enrapt we wish the object not in scope,
And prove a very libertine to hope.
Can ardour (?).... our of (?) youthful fire,
Check for a moment (?) all our warm desire."
'¦' Tempts us to declare to all who view
The name we hold most lovely and hope true.

24 LOST.
But thought created by the ardent mind
Proves oft as changing as the changing wind.
A great .... renders all our care
A short (?) to others who are thought more fair.
Absence the dreadful monster to delight,
Delusion like the silent midnight blight,
Frailty, that ever courted, oft beloved,
And modesty though slighted, most approved,
All give and urge the intolerable smart
Of loves when absent, rankling at the heart.
Moreover (?) the ....
No chwreh and meads iii (?) .... as the road (?)
Or anxious shivered in (?)... . bands (?)
And longed (?) .... on the oozy sands (?).
She tended oft the kine, and to the mart
Bore all the efforts of her father's art ;
And, homeward as she bore the needful pence,
Would loiter careless on, or ask through mere pretence-
To youth much mischief (?) ; for, maturely grown,
It proved, alas ! a mischief all her own.
Guileless and innocent she passed along,
And cheered her footsteps with a morning (?) song;
When craft, and lechery, and .... combined
Proved but to triumph o'er a spotless (?) mind.
To guard the coast their duty, not delude
By promises as little heeded as they're good :
When strictly followed, give a conscious peace,
And ask at the eve of life a (?) just release.
But idleness, the bane of every country's weal
Equally enervates the soldier and his steel.
Lo ! on yon bank beneath the hedge they lie,
And watch with cat-like .... each female by :
One sidelong glance or hesitating step
Admits not of recal who once o'erleap.
The deep-ploughed sands are .... up by the main,
But time denies the cure (?) of love or gain :
Deep sinks the (curse ?) of lucre (?) at the heart,
And virtue stained o'erpowers the greater part.
Wan, melancholy, sits the once full-blooming maid,
Misanthrope stalks her soul in silent shade :
On the bold promontory thrown at length she lies,
And sea-mews shrieking are her obsequies."

REGULUS. 25
Or on the blasted heath or far stretched down
Exposing still the field by iron sown,
Barrow after barrow ; till with silent awe,
The dreadful cause pervading Nature's law,
That the rude hands of warfare (feudal ?) strife,
Denying peace, and oft denying life
Along the topmost ridge, the narrow (?) way,
The work of Norman prowess braves the day,
With triple ditch and barbican arise
Defying the hand of Time and stormy skies
Which from the wide .... drawing o'er (?)
Pour o'er those bulwarks .... clouds or showers."
" Oh ! powerful beings, hail ! whose stubborn soul
Even o'er itself to urge even (?) self-control.
Thus Regulus, whom every torture did await,
Denied himself admittance at the gate
Because a captive to proud Carthage power,
But his fierce (?) soul would not the Romans lower.
Not wife or children dear, or self, could hold
A moment's parley, — love made him bold,
Love of his country ; for not aught beside
He loved, — but for that love he died."
" The same inflexibility of will
Made them to choose the inhospitable hill ;
Without recourse they stood supremely great,
And firmly bid defiance even to fate.
Thus stands aloft this yet commanding* fort,
' The maiden' called, still of commanding port.
So the famed Jungfrau meets the nether skies
In endless snow untrod, and man denies,
With all his wiles : precipitous or bold,
The same great characters its summits hold :
Thus graves (?) o'er all the guarded area tell
Who fought for its possession, and who fell."
" The chieftain's tumule, and the vassal's sword,
Own the dread sway of Death, tremendous lord.
On every side, each hill or vantage ground,
The awful relics everywhere abound,

Another word substituted, perhaps " encincturcd.'

26 BRIDPORT TWINE.
And feelingly its ancient prowess own,
Though power, and arms, and carnage, roam
O'er other lands ; yet still, in silent pride,
It looks around, majestic, though decried
And useless now. So on the seagirt shore
Where Abbotbury cliffs re-echo to the roar,
Another guards the passage to the main,
And on the right in-land some vestige yet remain."
" Where the soft .... flowing gives renown,
'Mid steep worn hills and to the low- sunk town
Whose trade has flourished from early time,
Remarkable for thread called Bridport twine,
Here (?) roars the busy mell (?) called breaks
Through various processes o'ertakes
The flax in dressing, each with one accord
Draw out the thread, and meet the just reward.
Its population great, and all employed,
And children even draw the twisting cord.
Behold from small beginnings, like the stream,
That from the high-raised downs to market breem (?)."
" First feeds the meadows where grows the line,
Then drives the mill that all its powers define, —
Pressing (?), "dividing all vegetating pass (?)* 1
Withdrawn, high (?) swell the shiny (?) mass — J
On the peopled town who all combine
To throw the many (?) strands in lengthened twine ;
Then onward to the sea its freight it pours,
And by its prowess holds to distant shores ;
The straining vessel to its cordage yields :
So Britain floats the produce of her fields.
Why should the Volga or the Russians
Be coveted for hemp ? Why thus supplied
The sinew of our strength, our naval pride ?
Have not we soil sufficient rich ? or lies
Our atmosphere too temperate, or denies
The Northern .... to harden, or mature
The vegetable produce ? or can it not endure
The parching heat of summer's solstice o'er ?
Weak argument ! Look round our shore.
* Uncertain whether these lines come here.

SKY EFFECTS.
Sterile and bleak our uppermost appear,
And barren left through all the varied year,
With whinns (?) and gorse alone possessed.
Would here the seedling hemp then be distressed ?
Look farther — north of vaunted (?) Scotia's heights,
With firs, and snows, and winter's full delights : —
Not — North enough, then, transatlantic lay
Some vast-extended land of Hudson's Bay."
" If heat is requisite more than our suns can give,
Ask but the vast continent where Hindoos live —
More than the mother-country ten times told,
Plant but (?) the ground with seed instead of gold.
Urge all our barren tracts with agricultural skill,
And Britain, Britain, British canvas fill ;
Alone and unsupported prove her strength
By means her own to meet the direful length
Of Continental hatred called blockade, —
When every power and every port is laid
Under the proscriptive term themselves have made."
" O'er the Donetian downs that far expand
Their scathed ridges into Devon's land
The mounting sun, bedecked with purple dyes,
As o'er their healthy summits beaming flies,
The gilding radiance on the upmost ridge
That, looking eastwards, on rocky rampart stood
A garden once, like others, through the land
Where native valour dare to make a stand
Against [despotism ?] and Rome .... taught
The prayer of valour, gained (?) though dearly bought
Thus wrought through habit (?) by prorogued (?) disease,
As morning fogs that rising tempt the breeze,
Grey and condensing, hovering o'er the swamp
Of deep-sunk woods, or marshes dull and dank,
Crowd like tumulous legions beneath the hill,
Like congregated clouds, and eddying reel
This way or other, as the air incline,
Till the all-powerful doth on them shine,
Dispersed, and showing on their edge its power
In varied lights. Sometimes, in force combined,
It seems to brave the force of sun and wind ;
Blotting the .... (?), sheds a doubtful day,
Besprinkling oft the traveller on his way.

28 ATMOSPHERE.
As others, stealing 'neath each down of hill,
And, scarce diaphanous, the valley fill :
Then day brings on his coursers and sultry car, — •
All Nature, panting, dreads the ruling star, —
Along the narrow road whose deep-worn track ;
Till, up with dusk, the usual (?) burdened pack
Plods heavily and dull, with heat oppressed,
And champs of snorting tell his great distress,
Burdened with stone or sand, where the steep ascent
Prevents the East (?) or slides ; whose quick descent
Makes o'er a load of nothing endless toil,
And to the derladen path ever quick (?) recoil
Upon its galled withers ; and the heavy band,
Upheld by pegs, within the panniers stand
Relieved from its load, the other flies,
When (?) Satan scales aloft in nether (?) skies,
Or sulphurous cloud at open east foretels
Where atmospheric contraries (contraction ?) doth dwell ;
And the warm vapour, condensing from the main,
O'er the wide welkin darksome clouds remain :
Till, borne by various currents, dimly spread,
The sickening (?) rays of the wan sunbeam's head.
A gloomy lurid interval succeeds,
As from the high (?).... noon the orb recedes.
Spotty aspartial, quenches (?) the evening sky
In .... of clouds of every shape and dye.
Meantime an ever inwards (?) rolls around the clouds,
And bear against the blast the thunders loud,
Breaking on the upmost hills ; then quick ascends (?)
The scattered . . . ., and conquering tends (?)
To the full-charged elementary strife —
To man even fears, and oft ... . life.
A corse tremendous, awful. Dark indeed
Died (?) the smitten wretch (?) not doomed to bleed, —
The current dread charred (?) with the veins,
Sulphurous (?) and livid, still the form retains.
Most dreadful visitation ! Instantaneous (?) death
Of supreme goodness allows the fleeting breath
To fall, apparently without a thought of pain.
" Exalted sat St. Michael in his chair
Full many a fathom in the circling (?) air.
Scarce can the giddy ken of mortal sight
Behold the dreadful chasm but in height."

OBSTINACY. 29
Nothing proves more the tenacity with which
Turner held on to a resolve, than these painful and
stammering efforts of his crippled muse. Now he
seems to be thinking of Shen stone, then of Crabbe,
then of Pope ; yet never, in any form of imitation,
does he spell well or carry on a clear-headed and
consecutive meaning for ten lines together. There
is never a perfect picture, never a continuous strain of
thought. The impulse for verse is there, but not the
power of expression. It is the dumb man making
noises, and fancying himself an eloquent speaker.
Let us review this poem. At Bridport our struggling
poet grows more than usually obscure and more than
usually didactic. He introduces to us amid steep
worn hills " the low sunk town,"
" from early time
Remarkable for thread called Bridport twine?'
The practical bard rejoices much in the large
population employed in dressing flax and twist
ing cord. He then suddenly grows interrogative and
argumentative. Why should the Russians grow
hemp, "that sinew of our strength," for us? he cries.
Have we not soil sufficiently rich, or is our atmosphere
rather too temperate? Are there not sterile and
bleak cliffs on our shores, now overgrown with
whinns and gorse, where hemp might be sown?
Or if more cold is wanted, are there not " Scotia's
heights," with their firs and snows ; and further still,
is there not the "vast extended land of Hudson's Bay" ?
If heat is required, then there is " the vast continent
where Hindoos live." Indeed, rambles on the bard,
if all our barren tracts were but sown, Britain, alone

30 THE HALS WELL.
and unsupported, might prove her strength against
Continental hatred and Napoleon's direful blockade of
the foreign ports.
At Corfe Castle the poet stops, and depicts to us
the arched causeway and the towering keep; the
overhanging walls, the nodding gateway, and the
deep fosse where the straggling sheep obtain their
scanty meal. Presently he passes on to Roman
camps, and jolts out the story of Regulus, one of
those "powerful beings" and "stubborn souls" the
poet seems to sympathize with ; for he instantly goes
on to sketch another Roman fort on the coast, and
says : — " The same inflexibility of will
Made them to choose the inhospitable hill."
And he proceeds to compare it to the " Jungfrau."
It is curious, however, to trace in these verses the
sympathy of the writer with a sea life. From stories
of seductions by coast-guard men, and a rather pro
saic description of the stone quarries of Portland,
Turner changes his strain to paint shipwrecks and to
sketch the embayed " Halswell," whose " tremblinc
keel" is caught by the " deep rent ledges ;" and when
he gets to Lulworth Cove, he writes indeed more
like an examiner of pilots than a simple poet : —
" No security," he says, "to those
Who wish from stormy sea a safe repose
Whoever lucklessly are (fiercely) driven
From Portland seeking (then) an eastern haven,
Must hit against the south-west gale,
And strike for Pool where the tortured sail
For Wight again the safe retreat denies.
The Needles have the force of Southern skies."

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 31
Directions certainly honest and earnest; but rather,
perhaps, wanting in perspicuity.
What this work was meant for, I cannot tell; it
reads like an attempt at a rhymed gazetteer of England,
or a new Polyolbion. In one place he talks of
wishing " The passing moments of a chequered life to give ;"
and then he passes on to descriptions of Hounslow
and Bagshot heaths — as if they were the first stages
of some journey he had tumbled into rhyme. Pre
sently we find him at Poole in Dorsetshire, which he
sketches sarcastically in the following lines : —
" One straggling street here constitutes a town,
Across the gutter here ship-owners frown,
Jingling their money — passengers deride,
The consequence of misconceived pride."
Now, the first three lines are tolerably terse, but
the last is merely a hint at sense, and sadly wants
beating again on the anvil.
In one place, it is true, he sketches a village school
with some eye to character; he shows us the dunce's
stool, and the grey matron chiding the boy, " who
twists his yellow hair," bidding him look at his book
and not at the passers-by. Close by the school, upon
a thorn, the dame's caps hang bleaching ; and these are
her only pride, beside her spinning reel. The dame
was once a village beauty, and made " the proudest
of her time to sigh." Then follows a line or two of
chaos, from which we gather that after all she mar
ried a fisherman, who disdaining lobster-catching
when the whole ocean was opened to him, turned
privateer, because he

32 EARLY VERSES. •
" By one daring effort hopes to gain
What hope appeared ever to deny."
(Well balanced lines for once.) But the unlucky
venturer is caught by the French, and thrown into
Verdun's dungeon. His wife, gaining no tidings of
him, still hopes, and sighing passes the delusive
hours. Some verses of Turner's, written, I believe, after
his return from an early Welsh tour, and when, he
was about seventeen, are interesting from their
simplicity and truth of description, rather than from
any poetic merit they possess : —
" O'er the Heath the Heifer strays
Free — the Furrow'd task is done.
Now the villiage windows Blaze
Burnish [ed] by the setting sun.
Now he sets behind the Hill
Sinking from a Golden sky ;
Can the pencil .... mimic skill,
Copy the Refulgent Dye .... Evenging.
Shivered by a thunder stroke
From the Mountain .... misty ridge
O'er the Brook a ruined oak
Near the Farm House forms a Bridge."
They show at least the writer's great enjoyment of
new and grand objects, of clear, calm sunset, of moun
tains and misty ridges ; and of rude bridges formed by
lightning-split oaks. There is, too, some instructive
sense of art in the word free, so strongly placed, with
a full emphasis on it as the commencement of a line.
The spelling, as usual, is wanting in finish and detail.
On the whole, I think, that for 1792, the verses are
rather an anticipation and prophecy of the restoration

BAD SPELLING. 33
of poetry by the Lake school, some twenty years
later. Bad as it is, it is better than pastoral senti
ment, punning epitaphs, or ribald epigrams.
There is hardly much hope for a poet who cannot
even spell correctly. Turner felt poetry and painted
poetry, but he could not write it. Persevering and
yet indolent, he never took the trouble to learn the
commonest laws of metre or rhythm. This desire to
write verse was one of the " Fallacies of Hope" — a
poem that, if it ever did exist, was not found among
his sketches or papers after his death.
In early years, with Turner's pictures at exhibitions,
came various quotations, descriptive of atmospheric
effects, from Thomson, interspersed with two or three
from Milton, and one from Mallet.
" In 1800," says Mr. Ruskin, " some not very
promising ' Anon.' lines were attached to views of
Dolbadern and Caernarvon Castles. Akenside and
Ossian were next laid under contribution. Then
Ovid, Callimachus, and Homer. At last, in 1812,
the ' Fallacies of Hope' begin, apropos of ' Hanni
bal's Crossing the Alps;' and this poem continues to
be the principal text-book, with occasional recur
rences to Thomson, one passage from Scott, and
several from Byron. The ' Childe Harold' (picture)
is an important proof of his respect for the genius of
Byron."

VOL. II.

34

CHAPTER III.
TURNER'S ERIENDS AND CONTEMPORARIES.
Turner was neither an ascetic, a miser, nor a misan
thrope ; he loved his friends with deep tenderness ; he
left the nation that neglected him 140,000^. ; and he
was one of the most social of men. Nor was he unac
customed to the society of men of wealth and rank.
Lord Egremont delighted to have him at his table ;
Lord Harewood knew him well in easy life; at the
houses of his friends, the Rev. Mr. Trimmer, Mr.
Ruskin, Mr. Stokes, Mr. Griffith, Mr. G. Jones, &c, he
was ever welcome. At Royal Academy dinners or
private meetings he was the gayest and merriest of
the band, he was fond, too, of water excursions ; and
when down in Yorkshire with his old friend Mr.
Fawkes, of Farnley, he shot grouse and fished with
the enjoyment of a boy.
Mr. Jones, speaking of the suspiciousness which
was an unpleasing part of his character, says :
" In early life the hands extended to him all sought
to profit by his talent at the smallest expense pos
sible ; he encountered extortions of time and work •
he discovered that he was unjustly used to fill the
purses of others rather than his own. He became

LOVE FOR STOTHARD. 35
so suspicious and sensitive, that he dreaded the
motives of all by whom he was surrounded. He
desired to be wealthy, and took every honourable
means to become so: not to indulge in luxury or
ostentatious display, but to be independent of the
world." Turner was too reserved to often praise, but he
never uttered a word of critical disparagement or de
traction. No restless poison of envy oozed perpetu
ally from his tongue as it did from Constable's.
Stothard he would, however, openly praise; for
he loved the gentle poetry which suffused all that
good man did: that pastoral grace, that beautiful
simplicity, as of " The Golden Age," that irradiated
with a foretaste of heaven all the happy pictures of
" the English Watteau," as he was truly called.
Turner painted his Boccaccio picture in distinct
rivalry of Stothard, and he openly expressed his desire
that Stothard, above all men, should like his pictures.
Etty, I believe, he did not like' Constable he per
sonally had no relish for. I am afraid that Con
stable openly praised and secretly disliked Turner's
works. I have been told he has been seen to spit
with disgust at the very sight of some of them.
Of his old boyish companion and rival, Tom Girtin,
Turner, as I have said, was never tired of speaking. "If
Girtin had lived," he used to say, with true generosity
and pathos," I should have starved." All through his
life, the sight of one of Girtin's yellow drawings made
his eyes sparkle, and often would he earnestly declare
that he would lose a finger willingly, could he learn
how to produce such effects.
d2

36 INDUSTRY.
Mr. Field, author of " Chromatics," was a friend of
Girtin's, and it is on his authority I give the following
anecdote :
Girtin had finished a water-colour drawing of St.
Paul's, looking up Ludgate-hill. Turner, after in
specting it first closely, and then at a distance, turned
to Girtin and said : " Girtin, no man living could do
this but you." Of late years Turner often expressed
to Mr. Trimmer and Mr. Field his high opinion of
Girtin's power. " We were friends to the last," he
used to say, " although they did what they could to
separate us." How much regret and tenderness
there is in these words.
Mr. Lupton, the celebrated engraver, says :
" Turner was a man that not only considered that
time was money, but he acted upon it, and worked
from morning till night ; indeed, it would be correct
to say he laboured from sunrise to sunset. He would
often ask his brother artists, sarcastically, if they ever
saw the sun rise. 'These industrious habits, and his
love of his profession, gave him a very long life, and
accounts for the great number of his works left behind
him, for it may be truly said he worked as many
hours as would make the lives of two men of his
own age.
" Turner was a great observer of all that occurred
in his profession ; of reserved manners generally, but
never coarse (as has been said), though blunt and
straightforward, he had a great respect for his pro
fession, and always felt and expressed regret if any
member of it appeared to waste or neglect his pro
fession.

the sibyl's books. 37
" In the sale of his pictures he always took a high
moral position. When asked the price of a picture by
a purchaser (for instance), he would say two hundred
guineas. The reply has been, ' No, I will give you
one hundred and seventy-five.' ' No, I won't take
it.' On the morrow the applicant for the picture has
come again. ' Well, Mr. Turner, I suppose I must
give you -your price for that picture : the two hundred
guineas.' Mr. Turner has been known to reply : ' Ah,
that was my price yesterday, but I have changed my
mind also; the price of the picture to-day is two
hundred and twenty-five guineas.' The applicant
went away, and perhaps the next day was glad to have
the picture at another increased price.
" Turner among his social friends was always
entertaining, quick in reply, and very animated and
witty in conversation. He was well read in the
poets," It is generally supposed that Turner never painted
a picture in conjunction with any other Academician,
but the following story will show he did. On one
occasion, when he was staying at the house of his old
friend, the Rev. Mr. Trimmer, of Heston, near Brent
ford, by whose children, as a kind, funny old gentle
man, he was much beloved, Turner was present while
Mr. Howard painted the portrait of one of the chil
dren. The poetical painter of Venuses and Hebes
had got into a hobble : the picture would not come
right. Turner was called in as consulting phy
sician, and cast his eagle eye instantly on the fault.
There was a want of warm colour in the foreground.
He advised the introduction of a cat wrapped up in a

38 THE SEA-FOG.
red handkerchief. The now forgotten poet was
horrified, and did not see his way to such an intro
duction. Turner instantly took up his brushes, and
painted in the ingenious expedient. The picture was
saved by the alteration, and thus saved it still exists
at Mr. Trimmer's house, an interesting relic of Tur
ner's sagacity.
Mr. Trimmer, the old clergyman above alluded to,
was himself not unskilled in art. He painted land
scapes, I am told, with great skill. The following is
a proof of it. A picture-dealer opposite Furnival's Inn
once showed him a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds
with a tree in the background, which in the sale
room had been compared for breadth and knowledge
to Titian. It was well known Reynolds had made
fine sketches of the sea in Devonshire, and had once
or twice painted landscapes that lay round his villa at
Twickenham; but this tree! — Mr. Trimmer smiled
at the pedantic cant of the trade, for he himself had
added that tree to the portrait, which had once been
his. Turner on one occasion was much struck by a
picture in which a sea-fog had been cleverly and
truthfully introduced. The mystery of it delighted
him, for he had found such effects most difficult.
When Mr. Trimmer stood up and said it was painted
by him, Turner was quite angry, and never praised
anonymous pictures again. He took his " Mill and
White Horse" in the " Liber" from a sketch made by
Mr. Trimmer from a lock near Brentford.
"Mr. Trimmer's sons, who are still living, re
member Turner as an ugly, slovenly old man, with

LEARNING GREEK. 39
rather a pig-like face; in fact, must I confess it? some
what of ' a guy ;' and describe how he made them
laugh, and how pleasant and sociable he was. They
recollect him mixing some sort of paste with his um
brella, and their mother, on one occasion, in fun, carry
ing off one of his sketches against his will, for he was
not of " the give-away family" by any means. He
liked to be at Heston, not merely for the fishing and
fresh air, but because Mr. Trimmer was an old friend
and a lover of art, and because he was close to his old
school at Brentford Butts, now a public-house, exactly
opposite the Three Pigeons." When with Mr. Trim
mer Turner always behaved with great decorum, and
regularly attended church. Indeed, I have a strong
belief that the interior of a church in the " Liber"
is taken from Heston. It is almost the only
church interior Turner painted. He did it twice,
once by daylight and once by lamplight. It was
with this Mr. Trimmer Turner once bartered lessons
in painting for lessons in Greek. Mr. Trimmer was
remarkable for a habit of keeping all letters that he
ever received. The result of which frugality was
that, after his death, his son, exhausted by the labour
of reading a packet or two of crabbed MS., set to and
with ruthless hands, burnt some twenty sacksful ol
original and unpublished letters, including, no doubt,
some hundred or so of Turner's. When I first heard
this, I thought of the fatal fire at Warwick that
destroyed Shakspeare's relics, and of the great con
flagration that Amrou made in Egypt of the vast
Alexandrian Library; but Mr. Trimmer consoled
me by telling me that Turner never wrote often

40 IN LOVE.
or at any great length to his father, because he was
then living at Solus's Lodge, and was within walk
ing distance; and, moreover, like most artists, he did
not like writing. He has no doubt, however, that
some verses perished; nor is he sure that such de
struction was a loss to the world.
There was one letter, however, that he found and
kept, which was of interest. It was penned when Tur
ner was about forty, and it described him as deeply in
love with a lady, a relation of Mr. Trimmer's, staying
in the house at Heston. It was the letter of an
affectionate but shy and eccentric man. It implored
his friend to help him at his need; talked of soon
coming down again, but expressed his fear that he
should never find courage to pop the question unless
the lady helped him out. . At last, then, we have sure
proof that the passion of the boy had begun to fade
out, as dint of the lightning-bolt will even out of
granite; and once more Cupid had blown the old
ashes into a flame. Tremble, ye. tailless cats in the
dirty gallery of Queen Anne-street; tremble, old
sordid housekeeper, for your new mistress comes to
scatter ye to the four winds, with Hope, and Love,
and Joy, winged and rosy cherubs, careering before
her in the air, and the bright crescent of the Honey
moon rising to shed blessed influences on the roof of a
house once more awakened to life.
But no; cruel Fate stepped in; some small pebble
turned the painter's foot aside, and he died unmar
ried, with no hands but those of mercenary Love to
close his eyes and smooth his dying pillow ; and here
let me give the letter.

FAINT HEART, ETC. 41
Of Turner's early disappointment in love I have
already written; of his second attachment I know no
more than the following singular letter tells me. We
may, however, presume that the lover lacked courage ;
that fresh ambitions arose, and more daring suitors ;
and Turner was left to sink into the cheerless, selfish
old bachelor, with no children to prattle round his
knees, and no kind heart to double his joys and halve
his sorrows.
Redirected. Rev. Mr. Trimmer, Southwold, Suffolk.
"Tuesday, Aug. 1st, 1815,
Queen Anne-street.
" My dear Sir, — I lament that all hope of the plea
sure of seeing you, or getting to Heston, must for the
present probably vanish. My fatlier told me on Satur
day last, when I was, as usual, compelled to return to
town the same day, that you and Mrs. Trimmer
would leave Heston for Suffolk as to-morrow, Wednes
day. In the first place, I am glad to hear that her
health is so far established as to be equal to the
journey, and to give me your utmost hope for her
benefiting by the sea-air being fully realized; 'twill give
me great pleasure to hear, and the earlier the better.
" After next Tuesday, if you have a moment's time
to spare, a line will reach me at Farnley Hall, near
Otley, Yorkshire, and for some time, as Mr. Fawkes
talks of keeping me in the North by a trip to the
Lakes, and until November. Therefore I suspect I
am not to see Sandycombe. Sandycombe sounds just
now in my ears as an act of folly, when I reflect how

42 BATTLE PAINTING.
little I have been able to be there this year, and less
chance (perhaps) for the next. In looking forward
to a continental excursion, and poor Daddy seems as
much plagued with weeds as I am with disappoint
ment — that if Miss  would but waive bashfulness,
or, in other words, make an offer instead of expect
ing one, the same might change occupiers; but not
to trouble you further, allow me, with most sincere
respect to Mrs. Trimmer and family, to consider
myself, " Yours most truly obliged,
" J. M. W. Turner."
Mr. Trimmer's eldest son was very fond of drawing.
One day he scrawled a man with his legs close
together. Turner, being at Heston and seeing this,
said, " Why do you draw the legs together ?" The
boy then took to battle-pieces, stimulated by the rage
of the day, little queer men, all swords and plumes,
men slashing, and horses kicking. Turner used to
like to run over these, with a good-humoured grin,
"That's better;" "Not so good;" "He'll never hit
him," &c. "He told me I should change my style, there
being no play for talent in military costume. In fact,
he said, i I commenced as battle-painter myself?
" He then lent him some sketches done by a military
friend on the field of Waterloo during the action,
which he considered very spirited. When he was
older, he dissuaded him from being an artist, for which
he had a great inkling, telling him it was the most
wretched calling he could turn to.
" Mr. Field having sent Turner his ' Chromatics,'

THE HIGH KEY. 43
when they next met, he asked him his opinion of it.
' You have not told us too much,' said Turner drily.
Almost the last conversation Mr. Trimmer had with
Turner was respecting colours, which were not con
sidered by him to be reducible to scientific rules. He
then called Field's book a fallacy. I told him that
genius was acting by rule unconsciously, and that as
canons of oratory had been deduced from Cicero's
orations, of which he was not aware, his own pictures
might form the basis of a scientific system of colouring.
I have heard my friend Field say that Turner's most
extravagant conceptions were in perfect harmony,
but Nature in a very high key, as seen through a
prism. He painted offhand, without the slightest
effort, and produced the most inimitable effects.
Constable used to say that an oil painter should never
paint but in oil, and that Turner's pictures were only
large water-colours. He tested this with a diminishing
glass." Many years ago, two of Turner's friends were
standing at the door of an exhibition where some of
his water-colours were on show, and were debating
about the entrance-fee. Suddenly a little man dashed
up to the astonished custos, snatched two tickets from
the man, gave them to the applicants, and was off
instanter. It was Turner, who had that morning met
them in the street, and asked them if they would
like to see the drawings.
Mr. E. Swinburn, himself an accomplished artist,
was very intimate with Turner. I have heard that
Turner used to stay in Northumberland, at the seat
of Sir John Swinburn, Bart.

TWENTY YEARS OLD.

Mr. Allnut, of Clapham, I think, bought many of
Turner's drawings, one of which, the " Fall of Terni,"
he published. G. F. Robson, the eminent water-
colour painter, met Turner at Mr. Allnut's, and found
the great painter civil and communicative.
" Turner and Carew were once fishing in the pond
at Lord Egremont's at Petworth, when Carew, in his
blunt, honest, Irish way, broke silence, and said:
' Turner, they tell me you're very rich.' Turner
chuckled and said, 'Am I?' ' Yes; everybody says
so.' ' Ah ! ' Turner replied, ' I would give it all up
again to be twenty years of age again.' ' What !' says
the other, ' do you like it so well as all that?' ' Yes,
I do,' was the reply."
Turner's old friend, Mr. David Roberts, bears the
following testimony to the great man's kindness of
heart and general sociability.
" I afterwards became well acquainted with him,
being in the habit of meeting him at the dinner-table
of General Phipps, in Mount-street, where one was
always sure to meet the best artists of the day,
Wilkie, Chantrey, Calcott, Collins, Mulready, Etty,
&c. &c.
" Although reserved, he was ever kind and indul
gent to younger men, I mean such as myself. I
write more especially of my own knowledge, as besides
meeting him at General Phipps', I had many other
opportunities of meeting at dinner, particularly at
Munro's, of Novars, and the Rev. E. Daniel's, to whom
he was much attached. Poor Daniel, like Wilkie,
went to Syria after me, but neither returned. Had
Daniel returned to England, I have reason to know,

THE ENVIOUS MAN. 45
from Turner's own mouth, he would have been
intrusted with his law affairs.
" Turner, though kind to younger men, could
frown, and show his contempt fearlessly for those
whom he considered unworthy his friendship. He
was ever modest of his own abilities, and I never
remember him uttering a word of disparagement of
others. Of a contrary disposition was Constable, ever
talking of himself and his works, and unceasing in
his abuse of others. We had met one night at the
General's, shortly after the hanging of the Royal
Academy. Constable was, as usual, lavish of the
pains he had taken and the sacrifices he had made in
arranging the Exhibition. But, most unfortunately,
he had, after placing an important work of Turner's,
removed it, and replaced it by one of his own.
Turner was down upon him like a sledge-hammer;
it was of no use his endeavour to persuade Turner
that the change was for his advantage, and not his
own. Turner kept at it all the evening, to the great
amusement of the party, and I must add, he (Con
stable) richly deserved it, by bringing it on himself.
" It would be useless to add his many personal acts
of kindness to myself, and of confidence he placed in
me, which led to my seeing much of him towards the
latter part of his life. When he dined with me, I
always contrived to get those to meet him that I
knew would be agreeable, a very simple method of
making your friends happy. I was myself too much
occupied to trouble myself about his private affairs,
for his life partook of the character of his works ; it
was mysterious, and nothing seemed so much to

46 DAVID ROBERTS.
please him as to try and puzzle you, or to make you
think so; for if he began to explain, or tell you
anything, he was sure to break off in the middle,
look very mysterious, nod, and wink his eye, saying
to himself, 'Make out that if you can;' and it no
doubt was this love of mystery that led, at last, to
the sad muddle in which he left his affairs ; no doubt,
like many others, he intended some day to put them
all right, but the grim gentleman stepped in before
he could make up his mind.
" I and others knew he had another home
besides Queen, Anne-street, but delicacy forbade us
prying further. We all knew that whoever he lived
with took great care of him, for he was not only
better dressed, but more cleanly and tidy, than in
former years. He was ever constant in his atten
dance at all meetings of the Academy, and at such
meetings he usually took a part in the debates ; but
such was the peculiar habit of his thoughts, or of
his expressing them (the same aerial perspective that
pervades most of his works pervaded his speeches),
that when he had concluded and sat down it would
often have puzzled his best friend to decide which
side he had taken.
"I might mention instances of his kindness to
myself, but which are of little interest to others. Suf
fice it to state one, on my first exhibiting at Somer
set House a picture of the front of Rouen Cathedral
painted for the late Lord Northwick. He took Sir
William Allan out of the Great Room (where they
were at work on varnishing day) to the School of
Painting, where my picture had been placed, and

JACK FULLER. 47
said, ' Here is a man we must have our eye upon.'
This, Sir William gave me to understand, was no
trifling compliment from the great painter.
" After all, much may be said in mitigation of his
reserve and love of mystery. Uneducated as he
was (a thing not unusual with men of genius),
he would naturally avoid society, where he knew
he would be seen to a disadvantage. But that
he was not the recluse Ruskin has pictured him,
is well known to all who knew anything about
him, for he loved the society of his brother painters,
and was in reality ' a jolly toper,' never missing a
night at the meetings of the Royal Academy Club,
usually then held at the Thatched House; and as a
proof that he loved them and these jolly parties, he
willed that 50/. annually should be spent expressly
for that purpose on his birthday, but I regret
to add, it has not been fulfilled, although the Aca
demy have it in contemplation to do so from the
20,000/. awarded them by the Court of Chancery;
meantime the interest, 600/., is distributed amongst
certain old painters, not members of the Academy,
but whose necessities are such as compel them to
ask charity, in annual grants of 50/. each; so that,
after all, his wish has in some measure been realized."
" Jack Fuller," as he was generally called — one of
Turner's patrons and friends — was an eccentric, blunt
old bachelor, of considerable property in Sussex, and
also a possessor of some West Indian estates. He lived
at Rose Hill, in the neighbourhood of Battle, and re
presented the county of Sussex for many years. He
was much beloved by his friends and tenantry in

48 TOM MOORE.
spite of his rough manners ; and as an amateur of
art, he became known as a purchaser to. Turner.
It is of Jack Fuller, the boisterous English country
gentleman of the Lord Egremont stamp, that one of
the best stories relating to debates in the House of
Commons is related. It is well known that an Irish
reporter, under the influence of too much whisky- and-
water, had once the audacity to call out from the
gallery, "A song from Mr. Speaker!" but then the
irreverent culprit, forgetful of the majestic presence,
luckily for him escaped detection. But Jack Fuller,
to judge from the following story, was more auda
cious even than our friend the witty reporter : —
" Once upon a time — it was after dinner — he was
guilty of some indecorum in the House of Commons,
and the Speaker was obliged to administer a rebuke,
beginning, ' It has been brought to my notice that
an honourable member1 — when Fuller burst out with
' What's the use of beating about the bush ? My
name is honest Jack Fuller, and everybody knows
it!' — he then snapped his fingers at the Speaker,
called him a little man in a great wig, and eventually
was committed to the custody of the sergeant-at-
arms." Turner knew Moore the poet, and the following
interesting proof of the painter's desire to have visited
Ireland I extract from Moore's " Journal and Cor
respondence," vol. vii. p. 77 : —
" March 1st. — Wretchedly wet day. Hard at work
in Paternoster-row, as was also Tom at his Sunday
exercise, I occasionally helping him. Dined at
Rogers's, to meet Barnes; an entirely clandestine

IRELAND. 49
dinner, none of our Whig friends in the secret; and
R. had been a good deal puzzled as to whom he should
ask to meet him. Tried Lord Lyndhurst, with whom
Barnes is intimate ; and he would have come had he
not been engaged. Could then think of none but
Turner the painter; and he, Barnes, and myself
formed the whole of the .guests  Had some
talk with Turner in the evening. Mentioned to him
my having sometimes thought of calling in the aid
of the pencil to help me in commemorating, by some
work or other, the neighbourhood in which I have
now so long resided. The recollections connected
with Bowood (where so many of the great ones of
the time have passed in review before us — Byron,
Madame de Stael, Mackintosh, &c), the ancient and
modern associations that give such a charm to La-
cock Abbey, the beauty and music of Farley Castle,
the residences of Bowles and Crabbe, the Druidical
vestiges in so many directions, — all would afford sub
jects such as might easily be rendered interesting,
while the natural beauties of this immediate neigh
bourhood, though hardly worthy, perhaps, of the
pencil of a Turner, would supply scenes of calm love
liness, to which his fancy could lend an additional
charm. All this I now put down here rather. as what
was in my mind to say to him than, as what I actu
ally did say; for he interrupted me by exclaiming,
' But Ireland, Mr. Moore^ Ireland ! there's the re
gion connected with your name I Why not illustrate
the whole life? I have often longed to go to that
country, but am, I confess, afraid to venture myself
VOL. II. E

50 WILKIE AND TURNER.
there. Under the wing of Thomas Moore, however, ¦
I should be safe  "
It was Wilkie who teased Turner about his titles,
and nicknamed him R. A. P. P. He used to say,
when Turner changed his style, " that he was getting
into, a weak and vapid tone of painting." Beaumont
called it "innovation," his clique of proteges
sneered at the daylight manner as "the white and
yellow school," and so Turner and Wilkie quarrelled.
When Wilkie, on a hanging day, hung up maliciously
a Rembrandt among the modern pictures, and said it
looked like " a hole in the wall," it must have been
to deride the Turnerians.
It was disliking Beaumont that made Turner jealous
of Wilkie. Sir John Beaumont was born in 1782,
seven years after Turner; he died 1827, the year
Turner exhibited his "Now for the Painter!" He
never understood Wilson, he patronized Wilkie, and
tried to sneer down Turner. He was a type of the
unoriginal, conventional amateur, and did great injury
to English art.
"Mr. Rogers gave Turner a commission to illustrate
his ' Pleasures of Memory ' and his ' Italy.' Turner
was so satisfied with the elegant way the works were
published that he would . only receive five guineas
a-piece for the loan of the drawings. Campbell, the
poet, desired Turner to make a set of drawings for
an edition of his works, for which Campbell's circum
stances did not allow him to pay, and he had the
honesty to confess that it would be inconvenient for
him to discharge the debt; on which Turner, with

CAMPBELL. 51
kind sympathy, told the poet to return the drawings,
which he afterwards gave to a friend."
Mr. Cyrus Redding, after mentioning Turner's
total absence of nervousness, and his undoubtiug way
of laying on his touches, gives quite a different version
of this story of Campbell, which certainly reflects
more credit on the painter than on the poet.
" Within two years of the decease of Campbell, the
poet, I met him in Cavendish-square. ' I am coming,'
he said, 'from your quondam acquaintance, Turner.
I have just played him a trick.' ' What do you mean?'
' Why,' observed Campbell,' ' I had gone to a great
expense for Turner's drawings, to be engraved for my
illustrated poems.' (Iforget thenumber he said, foreach
of which he had paid twenty-five guineas.) ' I was also
told not to mind the expense; the drawings would
sell, being Turner's, for what I had paid for them, as
soon as the engravings were finished. They could
not be disposed of at anything like the price. It was
said they were not in his best style; in short, I
thought I should be compelled to keep them. One
day 1 saw Turner, and told him what had occurred,
and that I had hoped to make something of them. I
added, in joke, that I believed I should put them up
to auction. Turner said, feeling annoyed, I suppose,
at my remark, "Don't do that; let me have them."
I sent them to him accordingly,' said the poet, ' and
he has just paid me for them.' I think Campbell said
twenty guineas each, but I am not sure of the sum,
my recollection failing me about the precise amount.
I could not help saying, ' Turner does this because he
E 2

52 THE EARL OF EGREMONT.
is tender about his reputation ; he will not have them
in the market.' Campbell had just before been cen
sured for lending his name to books written by other
people, which struck me when I made the remark.
The poet, however, was too joyous about his bargain
to apply the remark to himself. I have since thought
whether Turner did not do this with a desire to
befriend Campbell. He was just the character to do
such an act silently and bluntly."
One of Turner's oldest friends says :
"The late Earl of Egremont was much attached
to Turner, and well he deserved sincere attachment
when and where he was known. He has and had
many to disparage him. He was much used, and
much abused, because he knew not how to make use
of others, and so became the victim himself. Although
unaccomplished in manners, he was as sound in heart
and as good as any man that I have known or know."
The son of Turner's oldest friend, Mr. Fawkes, of
Farnley, says:
"When Turner was so much here in my father's
lifetime, I was but a boy, and not of an age to
appreciate or interest myself in the workings of his
mind or pencil; my recollection of him in those
days refers to the fun, frolic, and shooting we en
joyed together, and which, whatever may be said by
others of his temper and disposition, have proved to
me that he was in his hours of distraction from his
professional labours, as kindly-minded a man and as
capable of enjoyment and fun of all kinds as any that
I ever knew.
"Though often invited, Turner never came here

AT KNOCKHOLT. 53
after my father's death, and as I have seldom gone to
London, our meetings, since I had learnt his value,
had been few and far between ; but up to the last
time that I saw him, about a year before his death,
he was always* the same to me that I had known him
in my boyhood, always addressed me by my boy
name, and seemed ever anxious to express in his
kindness to me his attachment to my father, and still
glowing recollections of his ' auld lang syne' here."
From Mrs. Wheeler, the daughter of one of
Turner's best friends, Mr. Wells, the artist, I have
received the following interesting record of their
friendship :
" I had a life-long acquaintance with the late Mr.
Turner, my father being one of his earliest and most
esteemed friends.
"It is over sixty years since a friendship began,
which ended only at the death of Mr. Turner, who,
in very early life, was a constant and almost daily
visitor at my father's house, whom he regarded as an
able counsellor in difficulties. He usually spent three
or four evenings in every week at our fireside, and
though very much more than half a century has
elapsed, I can still vividly recal to mind my dear
father and Turner sketching or drawing by the light
of an Argand lamp, whilst my mother was plying her
needle, and I, then a young girl, used to read aloud
some useful or entertaining work. These and many
such recollections of my dear departed friend often
present themselves to my mind, and are cherished as
the dream of days long passed by. Indeed, there
was more hidden good and worth in his character

54 LIBERALITY,
than the world could imagine; he had a tender, affec
tionate heart, such as few possess. Like all great
men, his faults were largely published to the world,
and greatly exaggerated, whilst, from his very re
served disposition, his many virtues were known only
to a very few, though they clearly show forth the noble
mind of the man who devoted the whole of a long
life to one end and aim, and that the generous wish
of providing an asylum in old age for the decayed
members of his own profession. Unhappily, either
through ignorance or carelessness, or something worse,'
this noble design has been frustrated ; but surely the
man is to be honoured, who, denying himself almost
the comforts of life, could steadily devote the accu
mulated wealth of long years of toil to so noble a
purpose; and let it not be thought that Turner's
heart was closed to the many appeals to his benevo
lence which came before him. I know he gave un
grudgingly, but he was no boaster of his good deeds.
Another trait of character, which ought to be named,
is the liberality with which he viewed the works of
other artists ; if he could not speak a word of praise,
he carefully abstained from giving any opinion. I
never heard him utter a syllable in dispraise of any
artist. "Though thoroughly modest and unpretending,
yet he had a full appreciation of his own merits, and
no one so much enjoyed his exquisite pictures as he
did himself; it was a matter of real sorrow to him
to part with any favourite picture, and on more than
one occasion, when he has been looking graver than
usual, and I have asked if anything vexed him, he

THE HAVEN. 5&
has said, ' No, only I have been sending some of my
children away to-day.' "
" ' His art was his life's employment and his leisure's charm.'
" His painting-roonl was emphatically his sanctuary,
his harbour of refuge.
" In early life, my father's house was his second
home, a haven of rest from many domestic trials
too sacred to touch upon. Turner loved my father
with a son's affection; to me he was as an elder
brother. " Turner's celebrated publication, the 'Liber Studio-
rum,' entirely owes its existence to my father's per
suasion, and the drawings for the first number were
made in our cottage at Knockholt. He had for a
long time urged upon Turner the expediency of
making a selection from his own works for publica
tion, telling him that it would surely be done after
his death, and perhaps in a way that might not do
him that justice which he could ensure for himself.
After long and continued persuasion, Turner at
length gave way ; and one day, when he was staying
with us in Kent (he always spent a part of the
autumn at our cottage), he said, 'Well, Gaffer, I see
there will be no peace till I comply; so give me a
piece of paper. There, now, rule the size for me,
and tell me what I am to do.' My father said, ' Well,
divide your subject into classes — say, Pastoral, Ma
rine, Elegant Pastoral, and so forth — which was
accordingly done. The first drawings were then and
there made, and arranged for publication. This was
in the autumn of 1806. I sat by his side while

56 "iron tears."
those drawings were making; and many are the
times I have gone out sketching with him. I re
member his scrambling up a tree to obtain a better
view, and there he made a coloured sketch, I hand
ing up his colours as he wanted them; of course, at
that time I was quite a young girl. He was a firm,
affectionate friend to the end of his life; his feelings
were seldom seen on the surface, but they were deep
and enduring. No one would have imagined, under
that rather rough, and cold exterior, how very strong
were the affections which lay hidden beneath. I
have more than once seen him weep bitterly, par
ticularly at the death of my own dear father, which
took him by surprise, for he was blind to the coming
event, which he dreaded. He came immediately to
my house in an agony of grief. Sobbing like a child,
he said, 'Oh, Clara, Clara! these are iron tears. I
have lost the best friend I ever had in my life.' Oh !
what a different man would Turner have been if all
the good and kindly feelings of his great mind had
been called into action ; but they lay dormant, and
were known to so very few. He was by nature
suspicious, and no tender hand had wiped away early
prejudices, the inevitable consequence of a defective
education. Of all the light-hearted, merry creatures
I ever knew, Turner was the most so; and the
laughter and fun that abounded when he was an
inmate in our cottage was inconceivable, particularly
with the juvenile members of the family. I remem
ber one day coming in after a walk, and when the
servant opened the door the uproar was so great
that I asked the servant what was the matter. ' Oh,

GEOLOGY. 57
only the young ladies [my young sisters] playing
with the young gentleman [Turner], Ma'am.' When
I went into the sitting-room, he was seated on the
ground, and the children were winding his ridi
culously large cravat round his neck ; he said, ' See
here, Clara, what these children are about!'
" Turner met Dr. M'Culloch, the celebrated geo
logist, at our house. Turner was greatly interested
in the science of geology; Dr. M'Culloch was de
lighted with his acute mind and said, ' That man
would have been great in any and everything he
chose to take up — he has such a clear, intelligent,
piercing intellect.' I have often heard Turner say
that if he could begin life again he would rather
be an architect than a painter."
And here at the end of this chapter, though some
what irrelevant, I cannot refrain from inserting some
valuable reminiscences of Turner's early and later
contemporaries, kindly furnished me by his old
friend, Mr. Trimmer: —
" Thomas Gainsborough was a native of Sudbury,
Suffolk ; his father was a tailor. Gainsborough, as a
child, went to the Sudbury Free School, where he
distinguished himself by making ink-drawings on the
desks instead of writing his copies. This I had from
Mr. Briggs.
" Joshua Kirby, my father's grandfather, was one
of Gainsborough's earliest friends, and, as is well
known, Gainsborough's last request was to be laid
beside his old friend Kirby in Kew Churchyard.
Kirby was an architect, who was acquainted with
the artistsof the day; and on their forming them-

58 WATERLOO.
selves into a Society of British Artists, he was elected
by them as president, and it was by his instrumen
tality that the Royal Academy was formed, under
the auspices of George III., whom he had the honour
of instructing in drawing and perspective.
" Kirby, who was a Suffolk man, first became
acquainted with Gainsborough at Ipswich, whither
he had removed from Sudbury, as a place better
adapted for his profession ; and it was at his urgent
persuasions that Gainsborough left his native county
and went up to London.
" As is well known, Gainsborough was liberal in
giving away his productions, and Joshua Kirby came
in for the lion's share. Besides painting his portrait
twice, and that of his wife, he gave him his first.
drawing (now in my possession), and his first sketch
in oils, sold at my father's sale, after the manner of
Waterloo, whom in his early days he much studied ;
and I have now Waterloo's etching, given by Gains
borough to Kirby. He also gave him above a hun
dred drawings in pencil and chalk, most of which I
still have; six or seven small landscapes in oil,
among which was his original or first picture of the
gipsies ; so that my family possessed the best collec
tion of his early or Suffolk productions I have seen.
There is a full-length portrait of himself reclining on a
bank, looking at a sketch on a stretching-board on which
he is engaged. It was sold at my father's sale as an
unknown figure (the catalogue having been got up
in a hurry), but was fortunately lithographed by
Lane, his nephew. Gainsborough was very person
able in his youth, and in this sketch he presents a

Gainsborough's gipsies. 59
remarkably fine figure. I have now a sketch of him
self and his wife on a small piece of paper before
they were married. She was very pretty. They
are both strong likenesses, as I was told by a sister
of my father's who knew them.
, "I have also a crayon painting (a head) of Gains
borough by himself, apparently about twenty years
of age. He has on a dingy yellow coat, black neck-
handkerchief, and small collar; his hair dark -brown,
eyes brown, and under lip full, as in a portrait I
once saw of his daughter. The features are deli
cately chiselled, and his complexion delicate; the
forehead by no means highly developed ; but in the
two others, which are profile, his Roman nose shows.
a face full of intelligence. There are, I believe, no
other portraits of Gainsborough in his best days ; the
one he is known by is that of a faded middle-aged
man. " There is a celebrated engraving, by Wood, of
Gainsborough's gipsies; the etching, which is by
Gainsborough, I have. It is first-rate : I merely
mention this because he has been said to have
failed in his etchings, which is not untrue as regards
a few late aquatints. He had a commission from a
gentleman near Ipswich to paint a group of gipsies-
When about two-thirds of it were finished — for
Gainsborough in his early works, owing to his great
execution, finished as he went on — he came to see
it, and was not pleased with it ; he said he did not
like it. Then, said Gainsborough, ' You shall not
have it;' and taking up his penknife he drew it
directly across it. In this state Joshua Kirby begged

60 THE BROWN STUDY.
it, my father had it mended, and it was sold.
at his death. It was a terrific gash, and Gains
borough must have been in a flaming passion when
he did it. After this, he painted for the same per
son the picture from which the engraving is taken,
but I never could hear of this picture in Suffolk,
though I have had good opportunities for inquiry.
"I have heard my father's sister say, who knew
him when she was young, that he was an odd, droll
man, excessively fond of music, and that he played
on the violoncello; in fact, there is no doubt of his
understanding music, from the masterly way in which
his figures hold their instruments, as Turner's figures
do the fishing-rod.
" Gainsborough painted an oil picture of Joshua
Kirby, which, seeing long afterwards at his daughter's,
Mrs. Trimmer, he said, ' Ah, there is old Kirby in
one of his brown studies.' There was also a painting
by Kirby hanging near, almost the only one he ever
did, on which Gainsborough remarked, 'He would
have made a good painter if he had gone on with it.'
" As I have said, he gave Joshua Kirby eight
landscapes in oil, most admirable specimens. Thirty
years ago, Emerson, the picture-dealer, offered my
father fifty guineas a-piece for them, and pronounced
them unique. These Turner, as I have said under
Turner, examined so carefully one evening, that the
next morning he said he had hurt his eyes; and
Constable used to say it made him cry to look at
them, and that no one at the present day (twenty
years ago) could approach him. These were sold at

SUFFOLK. 61
my father's sale for a mere song, though inferior
pictures made large sums.
" As my mother came close from Sudbury, in my
youth I knew Gainsborough's sketching grounds
well. Thirty years ago, before the oaks were cut
down, and the thatched cottages done away with,
every step one took reminded one of Gainsborough,
not the least the slim-formed, though rustic figures;
and my relative, Captain Syce, an admirer of Gains
borough, has told me that the village churches around
are those introduced in Gainsborough's early pictures.
" I have dwelt on his early works, since picture-
dealers, because his figure-subjects are more saleable,
always decry them, and say he never painted a picture
fit to be seen till he left Suffolk — men who, place them
in the green fields, cannot tell one tree from another.
It is true his early works are less artificial and less
academical, but they are far truer to nature, to
elevated nature. His early pictures exhibit a remark
able variety of form in his trees; his oaks are
inimitable; latterly, all his trees assumed one form;
for he mistook system for nature.
" Joshua Kirby's son was brought up a painter and
died at Rome. He was some time with Gainsborough,
but did not, I have been told, like him as an instructor.
He had often disputes with his brother artists ; but
.artists are proverbially quarrelsome.
" When I was a boy, I remember Miss Gainsborough,
his daughter, who had a house at Acton. He had
also another daughter, who was deranged; another
instance that genius often passes into mental aberra-

62 BRIGGS.
tion. I think, too, Mrs. Lane, mother of Lane the
engraver, was another daughter. Both the Miss
Gainsboroughs were remarkably handsome, and when
young were constantly introduced by him into his
pictures. There is a fine cattle-piece painted for
Child, of Osterly House, now at Middleton, Lord
Jersey's place ; in this one of the Miss Gainsboroughs
is introduced. At Acton, opposite Miss Gainsborough,
lived a Mr. Briggs, a young amateur artist, to whom
Miss Gainsborough was very partial, and left all her
father's pictures and sketches. Among these was a
charming portrait of Miss Gainsborough, which, as I
have said, so far as I recollect, strongly resembles
my crayon of Gainsborough about the lips. Miss
Gainsborough was accustomed to sit in her father's
painting-room; she said his colours were very liquid,
and if he did not hold the palette right would run
over. "There were several admirable landscapes and studies
from nature among Mr. Briggs' ; a very clever study
of sheep, equal to a professed animal-painter; but the
masterpiece was some cows, which were lithographed
by Lane, and called by him ' Repose,' a warm, glowing
picture ; still one would hardly have expected a coun
tryman to have made cows reclining of an evening,
when they feed, unless he looked upon it as an artis-
tical licence. This (like Turner's 'Carthage') was
one of Gainsborough's favourite pictures, and not to
be tempted to part with it, he had it hung in a dark
passage, where it remained for many years. It under
went sundry glazings, and was a long time in hand.
If I remember, Mr. Briggs told me it had a wash of

THE BLUE BOY. 63
tobacco-water. The picture was subsequently cleaned
by Cobbett, and it came out blue ; Cobbett told me
the yellow coating was merely the varnish turned,
but after this it was valueless in Mr. Briggs' eyes,
and he sold it. I remember this from the circum
stance of my father having recommended Cobbett to
Mr. Briggs.*
" Many years ago resided at Heston a Mr. Nes
bitt, a person of substance, in his younger days a
companion of George, Prince of Wales. He once
possessed Gainsborough's 'Blue Boy,' and in the follow
ing way. He was dining with the Prince of Wales ;
' Nesbitt,' said the Prince, 'that picture shall be yours.'
At first he thought he was joking, but finding he was
decidedly serious, Nesbitt, who was an old beau of
the very first water, made all suitable acknowledgment
for his Royal Highness's generosity, and next morning
the ' Blue Boy ' arrived, followed in due time by a
bill of 300/., which he had the satisfaction of paying.
I heard him many years ago tell the story at my
father's table.
" Gainsborough's Palette. — This I had from Mr.
Briggs, but have lost it ; still, as I have copied several
Gainsboroughs, I think I can furnish you with it. Yel
lows : yellow ochre, Naples yellow, yellow lake, and
for his high lights (but very seldom) some brighter
yellow, probably some preparation of orpiment, raw
sienna. Reds : vermilion, light red Venetian, and the
lakes. Browns : burnt sienna, cologne earth (this he
* " From Acton Mr. Briggs removed to Cheltenham, where he
was living some ten years ago; he must know more Of Gains
borough than any person else."

154 CREMONA WHITE.
used very freely, and brown pink the same). He used
a great deal of terra verte, which he mixed with his
blues, generally with ultramarine. His skies are
ultramarine. In his early pictures I could never
trace other colours. Latterly he used cremona
white ; this he purchased of Scott in the Strand, who
on retiring from business gave me what remained.
It was the purest white I ever used, and accounts for
the purity of his carnations. His early pictures are
painted on oil non-absorbent grounds of a yellow
tint, and in the greys of the sky he availed himself of
the yellow of the ground. His later pictures are on
absorbent grounds Of a dark chocolate colour. In the
leafing of his trees he employed gold size ; also sugar
of lead, as I have detected by a magnifier, both late
and early. In his early pictures he used wax. The
application of the iron, though not hotter than usual,
to a picture my father had lined, destroyed all the
foliage. Turner tried wax, but, if it facilitates the
working, it turns yellow, and is highly objectionable.
" From what I have said of Gainsborough,, you
will perceive that I rank him with the non-terres
trials. ' 0 deus certe.'
" I place the English school thus — Gainsborough,
Wilson, Turner, Keynolds,* and then ten abreast at
random. " I place Gainsborough first because of his great
* " I exclude Hogarth by reason of the nature of his subjects;
his end is the comic, not the beautiful. In his department he
stands alone, and foreign schools have nothing to compete with
him. T know of no English painter who has so completely the
command of his colours, and the texture of his pictures is unri
valled."

THE INIMITABLE.

originality. No one can copy him with success, and
his genuine pictures pronounce themselves unmis-
takeably. It is a mark of the genius of Turner,
Wilson, and Reynolds, that they have left their
impress on the art subsequently. They have not
only had herds of imitators, but painters have not
been able to paint from nature without introducing
their feeling into their works ; yet, although it may
seem paradoxical, it is perhaps even a greater mark
of Gainsborough's powers that so little of him is seen
in other paintings. This has arisen from his fine
execution and exquisite delicacy of sentiment. As in
rifle-shooting the first sight is the most correct, so
Gainsborough's first outline admitted of no improve
ment, and this is probably the reason that his draw
ings are considered even superior to his paintings.
How rare the talent to select from nature her choicest
forms, and embody them with all the certainty of
instinct !
" In the estimation of Gainsborough's powers, the
striking exactitude of his likenesses is not to be over-
looked. There are portraits of his three generations
back, family features of which are still seen in their
descendants. It is painful to see the clumsiness and
incorrectness of outline in Reynolds, and the tameness
of Lawrence, when placed by the side of a Gains
borough. Whether he painted childhood, youth,
adolescence, or age, male or female, a nobleman or a
ploughboy, a rustic girl or a courtly dame, humanity
became elevated under his plastic fingers. Gains
borough has also restricted himself to home subjects,
which is another of his excellences. I believe it to be
VOL. II. E

66 SKETCHY.
no less impossible to paint foreign subjects than it is
to speak a foreign language well without having been
familiarized to it from childhood. How do Dutch
painters handle Italian subjects, or French carica
turists English ones — John Bull, for instance? They
are themselves pleased, while to English eyes it is
merely a burly Frenchman. I never heard of an
Italian recognising Turner's Italian subjects, or a
German his German ones ; and his crossing the
Channel is, in my opinion, the date of his decline;
and although it has been objected to Gainsborough
that he never had the advantage of going abroad, it
is, I believe, this very circumstance which makes him
our great English painter.
" The texture of his pictures has been objected to.
There is said to be a washiness and want of solidity
in them not desirable to imitate. This may be
true as regards imitation; but with Gainsborough's
masterly execution, the thinness and docility of his
vehicle is no small part of its merit. Had he
painted in a fat unyielding material, the delicacy and
playfulness of his pencil would have been lost, though
it must be owned that unsuccessful attempts to
obtain a good vehicle mark his period. He is also
charged with mannerism; but this is only true of his
later productions, where for the wild beauty and
untrammelled variety of nature, as seen in his early
works, he seems to have fallen into Hogarth's line of
beauty and other fallacies, of the day. In some of
his later portraits he has followed Vandyke, where
he would have done better to have relied upon
himself.

MISS LINLEY. 67
" As I have said, Turner did not believe that
colour was reducible to system; and Gainsborough,
when painting his ' Blue Boy,' seems to have been of
the same opinion. I think it was the remark of
Mr. Field, when we were looking at that celebrated
picture, that Gainsborough's eye was truer than his
head, since against his theory he had introduced a
sufficiency of warm colours into the flesh tints to
balance the predominating cold of the picture ; and
this reminds me of a dictum of Gainsborough I had
forgotten. Joshua Kirby was strong in perspective,
of which Gainsborough made very light, and used to
say in his joking way that the eye was the only per
spective master needed by a landscape painter.
" No one is perfect ; yet whatever his defects, I place
Gainsborough at the head of our English painters,
and he must be an able hand who gets beyond him.
Three cheers for Gainsborough.
"Among the Gainsborough relics, bequeathed by
his daughter to Mr. Briggs, besides a model of an
old horse, was the bust of Mrs. Sheridan, the charm
ing Miss Linley. It is considered a masterpiece
equal to his paintings, as showing his versatility of
talent. Of this my father had a cast from Mr.
Briggs, but I think it is before the public — quite
small. Mr. Briggs was a friend of the Wards.
There are also relations of Gainsborough's residing at
Sudbury, one of whom has recently published his
Life, who wrote to my father for any information he
could supply; but my father was then breaking up.
Some of the Gainsborough Du Ponts, of Sudbury,
have some pictures of his."
e2

68 THE GEORGE IV. GENTLEMAN.

"SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE.
" Lawrence had the reputation among his friends
of being ' the finished gentleman,' which in the
George IV. period consisted in certain conventiona
lities one could scarcely practise now without being
remarkable. This was outreed in successful profes
sionals, as Halford, Astley Cooper, &c. ; in fact, it was
thought to chalk out the line between the base and
the noble, and its absence precluded all access to the
higher castes. We are apt to confound it with syco
phancy, but in Lawrence it was considered among his
enviable qualities; and that pliant manner was per
haps in some degree natural to him.
" Up to the day of his death Lawrence enjoyed un
bounded popularity, but the moment he dropped, his
works sunk and he seemed forgotten. If he was over
rated during his life, he has certainly been under
prized since. As President, by his brother artists he
was much esteemed, and was as much flattered by
them as by the public. It was greatly to his credit
that he did not paint for gain, but reputation; he
parted with his money faster than he could make it.
He Avas devoted to the advancement of the fine arts,
and laid out large sums in collecting Rembrandt's
etchings, for many of which he gave, or perhaps un
dertook to give, greatly more than their value. I
have heard that he was much in debt to a printseller
in St. Martin's-lane, whose portrait he painted in con
sequence, and a most striking likeness it was; I

CRAYON SKETCHES. 69
doubt if Lawrence had painted a head so far removed
from Royalty for many a year.
" He was very liberal in showing his etchings, and
my father once passed a whole day in looking them
over with some artists. This was before we had a
National Collection. Neither was there any diffi
culty in seeing his rooms, which were well worth the
inspection. There were pictures in all stages of pro
gress and of all dates, canvas behind canvas, some
merely the first sitting, merely the first coat on the
features, laid in with the greatest care and delicacy,
the rest in chalk or oil outline. I have been told by
Howard (who is good authority) that he always made
a crayon drawing of the sitter, from which he did his
oil, but if this had been the case the drawings would
now be in existence. At first, there is no doubt he
was a crayon painter, and hypercritics, as they have
pronounced Turner's oils large water-colours, have
called Lawrence's oils large crayons, the old chalky
manner still adhering. At Etwall Hall, Staffordshire,
are two of his early crayons in small; they are
well-finished, but he had not at that time mastered
the ear.
"In" his painting-room was head after head painted
years before, lovely angelical faces which had long
cruelly left their owners. I was pointed out a lady's
portrait done some twenty years before, a charming
faultless face, who most decidedly at that later time
could have given no inspirations for a second sitting.
So fleeting are our complexions, though happily we
are not aware of it ! As is customary, all these first

70 LIKE CANNING.
sittings were half paid for; it was said Sir Thomas
would gladly give one a first sitting, and then came
the hitch. But this, I believe, was not correct. There
was a rush of pretty faces, and of others as well, and
poor Sir Thomas was fairly beset ; it was impossible
he could meet so many claimants.
" There is a celebrated print of young Lambton (I
think) sitting on a rock, engraved by Lane, which at
the time made a great sensation. His father presented
himself at Sir Thomas Lawrence's and wished him to
paint his son. Lawrence flatly refused ; it was out of
the question — he was inexorable. ' If you saw my
child I think you would relent.' Lawrence was so
struck with the child's beauty that he yielded.
Lawrence was so pressed that unless for high rank or
great beauty or celebrity, he would execute no com
missions. I doubt if ever any painter in this country,
unless it were Vandyke, had such a run as Lawrence.
His full-lengths, first of Lady Agar Ellis (late Lady
Dover), and that of her sister, Lady Gower (Duchess
of Sutherland), 'carried his popularity to the height.
People who cared nothing about painting flocked to
the exhibition to see his pretty women, and Lawrence
was on everybody's lips; while all the charming
daughters of the aristocracy, which in those days made
up humanity, strictly so-called, praised him, not to
mention the homage of his brother artists. If Law
rence under these circumstances found his head whirl,
whose was the fault, his or theirs? Certainly he was
vain, as we should have been, and one of his vain fan
cies was to paint his own portrait as near like that of

field's madders. 71
Canning as the original would admit of. He was said
to be like Canning; Napoleon, Wellington, Canning,
Lawrence, and others not worth naming, were all said
to be born at the same batch — the year I have
forgotten. " Henry Howard, Secretary to the Royal Academy,
was an unbounded admirer of Lawrence, and be
longed, I was told, to what were called the Lawrence
party in the Academy. Frank Howard, his son, was
one of his pupils. Lawrence said to him, ' I shall
teach you till you beat me.' Howard once showed
some of my sketches (landscape) to Lawrence, who
very kindly promised to assist me with his advice, if
I followed the profession.
" They used to say that he made ten guineas a-day.
He worked slowly, everything neat and exact, with
the absence of all dash. He finished feature by
feature, and would work a whole day on an eye. He
had a great many pupils, who made duplicates of his
pictures. I once saw a duplicate, a head of the Duke
of York, done by Frank Howard, and after his father
had worked over it, it looked very like Lawrence;
Howard, however, told me that Lawrence would go
completely over it, which would . make a great altera
tion in it for the better.
" He was choice in his pigments, and had his madders
from Field,* which he used freely. A preparation, I
* Field resided at Little Lyon House, Isleworth, and supported
himself by his pen. He also devoted his talents to pigments, and
his madders were then unrivalled. He was well known by the
leading artists.

72 . CREAM COLOUR.
think of mercury, called orange vermilion, was first
prepared by Field at the desire of Sir Thomas Law
rence, who was in want of a flesh tint : with this he
was much pleased. This I had from Field.
" At one time he considered white out of harmony
with other colours, and used cream instead. There
was an exhibition of his pictures in Pall Mall after
his death, some of which exhibited this fallacy. There
was also a large picture of Satan at one end, the
largest, and perhaps the worst picture he ever
painted. "I exclude Lawrence from the great portrait
painters — Titian, Rubens, Vandyke, &c. &c. ; perhaps
in genius he was inferior to his contemporary Jackson.
He had no difficulty in carrying out his conceptions,
but then they were not first-rate. A tameness and
want of spirit pervade his works. Still Lawrence is
but a face-painter. There is an absence of vulgarity
and coarseness, and his likenesses are photogra
phically exact. But for Reynolds and Gainsborough,
we might feel nationally proud of him. In private
life, he fell a victim to the extravagance of the times,
and sunk under pecuniary embarrassment.
" I sat down with the intention of giving a couple
of anecdotes of Lawrence and George the Fourth,
which I thought worth preserving.
" The first has reference to the time when a gold
chain was placed by the sovereign on Lawrence's
neck, I conclude at the inauguration to the Presi
dency. Quoth the monarch, ' I give this chain to
you and yours,' &c. (I forget the exact terms).

THE KING IN A PET. 73
' Sire,' said Lawrence, ' does your Majesty mean my
family or my successors?' 'Your successors,' said
the king. The king turned red; and when it came
to the unrobing, he broke out as follows : ' Damn the
fellow, what does he mean? Damn his family, what
do I care for his family ? '
" I think it was before this that he had given
offence. Lawrence had brought his portfolio for
Royal inspection, and among his drawings was one of
Napoleon's son, the young Due de Reichstadt, who
is said to have been poisoned. Lawrence had taken
it from life, I think in Germany.
" ' Lawrence,' said the king, ' I must have this.'
Lawrence bowed low in acquiescence. ' If your Majesty
will permit me, as it is not quite finished, I will
return with it in the morning.' The fact was, Law
rence had no inclination to part with it, and on get
ting home, began a copy. This he carried to the
king the next day. ' It is not the same,' said the
king, in a passion; and setting his nails into it as if
he had been a cat, drew them deeply across the face.
After this, Lawrence was in disgrace.
" These two anecdotes I had from Lane, nephew
to Gainsborough; the last he had from Lawrence
himself, who showed him the scratches. Frank
Howard, who was a pupil of his, is a person of
talent and observation; his brother, Henry Howard,
is, if living, a solicitor at Oxford."

74 FLAXMAN.
"ENGLEHART, THE MINIATURE AND ENAMEL
PAINTER.
" I remember him at Bedfont, Middlesex, when I
used to be curate there : he was a celebrated man.
I have heard him speak on his calling, but it was a
branch of it in which I took little interest. His
family had many of his works. He made a large
fortune.

" Flaxman was acquainted with my father's family,
and my father, as a boy, always received great kind
ness from him as being fond of the arts. Flaxman
wished him to be a sculptor, and offered to teach
him modelling, but taught him drawing instead.
Flaxman had done a number of anatomical studies
in red chalk. They were from life, and the finest I
have seen. These he lent my father. I rather think
they have been published of late years.
" Flaxman had two sisters, who, like himself, were
most ordinary figures, not to say deformed. How
often a beautiful mind takes its lodgment in such a
description of body! What other Englishman, or
rather what modern, possessed so fine a feeling of the
antique? His illustrations of the Greek tragedians
display a variety of design which is wanting even
among the Greeks. These were drawn by him of an
evening with a crowquill in Indian ink, generally one
of ari evening, his sisters sitting as models. One of
his sisters, who told my mother this, threw out her

HOWARD. 75
long distorted arms in the way she had sat for these
rare conceptions of modernized Greek. It seemed
quite laughable to my mother that anything so mis
shapen could supply a hint for such charming crea
tions. But no doubt there are ' sermons in stones.'
" My father always spoke of Flaxman as an esti
mable person. From his brother-artists I have heard
that he was partial and an oppositionist.

" Zoffany lived at Chiswick, and as my father lived
at Kew, they were friends — that is, my father as a
boy was often at Zoffany's. But all I remember to
have heard my father say, who was constantly in
his painting-room, was that he had a good method of
laying on his colours. He used his brush as if he
were shading with a pencil, thus showing the draw
ing in his pictures ; but this probably was the Ger
man method.
" I rather think Miss Zoffany married Dr. Hern;
some of the Hern family, a few years ago, were still
residing at Chiswick; like Fuseli and West, he is
hardly to be claimed as an English celebrity.
" HENRY HOWARD.
" Henry Howard, R.A., 5, Newman-street, Secre
tary to the R.A., was the same age as Turner. His
father was, I think, an heraldic painter, which accounts
for his great neatness. He gained the prize at the R.A.
for drawing, and was told, on being presented with it
by the President, Sir Joshua Reynolds, that it was

76 THE CLASSICAL.
the best design that had received the award of the
Academy. This eulogium, I have no doubt, was
just. His early sketch-books and academical studies
show a perfect command of the human figure, and
great promise.
" Howard was sent by the Academy to study at
Rome, where he remained several years. Here he
made great progress, and his outlines from the an
tique are admirable. He also made copies in oil
from the old masters, and also oil sketches from
nature in the environs of Rome, full of taste and
talent. " On his return from Rome, he copied some pic
tures at Chiswick House, where my father made his
acquaintance, which continued through life. At this
time he had a most severe illness (tape-worm), and
he was given over.
" He married a daughter of old Reinagle's, a most
amiable person. They had a large family, and lived
happy and united. He died at an advanced age
from paralysis, occasioned, it was supposed, by the
absorption of white lead into his system while paint
ing a cartoon for the House of Lords.
" Howard was an ardent admirer of the antique,
and believed that all excellency came from Greek
statuary. He was very well read in heathen mytho
logy, and his early pictures on his return from Italy
have a fine classical feeling. His genius lay in float
ing female figures and fairy scenes. He also painted
subjects from early Greek and Roman history.
" It appears to me that to paint classical subjects
one should have that race of humanity for models.

BAD MODELS. 77
And certainly this view is borne out by Howard,
whose classical feeling declined from the time of his
leaving Rome, and partook more and more of the
Saxon or home type among whom he lived.
" His first sketches for his pictures, which he made
small in oils, are always his best, and are, in my judg
ment, the finest mythological subjects I have seen by
an English hand, not excepting Etty. I do not sup
pose, however, that had he carried out his style to
his utmost wish, his pictures would have been sale
able, being incompatible with public taste ; and having
to earn a livelihood, he fell back on portraiture, in
which he was not so happy. His heads are always
in good drawing, in which respect he stood next Law
rence; and his method of painting was safe and
durable, he being averse to all experiments; but still
his portraits are not attractive, and his colouring is
dull, and too brown.
" Not holding the first position, he laboured under
the great disadvantage of having ordinary models. I
have heard him bitterly complain of this. He had
to paint vulgar people with disgusting features, before
which the genius of a Gainsborough must have quailed.
But when he obtained a pretty sitter, his pictures
were admired. He often exhibited pictures of two of
his daughters in fancy costume, that always sold.
When a child, I remember being painted by him
myself, running barefoot between two country girls in
a shower of rain. This was purchased by some noble
man. But his heart was in ' fairy land,' and some
of his scenes, especially his early ones, if not first-
rate, possess great merit.

78 CONSTABLE.
"His pictures stand well; they were painted in
macgilp (he made it himself by pouring oil on
litharge), and look brighter now than the pictures
which eclipsed them in Somerset House. He was a
better draftsman than a colorist, and like Constable, was
fond of altering. He never knew when to stop, and
made bad figures wooden and spiritless by working on
them too long. When one is unpopular, one gets out
of heart and loses confidence in oneself.
" It is pleasing to think how many painters of that
time, careless of gain, devoted their talents to their
profession, and strove to improve public taste.
Howard was one of these; he was a most amiable
person, bore an unblemished character, and served
the office of Secretary to the Royal Academy with
much credit and ability. One wishes he had been
more successful. " JOHN CONSTABLE, R.A.
" It is said you may tell a man by his paintings as
you may by his handwriting. I knew Constable's
paintings long before I knew Constable, and formed
a very wrong estimate of his character. His paint
ings give one the idea of a positive, conceited person,
whereas anyone more diffident of his own powers could
not be. Once, not long before his death, when I was
with him on Heston steeple, he scratched on the leads
those well-known lines of John Milton where he de
scribes Fame as the last infirmity of noble minds,
and introduces the Fury with her abhorred shears.
Constable could not have described his own character
better.

MORAL SENTIMENT. 79
" From his first start in life he was always making
some great preparation to render himself worthy of
notice : a point from which in his own eyes he seemed
always receding. He seemed to think his works
would never live : and very few of his brother artists
either. He certainly underrated himself. Land
scape painters are never popular, and had he carried
his own style as far as he was desirous, it is doubtful
if he had found more admirers.
" It was one of the dicta of that time, that in pro
portion as you individualized, you lost in general
effect. Constable's great aim was breadth, tone, and
moral sentiment. I suppose he meant by moral
sentiment that a good picture is calculated to produce
a humanizing effect. It is probable that to these
ideas he sacrificed detail and correct drawing.
" It was Constable's persuasion that you should
always work in one material: if a water-colour
painter, that you should take Nature in water-colour ;
if an oil-painter, in oil. Not that he rigidly carried
out his own views, as he always had a small sketch
book with him in which he noted down anything
that struck him ; but his sketching, both in water-
colour and pencil, was very inferior to his oils.
" When a young man in Essex, he did a number
of oil sketches, which have much of the fine feeling
of Gainsborough, of whom he was an enthusiastic
admirer, and at that time an imitator. Later he
aimed exclusively at originality. There were a great
number of oil sketches sold at his sale, done on the
principle that there is no outline in nature. They
are full of truth and genius, and possess more variety

80 GREEN PICTURES.
than his pictures. That such productions did not
find admirers was not the fault of the artist; but
they required to be seen not simply by the eye, but
by the mind.
" His great aim, as I have said, was originality, and
to take something fresh from nature; he was of
opinion that young artists greatly impaired their
original powers by copying from prints instead of
nature. It is not easy — perhaps it is impossible — to
divest oneself of surrounding influences, and all
painting, like all writing, seems stamped with the
impression of its own times. It is not to be denied
that Constable was an original painter, but he would
take objects, as vistas of trees, in ordinary points of
view, which proved less unlike others than he was
apt to imagine.
" He considered spring and midsummer as the
stirring times for the landscape painter, and not
autumn. In his opinion an old tree, half decayed
and almost leafless, presented no fitter subject to the
painter than an emaciated old man. The idea of
taking nature in its full blood is strongly urged by
Laresse, yet surely nature has a charm under every
point of view. If fine old oak scenery is not the
picturesque, it seems hopeless to seek it. Still
Constable was the first, I believe, in this country
who ceased to paint grass yellow ochre, although it
appears to me that we are now in the other extreme.
For by the non-employment of yellow, green pictures
show a want of sunlight, and allowance is not made for
the yellow of the frame, especially at the edge of the
picture; still Constable is entitled to great praise for

MIDSUMMER GREEN. 81
having brought the art back to a truer standard.
Green is the colour for trees, and the midsummer
shoot gives the green in its greatest variety.
"It has been well said of photography that it
strikes nature dead. Constable's great aim was to
give freshness and motion. I have seen him lying at
the foot of a tree watching the motion of the leaves,
and pointing out its beauty. He would also stand
gazing at the bottom of a ditch, and declare he could
see the finest subjects for painting.
" By the French he has always been considered our
best landscape-painter, and he was much admired by
Louis Pliilippe, who purchased one of his best pic
tures — a waggon and three horses passing a brook,
of which Constable used to tell as follows : ' That's a
good picture, sir,' said the old attendant at Somerset
House — ' so natural, all the frost on the trees.' It
was a midsummer. People always mistook his dog-
days for Christmas. Fuseli used to say, ' Where is
my great-coat? I am going to see Mr. Constable's
pictures.' As L have heard Constable say, Do away
with this crispness, and all the merit of my painting
is destroyed. " His great object was to obtain the glitter and
sparkle of nature after a shower; and for this pur
pose, passing by the oak and elm, our two first trees,
he took the white poplar and the ash — the one for
the leaf, the other for the bark. This I had from
himself, and it is a key to his pictures. A French
paysagiste once came from Paris to request him to
show him his method of painting. Constable said he
should have been most happy to meet his wishes, but
VOL. II. G

82 OLD SARUM.
that unfortunately he had no method, and got his
pictures up he did not know how. This I had from
Mr. Field, who was present. Yet certainly a method
he had, and very unlike other people, which was to
dead colour in white and black, or vermilion and
Prussian blue. He used the spatula freely, and the
vehicle he employed enabled him to plaster. This
was copal varnish and linseed oil diluted in turpen
tine. He made a sketch of equal size with his pic
ture, and some of these sketches are more spirited than
his pictures from them. His fault was working too
much, and like many another not appreciated by the
public, mistaking alteration for improvement.
" He had his colours from Field, who was cele
brated for his madders, which he used freely, as well
as ultramarine. The madder and blue form a
purple, and his clouds are purple instead of grey;
but time may improve them in this respect. In his
early pictures, where I consider he is true to nature
as regards colour, he employed vermilion and light red.
" When at work he was life and soul in his subject,
and the last time I saw him he told me he once put
on his great-coat, and sallied forth in a snow-storm
to Hampstead Heath to sketch an ash for some
picture he was about.
" He was acquainted with Archdeacon Fisher, and
painted for him Salisbury Cathedral, and several views
in that neighbourhood. I have stood on the exact spot
from which he took the cathedral, which is very like,
though not sufficiently confined for his style of paint
ing. Old Sarum, too, is among his most interesting
productions.

constable's plates. 83
"I knew David Lucas, the engraver, well; he was
almost exclusively engraver to Constable; at least,
Constable was always out of temper if he took a plate
from elsewhere. While Constable lived this was well
enough, but at his death Lucas had to make fresh
connexions. " Always soaring to the unattainable, Constable
was never satisfied with the plates; and having once
kept Lucas at alterations on a large plate, I think,
Salisbury Cathedral, he said at last, ' Lucas, I only
wish you could bring it to the state it was nine
months ago.'
" Of the plates by Lucas, two small ones are the
best, and of these one of the most successful is
' Clearing up of a Storm.' Though admirable chiaro
scuro, in which he excelled, they are all on too
dark a scale; but this was much against the better
judgment of the engraver. He did one etching, of
which I have an impression, but in his work there
is a want of lightness of touch, and it is simply a
curiosity. " It must be conceded that these plates, though
somewhat dull, are most original, and must always
stand high in the estimation of the lovers of English
landscape. Constable lost a large sum by them. I
doubt if he ever supported himself by his profession ;
but he painted simply for fame, and not for remu
neration. He has left some half-finished lectures on
landscape-painting, but they contain little new matter,
and do not exceed mediocrity.
" Constable was born at East Bergholt, Essex, and,
like Rembrandt, was the son of a miller, but in easy
g2

84 REYNOLDS.
circumstances. He was highly respectable, and a
most agreeable person, by far the most agreeable
artist I ever knew. He had a great flow of words,
and was well informed. He was devotedly attached
to his wife, who married him, I have heard, against
her father's approval. She died of consumption,
which threw a gloom over Constable's after-life, from
which he never rallied. He died suddenly, much
respected by all who knew him. In height he was
above the average; dark hair and eyes, and pleasing
expression; Roman nose. His likeness was taken
after death by his friend, Mr. Leslie ; it is not unlike,
but there is a death expression about it which makes
it unpleasing. As I write, June 10th, 1861, John
Constable stands next to Gainsborough as a painter
of English landscape. Whoever passes him will paint
well indeed. " SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
" I knew a Devonshire lady, years ago, who knew
Sir Joshua. I said, ' He must have been a very in
teresting person.' She seemed to differ; she said his
deafness made him unfit for society ; and she seemed
to describe him as a bore."
One of Turner's oldest and dearest friends was
— Fawkes, Esq., of Farnley Hall, near Otley, in
Yorkshire. With this kind and hospitable squire
Turner became acquainted about 1802, on one of his
early topographical tours in Yorkshire, either to visit
Richmond for Whittaker, or to sketch for Lord Hare-
wood, who lives not far from Farnley.
Some ten thousand pounds' worth of his water-
colour drawings and oil-pictures still adorn the walls

FARNLEY HALL. 85
of the house ; in the drawing-room, shining yet like
a sun, is the great picture of " Dort," while on the
surrounding walls are the " Red Cap," " Rembrandt's
Daughter," a most poetical figure-picture, and an oil-
painting representing the Victory, with the body of
Nelson, on board, in three positions, as she was seen
approaching Portsmouth.
Farnley Hall looks down on the Wharfe, the river
that flows beneath the walls of Bolton Abbey, one of
Turner's favourite scenes. Those rounded scaurs
that he all his life delighted in, and to some semblance
of which he even moulded the eternal Alps, stretch
in a misty and sun-barred line opposite the peacock-
guarded terraces of the fine old Carolan hall.
At Farnley he delighted to be; there he shot
and fished, and was as merry and playful as a child.
There is still extant an exquisite water-colour drawing
by him of a grouse that he himself shot and then im
mortalized. There is also a drawing by him of Mr.
Fawkes' tent on the moors, some six miles off; the
servant is drawing corks, and the luncheon is being
prepared. It was on one of these occasions that,
returning from shooting, nothing would satisfy Tur
ner but driving the present Mr. Fawkes home a
rough way, partly through fields, and in a tandem.
Need I say that this precarious vehicle was soor.
capsized, amid shouts of good-humoured laughter?
and henceforward, for that reason, Turner was known at
Farnley by the nickname of " Over-Turner." A cari
cature of him by Mr. Fawkes still exists at Farnley.
It is thought by old friends very like. It shows us a
little Jewish-nosed man in an ill-cut brown tail-coat,

86 WAFERS.
striped waistcoat,, and enormous frilled shirt; his feet
and hands are notably small. He sketches on a small
piece of paper held down almost level with his
waist. The Farnley portfolios abound with his sketches of
the house and estate, all rapidly but beautifully
wrought; some are rough, some are chef-d 'oeuvres,
particularly a brook-side with wood-flowers, and a
water-scene. He drew the oak-panelled study and
the white drawing-room, the Cromwell relics, and the
staircase; the porches (one designed by himself), and
the conservatory: the latter a beautiful fairy -like
drawing of a greenhouse studded with grapes, hung
with gay Chinese lanterns, crossed with errant sun-:
beams, and wonderfully elaborate in execution.
The Farnley collection also includes a matchless
series of drawings, forming a complete Rhenish tour.
There are, I think, fifty-three ; they were done at the
prodigious rate of three a day, and are miracles of
skill, genius, and industry.
On his return from this particular tour, Turner
landed at Hull, and came straight to Farnley. Before
he had even taken off his great-coat he produced
these drawings, rolled up slovenly and anyhow, from
his breast-pocket. Mr. Fawkes, for some 500/., bought
them all, much, I have no doubt, to Turner's delight,
for he could not bear that any series of his should be
broken. He then said that Mr. Fawkes should have no
expense in mounting them, and he stuck them rudely
on cardboard with wafers, to the infinite detriment of
the drawings, as it was found when they came to be
re-mounted.

THE YORKSHIRE STORM. 87
These Rhenish drawings are most exquisite for sad
tenderness, for purity, twilight poetry, truth, and per
fection of harmony. They are to the eye what the
finest verses of Tennyson are to the ear. They do what
so few things on earth do : completely satisfy the mind.
Few of them are gorgeous in colour; most are in a
minor key, somewhat subdued and regretful, as if the
present Rhine were not quite the Rhine of his earlier
days. There is one, I remember, I christened " The
Primrose," from the pale, tender yellow atmosphere
that wraps the whole scene. Perhaps one of the most
matchless is the saddest of all : " Twilight in the
Lorelei," all grey and dim, but just a speck of fight
here and there from boats on the river.
Turner was so sensitive that he could never make
up his mind to visit Farnley after his old friend's
death ; but when Mr. Fawkes went to London on one
occasion, he took the Rhine drawings to show Turner.
When they came to the grey Lorelei, tears sprang
out of the old man's eyes, and glancing his hand over
the faint light in the sky and water, as if he were
working, he groaned, " But Hawkey — but Hawkey!"
as much as to say :
" When, ah! woful when,
How far unlike the now and then."
" One stormy day at' Farnley,'' says Mr. Fawkes,
Turner called to me loudly from the doorway,
" Hawkey — Hawkey ! — come here — come here ! Look
at this thunder-storm! Isn't it grand? — isn't it won
derful? — isn't it sublime?
" All this time he was making notes of its form and
colour on the back of a letter. I proposed some

88 . THE REAL LION.
better drawing-block, but he said it did very well.
He was absorbed — he was entranced. There was the
storm rolling and sweeping and shafting out its light
ning over the Yorkshire hills. Presently the storm
passed, and he finished. ' There,' said he, ' Hawkey;
in two years you will see this again, and call it
' Hannibal Crossing the Alps.' "
At Farnley there is a drawing of a man-of-war,
complete, elaborate, and intricate, with a fine frothy
troubled sea in the foreground. Mr. Fawkes saw
Turner do it in three hours. He tore up the sea
with his eagle-claw of a thumb-nail, and worked like
a madman, yet the detail is full and delicate, and
there is no sign of hurry. There is also a large fir
in one of the Farnley drawings, that is so true, so
vigorous, so matchless, that it not only shows that
Turner could draw the fir when he chose, but that
he might have been one of the finest painters of trees
the world ever saw.
When Mr. Fawkes went to London, he would go
and sit in the Queen Anne-street Gallery for hours,
but he was never shown the painting-room. On one
occasion he invited Turner to dinner at a London
hotel, and Turner took, as usual latterly, a great deal
too much wine. For once he became vain, and stag
gering about, said, " Hawkey, I am the real lion — I
am the great lion of the day, Hawkey."
In one of his foreign tours, Mr. Fawkes, in his tra
velling carriage circling round the Simplon, past those
blessed hospices and through those wonderful rock-
galleries, suddenly met a well-known little thickset
man, walking, with no luggage except a large faded

the. owner's delight. 89
umbrella. It was Turner — truly this was a self-
supporting man.
The Farnley collection of Turners, valuable, not
only intrinsically, but specially, as consisting of un-
engraved pictures, has for its sun the luminous
" Dort," a favourite picture of the painter's. There
are some almost monochrome but powerful water-
colour Swiss scenes of 1804. One of a jagged glacier,
shattered pine, and goats, is especially fine. There
are sketches also of the Colosseum and St. Peter's,
somewhat wanting in solidity ; a fine fancy sketch of
the Pyramids, and a poetical but rather flimsy one of
Stonehenge. A very beautiful cold bright frosty morning
scene, " Flounder- Fishing off Battersea," is remark
able for two large and very humorous figures of
old boatmen, excellent for character. The name
of the boat is The Owner's Delight — one little tri
angular white flounder glitters in the net ; the frost
is white on the rueful old man's beard.
For poetry of time and place, and graceful appro
priateness, the " Ulverstone Sands " delights me; the
water on the sands is so transparent — the distance is
so truly admirable. The accident to the diligence
on Mont Cenis is equally wonderful for local effect,
for the dazzle and glimmer of snow. The Scarborough
is radiant with golden colour — the Swiss scenes are
full of graceful figures. The sea in the " Red Cap"
(oil picture) is perfect for motion and sweep.
The " Rembrandt's Daughter " is a beautiful day
dream, and there is a comely, plump prettiness and
poetry about the Dutch girl as she stands by her

90 the goose pie.
bedside, blanched in the sunshine, and reading the
love-letter, which her majestic father, coming in be
hind, is about to detect.
Twenty-four years running one of those wonders
of the North, a goose-pie, was sent to Turner from
Yorkshire. The twenty-fifth pie was already packed
when news reached Farnley that Turner was
dead. One of the letters acknowledging the annual pre
sent, I am enabled to give, through the kindness of
Mr. Fawkes. It is dated December 24, 1849, two
years before his death. It is curious, as an intelli
gent friend of mine remarks, to observe the quaint
and somewhat contradictory ceremoniousness of the
letter that begins "Dear Hawkesworth," and ends
with "your obliged servant," a conventional de
ference that is almost royal. The letter runs thus.
The postmark is " Queen's Road, Chelsea" :-. —
" Dear Hawkesworth, — Mother Goose came to a
rehearsal before Christmas day, having arrived on
Saturday for the knife, and could not be resisted in
my drinking your good health in a glass of wine to
all friends at Farnley Hall, also wishing happiness
and the compu of the season to all. The pie is in most
excellent taste, and shall drink the same thanks on
Christmas day. Many thanks for the brace of phea
sants and hares — by the same train — indeed, I think
it fortunate, for with all the strife and strike of
pokers and stokers for the railroads — their commons
every day growing worse — in shareholders and direc
tors squabbling about the winding up the last Bill,

FRENCH AT ROME. 91
to come to some end for those lines known or sup
posed to be in difficulty.
" Ruskin has been in Switzerland with his whife this
summer, and now said to be in Venice. Since the
revolution shows not any damage to the works of
high art it contains, in Rome not so much as might
have been expected. Had the ' Transfiguration '
occupied its old situation, the St. Pietro Montoreo,
it most possibly must have suffered, for the church is
completely riddled with shot and balls. The convent
on Mount Aventine much battered with cannon balls,
and Casino Magdalene, near the Porto Angelino,
nearly destroyed, occurred by taking and storming
the Bastion No. 8.
" This is from an eye-witness who has returned to
London since the siege by Gen. Oudinot.
"I am sorry to say my health is much on the
wain. I cannot bear the same fatigue, or have the
same bearing against it, I formerly had — but time
and tide stop not — but I must stop writmg for to
day, and so I again beg to thank you for the Christmas
present. " Believe me most truly,
" Your oblidged servant,
"J. M. W. Turner.
" W. H. Fawkes, Esq., Farnley Hall."
The letter is curious as showing that an involved
and confused style, and uncertain spelling, were cha
racteristics of Turner's letters up to the very close of
his days.
But amongst the wonderful proofs at Farnley of

92 PAUL PRY.
the versatility of Turner's genius, I should not for^
get the Civil War illustrations — elaborate vignettes,
full of thought and poetry; and the drawings of
birds, wonderful for minute truth and gorgeously
delicate in colour. There is a heron's head lu
dicrously strong, a peacock that is all green velvet
and amethyst, a game-cock that is a perfect constel
lation of warm colour, doves all opaline and mother-
of-pearl, with varying green, glances of rose and
glimmers of purple.
Another old friend of Turner's, Mr. Rose, of Jersey,
furnishes me with the following reminiscences of
Turner en famille, memories undimmed by the flight
of twenty-six years : —
" I fancy I can see him trudging down the avenue
something after the manner of Paul Pry, by which
I mean that an umbrella invariably accompanied
him; rain or sunshine, storm or calm, there was
that old faded article tucked under his arm. Now,
the umbrella answered a double purpose, for by some
contrivance the stick could be separated from the
other parts; this then formed a fishing-rod, being
hollow, with several joints running one into the
other. I have seen him sitting patiently for hours
by the side of a piece of water belonging to the pro
perty, his piscatory propensities keeping up his ex
citement, though perhaps without even a single
nibble; yet it must not be understood that he was
always unlucky, for when fortune favoured him in
securing any of the finny tribe, it was not long before
we were made acquainted with his success, at which
he appeared as much pleased as a boy from school.

OLD POGEY. 93
" Cowley Hall is about fifteen miles from London.
This distance he generally walked, coming in heated
and tired, carrying a small carpet-bag, which was
kept like a sealed book, never allowing the key to go
out of his possession. The ladies tried various means
to induce him to give up its possession, ostensibly to
arrange his articles of clothing which they presumed
it contained, though it must be confessed that female
curiosity was the predominating cause ; but he clung as
tenaciously to his key as a miser to his gold. On one
occasion, on his returning from fishing, he came in wet
and tired — a sudden shower of rain having fallen, his
umbrella having been metamorphosed into a fishing-
rod — the servant was sent to the bedroom for his
slippers; only one was to be found. Here was an
opportunity not to be missed; the ladies ordered the
servant to bring down the carpet-bag, hoping, doubt
less, to obtain a glimpse of its contents; but a sly
look from our friend, with a peculiar shrug of his
shoulders, and the two monosyllables 'No, no,' effec
tually put to flight their hopes ; as a dernier ressort,
one then offered to take his key and bring down
the slipper. To that he replied, ' I never give it up ;'
and they never learnt its contents. ' The man with
the carpet-bag ' was not then known, or doubtless he
would have obtained that sobriquet. The name, how
ever, by which he was known at our house was cer
tainly not very euphonious; how it was obtained I
can scarcely surmise, unless it was his manner and
figure, which was short and thick ; but it was a
common expression on seeing him approach the
entrance, to cry ' Here comes Old Pogey.'

94 THE FALL OF FOYERS.
" Mrs. R  had a pet spaniel, which was one
day lying in her lap; Turner was seated close by,
reading ; a sudden impulse induced her to ask him to
make a drawing of her favourite. The R.A. opened
his eyes with astonishment, at the same time replying,
' My dear madam, you do not know what you ask.'
The lady afterwards went by the name of ' My dear
Madam,' by the friends who were present at the time.
" On one occasion, after the ladies had retired,
Turner and myself were left alone ; there was on the
table a large jug of water and a bottle of Cognac.
Turner had never been very communicative, and I
little anticipated what was going to take place, and
here I must express my regret at not noting what
would have been highly interesting — he gave me a
slight sketch of his travels, related during the course
of the evening, but of which, from the lapse of time, I
have but a very faint recollection. He took me up and
down the Pyrenees, describing various scenes. I recol
lect asking him if he had seen the Falls of Gavarnie, to
which he replied in the negative. He then branched
off to various places, one was the Fall of Foyers, in
Scotland ; this is brought to my mind by the um
brella, for I recollect his stating that he had one
blown out of his hand by a sudden gust of wind, and
whirled down some great depth. During the evening
I mentioned my intention of spending a few months
in Jersey the ensuing summer. He remarked that,
should I cross over to St. Malo, I was to be sure
to proceed by the Ranee to Dinan, as that river
afforded many picturesque scenes, and the views
were the most pleasant in that neighbourhood;

THE TAILLESS CATS. 95
During the course of the evening his tumbler had
never been emptied; first a dash of brandy, then an
addition of water, and thus he continued, never en
tirely exhausting its contents, until it struck two in
the morning, when, quietly remarking it was getting
rather late, we separated each to our domiciles.
" On one occasion I had the audacity to ask him if
he painted his clouds from nature. One has heard
of ' calling up a look.' The words had hardly passed
my lips when I saw my gaucherie. I was afraid I
had roused a thunderstorm; however, my lucky
star predominated, for, after having eyed me for a
few moments with a slight frown, he growled out,
'How would you have me paint them?' Then
seizing upon his fishing-rod, and turning upon his
heel, he marched indignantly out of the house to the
water's-edge. Two ladies, Mrs. R  and Mrs. H  ,
once paid him a visit in Harley-street, an extremely
rare (in fact, if not the only) occasion of such an
occurrence, for it must be known he was not fond of
parties prying, as he fancied, into the secrets of his
menage. On sending in their names, after having
ascertained he was at home, they were politely re
quested to walk in, and were shown into a large
sitting-room without a fire ; this was in the depth of
winter; lying about in various places were several
cats without tails. In a short time our talented
friend made his appearance, asking the ladies if they
felt cold. The youngest replied in the negative ; her
companion, more curious, wished she had stated
otherwise, as she hoped they might have been shown
into his sanctum or studio. After a little conversa-

96 QUICKSILVER.
tion, he offered them wine and biscuits, which they
partook of for the novelty, such an event being
almost unprecedented at his house. During the time
the ladies were present, one began to notice his cats,
which caused him to remark that he had seven, and
that they came from the Isle of Man.
" On the first occasion of Turner visiting at Cowley
Hall, on the morning after he had left, one of the
servants came to Mrs. R  with several shillings
in her hand, stating she had found the silver under
the pillow where Mr. Turner had slept, and asking her
mistress what she should do with it. She was told
it was doubtless intended for herself, but on his next
visit she would soon learn if it had been left in mis
take. Such, however, did not appear to be the case,
for under the pillow was always a little mine of the
argentum vivum, or silver that will slip through the
fingers." I here append several extracts from the letters of
a lady in Jersey referring to Turner : —
" Sept. 23, 1831.— Mr. Turner is returned from
Scotland, where the weather has been very boiste
rous, and his health not improved by the excursion.
He is building in the neighbourhood of Rickmans-
worth, and I believe he will be there before we leave.
"Jan. 10, 1840. — The Maws are at Hastings.
They invited Turner down, but he did not go to
pass the Christmas. He always inquires after you,
and desires his kind regards.
"April 18, 1840.— I have not seen Mr. Turner
lately ; he has been fully occupied preparing for the
opening of the Academy.

chantrey's death. 97
" Jan. 7, 1842.— J. M. W. T. is very well. He
was very much shocked at the demise of his old
friend, Sir F. Chantrey ; but grief will not long hang
upon his mind, and so much the better, as it answers
but little purpose.
" April 14, 1842. — I think I wrote you Turner
had been very ill ; he is now better, but it has shook
him a great deal. He is living by rule.
" October 6, 1843. Brighton.— J. W. T. did not
go with us or join us this year, but I hear he is
safely landed on this side the water again."

VOL. II. H

98

CHAPTER IV.
TURNER AND THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
Turner was devoted to the Academy, with all its
faults. It had been quick to see his genius, and to
confer on him honours. He had been a student at the
Academy, and was now an Academician. He felt
for it the affection a child does for its mother, for
his great heart was very susceptible of gratitude.
There is a singular story that bears on this subject.
The day poor wrong-headed Haydon ended his un
toward life, Mr. Maclise called upon Turner to tell
him of the horrible catastrophe. The narrator's
imagination was roused to the uttermost by the
suddenness and ghastliness of the event. To his
astonishment Turner scarcely stopped painting, and
merely growled out between his teeth,
" He stabbed his mother, he stabbed his mother."
" Good Heavens !" said Mr. Maclise, so excited that
he was prepared for any new terror. " You don't
mean to say, Turner, that Haydon ever committed a
crime so horrible?"
Still Turner made no other reply, but slowly
chanted in a deep, slow voice,
" He stabbed his mother, he stabbed his mother."

THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 99
Nothing but this could his startled friend wring
from him, and as he left the house, " He stabbed
his mother, he stabbed his mother," still pursued
Maclise down the passage. It was not till he reached
home, and before spreading the story sat down quietly
to think over what Turner could mean by such a
horrid charge, that he came to the true conclusion
that Turner had merely figuratively alluded to the
ingratitude of Haydon's attacks on the Academy that
had educated him.
Turner, in Academic matters, was essentially con
servative. It is not for me to impugn the motives of Turner's
steady fidelity to the Royal Academy. He was one
of the most generous and grateful of men, and
essentially conservative in feeling. The Academy
had early recognised his genius ; he was nearly half a
century an Academician. He had received no check
or injury from the R.A.'s, and was grateful to a
body that had always been his friend. In art he
owed nothing to them — but his bad drawing of the
figure. With the Royal Academy I myself have little
sympathy. It was founded by intrigue. It was
always servile to royalty; it gains its useless heaps
of money by exhibiting the pictures of non- mem
bers, who share no profits of such exhibition. The
R.A.'s pretend to teach art, and they teach nothing.
They are the antagonists of all growth and improve
ment. They too often use their power to insult
and injure their opponents, to exalt and unduly
puff their friends. They encourage no large-minded
h2

100 ST. MARTIN S-LANE.
genius; they detest originality; they have enrolled
in their body some of the worst painters of this or of
any other age; their schools are useless, their lectures
profitless, their library is a monopoly, and their titles
are shams. Let us review their origin.
In 1711, Sir Godfrey Kneller instituted a private
academy; and in 1724, Sir James Thornhill built one
at the back of his own house, in Covent-garden,
giving tickets to all who applied for them. The
artists disliking, however, this sense of obligation,
turned an old meeting-house into a school of art, but
it lasted only a few years. In 1734, on Sir James's
death, Hogarth bought the apparatus of the abandoned
academy, and founded a school of thirty or forty
persons, first in Arundel-street, then in Peter 's-court,
St. Martin's-lane. A committee of sixteen members,
chosen annually, collected the subscriptions and
managed the affairs. The Turk's Head, Gerrard-street,
Soho, became then a rendezvous for artists and a nu
cleus for future union.
As early as 1753, an attempt was made by the
St. Martin's-lane Society to found an Academy, but
the scheme failed. In 1755, the plan was renewed,
and a pamphlet published, signed by the following
artists and amateurs :
Hayman, Moser, Roubiliac, Hudson, Lambert, Scot,
Strange, Shackleton, Hoare, Grignon, Ellys, Ware,
Dalton, Payne, Reynolds, . Wale, Hamilton, Sandby,
Geo. Carter, Astley, Pine, and Newton.
The Dilettanti Society were then negotiated with,
but the members being refused all share in the
government of the new Academy, withdrew their

the turk's head. 101
aid, and so the affair again dropped to the
ground. In 1759, the artists, at a meeting at the Turk's
Head, agreed to institute an Annual Exhibition, the
funds obtained by which were to be devoted to relieve
aged or infirm brothers of the same profession. In.
1760, the first exhibition was held at a room in the
Strand, opposite Beaufort-buildings, belonging to the
Society of Arts. To this exhibition sixty-nine artists
contributed a hundred and fifty works.
Some disagreement ensuing in 1761 between the
artists, some of them exhibited at an auction-room in
Spring-gardens, and others in the room of the Society
of Arts. The Spring-gardens faction called them
selves the " Society of Artists of Great Britain ;"
Hogarth aiding them, exhibiting with them, and
illustrating two of their catalogues.
In 1767, Mr. Dalton, a librarian to the King, ob
tained the King's name for the Spring-gardens Society,
took premises in Pall Mall in the name of the Royal
Academy, and removed all the figures from St. Mar
tin's-lane. In 1765, the Strand Society, enrolled as the " Free
Society of Artists," exhibited in a large room in
Maiden-lane; and in 1767, exhibited at the bottom of
the Haymarket. It lingered till 1779, exhibiting first
at Cumberland House, Pall- Mall, then in St. Alban's-
street. The other society lingered on at the Lyceum, and
died out in 1791.
The quarrels of the artists continuing, in November,
1768, eight directors sent in their resignation, and

102 THE SOCIETIES.
co-operated with sixteen others who had been ejected.
These eight were :
J. Wilton. W. Chambers.
E. Penny. G. M. Moser.
R. Wilson. P. Sandby.
B. West. F. M. Newton.
The King promising his support, intrigued for by
West, a meeting was called, laws drawn up, and on
December 10th, 1768, the Royal Academy of London
was founded. Reynolds, president ; Chambers, trea
surer; Newton, secretary; Moser, keeper; Penny,
professor of painting; and Dr. William Hunter, pro
fessor of anatomy.
The incorporated society instantly started a studio
over the famous Cyder Cellar, Maiden-lane. Mr.
Woollett, the engraver, was their secretary till 1773;
he was succeeded by Mr. John Hamilton, landscape-
painter; and in 1774, by Mr. Isaac Taylor.
The British Institution for Promoting the Fine
Arts was established 1805, the year that the Society
of Painters in Water-Colours started, in 20, Lower
Brook-street, Bond-street. " The Associated Artists
in Water-Colours originated in 1808.
The St. Martin's-lane Academy, held in Peter's-
court, Roubiliac's old room, had consisted of the follow
ing members :
G. F. Moser, first keeper to the Royal Academy ;
Francis Hayman, Hogarth's friend and boon com
panion; Samuel Wale, a book illustrator; C. B.
Cipriani; Allan Ramsay; F. M. Newton; Charles
Cotton, the best of coach-painters; J. Zoffany, thea
trical portrait-painter; Collins, a sculptor; Jeremy

ZOFFANY 's PICTURE. 103
Meyer; William Woollett, the celebrated engraver;
Anthony Walker, also an engraver; Linnel, a wood-
carver; the well-known John Mortimer; Rubensten,
a drapery drudge to portrait painters; James Paine,
son of the architect who built the Lyceum; Tilly
Kettle, who went to the East, and got rich and bilious
painting nabobs ; William Pars, sent for three years
to Greece by the Dilettanti Society to draw antiquities ;
Vandergucht, a painter, afterwards a picture-dealer;
Charles Grignon, the engraver; C. Norton, Charles
Sherlocks, and Charles Bilt, all engravers ; Richmond
Keeble, Evans, and Black ; Russell, the crayon painter;
Roper and Parsons ; Richard Cosway, the little minia
ture painter; W. Marlowe, a respectable landscape
painter; Messrs. Griggs, Rowe, Dubourg, J. Taylor,
T. S. Dance, J. Seton, and T. Ratcliffe, all pupils of
the gay Frank Hayman; Richard Earlom, the en
graver of the "Liber Veritatis" of Claude; J. A.
Gresse, who taught George III.'s queen drawing; Giu
seppe Marchi, one of Reynolds's assistants ; Thomas
Beech, Lambert, and Reid, pupils of Roubiliac;
Biagio Rebecca, a decorator ; Richard Wilson ; Wil
liam Hogarth ; Terry ; Lewis Lattifere ; David Mar
tin; Burgess; Burch, the medallist; John Collett,
an imitator of Hogarth; and Joseph Nollekens, the
sculptor. There is a picture, painted for George III. by Zof
fany, at Buckingham Palace, which contains portraits
of all the early academicians. It was engraved in mez-
zotinto by Earlom, in 1773. In the centre is Reynolds,
with his speaking-trumpet, talking to J. M. Newton,
the secretary, and between them is Sir William

104 WEST AND REYNOLDS.
Chambers, listening. Behind Newton are John
Richards, William Tyler, and Thomas Sandby, the
last of whom is talking to Paul Sandby. Behind him
are Dominic Serres, Jeremiah Meyer, and Tan-Chet-
Gua, a Chinese artist. In front of these are Wilton
the sculptor, and George Barret. In the left corner
are Benjamin West, John Gwynn, and J. B. Cipriani.
In the front is Zoffany; to the right, leaning on a
drawing-board, is Mason Chamberlin, and next him,
Francis Hayman, Hogarth's friend, looking at the
model. On the right from Reynolds are Dr. W- M.
Hunter, Bartolozzi, and Carlini; and above them is
Wilson. In front are Charles Cotton, the carriage-
painter; Richard Geo. Samuel Wale, the sign-painter;
Edward Penny, the drawing-master ; and Peter Toms,
Reynolds's drapery painter. Moser is placing the
model. There are also Zuccarelli, Hone, . Cosway,
William Hoare, and Nollekens. On the wall are the
portraits of Angelica Kauffman and Mrs. Moser.
There is a picture by Ramberg, representing the
Royal Academy Exhibition of 1789; the size of the
room was about 60 by 48. In the centre is George III.,
attended by Reynolds and West, and beside him is some
bishop or archbishop ; on the left-hand wall is Opie's
" Death of Rizzio," and facing it, Northcote's " Death
of Wat Tyler," both now in the Council-room, Guild
hall. Beneath the Opie, is Reynolds's picture of the
" Heads of Angels," now in the National Gallery.
In the middle wall, high up, is Black's portrait of
Tattersall, the horse-dealer; and beneath is Lady
St. Asaph, by Reynolds. In the centre is West's
"Shipwreck of St. Paul;" afterwards painted larger

SOMERSET HOUSE. 105
for the altar-piece of the chapel at Greenwich Hos
pital. In Brandoin's picture of the Exhibition of 1771,
the chief centre picture is Barry's " Adam and Eve;"
and Dr. Johnson and the King are again intro
duced. Turner objected to leaving Somerset House, and
hoped to see the day when the Royal Academy would
be rich enough to construct a building for itself.
This feeling made him careful in the extreme as to
the expenditure in the establishment, excepting for
benevolence, to which he never shut his ear or his
heart; he was long one of the auditors of the ac
counts, and as zealous as useful in his duty. His
desire to honour and reward meritorious officers in
the establishment was evinced when Sir Robert
Smirke, the late treasurer, first offered his resigna
tion. Turner rose in the general meeting, and would
not sit down until he had induced the members not
to accept the tender, but to beg the worthy treasurer
to continue in office, which offer was gratefully ac
ceded to by Sir R. Smirke, who retained the office
for many years after.
Turner liked much to be in temporary office as
visitor to the Royal Academy; he liked the autho
rity, as he liked the companionship ; yet it was always
difficult to get him to receive the usual pecuniary
remuneration. He took it, it is true ; but he took it
with a protest, for money had not in this instance
been his object.
Mr. Leslie says Turner's speeches were " confused
and tedious." Mr. Jones describes him as irresolute

106 THE BELLS OF ST. MARTIN'S.
in business details. There is no doubt that his
speeches at the Academy councils were extremely dif
ficult to listen to. He spoke in a deep and latterly
indistinct voice. You saw the great man's mouth
move, and certain sounds proceed therefrom, out of
which you seldom picked more than " Mr. Presi
dent" and " namely," the words which Turner used to
return to when he had hopelessly entangled himself
in the subtleties of his own rhetoric ; and through
all this mumbling confusion the bells of St. Martin's
broke in, merrily and mischievously, with their
ONE TWO — THREE FOUR  FIVE SIX  SEVEN EIGHT
ONE THREE TWO FOUR
FIVE SEVEN SIX EIGHT
then came a lull, through which again you heard
" Mr. President," and " namely."
Of Turner's academic speeches, opaque as they
were, little can be said. Most impartial people thought
that, though undeveloped and obscure, they nearly
always tended to the right thing. His opinions on
art were listened to with respect, but his judgment
on business matters secured little attention. Some
times it was really difficult to know what he did
mean ; but the haze, as in his pictures, generally in
dicated some great or beautiful thought, grotesque
and painful as were the utterances. His thoughts
were always deeper than he could find words to
express, for the faculty of expression was entirely
absent in this dumb poet. Chantrey used to say that
both Turner and Wilkie had great thoughts, if they
could only express them.

THE CLAIR OBSCURE. 107
When Turner lectured on Perspective he was
often at a loss to find words to express the ideas he
wished to communicate. To aid his memory, he
would now and then copy out passages, which, when
referred to, he could not clearly read. Sometimes
he would not make his appearance at all, and the
disappointed students were sent away with the ex
cuse that he was either ill or came from home with
out his lecture. But when the spirit did stir within
him, and he could find utterance to his thoughts, he
soared as high above the common order of lecturers
as he did in the regions of art. His language was
often elegant, his ideas original and most attractive;
and it is to be regretted that copies of his graphic
diagrams, as sketched on the lecture-boards, were
not preserved with his notes.
Turner's want of expression rendered him almost
useless as a Professor of Perspective, though he took
great pains to prepare the most learned diagrams.
He confessed that he knew much more of the art
than he could explain. His sketch-books contain
many drawings evidently made in preparation for
these lectures. On one memorable occasion the hour
had come for his lecture. The Professor arrived —
the buzz of the students subsided. The Professor
mounts his desk — every eye is fixed on him and on
his black board. But the Professor is uneasy — he
is perturbed. He dives now into one pocket — now
into the other — no! Now he begins, but what he
says is, " Gentlemen, I've been and left my lecture
in the hackney-coach." I have no doubt the Pro
fessor would rather have painted five epical pictures

108 THE GENTLE-MAN.
than have had to deliver one lecture on Perspec
tive. Talking of Turner as a teacher, Mr. Ruskin says of
his perspective lectures, " The zealous care with which
Turner endeavoured to do his duty, is proved by a
large existing series of drawings, exquisitely tinted, and
often completely coloured, all by his own hand, of the
most difficult perspective subjects — illustrating not
only directions of line, but effects of light — with a care
and completion which would put the work of any ordi
nary teacher to utter shame. In teaching generally
— he would neither waste time nor spare it — he would
look over a student's drawing at the Academy, point
to a defective part, make a scratch on the paper at
the side, say nothing. If the student saw what was
wanted, and did it, Turner was delighted; but if the
student could not follow, Turner left him."
Turner himself used Hamilton's Perspective. He
was fond of puzzling over problems in this science,
one special difficulty with some domes he never sur
mounted ; but he used to say to a friend, in his dogged
unconquerable way, "I think somehow I could do
that yet."
" Turner," says one of his academic friends, speaking
of the council meetings, " was ever anxious to allay
anger and bitter controversy ; often I have heard him,
in subdued tones, try to persuade the excited to modera
tion ; he would do this by going behind the speaker,
and by a touch or word soothe an acrimonious tone by
his gentleness. He was unable to speak, but would
by his attempt to express himself delay a question
until it received more serious and calm consideration."

MOVING. 109
When George III. sold Somerset House to the
Government, he did so on the condition that his pet
chicken — the infant Royal Academy, which he had
hatched under his own wings — should not be disturbed ;
no cast was to be removed, no picture taken away.
Years went on, in due rotation the schools opened,
and the annual exhibitions flung wide their doors.
By-and-bye the exhibitors increased, says an old
Academician, who furnishes me with particulars of
Turner's academic habits.
Space was required for displaying the works of
art, and the steep ascent to the upper rooms was
found to be an inconvenience. At length the Govern
ment saw the difficulty in which the Academy was
placed, and wishing to appropriate the rooms at Somer
set House to public offices, suggested the building a
National Gallery ; and offering the Royal Academy a
location in the same building, which was a most
rational project, for the schools should be where the
best examples for study and imitation could be found,
therefore the proposal was readily received by the
greater number of the Academicians ; a few dreaded
the interference of the Government or the House of
Commons if the Academy were established in a build
ing erected at the cost of the public. Long before this
period Turner and many other members wished for an
Academic home that should be the property of the
Institution, and to accomplish this desire endeavoured
to amass a sum that might be sufficient for the pur
pose. However, new members brought with them
fresh opinions, and dependence was finally preferred
to independence.

110 THE BUSINESS MAN.
Turner, like Chantrey, for whom he had a great
affection, was exemplary in his duties as councillor,
visitor, or auditor ; he was always zealous and atten
tive ; he attended all the general meetings, and never
made his excursions abroad until the business of the
Academy was suspended by vacation.
At the social meetings of the members, unfrequent
as they were, he never failed to appear. At the
great dinner before the opening of the exhibition, and
at the exhibitors' dinner at its close, he invariably
attended, deeming the latter a most important oppor
tunity of getting acquainted with the artists likely to
become members of the Institution.
This dinner, unfortunately, is discontinued, and a
soiree adopted, which fulfils none of the objects pro
posed by the meeting at a friendly table.

Ill

CHAPTER V.
turner's character.
When Bird, the son of a Wolverhampton clothier,
about 1811, first sent a picture to the Royal Academy
— it might have been " Good News," or " Choristers
Rehearsing," or some other of those early anticipations
of Wilkie and Webster* — Turner was one of the
" Hanging Committee," as it was opprobriously called.
Every one said the picture of the new man had great
merit, but there was no place fit for it left unoc
cupied. Here was a desirable guest, but the inn
was full. The R. A.'s looked stolidly content, as
people inside an omnibus on a wet day do when the
conductor looks in at the window and begs to know
" if any jintleman would like to go outside and make
room for a lady." The R. A.'s joke and talk. The
days of chivalry are past. Turner growls, and is dis
turbed ; he up and says, " that come what may, the
young man's picture must have a place." All the
others cry "impossible," and go on talking about
other things.
But can you stop the lion in mid-leap ? Can you
drive off a shark by shouting when his teeth have
closed on your flesh. This is not a doll man of wax

112 IMPOSSIBLE.
and sawdust. This is not one of those committee
creatures whom lords and ministers pull with a red-.
tape string, so that it says " yes" and " no," and rolls
its eyes at the required moment. This is a Ne
mean man, a real, stern, honest man, stanch as- an
English bull-dog, and almost as pertinacious and
indomitable. All this time he is examining the picture, right,
left, surface, clear-obscure, touch, colour, character,
carefully; he sees it is good, he cries out again and
hushes the buzz of voices, —
" We must find a good place for this young man's
picture." " Impossible — impossible," says the gold spectacles
again, and more oracularly this time than before.
Turner said no more, but quietly removed one of
his own pictures and hung up Bird's.
The last time I went to South Kensington, I stood
before that swarthy crimson picture of Turner's, the
" Fiery Furnace," the heat of which is so blinding,
the black luridness of which is so intense, thinking of
how, one April, the painter wished to generously re
move this picture, which was hung in a good place,
and substitute for it a little picture by his friend Mr.
G. Jones, also in the same collection, which was placed
far less desirably. But the laws of the Medes and
Persians are severe, they would not allow the removal ;
so the self-sacrifice did not take place.
Turner, who never depreciated a contemporary,
never lost an opportunity of doing a kindness. Un
like Dr. Johnson's noble patron, it was the drowning
man he leaped in to help ; he did not wait till he got

A FRIEND IN NEED. 113
ashore, and then cumbered him with assistance. Tur
ner had the brave self-confidence that genius always
has; he never flattered, and he never liked to be
flattered. But he was often generous with hints and
friendly counsel even to the young and unknown.
Of this generous kindness my friend Mr. Hart,
R.A., gives an excellent example. Mr. Hart, as a
young man, had sent to the Academy a clever picture
of " Galileo in the Dungeon of the Inquisition." It
was a thoughtful picture, telling a fine moral of the
ingratitude and blindness of his generation to that
great benefactor of mankind. Turner evidently liked
it much, for he was always too large-hearted for
envy. He looked at the picture for a moment, then
swept in with a twirl or two of the brush some con
centric spheres upon the prison wall. Those simple
circles were worth twenty guineas to the young
aspirant. Turner, however fond of money, and the happy in
dependence of the world that it brings, never ex
pressed envy of the wealth of other artists, or ever
sought to supersede them in obtaining commissions.
When he met them in the public lists, he met them
smiling and with open face.
When Turner's picture of "Cologne" was exhibited,
in the year 1826, it was hung between two portraits
by Sir Thomas Lawrence, of Lady Wallscourt and
Lady Robert Manners.
The sky of Turner's picture was exceedingly bright,
and it had a most injurious effect on the colour of
the two portraits. Lawrence naturally felt mortified,
and complained openly at the position of his pictures.
VOL. II. I

114 THE BLACK CLOUD. t
Artists were at that time permitted to retouch their
pictures on the walls of the Academy. On the
morning of the opening of the Exhibition, at the
private view, a friend of Turner's who had seen the
" Cologne" in all its splendour, led a group of ex
pectant critics up to the picture. He started back
from it in consternation. The golden sky had
changed to a dun colour. He ran up to Turner,
who was in another part of the room — "Turner,
Turner, what have you been doing to your picture ?"<
"Oh!" muttered Turner, in. a low voice; "poor
Lawrence was so unhappy! It's only lampblack.
It'll all wash off after the Exhibition!" He had
actually passed a wash of lampblack in water-colour
over the sky, and utterly spoiled his picture for the
time, and so left it through the Exhibition, lest it
should hurt Lawrence's.
Turner for many years, during the Exhibition at
Somerset House, was daily indebted to groups of
admiring artists, generously occupied in teaching the
public to feel the poetry of his original style : whilst
he, too great to dread a rival, on being told that
Calcott had painted one of his finest scenes on the
Thames on commission for two hundred pounds, ob
served, in the presence of several patrons of the fine
arts, "Had I been deputed to set a value upon that
picture, I should have awarded a thousand guineas."*
I cannot find it in my heart to alter one word of
the following narrative, communicated to me by Mr.
Hammersley, the well-known painter. It is so natu
rally written, so full of generous . humility,, poetry,
* " Wine and Walnuts,". p. 295 ('1823).

THE YOUNG ARTIST. 115
and feeling, and does so much credit to the writer's
heart, that I should think it quite sacrilege to para
phrase in any way facts so admirably related.
Mr. Hammersley says : —
" Many years ago, I should certainly hesitate say
ing how long, did not the following letter from
Turner to my father betray the date, I was supposed
to have obtained all the instruction that local artists
could give me. My father, with more affection for
me — more warmth of hope for me than perception of
the audacity of his proceedings — wrote to ask Turner
to give me further instructions ! I knew nothing of
this at the time, nothing for years ; indeed, absolutely
nothing until I lost a parent whose every thought,
word, act, and feeling evidenced perpetual self-sacri
fice for my advantage. However little I may have
attained towards the ideal he had pictured for me,
this much I have obtained — an undying reverence for
his truth and love.
" The following is Turner's answer, which I copy
verbatim : — " ' 47, Queen Ann-street, West, London,
' Dec. 4th, 1848.
" ' Dear Sir, — I have truly, I must say, written
three times, and now hesitate; for did I know your
son's works, or, as you say, his gifted merit, yet even
then I would rather advise you to think well, and not
be carried away by the admiration which any friendly
hopes (which ardent friends to early talent) may as
sume : they know not the difficulties or the necessities
of the culture of the Fine Arts, generally speaking.
In regard to yourself, it is you alone can judge how
i2

116 LEITCH RITCHIE.
far you are inclined to support him during perhaps a
long period of expense ; and particularly if you look
towards tuition, the more so; for it cannot insure
success (however much it may facilitate practice),
and therefore it behoves you to weigh well the means
in your power before you embark in a profession
which requires more care, assiduity, and perseverance
than any person can guarantee.
" ' I have the honour to be,
' Your humble servant,
' J. M. W. Turner.'
" Directed —
" ' John Hammersley, Esq.,
' Liverpool-road, ' Stoke-upon-Trent, ' Staffordshire Potteries.'
" I leave you to comment upon the latter portion
of this letter, which appears to me to contain a world
of thought and appreciation of the hugeness of the
work Turner had always before him, and of his sense
of the responsibility of the artist; contrasting this
with the flippancy and self-satisfaction with which
outsiders, and some painters, look upon the practice
of art.
" Later in life, and while holding a Government
situation in relation to art, I became acquainted,
quite accidentally, but naturally enough, with Leitch
Ritchie, the author of the text to Turner's ' Rivers of
France.' From this acquaintance several incidents
arose relating to Turner, which I will detail to you.
It is due to myself, still more to the memory of
Turner, to say at once that I am not writing from
memory, with a huge interval of time between the

THE ENTREE. 117
circumstance and its narration here. At the time I
entered the following particulars in my journal, and
you may rely upon the precise accuracy of the lan
guage. Many hard things have been said of Turner's
want of feeling, of his moroseness, of his parsimony,
and of his want of sympathy with others pursuing
art through all its doubts and difficulties. What I
am about to relate may illustrate some of these
points of character ; and that one of parsimony is
somewhat met by the fact that he was in no hurry to
accept whatever my father would have given him for
lessons to me, and this would have been whatever
Turner might have chosen to ask within any reason
able limits. Turner, in this matter of instruction,
was right, as he was right in most other things. He
knew well enough that all technical and practical
matters could be taught by fifty men as well, or
better, than he could have taught them ; and no less
certain was he that those things which evidenced
thought, personal feeling, and the giving out of soul,
were altogether incommunicable, and he would not
lend himself to a huge imposture for lucre. He
decided to advise honestly rather than gain meanly.
" I had lived something like a year in London,
during which period I had heard much of Turner's
Gallery in Queen Anne-street. I had heard this from
persons who, from their literary or artistic position,
had some right of entree within its sacred precincts.
I had never for a moment thought it likely that I
should gain admission, and had no thought whatever
of seeking the privilege, when one evening Leitch
Ritchie voluntarily said that he would ask Turner if

118 DIRTY WINDOWS.
he would permit me to see his pictures, adding the
further proposal, that he would ask Turner to meet
me: With my feelings then, and, I am happy to say,
with my present feelings, this suggestion was received
by me with a reverential awe, yet delight, which I will
make no attempt to describe. Those who read and
think — those who have feeling duly urging — of God's
ways of manifesting Himself, will feel with me that
it was like suggesting meeting Homer, Dante, or
Shakspeare. " In a few weeks after Ritchie made the proposal,
I received a short note from Turner, to the following
effect : —
" ' Dear Sir, — Mr. L. Ritchie intimates to me that
you desire to see my pictures. The weather is fine,
and if you will call here either on Thursday or Friday
this week, not earlier than eleven o'clock, I shall be
glad to see you. ' Your obedient servant,
' J. M. W. Turner.'
" Thursday was not very fine, but I found it quite
impossible to wait until Friday. I wrote a note to
Turner, in due acknowledgment of his communica
tion, and precisely at eleven o'clock I found myself at
his door. I left the door, walked across the street,
looked at the house, gained breath, for I had nearly
run all the way from Somerset House, and, foolish as
it will appear, I could have worshipped the dirty
windows that let in light enough to one whose soul
saw at all times the whole brilliancy of nature. After
a short time I became steady enough and calm enough

THE GREY EYE. 119
to walk to the door again. I rang, and tardily
enough the well-known old housekeeper opened the
door to me, and I was placed in what I suppose was
Turner's dining-room. I waited there for a short
time, all eyes, all ears, when I heard a shambling,
slippered footstep down a flight of stairs — slow,
measured, yet as of one who was regardless of style
or promptitude — what the world calls shambling,
in fact. When the door opened, I, nobody, stood
face to face with, to my thinking, the greatest man
living. I shall attempt no description ; you know how
he looked. I saw at once his height, his breadth, his
loose dress, his ragged hair, his indifferent quiet — all,
indeed, that went to make his physique and some of
his mind; but, above all, I saw, felt (and still feel)
his penetrating grey eye !
" Remaining only a moment longer in the cold and
cheerless room, at his request I followed him into his
gallery, which you, doubtless, remember well. The
room was even less tidy than the one we had left —
indeed, was an art chaos, all confusion, mouldiness,
and wretched litter — most of the pictures, indeed all
those resting against the wall, being covered with
uncleanly sheets or cloths of a like size and character.
Turner removed these protections to his pictures, and
disclosed to my wondering and reverent observation
many, of those works which are now known so gene
rally; among them, and the most prominent, being
the ' Opening of the Walhalla.' I make no remark
about any of the pictures which I found in the
gallery ; far abler hands than mine have given to the
world a whole body of the noblest criticism, based

120 THE TACITURN MAN.
upon the great painter's labours ; it merely rests with
me to detail any traits of character presented to my
observation. Turner and I walked many times from
end to end of the apartment, he occasionally giving
brief descriptions of the pictures, and asking after
my proceedings at fehe institution with which I was
connected. ' Generally, I may say, that he was taci
turn, though still sufficiently chatty to remove all
idea of inattention or discourtesy. After we had been
so occupied for, say five minutes, he turned somewhat
quickly towards me and said, ' Mr. Hammersley, this
gallery is cold ; pray keep your hat on." I moved in
acknowledgment of his solicitude, but did not obey
him ; I kept it off quite involuntarily, I am sure, and,
I trust, as a perfectly natural action. In a few
minutes he turned to me again, reiterating his re
quest, when, quite honestly and naturally also, I told
him that I ' could not think of being covered in his
presence.' He looked at me very steadily for a few
seconds, and then said, ' Mr. Hammersley, I shall feel
much more comfortable myself if you will comply
with my wishes in this respect.' I put on my hat at
once, seeing that he believed in my sincerity, and
feeling how undoubtedly he was speaking his real
wishes. This is but a small matter; but it seems
pregnant to me of a kindly and most considerate
mind, and, as so much evidence that way, is worth
preservation. "On the 26th of November, 1844, I paid my
second visit to the Turner Gallery. I shall not readily
forget this visit, though it began and ended in some
thing less than ten minutes. I entered the dingy

calcott's death. 121
dining-room as before, and was immediately joined by
Turner, who, as before, led me up to his gallery. Our
proceedings then resembled our proceedings on the
former visit, distinguished from it, however, by the ex
ceeding taciturnity, yet restlessness of my great com
panion, who waved about and occasionally clutched a
letter which he held in his hand. I feared to break
the dead silence, varied only by the slippered scrape
of Turner's feet as we paced from end to end the dim
and dusty apartment. At last he stood abruptly, and
turning to me, said, ' Mr. Hammersley, you must
excuse me ; I cannot stay another moment ; the letter
I hold in my hand has just been given to me, and it
announces the death of my friend Calcott.' He said
no more ; I saw his fine grey eyes fill as he vanished.
I left at once."
There is something to me very beautiful and touch
ing in this interview between the young and the old
artist, and it is easy to see how touched the great
disappointed genius was with the simple-hearted
respect and veneration of his visitor.
The letter, too, of advice to the father on his son's
choice of a profession is very wise and yet sad. How
thoughtfully he speaks of the anxieties he had himself
felt, and how modestly of " the care, assiduity, and
perseverance " requisite for success.
In illness, Turner was all consideration. He was
as anxious as a mother or a wife, and as careful as a
nurse. His friends used in this to compare him to
his patron, Lord Egremont ; to be ill was to secure a
visit from the owner of Petworth. In some cases, when
a friend had died, Turner never could be prevailed on

122 chantrey's death.
to enter the house again. He never went to Farnley,
I have shown, after Mr. Fawkes' death.
" I well remember," says Mr. Jones, " the -morning
after Chantrey's death, that he came to the house of
our deceased friend ; he asked for me ; I went to him,
he wrung my hand, tears streamed from his eyes, and
he rushed from the house without uttering a word.
Turner's executors discovered that the rents for
houses in Harley-street had not been paid during some
years; on application to the lawyer, the answer was
that 'Mr. Turner would not allow him to distrain.'"
On one occasion, during a visit to Petworth, Mr.
G. Jones, Turner's great friend and crony, hurt his
leg. Nothing could surpass Turner's kind anxiety,
aiid almost womanly, softness and consideration. He
was untiringly assiduous in obtaining everything that
could tend to recovery, and he took the greatest pains
to enlist every member of the household who might
be useful, and that with an unselfish, hearty effective
ness that was as zealous as it was warm-hearted.
Cowper, with almost sentimental sensitiveness,
declared he would renounce the friend who would
willingly set his foot upon a worm. Of one thing I
am certain, and that is, that a good heart often shows
itself in a love and guardianship of animals, in sym
pathy with their wants and pity for their sufferings.
Turner was very fond of animals. Even early in
life, when he lived at Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham,
he was known to the boys of the place as " Old
Blackbirdy," because he would not let them take
birds' nests in his garden hedges. He was the angry

the merciful angler. 123
guardian of the little black choristers, and loved to
hear the little scraps of heaven's music that the angels
had taught them.
Even in fishing, Turner was merciful. His old
angling companion, Mr. Jones, says :
" I was often with him when fishing at Petworth,
and also on the banks of the Thames, when we were
making our annual visit to Sir J. Wyattville at Windsor
Castle. His success as an angler was great, although
with the worst tackle in the world. Every fish he
caught he showed to me, and appealed to me to decide
whether the size justified him to keep it for the table,
or to return it to the river; his hesitation was often
almost touching, and he always gave the prisoner at
the bar the benefit of the doubt."
Now this, I think, tells well for Turner, for fisher
men are not very tender-hearted generally. Even good
old Isaac Walton, who would not wantonly have
hurt a fly, would, away from his shop, and on the
Lea's bank, disembowel and draw and quarter, like
any red-handed butcher. I have always thought the
worst thing told of Caligula was his habit of spending
leisure hours in pricking flies to death.
Many men are good-hearted, and yet not sensitive.
They fling a poor friend a banknote, but at the same
time they hurt him by making a pellet of it, and
flipping it into his eye. They give a beggar a shilling,
then slam the door in his face, and knock him off
the doorstep. They rub oil into your wounds, and
tread on your toes while they do it. I do not like
this kind of hoofed angel. But Turner was full of

124 GEORGEY.
sensibility, all the more real, because he did not wear
it on his sleeve and call it "sentiment," which is
generally false metal.
A few stories will prove this as well as a thousand.
Turner is down at Petworth, and hears his noble host
mention a friend's name several times and in rather
a hurt tone.
" I have written to . ask him, but he wont come,"
repeated blunt but sound-hearted Lord Egremont.
Turner, as he paints, thinks over this ominous re
mark, and sees mischief in it. He probably will have to
pen another " Fallacy of Hope," if his friend declines
any more invitations. He writes directly, warning
his friend, who sensibly took the kindly meant and
sensible advice, and all was well. (Aphorism. — The
only thing a man never forgives is your declining an
invitation ; the only thing a man never believes is a
friend's excuse for not coming to dinner.) Mr. Jones
came; and three weeks after, Lord Egremont died.
To his intimate friends, Turner was affectionate,
and did not attempt to conceal it. One of his dearest
friends he used to call " Georgey " and " Joney "
alternately. But Turner, though I believe a Tory,
loved liberty and those who fought for it ; so when his
friend's villanous namesake betrayed the Hungarians,
he said to Jones, " I shall not call you Georgey any
more:" the name was henceforth hateful to him.
Stumpy, slovenly, lame, often not very clean in dress,
awkward and unconciliatory in manner, suspicious
of feigned friends, greedy relations, selfish legacy-
hunters, and concealed enemies, Turner had not the

THE LONG FIGHT. 125
manner of one that either could or cared to win the
general world ; but by his real friends he was beloved,
and among friends he was ever cheerful and social,
delighting in fun, and a most welcome companion at
all times. How could one expect a courtly manner
from Turner? He was a scantily-educated barber's son,
whose early life was spent in bitter struggles for bare
subsistence — whose middle life was spent without
patronage in drawing for engravers, and struggling
for fame with the black ghosts of the old masters,
that then filled the galleries of English noblemen.
His later life was spent in following different ideals,
at an age when early habits of parsimony had grown
inveterate, and when he could not unfreeze himself
into hospitality.
No man had ever had more to turn his heart to
iron or to earth than Turner. In early life by a cruel
deception robbed of her he was about to make his wife ;
in middle life he was without patronage, toiling for
and wrangling with engravers, when he knew, as cer
tainly as if an angel had told it him, that he had out
shone Cuyp, distanced Vandervelde, beaten Ruysdale,
rivalled Canaletti, and transcended even Claude ; that
he had founded English landscape, that he had carried
art further than it had before gone.
Then came old age to him, and found him rich but
without hope, with no faith, no solace but his art.
He had no wife, no children to unbend his heart to,
to mourn with silently, to turn his thoughts from their
worn channels, to wean him from self or to carry
his thoughts on to a better future, — he felt no new

126 THE LIBERAL MISER.
youth in the youth of his sons — he had no one to
lead him away with soothing kisses and comfortings
from carking recollections.
And did all this turn his heart from flesh to stone?
No; his one great unchanging thought was how he
could best consecrate all the hard earnings of a long
and painful life to charity. He had met with little
love in the world, yet he loved his kind deeply and
silently. He might be proud to think that the poor
barber's son should be entombed among the true
kings of men in St. Paul's. He might truly be proud
to feel that a national collection of pictures bearing
his name would delight the English people for genera
tions to come.
His sedate and sarcastic love of mystification was
mistaken for wilful deception — his self-denying and
sparing habits for proofs of greedy avarice. Every
story raked up from the penny lives of Elwes or
Guy (his real prototype) was believed, because Turner
was not present to contradict them; but the moment
he died, and it was found that he had left by will
an enormous fortune for the benefit of his poor com
rades in art, the great edifice of lies fell to dust,
like the house built on sand.
Here was the cold, sullen, misanthropic miser, who
had spent his miserable lonely years higgling like a
Jew pedlar about the odd penny that was to be paid
for his pictures, dying and leaving the whole earnings
of his life to found a great charity that would last
while England lasted. How many hours those black
tongues had spent, and all in vain !

THREE CLASSES OF ENEMIES. 127
Turner's main undeviating thought was to benefit
art, and to found almshouses near where he had once
lived for the poor foot-sore common soldiers in the
great army of Art. No paltry vanity hung round the
neck of this great-hearted, yet I fear unhappy man.
For this he had lived like the half- starved steward of a
miser's property. For this he had let his house grow
into a den, and had worked like a miner amid a
sordid gloom. For poor broken old men of no talents,
the world's failures, he had ground down insolent
publishers. For weeping widows and orphans he
had wrangled about additional shillings for picture-
frames and cab-hire ; to pay for poor artists' funerals,
he had toiled and travelled ; to chase the wolf from
other men's doors, he had consented to men calling
him " miser, Jew, and dog."
One of Turner's executors, and one of his oldest
friends, one whom he loved — whom he had known for
years, in private and in society at Petworth, in the
murky Queen Anne Gallery, in art and at leisure,
tells me solemnly and without reserve that he believes
Turner's character to be entirely without stain. He
says : —
" I never knew a man freer from guile or of a
kinder nature, notwithstanding his occasionally rough
demeanour; but envy, jealousy, and cupidity made
him their victim as far as they were able."
Turner was unlucky enough to have several sorts
of enemies : —
1st. Professional rivals; small and low-brained
men, who hated their conqueror and monarch.

128 CHIT-CHATTERERS.
2nd. Legacy hunters, who felt that they had made
no progress in his favour, and therefore hated him
with a virulent hatred.
3rd. The mere loose-tongued chatterers of the clubs,
who partly invent, partly alter the current malice of
the day, and who love to get a typical character to
hang their gossip upon. Some of these magpies' stories
I may have inserted in this book, but I trust not many.
Unluckily it is impossible to verify every line in a
biography, however truthful.
And now, before I try and sum up Turner's cha
racter, let me bring forward some proofs of his
undeviating kindness and amiability.
All his surviving friends testify with one voice to
the benevolence and compassion he displayed when
ever an occasion .arose for charity or sympathy. Fire
under snow, his heart was ; the soft sap was under the
rough bark. His heart looked like rock, but when
the angel touched it, out burst the living waters, cer
tain as the flame does from the black stony coal when
you crush it.
Turner sometimes, but seldom, gave away pic
tures,* and this negative quality his enemies of course
put down to avarice. But the fact arose from a
principle he had laid down, from his observation of
human nature, that men never valued gift pictures
so much as those in which they had invested money
or made some sacrifice to obtain. He wanted his
work valued, because that advanced his fame; and
after all, was he not hoarding his best pictures, and
* He seldom visited Mr. Griffiths without bringing him touched
proofs as a present, and those, too, of a set his friend was collecting.

A KIND HEART. 129
refusing thousands for them, that he might leave
them to the people whose nobles had neglected him.
As an example of liberality where liberality was
unexpected and even uncalled for, I may mention,
that when Rogers, the poetical banker, wanted his bill
for the artist's beautiful illustrations to the bitter little
man's poems,. Turner only demanded five guineas a-
piece for the loan of each drawing, so delighted was
he at the taste, care, and perfection with which the
book was produced, and so much did he consider it
had tended to advance his own fame.
Mr. Wilkie Collins tells me, as a proof of Turner's
warmth of heart, that when his father, then dying of
disease of the heart, attended for the last time the
Exhibition of the Royal Academy, and all his friends
and fellow- Academicians were pressing to offer him
help, Turner was the first to tenderly give him his
arm and lead him in.
Nor was he less kind in money-matters, though to
most men he falsely seemed so grasping and obdurate.
He once returned to Mr. Charles Heath bills to the
amount of 1000/. advanced to him for work done for
the Keepsakes, willing to be paid or not at a future
time, as the state of Mr. Heath's affairs would decide.
But this is a mere grain of sand in comparison of
another less known but thoroughly-proved instance of
Turner's large heart and generous disposition. I tell
the story, but I suppress the names. An early patron
of Turner, when he was a mere industrious barber's
son, working at three-shilling drawings in his murky
bedroom, had seen some of them in a window in the
Haymarket, and had bought them. From that time
VOL. II. K

130 THE UNKNOWN FRIEND.
he had gone on buying and being kind to the rising
artist, and Turner could not forget it. Years after
he heard that his old benefactor had become involved,
and that his steward had received directions to cut
down some valued trees. Instantly Turner's gene
rous impulses were roused; his usual parsimony (all
directed to one great object) was cast behind him.
He at once wrote to the steward, concealing his name,
and sent him the full amount : many, many thousands
— as much as 20,000/., I believe. The gentleman
never knew who was his benefactor, but in time
his affairs rallied, and he was enabled to pay Turner
the whole sum back. Years again rolled on, and
now the son of Turner's benefactor became involved.
Again the birds of the air brought the news to the
guardian angel of the family; again he sent the
necessary thousands anonymously; again (so singular
are the sequences of Providence) the son stopped the
leak, righted himself, and returned the whole sum
with thanks.
One element in Turner's success was his indif
ference to praise. Though proud of his works, he
was not a vain man. He never suffered from the
disappointments arising out of a premature desire
for fame. He did not appear to be pleased with
Mr. Ruskin's superlative eulogies, says Mr. P.
Cunningham. " He knows a great deal more about
my pictures than I do," said Turner; " he puts things
into my head, and points out meanings in them
that I never intended." It was not easy to draw
his attention to the admiration of his own pictures.
A well-known collector with whom the artist had

THE GRAIN ER. 131
long been intimate, once invited him to be present
at the opening of a new gallery which was hung
round with his most beautiful drawings. To the
disappointment of the connoisseur, Turner scarcely
noticed them, but kept his eye fixed upon the ceiling.
It was panelled, and neatly grained in oak. " What
are you looking at so intently?" said the host. " At
those boards," was the reply; " the fellow that did
that must have known how to paint." And nothing
would induce him to turn to the magnificent pictures
that sparkled on the walls. He never talked about
his own pictures, but would occasionally give hints to
other artists; and when these were adopted, they
were alwaj^s certain improvements. We never heard
of his saying anything, however, that would give
pain, though he felt keenly the ignorant criticisms
and ridicule with which his own pictures were some
times treated.
Turner's was a good and kind nature ; he was not
the sordid hunks and miser the scandal of the time
made him. He used to say to an intimate friend :
"Don't wish for money; you will not be the
happier, and you know you can have any money of
me you want."
There is a story which I believe to be true, that a
poor woman once interrupted his day's painting by
¦teasing him with a begging petition. He roughly
chid her and sent her away ; but before she got to
the hall door, his conscience had goaded him, he ran
after her and presented her with a 51. note, a great
sum for a thrifty close man to give away on a sudden
impulse. k2

132 THE POOR DRAWING-MASTER.
The following story speaks volumes for the much-
slandered man.
When a drawing-master, an old friend of his,
died, Turner was deeply afflicted, and showed all the
kindness he could, to the widow ; he lent her money
until a large amount had accumulated, and when
fortune, favoured the honourable and grateful relict,
she waited, on Turner with the amount. She offered
it; he, keeping his hands resolutely in his pockets,
desired her to keep it, and to send the children to
school. Many debts he forgave, and some of great
importance; a cruel, a rapacious act, he was never
guilty of. He talked roughly, but felt tenderly ; and
he was careful never to wound the feelings of any
one. "Many stories," says Mr. Jones, "are told of
Turner's parsimony and covetousness, but they are
generally untrue ; he was careful, and desired to aecur
mulate; he acknowledged it, often added to the
jokes against himself, and would say, with an arch
expression of countenance, when congratulated on
the successful sale of a picture, ' Yes, but there is
the frame, or the carriage, or the time spent in alte
ration or varnishing;' but these were indulgences
in the ridiculous, which always excited mirth and
gave him pleasure; cruelty and unkindness he
never felt, a proof of which was discovered after his
death. "The executors inquired what were the debts, due
to him, and learned from his lawyer, that the rent of
two houses in Harley-street had not been paid for two
years; this surprised the executors, but the. matter.

NAVAL critics! 133
was explained by the lawyer stating that "Mr. Turner'
would not allow him to distrain, yet pressed him to
importune the tenants for the rent.
" Turner was always desirous to earn money, with
one great and beneficent view constantly before him,'
yet he preferred painting a picture for any person to"
selling one.
"When he was painting on his picture ¦ formerly in'
St. James's Palace (now at Greenwich), he was
criticized and instructed daily by the Daval men about
the Court, and during eleven days he altered the
rigging to suit the fancy of each seaman, and did it'
with the greatest good-humour; yet, during his life,
he always joked about having worked eleven days
without any pay or other profit.
"Many persons who had employed Turner complained
that he had not completed the commissions they gave
as they expected; this may be true, and probably
Turner could not or would not work as they desired ;
yet he never scrupled to retain the pictures or drawings
objected to, though he often declined to make another
effort to give satisfaction. The drawings he made
for Mr. Rogers's work were in his possession at the
time of his death, he having only received a small
sum as copyright for the designs made expressly for
the poet."
Turner was very fond of fishing; he seldom went
to visit a country friend without binding up a rod
with his pilgrim's staff.
He was an intensely persevering fisherman too, no
bad weather could drive him from his post, no ill-luck
tire out his imperturbable patience ; and here, too, I

134 THE WET DAY.
see reflected his greatness : the body that bore the
long day's rain contained the mind that had borne the
long struggle to fame. The hand that bore for hours
without repining the unlucky rod, was the hand that
went on for years painting great pictures, though they
would not sell.
When Turner went to Petworth, he always spent
much time in fishing. When he went to revisit the
scenes of his childhood at Brentford, or walked over
from his house at Twickenham, to visit his friend
Trimmer, of Heston, he always appeared carrying
his rod.
One of Mr. Trimmer's sons, still living, remembers
well seeing Turner sit on the lawn at Brentford, fishing
in a pond for carp. It was a raging wet dreary day,
and he had a kitchen chair to sit on, and a board
to put his feet on. With one hand he held his huge
umbrella, and with the other his rod. Splash — drizzle
— blow; there he sat all day till the dinner-bell rang,
immovable, implacable, sworn to do or die, yet steady,
silent, and untiring. How Wellington would have
liked this man.
Perhaps it was being amid nature, after all, that
made the melancholy monotony of this dull sport so
delightful to Turner; all that wet day he perhaps
was observing ripples and reflections, and eddies and
gleams of green weed and silvery glances of sullen
fish, that were all garnered up in that vast and
tenacious memory, which no note-taking habits could
weaken. Rogers the poet, and Charles Fox, were one day
expatiating on the delight of lying in summer deep-

THE EXCUSE FOR IDLENESS. 135
in warm flowers and sunny grass, and looking up at
the white clouds toppling past overhead.
" Delightful, — with a book," chimed in Rogers.
" But why with a book?" said Fox, the laziest of
men. So say I, by all means ; lie about on summer banks,
and look into pools, whether fish -full or fish-less; but
why with a rod? Yet a rod is a good excuse for a
poet or a painter's idleness, and so thought Turner
we may be sure.
I believe Turner sometimes ventured a little money
at cards.
Leslie relates a story of a sudden thaw coming upon
Turner's parsimony. Turner and a large party of
brother artists were dining at Blackwall. Whitebait,
champagne : no stint, we may be sure, for avarice is
never in the majority at such exceptional times. The
bill, a very heavy one, is brought in by a demure
waiter, who hands it to Chantrey, the fat, jolly presi
dent. The sculptor, in pure mischief, shows it to
Turner, who, however, instantly pays it, and will
allow no one else to furnish a halfpenny.
I have in my time known men of habitual par
simony, men who have cried and fallen ill when they
had to draw from their bankers' the purchase-money
of an estate*, who yet at their own dinner-parties
were the most liberal of men. Such are the incon
sistencies of human nature, such are the occasional
thawings of natures, however frozen by habit;
Turner liked society, particularly that of his bro
ther artists, and often lamented that he could not
be hospitable. He was a member of the original

136 PAYING BILLS.
club of Academicians, and when that club was revived
by Mr. Pickersgill, he joined it with infinite pleasure,
He also set an example of friendly meetings at the
Athenasum, by once defraying the expense of rather a
large dinner enjoyed by his brothers of the Academy.;
He did so with the hope that his example would be
followed, but the project failed after one or two suc
cessive meetings.
Reluctant as Turner seemed to be in parting with
his money, yet, when he dined with two or three at
some place of amusement, his companions often found
that, when the bill was called for, Turner had already
defrayed the expense.
Turner was no sour-blooded recluse. Leslie, who
knew him well, says, " in careless conversation he
often expressed himself happily, and he was very
playful; at a dinner- table nobody more gay and
joyous." He was a social man by nature, and his
habit of solitude arose from the wish to have more
time to devote to art.
"On the 19th December," he adds, "in this year,
died the greatest painter of the" time, by some
thought the greatest of all the English painters. By
many, however, and perhaps by the best judges,
Turner will be placed in that class
" Whose genius is such,
That we can never praise it or blame it too much."
" The artists, with scarcely an exception, had from
the beginning of his career done him justice; but he
passed through life little noticed by the aristocracy
(Lord Egremont being, as he had been in the case of
Flaxman, the principal exception), and never by

SIR GEORGE. 137
Royalty. Calcott, and other painters immeasurably
below him, were knighted ; and whether Turner desired
such a distinction or not, I think it is probable he was
hurt by its not having been offered to him. Probably
also he expected to fill the chair of the Academy on
the death of Sir Martin Shee; but greatly as his
genius would have adorned it on almost every other
account, he was incapable of occupying it with credit
to himself or to the institution, for he was a confused
speaker, wayward and peculiar in many of his
opinions, and expected a degree of deference on account
of his age and high standing as a painter, which the
members could not invariably pay him, consistently
with the interests of the Academy and the Arts.
" Having said that he received but little notice
from the nobility, with the exception of Lord Egre
mont, I must not omit to mention that he painted
one of his largest and grandest pictures for Lord
Yarborough, and another as fine for the Marquis of
Stafford. Mr. Rogers, with less means of patronage,
was always his great admirer, and has associated his
name with that of Turner in one of the most beauti
fully illustrated volumes that has ever appeared.
" It is remarkable that the poet was equally the
friend and admirer of Flaxman and Stothard, while
the titled and wealthy of the country lost for them
selves the honour of connecting themselves with
names that will probably outlive their own.
" Sir Qeorge Beaumont was a sincere friend to the
arts, but in many things a mistaken one. He was
right in his patronage of Wilkie and Haydon, but he
ridiculed Turner, whom he endeavoured to talk down.

138 THE DARK HOUSE.
He did the same with respect to Stothard, and though
personally very friendly to Constable, he never seems
to have had much perception of his extraordinary
genius. "In the year 1822, Constable thus wrote: — ' The
art will go out ; there will be no genuine painting in
thirty years.' And it is remarkable that within a
few months of the date thus specified, Turner should
have died, almost literally fulfilling, as some of his ad
mirers may think, Constable's prophecy.
" It is difficult to judge of the condition of art in
our own time, but I think it cannot be denied that
painting is in a much lower state in this country now
than in the year 1822. At that time Stothard,
Fuseli, Wilkie, Turner, Lawrence, Owen, JaGkson,
Constable, and Etty were living, James Ward was in
the full possession of his great powers, as were also
most among the present eminent painters. But those
who have since come forward, however they may
hereafter rank, cannot, I think, at present be con
sidered as forming anything like such an assembly."
In the original sketch of Elgin Cathedral, made
by an amateur, the windows in the nave were closed
or built up ; but in the revised drawing by Turner
he left them open. On being spoken to about this a
few years after, he said, " They ought to have been
open ; how much better is it to see the light of day
in God's house than darkness."
Turner was always quaint in giving his reasons
for what he did. When Mr. John Pye engraved the
plate of Wickliffe's birth-place for Whittaker's "York
shire," Turner, in touching the proof, introduced a

THE FRIGHTENED GEESE. 139
burst of light which was not in the drawing. Mr. Pye
asked him his reason for so doing. He replied, " That
is the place where Wickliffe was born, and there is
the light of the glorious Reformation." " Well," said
Mr. Pye, satisfied ; " but what do you mean by these
large fluttering geese in the foreground?" " Oh, those
— those are the old superstitions which the genius of
the Reformation is driving away."
A Mrs. Austin, who married the uncle of Mr.
Layard (Nineveh), mentions that she once said to
Turner, " I find, Mr. Turner, that in copying one of
your works, touches of blue, red, and yellow appear
all through the work." He answered, " Well, don't
you see that yourself in nature, because if you don't,
heaven help you !"
" Mr. Turner," says the Times of December 23rd,
1851, "only displayed in the closest intimacy the
shrewdness of his observation and the playfulness of
his wit. Everywhere he kept back much of what
was in him, and while the keenest intelligence, mingled
with a strong tinge of satire, animated his brisk coun
tenance, it seemed to amuse him to be but half under
stood. His nearest social ties were those formed in
the Royal Academy, of which he was by far the oldest
member, and to whose interest he was most warmly
attached." Mr. Mulready had the audacity on a certain occa
sion, when joking with Turner on some pleasant
bygone varnishing day, to compare a cow in the great
landscape-painter's foreground to one Of those little
dough pigs with currants for eyes that they sell to
children at country shops. Turner, who always had.

140 THE PAINTER. r
a great appetite for a joke, relished this simile ex
tremely, and kept giggling over his painting for some
time, chewing the cud of Mulready 's quiet humour as
only a great man entirely free from vanity could do.
On these varnishing days Turner arrived very early,
with his dirty chest of colours, his worn-out brushes,
and an unclean palette, which would have shocked a'
Dutch painter. He sat on steps, or made a pile of
boxes to stand on if his picture hung high.
Turner's fun was often professional. His detractors
have made mischief of even the following instance
of his good-humoured raillery : —
In 1826, that great ruler of the sea, Stanfield,
painted a picture of a calm, which he named " Throw
ing the Painter." Unfortunately he was unable to get
it finished in time for the Exhibition, and Calcott
hearing of it, painted a picture which for fun he
called " Dutch Fishing Boat missing the Painter."
Turner would chuckle rarely over these studio jokes,
and quietly determining to cap them all, he came
out next year with a work named . " Now for the'
Painter," with all the laughing triumph of a boy who
at leapfrog takes the last and highest back.
" Seclusion was Turner's own fault," says Mr. Leslie.
" No death-bed could be more surrounded by atten
tive friends than his might have been, had he chosen
to let his friends know where he lived. He had
constantly dinner invitations, which he seldom even1
answered, but appeared at the table of the inviter or
not as it suited him. It may well be supposed that
a man so rich, admired in life, and, as it was thought,
without near relations, would be much courted. He

NAPLES YELLOW. 141
had for many years quoted in the Academy catalogues
a MS. poem, ' The Fallacies of Hope;' and I believe
that among his papers such a MS., though not in
poetic form, was found by some of his friends to be
his will."
"I met Turner," says a friend of mine, "at Sir
Richard Westmacott's. One of the party was about
to start for Italy, and asked Turner if he could do
anything for him. ' No,' said Turner, ' unless you
will bring me some Naples yellow.' "
, He never would tell his birthday. One who was a
fellow-student with him at the Academy, and his
companion from boyhood, once said to him, " William^
your birthday can't be far off; when is it? I want to
drink a glass of wine to my old friend." " Ah !"
growled Turner; "never mind that; leave your old
friend alone."
Those who were continually, from sheer ignorance,
complaining that Turner never did a generous act in
his life, and showed peculiar ingratitude to engravers,
by whose aid he had earned so many thousands, were
always from mere stupidity imputing to Turner's
avarice what was only Turner's drollery. Stories
like the following are no doubt true enough; but it
is the blundering reading of them, of which I com
plain :
" Turner once refused a sum which he had lent; but
that was after a sumptuous dinner to which he had
been invited; while enjoying the dessert, the host;
all at once remembering, the transaction, said, ' Let
me see, Mr. Turner,. I owe you a little money.'
' What for ?' said Turner, setting down the wine

142 THE RED BENCH.
which he was just raising to his lips. ' You paid
sixpence for the gate when I drove you down,'
answered the host. ' Oh !' said Turner, with a look
of disappointment, as he again had recourse to the
glass, ' never mind that now? "
The animus of the story is shown in the look and
gestures imputed to Turner. I have no doubt he said
" never mind that, now]' with a sly, grunting chuckle.
From none of the engravers whom Turner em
ployed can I extract one story of wrong or injustice.
Turner was hard, close, and exacting, but the terms
once made, he was true, undeviating, and stanchly
honest. Under this head I give frankly, for I desire nothing
but the truth, some of the most reliable stories I can
gather together of Turner's parsimony.
" Once, to the amazement of the whole body of
Royal Academicians, he offered to purchase cloth
to re-cover the seats in the room where one of his
pictures was hung. No one divined the reason for
this apparently generous and most unaccountable
act. He was always very particular that everything
should aid the effect of his pictures, even to the
hanging of those placed around them. To keep up
this colour, he would continue painting on his pic
tures after they were hung, during the varnishing
days. On one occasion, however, he was 'check
mated,' and as he could not produce the effect he
wanted by paint, he set about accomplishing it by
policy ; he studied how it might be done by a foil,
and soon found that if he got a mass of bright red in
the foreground, his object would be accomplished.

VERY NEAR. 143
' The seats are not fit to sit on,' said Turner to the
hangers ; ' they are very shabby ; they must be re
covered.' He was referred to the Council; there was
no Council, so he called upon the President; but
some formula was necessary, and delay did not suit
Turner's purpose, though he kept his own secret : he
muttered something about ' It's a disgrace to the
Academy !' then said, ' I'll do it at my expense.'
Lawrence laughed at his liberality, and made no
objection. In about an hour he returned, and, going
up to the President, said, ' Well, I've got the cloth !
Suppose I may charge for the men's time and nails ?'
The President, seeing him so determined, got the
necessary permission, and the seats were covered with
the cloth Turner had selected, and which he was not
allowed to pay for. When the first form was covered,
he placed the foil in the foreground of his picture, and
the inward chuckle of satisfaction that he gave be
trayed the whole secret.
" At another time he was ' very near' giving a
dinner, but fate ordained it otherwise, as the sequel
will show. Turner had received many civilities from
Mr. Thomson, of Duddingston, and when in Edin
burgh had made that gentleman's house his home.
On his departure, Turner pressed the reverend artist
to return the compliment should he ever come to
London, which he unexpectedly did, and, as it ap
peared, much to Turner's surprise, who, however,
invited his Edinburgh visitor to dine with him, and
was doubtless not in the least sorry to find that the
gentleman had an engagement ; but he promised to
come on the following day. Thomson, however, had

144 Lawrence's friend.
to call upon a nobleman, who also asked him to dine.
He pleaded the excuse of an engagement for the only
two days he had to remain in town ; and when the
nobleman learnt that it was to Turner he was
engaged the second day, he said, 'You bring him
with you ; he will not be sorry for the change ; or I
will call myself and invite him : I want to see his pic
tures.' He did so,, and Turner accepted the invitation
with the best air of affected disappointment he could
assume, and was beginning with a ' Well, if I mustj
I 'spose I must ;, but'  He had not time to pro
ceed further, before his father, who, while preparing a
canvas for the son, had been listening to all that trans
pired,, and who was perhaps fearful that the 'but' might
lead to the (dreaded) dinner coming off, thrust open
the door, and having no motive to disguise the true
state of his feelings, exclaimed, loud enough to break
the drum of a deaf man's ear : ' Go, Billy ! go ! the
mutton needn't be cooked, Billy !' A dinner cooked
in Queen Anne-street would have caused an alarm in
the neighbourhood ; for to have seen anything beyond
the feeblest curl of smoke attempting to struggle and
escape from Turner's chimneys would have raised an
alarm of ' Fire !'
" A friend of Sir Thomas Lawrence's, who resided
at Clapham-common, commissioned the amiable Pre
sident to order of Turner a picture at a most liberal
price. When the picture was finished, Lawrence and
Turner were invited to dinner, to see it hung ; but
the former was summoned to Windsor on the morn
ing of the appointed day. Turner, however, arrived
with the picture, which was greatly admired; and

THE MONUMENT. 145
when the ladies retired after dinner, the gentleman,
seeing Turner fidgety, said, 'We will now to busi
ness. Excuse me a moment, while I write you out
a cheque.' The cheque was written and handed to
Turner, who, instead of putting it into his pocket,
kept turning it over, first eyeing the gentleman, then
the cheque. Seeing something was wrong, the gen
tleman said, 'I have made it guineas, I believe? It
was to be guineas, was it not?' 'Yes, the guineas
are right enough,' said Turner, in his gruff manner ;
' but I paid six shillings for the coach : that's not
down !' The six shillings were paid.
" When Turner erected the tablet to his father in
St. Paul's, Covent Garden, there was some mason's
work done to it, which came to 7s. Bd. ; this amount
Mr. Cribb, the churchwarden, paid, feeling certain
that Turner would repay him when he came to look
at the tablet. Turner called, and seemed satisfied
with everything, until Mr. Cribb mentioned the 7s. 6 c/.,
when Turner told him to call on him some day and
bring a receipt for the money, and said, ' he shouldn't
pay it without he did.' The money was not worth
the trouble ; so Turner got the mason's work without
paying for it."
These stories I fully believe to be, in the main,
authentic ; but they are maliciously written ; I think
they come from a concealed enemy, and they present
Turner purposely in a bad light, to gratify the pique
and ill-will of the writer.
The story of the cloth, for instance, at the Academy,
is, in my opinion, maliciously given, and is quite mis
understood. In the first place, the painter's anxiety
VOL. II. l

146 GREEK FIRE.
was quite justifiable; in the second place, the whole
affair was a secretive bit of humour, upon which I
am sure he must have founded many a joke.
The story of the mason is equally explainable.
Turner may have forgotten the small bill, for, with'
all his thrifty habits, he was careless about money ; or
he may have purposely wished to punish the insolence
of an official man who would not come a few yards
to ask for money due to him.
The story of Turner's asking for the coach fare is,
no doubt, true, because he often asked for small extras,
and even made his request the subject of a standing
joke with his old friends. He would have his rights,
down, to the last penny, because he was sturdy even
to obstinacy, and thrifty from the unchangeable habit
of years ; but he had too much sense and humour not
to see when he had carried his love of money too
far, and even to make fun of his own peculiarities.
Turner was not a wit, but he had a biting, sarcastic
humour of his own, that burnt into and clung to
those he disliked, with the persistent and unquench
able tenacity df Greek fire. Yet Fuseli, in his volu
ble, violent manner, once gave him a fall, and in the
following way : —
Turner had sent a canvas to Somerset House, with
a subject so undefined that it caused considerable
speculation among the Royal Academicians, when they
assembled on the morning of the first varnishing day,
as to what he intended to represent. It was a
" Moonlight" with one, and with another a " Storm;"
at last, Howard suggested it might be an "Alle
gory." " Yes," said Fuseli, " the allegorie of blazes

FUSELI POSING. 347
at a dejeuner a la fourchette, wid molten lead !" Tur
ner, who had entered in time to hear the keeper's re-
mark, said, " No, that's Limbo; where they are going.
to send your ' Sin and Death' " (a celebrated picture).
Fuseli threw himself into an attitude of mock terror,
saying, " Gentlemen, we are ondone ; we all know
Tourner to be an imp of de old one transformed into
an angel of light by his double shadow." " Yes,"
put in Beechey; "but Turner's shadows are only
double when he sees double." " Ah !" added Fuseli,
with an affected sigh, "gentlemen, it is what Turner
sees dat concerns us, now he is in his fader's confi
dence, and he tells him all about de beesiness in his
great fire-office below." The picture was altered,
but Turner never again ventured on a joke with
Fuseli. And yet there was something absurd in Fuseli,
who lived in a murky world of dreams, ridiculing the
poetical obscurity of Turner, which, after all, was
then only a temporary fault with him.
Without epigram or bon-mot, shaft or firework,
Turner had his own quiet way of annoying the
enemy. Even that very courtly landlord's son, Law
rence, could not escape an occasional bullet, as the
following story shows : — ¦
Turner was at first a stern opponent to engraving.
on steel, and had no notion of supplying plates for.
" the million !" He called upon Sir Thomas Law
rence one day, at a time when he had just received a
proof, with which he was very much, pleased. He
showed it to Turner, and said, " By the way, Turner,
I wonder you don't have some of your drawings en-:
L2

148 THE SCRAP OF PAPER.
graved on steel." "Humph! I hate steel." "But
why?" " I don't like it : besides, I don't choose to be
a basket engraver !" "A basket engraver! a basket
engraver, Turner! what is that?" said the President.
Turner looked at Lawrence, with that malicious leer
which, in his little penetrating eyes, when he meant
mischief, conveyed more killing sarcasm than his
words, and said, " When I got off the coach t'other
day at Hastings, a woman came up with a basketful
of your Mrs. Peel, and wanted to sell me one for six
pence." He disliked his works being sold cheap.
Turner was extraordinarily sensitive about his
fame, and anything that should lower it. Hence his
reluctance to sit for his portrait, because he thought
people who saw his portrait would think less of his
paintings. Of the jealous guard he kept over his fame, there
is a good story told.
A curious instance of the value he attached to the
merest trifle from his own hand, and the dislike he had
to any one trading by chance with it, was related by
an eminent printseller, into whose shop he once
walked, to purchase, if possible, an engraving made
many years before from one of his picture's. His de
scription of the subject he aided by a few rude lines,
scrawled with a pen on a loose piece of paper, which
blew behind the counter in turning over the portfolios
to look for the print. The painter ultimately got his
print, and, missing the scrap of paper, eagerly de
manded it of the unconscious printseller, whose con
fusion redoubled Turner's anxiety, which was only
appeased when the scrap of paper was recovered from

THE BUTCHER'S BOY. 149
a dark corner, and carefully wrapped with the en
graving. Turner generally bought in his own works when they
were put up for auction. If time pressed, and he was
unable to attend in person, he would sometimes, but
rarely, entrust his commission to the auctioneer; his
ordinary practice was to send some agent, with writ
ten instructions, to bid in his behalf, and he was not
always very fastidious in his selection. At the sale
of the pictures of Mr. Green, the well-known amateur
of Blackheath, two pictures by Turner were among
the most attractive lots, though neither important in
size nor of his best time. In those days their market
value might have been about eighty guineas each.
They would, however, have been knocked down for
considerably less, but for the impetus given to the
biddings by one of Mr. Turner's agents, whose per
sonal appearance did not warrant the belief that he
was in search of pictures of a very high order. He
was, in fact, a clean, ruddy-cheeked butcher's boy, in
the usual costume of his vocation, and had made se
veral advances, in five-guinea strides, before anything
belonging to him, excepting his voice, had attracted
Mr. Christie's notice. No sooner, however, did the
veteran auctioneer see what kind of customer he had
to deal with, than he beckoned him forward, with a
view, no doubt, of reproving him for his impertinence.
The boy, however, nothing daunted, put a small piece
of greasy paper into his hand — a credential, in fact,
from the painter himself. The auctioneer smiled, and
the biddings proceeded. Both pictures brought high
prices, and the object of the painter was as success-

150 SECRETS.
fully achieved as if Count D'Orsay had been his
representative. When the son of Charles Turner (the late eminent
engraver) was dying, W. Turner went constantly to
inquire the state of the youth, and of the family ; he
never left his name ; and this constant solicitude was
not known to the parents until after the son's death ;
the servant then reported that a little, short gentle
man, of odd manners, had called every evening to
•know the state of the sufferer. Such was the charac
ter of this misappreciated man.
I know that in one instance he returned a bond for
500/., which was never again asked for, or paid.
Turner was tenacious in not disclosing any of his
•secrets as to how he obtained breadth and depth iii
his water-colour painting. He generally painted with
his door locked, if he was at a stranger's house ; and
•if any one approached him, or idlers tried to overlook
him, he covered his drawing. He had no special
secrets to hide; for Turner's colours were of little use
to men who had not Turner's brain. But he had been
accustomed, as a boy, to paint up in his bed-room,
and he could not change his solitary habits. He did
not like imitators, and he did not wish absurd
stories spread of his mechanical artifices. Moreover,
this habit of secrecy gratified his love of mystery, and
his natural fondness of concealment. Yet once at
Edinburgh he communicated all he knew to a strug
gling artist, at a time when the secret of his modes of
sponging and his bistre washings was worth 100/. to
any one.
There is a story told of Turner's love of conceal-

THE APOSTLE OF NATURE. 151
ment, which connects him with Britton, the publisher
of so many architectural works ; a plausible, and, I
fear, a very mean man ; one of those bland, selfish
squeezers of other men's brains that still occasionally
disgrace literature.
Just about the time (1843) when Mr. Ruskin had
been heralding Turner as the apostle of nature, he
was seen on a Margate steamer, eating shrimps out
of an immense red silk handkerchief, laid across his
knees. " An apostle, surely," said a bystander, " in
the strangest guise."
When some one told Turner of Mr. Knight's house
having been broken into, he said, " That's the worse
of being rich."
A friend of Turner's remembers his coming to see
one of his water-colour drawings he had purchased;
he looked at it a long time (I think it was a view of
Windermere) ; he then pulled a box of colours out
of his pocket, and set to work at it again for some
hours " like a tiger."
When people came to see him, he would sometimes
come down quite dizzy " with work." But I fear
that latterly he drank sherry constantly while he
painted. There are men living who have seen Turner in bit
ter anger about the neglect shown to his exhibited
pictures. He would point at a stack of them against
the wall, and say, " Don't talk about 'em; all of them
came back. They might have had 'em; now they
shan't have 'em."
When Turner was visiting once at some grand place
iii Yorkshire, he paid the gardener 2s. 6c/. for putting

152 ODD MANNERS.
him up a small hamper of plants for his London gar
den, The next time he came, he made a point of
seeing the gardener, and said to him, " Those plants
of yours all died." There were bystanders cruel
enough to think he rather hoped that the gardener
would return the bit of silver; but, vestigia nulla,
gardeners do not return money.
Turner never would verify a picture. He told a
friend he had done so once, and the result was that
he was put in the witness-box at a trial. " It was
the first," he said, " and it shall be the last." Among
Turner's papers were found the leaves of flowers and
careful notes of their times of opening. It is said
that letters used to remain unopened on Turner's
table for months. " They only want my autograph,"
he used to say.
"Turner's manners," says one of his friends,
" were odd, but not bad. He was fond of talking of
poetry." Those friends to whom Mr. Jones introduced
him always liked him, and were delighted to have
him at their tables.
" My own admiration of him," says Mr. Ruskin in
his last volume, " was wild in enthusiasm; but it gave
him no ray of pleasure; he could not make me, at
that time, understand his main meanings. He loved
me, but cared nothing for what I said, and was always
trying to hinder me from writing, because it gave
pain to his fellow-artists. To the praise of other
persons he gave not even the acknowledgment of this
sad affection."
Turner had a great dislike to appear kind. " Draw
ing," says Mr. Ruskin, " with one of his best friends

THE SPIRE LEFT OUT. 163
(Mr. Munro — I have told the story elsewhere, but not
well, therefore I repeat it) at the bridge of St. Martin's,
the friend got into great difficulty with a coloured
sketch. Turner looked over him a little while, then
said in a grumbling way, ' I haven't got any paper I
like ; let me try yours.' Receiving a block-book, he .
disappeared for an hour and a half. Returning, he
threw the book down with a pout, saying, ' I can't
make anything of your paper.' There were three
sketches in it, in three distinct stages of progress,
showing the process of colouring from beginning to
end, clearing up every difliculty into which his friend
had got."
To the same person, producing a sketch which had
no special character, he said, "What are you in
search off
Sometimes the advice would come with startling
distinctness. A church spire having been left out in
a sketch of a town, " Why did you not put that in?"
" I had not time." " Then you should take a subject
more suited to your capacity."
Mr. Ruskin, speaking of Turner's character, says,
" Turner had a heart as intensely kind and as nobly
true as God ever gave to one of his creatures. . . . ;
Having known Turner for ten years, and that during
the period of his life when the brightest qualities of
his mind were in many respects diminished, and when
he was suffering most from the evil speaking of the
world, I never heard him say one depreciating word
of living man or man's work. I never saw him look
an unkind or blameful look. I never knew him let
pass, without some sorrowful remonstrance, or endea-

154 NAPOLEON.
vour at mitigation, a blameful word spoken by another.
Of no man but Turner whom I have ever known
could I say this, and of this kindness and truth came,
I repeat, all his highest power, and all his failure and
error, deep and strange, came of his faithlessness?'*
Turner was indifferent to praise, utterly indifferent,
even when it came from the most appreciating. " In
silence, with a bitter silence, Turner only indicated
his purpose," says Mr. Ruskin, "or by slight words of
pontemptuous anger. When he heard of any one's
trying to obtain this or the other separate subject, as
more beautiful than the rest, ' What is the use of
them,' he said, 'but together?' The only thing he
would sometimes say was, ' Keep them together;' he
seemed not to care how they were injured, so that they
were kept in the series which would give the key to
their meaning. I never saw him at my father's
house look for an instant at any of his own drawings.
I have watched him sitting at dinner nearly opposite
one of his chief pictures ; his eyes never turned to it.
But the want of appreciation touched him sorely,
chiefly the not understanding his meaning. He tried
hard one day, for a quarter of an hour, to make me
guess what he was doing in the picture of ' Napoleon,'
before it had been exhibited, giving me hint after
hint, in a rough way ; but I could not guess, and he
would not tell me."
On one occasion, at a dinner-party at Mr. Hard-
wick's, Turner and another guest took and wheeled
his friend, who had been pertinacious in some argu
ment, into an inner room, and locked him in, amid
* A word Mr. Ruskin uses, I suppose, for " despair."

THE ROBIN. 155
roars of good-natured laughter. No one enjoyed a
joke more than Turner when he liked his company.
Many of Turner's pictures have cracked, many are
faded ; others are but ghosts of what they once were.
The sky of the " Bligh Sands," an artist friend tells
me, has lost its beauty. The sugar of lead used in
the clouds has turned a rusty brown. The varnish,
too, has suffered from time.
Turner latterly used copal (a quick dryer), I sup
pose to finish quickly and more at once. Some of his
later pictures were half in distemper, and were some
times washed out in cleaning.
Turner was a great observer and appreciator of
the thoughts and ingenuities of other painters. On
one occasion, his friend, the Rev. Mr. Judkins, an
amateur artist of considerable merit, exhibited a
landscape, in the foreground of which, to convey a
sense of solitude, he had put a robin upon a post. The
next time Turner met him, he said to Mr. Judkins
slily, " I saw your robin."
Some one was once saying that Turner was unge
nerous. " No," said his friend, " for he once paid the
toll over Waterloo-bridge for me."
The Rev. Mr. Judkins once saw Turner in St. Paul's
Churchyard, wrangling with an omnibus conductor
who had promised to take him to the Bank. " If you
don't do as you promised, I don't pay," said Turner,
and sturdily walked off unimpeded.
Turner was not a rash man, and no fair sarcasm
moved him at all. " Your 'Rome' is cracked," said Mr.
Judkins to him one day at the Exhibition. " I will
soon doctor that," was his laughing reply. But per-

156 NO MORE DISCOUNT.
haps he had his revenge, for he could be sarcastic*
One day, Mr. Judkins was speaking in a deprecating
way of a work of his own in the Exhibition Room.
"If you can paint better, why not send it?" said
Turner. At Sir Thomas Lawrence's sale, Turner stepped"
forward and forbade a drawing of his, which he had
lent to the dead artist, being put up for auction. He
bought Sir Thomas's dressing-case as a commission
for a friend.
Turner's pride, when hurt, was unappeasable. When
Mr. Griffith published some of his great Carthaginiatf
pictures, and they began to sell (having at first
failed), he would not allow any more to be disposed
of. When the prices of the " Liber " began to im
prove, Turner came one day suddenly into Mr. Col-
naghi's shop, and said oracularly, " I give no more
discount to the trade." " Very well, Mr. Turner," was
the deprecating answer, but it did not allay his wrath*
When he found that Mr. Windus sold some of his
drawings again at higher prices, he refused to make
him any more, though offered his own price; for
Turner was as proud and sensitive as he was obsti
nate. In the same way, when Mr. Allnutt had a drawing
of Tivoli by him engraved, he wanted additional
money for the copyright ; and, on being refused, de
clined to sell him some sketches on the Rhine. No
thing could pacify him when he once thought himself
ill-treated. If Turner was firm, he was always tremendously
obstinate. One day at Petworth, he and Lord Egre-

MONEY-SPIDERS. 157
mont had a dispute as to the number of windows in
the front of a show-house in the neighbourhood.
"Seven," said the Lord. "Six," said Turner; "I
counted them." Neither would give way. Lord Egre
mont instantly rang the bell, and ordered a post-chaise
to the door. Off they went, the windows were
counted ; and Turner was found wrong.
Turner was rough in his manners to applicants for
charity ; but his manner was like Abernethy's — only
assumed to conceal his true feelings. " He often,"
says one of his most intimate friends, "would give
half-a-crown where others would only have offered a
penny." The injustice of early low prices had been deeply
felt by Turner; they. had hurt his pride, and checked
his desire to save. He had grown suspicious of all
business men, because they had pinched and ground
him, and bated down the produce of his mind, to
the injury of his pocket,, and the lessening of his
fame. The desire for revenge on these money-spiders
was burnt deep in his heart. He would sell nothing
but at his own rate ; he would save up his money for
royal deeds of posthumous charity. As to his cease
less thoughts on charitable objects, his own friend,
Mr. Jones, testifies. He says : —
" During twenty-five years, he indulged the pleasing
hope that he should leave a testimony of his good will
and compassion for unfortunate artists. To his in
timate friends he constantly talked of the best mode
of leaving property for the use of the unsuccessful;
he wished his survivors to employ his property in
building houses for the above-named purpose; he did

158 ARTISTS' DINNERS.
not like to call them almshouses, but had selected
the denomination of ' Turner's Gift.' His benevo
lence was conspicuous whenever he was tried, though
he often used terms of harshness in which his feelings
had no part; but he hated idleness, extravagance, and
presumption. He thought that artists had not time
for the duties and pleasures of domestic festivity, yet
believed that they should often meet to strengthen
fraternal feeling without much expense ; therefore was
zealous in support of the Academy Club, tried to,
establish an artists' dinner at the Athenaeum, and left
50/. in his will to be expended annually on a dinner
for the members on the anniversary of his birthday.^
It is Very probable that Turner's hint about leaving
property for the benefit of his brother-artists sug
gested to Chantrey and to Mr. Vernon the desire to
raise their names by their benevolence. The first has
done so; the last intended to leave 70,000/. to secure
his reputation for taste, liberality, and charity ; but
in the end preferred seeking his commemoration by
leaving his name as a county man in Berkshire, in
lieu of being immortalized by the god-like attribute
of benevolence." .
Turner, fond of amusement, good cheer, and fun,
as his affectionate friend Chantrey, often expressed
his sincere regret at his not being able, from his soli
tary and rude life, to follow the example of the lavish
hospitality of Sir Francis. He had no servants, and
no appliances for large dinner-parties; but he was
always ready to contribute his share to get up a pro
fessional party", and enjoy it more than any one ; and
even acquiesced and joined in jokes ridiculing his

PRYING. 159
own close and careful habits. He would even ori
ginate them, or carry those further that others had
started : for his humour was free from all fretful or'
malicious vanity.
He never appeared morose and displeased but when
people had been trying to cajole or defraud him, or
when he observed in any one an unbecoming desire
to pry into his private affairs. This he never forgave.
Mr. Jones says : —
" My great intimacy with him arose from his con-:
fidence (that I had his confidence Turner proved by
his appointing me his executor in 1831, without
my knowledge) — that I had no desire to know his
secrets, control his actions, or suggest changes in his
course of life. He never interfered with nor con
demned the habits of others ; if he thought them in
correct, he was silent on the subject, and if any excuse
or palliation could be made, he was always ready to
accept, adopt, and promulgate the excuse. I never
heard him speak ill of any one."
By his enemies, whether his rivals, or those detrac
tors that swarm, small and poisonous as gnats, round
all great men, the wildest exaggerations of Turner's
reserve and love of solitary study were spread; yet
singularly enough, of what was bad in him they were
ignorant; and it was what was purely good in him
that they blackened and defamed. That his love of
pleasure was inordinate and unrestrained, they did
not know ; but they accused him of shunning man
kind and avoiding society, which he did not. They
did not know that in old age pleasure had still, un
happily, but too irresistible a magnetism for him;

160 CARROTS,
but they accused him of being a flint-hearted miser,
when his whole life was one long unchanging scheme
of benevolence. Everything he did was perverted by these men,
industrious and ingenious in evil alone. His sturdy
determination not to let his great works be bought at
insufficient prices was exaggerated into the griping
habit of habitual meanness.
Turner was intensely obstinate. I think it was
during a visit to Petworth that a discussion ensued
between Lord Egremont and Turner as to whether
carrots could float in water. I suppose Turner had
introduced some in one of the Petworth pictures.
" Carrots don't swim."
" They do."
" They don't."
" They do."
Lord Egremont rings the bell, and calls for a bucket
of water and some carrots. The water is brought, the
carrots are thrown in. The obstinate painter is right ;
they do swim after all.
Turner's conversation was sprightly, but desultory
and disjointed. Like his works, it was eminently
sketchy. He would converse in this manner for half
an hour, and then be amazed at finding his companions
in doubt of what he had been talking about. He
knew that his ideas were original, and he could not
understand that they never reached his tongue. He
was like a man with a wonderful Cremona, which he
cannot play. He was poetical, he was scientific,
he had travelled, he had observed, he was fond of
humour, and yet he could not give these thoughts and

THE B.D. 161
ideas utterance. His winged soul was imprisoned in
his body, and could only speak through the pencil.
He felt deeply — he saw deeply — he knew deeply — yet
he could find no voice to utter his dreams and oracles.
" He wrote few letters, and these were, like his con
versation, abrupt, and referred little to art. The
following, accepting an invitation to dine with his
valued friend and patron, Mr. Windus, of Tottenham,
on the occasion of his birthday, is characteristic : —
" ' My dear Sir, — Yes, with very great pleasure,
I will be with you on the B.D. Many of them to
yourself and Mrs. Windus; and with the compliments
of the season, believe me, " ' Yours faithfully,
" ' J. M. W. Turner.' "
Turner did not much like the works of Copley,
Fielding, or of Harding; all imitators he despised,
but he thought Pyne poetical.
I think I have heard that he had a great dislike to
the faces of Etty's nude studies; but he never found
fault or spoke detractingly of any one.
Turner had all his life that peculiar love of mystifi
cation that is the result of suspicious reserve, when
accompanied by humour. As a youth, he concealed
his processes of water-colours from all but special
friends, with that narrow suspicion with which a petty
tradesman guards his trade secrets. Later in life,
he stole backwards and forwards to the Continent
with the jealous suspicion with which a detective
officer effects his secret journeys. As for his " Falla
cies of Hope," that imaginary and unwritten poem
VOL. II. M

162 BAD SPELLING.
Avas the standing joke of his life. Latterly, in the
names and even the subjects of his pictures he sought
to puzzle and tease the public. His charitable intentions
were mysteries; his residence was a mystery; where
he had been to, where he was going to, and what he
intended to do, were all mysteries ; and so powerful was
this habit of reserve, that I have no doubt that Turner
died actually rejoicing in the fact that even his best
friends knew not where he lay hid.
Turner had found hope after hope fail him, as rope
after rope, sail after sail, blows from a foundering
vessel. Only one thing had remained unchangeable,
and that was nature. On the Yorkshire fells or be
side the Swiss lakes he forgot his cares in the love
and gratitude he felt for the stainless beauty of God's
world. Then alone he forgot all sorrows, and was
once more happy as a child.
I am not sure that, apart from everything relating
to the art-faculty, Turner's brain was of very great
calibre,' for even his thirst for scientific knowledge
was remarkable chiefly in its leaning towards art.
His forehead, phrenologically speaking, was full but
narrow, and receding; the brain projected over the
eyes, it rose round and full, but narrow at ideality,
and then sloped backwards.
Either his education was scanty and imperfect, or
his mind was singularly unreasoning and inaccurate,
for else he would not have spelt so badly. French and
Italian towns he spelt to the end of his life as they
were pronounced, not as they were written. In speak
ing, he never seemed to get quite the right word : he
would say " the internal of a cottage," for the " inte-

THE SUNBURY BOATMEN. 163
rior." His will is an extraordinary mash of grammar,
and even his father's epitaph is very awkwardly ex
pressed, " Under and beneath this stone lie."
Turner was a great single-facultied man.
There are two old boatmen still living at Sunbury,
who well remember rowing out Turner on his sketching
excursions. It is still their unspeakable wonder how
" a man like that," who always took a bottle of gin
out with him for inspiration, and never gave them
any, could have been a great genius. Turner has
many admirers, but these obstinate Sunbury boatmen
are not of the chosen band.
Mr. Ruskin bears the following testimony to the
general kindness and goodness of Turner's nature :
" Imagine what it was for a man to live seventy
years in this hard world, with the kindest heart and
the noblest intellect of his time, and never to meet
with a single word or ray of sympathy, until he felt
himself sinking into the grave. From the time he
knew his true greatness, all the world was against
him. He held his own ; but it could not be without
roughness of bearing and hardening of the temper, if
not of the heart. No one understood him, no one
trusted him, and every one cried out against him.
" Imagine, any of you, the effect upon your own
minds, if every voice that you heard from the human
beings around you were raised, year after year,
through all your lives, only in condemnation of your
efforts, and denial of your success. This may be
borne, and borne easily, by men who have fixed reli
gious principles, or supporting domestic ties. But
Turner had no one to teach him in his youth,
M 2

164 NO ONE TO LOVE.
and no one to love him in his old age. Respect
and affection, if they came at all, came too late.
Naturally irritable, though kind — naturally suspi
cious, though generous — the gold gradually became
dim, and the most fine gold changed, or, if not
changed, clouded and overcast. The deep heart was
still beating ; but it was beneath a dark and melan
choly mail, between whose joints, however, sometimes
the slightest arrows found entrance and power of
giving pain. He received no consolation in his last
years, or in his death. Cut off in great part from all
society — first, by labour, and at last by sickness —
hunted to his grave by the malignities of small critics
and the jealousies of hopeless rivalry, he died in the
house of a stranger — one companion of his life, and
one only, staying with him to the last. The window
of his death-chamber was turned towards the west,
the sun shone upon his face in its setting, and rested
there as he expired.
" Brother artists ! I will tell you how jealous he
was. I knew him for ten years, and during that time
had much familiar intercourse with him. I never
once heard him say an unkind thing of a brother
artist, and I never once heard him find a fault with
another man's work. I could say this of no other
artist whom I have ever known.
" But I will add a piece of evidence on this matter
of peculiar force. Probably many have read a book
which has been lately published, to my mind one of
extreme interest and value, the life of the unhappy
artist, Benjamin Haydon! Whatever may have been
his faults, I believe no person can read his journal

HAYDON AND TURNER. 165
without coming to the conclusion that his heart was
honest, and that he does not wilfully misrepresent any
fact or any person. Even supposing otherwise, the
expression I am going to quote to you would have all
the more force, because, as you know, Haydon passed
his whole life in war with the Royal Academy, of
which Turner was one of the most influential mem
bers. Yet in the midst of one of his most violent
expressions of exultation at one of his victories over
the Academy, he draws back suddenly with these
words — ' But Turner behaved well, and did me
justice.' "
" Northcote had a dark picture in the Exhibition, and
was very angry with the arrangers for putting a bright
one of Turner's immediately below it. ' You might
as well have opened a window under my picture,' said
the painter. The compliment was as handsome as it
was unintentional. But even Turner has complained of
other pictures putting his down. In 1827, when he
exhibited his 'Rembrandt's Daughter,' with a red robe,
it happened that a portrait of a member of Dublin
University was hung alongside of it, with a College
gown that was still redder. Upon finding this out
on varnishing day, Turner was observed to be very
busy adding red lead and vermilion to his picture, in
order to out-rouge his neighbour in brilliancy. ' What
are you doing there, Turner?' remarked one of the
arrangers. ' Why, you have checkmated me !' said
the painter, pointing to the University gown.
" In a proof impression of a plate lately submitted
to me, the engraver had failed to discern the distant
representation of a village at the base of a hill, and

166 THE LOST VILLAGE.
had substituted some unintelligible nothings. Turner
had run a heavy pencil line into the margin of the
paper to intimate that these were ' houses ;' and the
miniature village seemed to come into focus as if by
magic. Look closely at Turner's pictures, and a few
patches, and dashes, and streaks only are visible,
seeming only an unintelligible chaos of colour; but
retire from the canvas, and what magnificent visions
grow into shape and meaning. Long avenues lengthen
out far into the distance, and sun-clad cities glitter
upon the mountains, while cloud-illumined space pre
sents itself to an extent that is inconceivable, mani
festing a grandeur of conception and a largeness of
style that must serve to demonstrate and glorify the
genius of the painter to the end of time.
" When at the Royal Academy dinner the gas was
turned on, as is customary on the Sovereign's health
being drunk, his pictures shone like so many suns on
the walls. While other meritorious works looked flat
in comparison, there was an effulgence in Turner's
that seemed to grow upon the observer, making the
contrast more apparent. ' They seem to represent so
many holes cut in the wall,' said a veteran connoisseur,
at one of these art festivals, ' through which you see
Nature.' This observation was probably suggested,
however, by one made some years before by North-
cote. Turner's pictures were always the terror of
exhibitors, from showing whatever were the defects
in colour of those placed nearest them.
" ' The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Com
mons ' was almost entirely painted on the walls of the
Exhibition. His facility at this period of his life was

FACILITY. 167
astounding. He would frequently send his canvas to
the British Institution with nothing upon it but a
grey groundwork of vague, indistinguishable forms,
and finish it upon the varnishing day into a work of
great splendour. Likewise at the Academy he fre
quently sent his canvas imperfect and sketchy, trust
ing entirely to varnishing days for the completion of
his picture. It was astonishing what he accomplished
on those days  Turner was always the first at
the Academy on those occasions, arriving there fre
quently as early as four o'clock, and never later than
six; and he was invariably the last to quit in the
evening. He might be seen standing all day before
his pictures; and, though he worked so long, he
appeared to be doing little or nothing. His touches
were almost imperceptible; yet his pictures were
seen, in the end, to have advanced wonderfully. He
acquired such a mastery in early life, that he painted
with a certainty that was almost miraculous. Although
his effects were imperceptible on a near inspection of
the picture, he knew unhesitatingly how to produce
them without retiring from his work to test the result.
He was never seen, like Sir Thomas Lawrence and
others, to be perpetually walking about, but kept
hard at work, nose to the canvas, sure of his effects."
I am sorry to own that I cannot say very much for
Turner's moral character. A selfish and brooding
solitary life and naturally strong passions could not
be expected to lead to anything but a selfish and
vicious old age. Latterly, Turner resorted to wine
while he painted, to rouse his imagination; and at
Chelsea I fear he gave way to even more fatal drinking.

168 MORAL CHARACTER.
Nor were these his only excesses. He would often,
latterly, I am assured on only too good authority, paint
hard all the week till Saturday night ; he would then
put by his work, slip a five-pound note in his pocket,
button it securely up there, and set off to some low
sailors' house in Wapping or Rotherhithe, to wallow
till the Monday morning left him free again to drudge
through another week. A blinded Samson, indeed —
a fallen angel, forgetful of his lost Paradise.
Turner left four illegitimate children, and be
queathed money to the mistress with whom he had
spent the later years of his life.
" I once," says a friend, " heard Mr. Crabb Robin
son (the friend of Wordsworth) casually mention
a remark dropped by the late Miss Maria Den-
man, when the two were out for an excursion with
Rogers (I think), and had put up at an inn in a
village near London. ' That,' said the lady, pointing
to a youth who happened to pass, ' is Turner's natural
son.'" And now, gentlemen, let us retire and consider of
our verdict. What do we find here ? A man full of
contradictions. The head gold, the feet clay. A
man, like others of us, not all black, nor all white,
but of a mixed colour; a divine genius, but yet a
man of like passions with us: with faults in his
art, as in his life. The pure gold runs here and
there to schist, the dross now and then is scurf-
ing up upon the surface. I am not going to special
plead for him, like a hireling advocate, who sees
only that part of the truth he is paid to see. I
am going to point out the good and the bad, and not

Mean and generous. 169
merely the good, because my object is not to paint a
sham, lying, flattering portrait of Turner, but to
draw his real likeness with the unbribable fidelity of
a photograph. We find him mean, grinding, parsimonious, to
the degree almost of disease. I see in this a
natural innate acquisitiveness, nourished by a poor,
parsimonious, narrow-minded father, and encouraged
by his own painful growth of struggling ambition.
The stunted faculty never recovered this early season
of frost, never again put forth its leaves generously
and confidingly in the sunshine. A fanatic to art,
naturally shy and reserved, and cramped by early
habits of contracted saving, Turner in later life, when
he grew rich, became incapable of launching into a
wider hospitality.
But, oh, the contradictions of humanity ! Was all
this retirement and penury the result of avarice?
Was it avarice to refuse thousands for a single
picture, and to work and pinch and fret, in order to
leave 140,000/. to found an almshouse for decayed
artists — a plan over which he had all his life been
brooding? That all the ordinary opinions of Turner are
wrong; that he was neither unsociable nor a misan
thrope; that he was not a cynic or an anchorite, a
miser or a cheat, my book has, I think, already well
completely proved. If it was necessary to clear his
genius from the charge that in ordinary life he was
a mere stupid, brutal man, half mad, selfish, and
friendless, I think I have entirely acquitted myself of
that task.

170 MEAN AND GENEROUS.
I have explained that he had a large circle of friends;-*
including noblemen and gentlemen of education and
refinement, who loved him sincerely, and in whose
memory his name still holds a dear place. I have
shown that, though shy, he was most sociable —
fond of children, fond of amusement, delighting in
fun and good-natured humour. I have shown that
he was unalterable in gratitude, obstinately at
tached both to persons and places, and sensitive as a
child. I have shown him, too, capable of great and
sudden sacrifices of money, even in his lifetime, to
rescue friends from difficulty.
I have tried to show him a disappointed and un
happy man, yet still working with a giant industry
to develope his genius and display his powers. I
have shown that in art, so far from being false and
slovenly, he was an artist of the extremest and most
painful and extraordinary accuracy. I have shown
him a brave friend, and a rival whose generosity was
without a flaw.
I hope I have shown in a more condensed form
what Mr. Ruskin has already proved with such
consummate ability — the vast compass of Turner's
genius, its depth, width, its elastic versatility; its
great compass ; its comprehension of all lesser
* Turner and Eogers got on very well together : Turner liked
Rogers's taste and liberality; Rogers admired (without criticism)
the genius of Turner. " Ah !" he would say, looking through
his telescoped hand, " there's a beautiful thing; and the figures,
too — one of them with his hand on the horse's tail — not that I
can make them out, though." There was always a dash of the lemon
about Rogers's sayings. The poet was once expressing his wonder at
a beautiful table that adorned Turner's parlour : " Rut how much
more wonderful it would be," he said, " to see any of his friends
sitting round it."

NO FINALITY. 171
powers, and its wide range, from the " Lambeth
Palace" to the "Building of Carthage," from the
Vandervelde imitations to the old Temeraire. Yet
can I never hold with Mr. Ruskin that art knows
any finality. I would not encourage rising genius
to copy Turner, but to go and study nature with
Turner's truth, industry, and love. Nor am I at all per
suaded, by all Mr. Ruskin's eloquence, that England
has yet seen the greatest of her landscape painters.*
* Mr. E. Goodall tells me that Turner often wrote on his
touched proofs " more figures." He was glad to have his perspective
improved, and would make rude marks with white chalk where he
wished the engraver to introduce them, as in the "Rridge of
Caligula," <fec. Of Turner's quarrel with G. Cooke, Mr. Goodall
gives the following conversation : — Turner met Cooke at a meeting
of the Conversazione Society (now the Graphic, held at the Free
masons' Tavern) — words ensued about certain touched proofs in
the possession of Mr. Goodall. Turner grew white with rage —
Cooke red as fire. Presently Cooke came up to Mr. Goodall and
said, "If you give them up, 1 shall call you a mean fellow."
Next day Mr. Goodall went to Turner's house about a plate — the
storm commenced. Turner lamented that the Conversazione
should have no more pleasure for him since these quarrels, and
demanded the proofs. Goodall refused to give them up, and even
half thrust them into the fire, when the blaze caught them.
Turner, whose chimney was never swept, afraid of fire, ran with
shovel and tongs to save the house, exclaiming, " Good G  ,
you'll set the house on fire !"
Years after, I believe, Turner renewed his acquaintance with
Mr. Goodall, and gave him fresh work to do for him. Again he
came, demanded the touched proofs, in spite of his previous warning.
Again Mr. Goodall resolutely refused. Turner asked to see them,
and a large bundle of them was brought out and shown him.
The painter eyed them wistfully. He then opened a battery of
entreaties on the engraver. He threatened, he coaxed, he argued —
he showed they were useless to others, uninteresting but to himself;
he proved they were utterly valueless — eventually he won the day,
and went off with the treasure under his arm — no doubt to throw
-them into a lumber-room, to rot and mildew with some thousands
of others that were found half spoiled after his death.

17.2

CHAPTER VI.
TURNER AT QUEEN ANNE-STREET.
Turner painted in Queen Anne-street in what he
called his drawing-room, in which there was a good
north light. Here he would be surrounded by water-
colour drawings in all states of progress. Once in
the presence of Mr. Trimmer's son, then a child,
Turner took up a drawing and said, " I shall put in
some sheep and cattle here." The quick child,
with an innate love of art, replied, " Yes ; but you
cannot put in sheep over grass in water-colours;"
upon which Turner smiled at the child's ignorance of
the power he had over materials.
The sordid and unhappy-looking room in Queen
Anne-street was remarkable for a dusty and dirty
buffet, bought at some second-hand Jew broker's. In
this Turner kept the immemorial sherry bottle with
the broken cork that served him for a decanter, and
which no joking of friends could get him to change.
This was the identical bottle and buffet of which the
old story was current at the clubs. A friend came to
see Turner, and was treated with a glass of sherry
from the old bottle and the old buffet — one glass.
About the same time next year the artist came again,
had another glass, and praised the wine. " It ought
to be good," said Turner, " it's the same bottle you
tasted before."

THE REVENGEFUL CAT. 173
The " Bligh Shore," that hung in the gallery near
the fireplace, was a great favourite with Turner. It
served as the blind to a window that was the private
entree of the painter's favourite- cat, who, one day
indignant at finding such an obstinate obstacle in her
way, left the autograph of her " Ten Commandments "
on the picture. Did the misanthrope lose his temper
and instantly flay her alive? No; all Turner did
was to say to Mrs. Danby, " Oh, never mind ;" and
would not have her even punished. A modern critic
condemns this " Bligh Shore" because it has no large
object in front.
" Nobody ever seemed to enter the house," says Mr.
Rippingille, " and while all the houses round it from
time to time smartened themselves up, this alone
remained unchanged." It looked cold, dirty, and
forsaken, like a bankrupt's warehouse ; " nor was any
thing alive," says the bitter writer, " ever seen in it,
pass when and as often as you would, but an old
tabby cat, lying upon a bit of ragged green baize on
a table at the area window, and sometimes an old
woman in a mobcap, who looked like a being of the
last century, or the other world."
Now of course this is a picture darkened by the
malignant spirit of the writer. He could see nothing
in Turner but a sordid, repulsive miser, and therefore,
to his imagination, the house seemed the abode of
despair. Turner's friends describe the house as neglected,
but not sordid by any means. The doorway was
Turner's own design, and his old cronies still regard
it as the best in the street; but I fear we must rather

174 CLAIMING RELATIONSHIP.
distrust their too favourable verdict in the face of
such overwhelming testimony.
And here I may as well introduce a vivid picture
of the house in general, communicated to me by Dr.
Shaw, a relation of Turner's on the mother's side.
My informant went to claim relationship with the great
man, a mode of introduction that Turner regarded
with peculiar abhorrence. His other relations, no
doubt, had ignored him when in poverty, and now
that he was rich, they buzzed round his door, like flesh
flies round a carcase. The narrator was not one of these.
Dr. Shaw says :
" I once had an interview with the great artist, and
once only, with a view to claim the relationship. A
time was duly appointed for an interview. Accord
ingly I went to his residence in Queen Anne-street,
when I was ushered into a dark room, where the
mantelpiece was so covered with dust that I had
great difficulty in ascertaining whether it was wood
or marble, in the testing of which a large finger-mark
remained as an evidence of careless and bad manage
ment in housekeeping. The door outside was as
shabby as if it had formed part of a ruin ; a circular
space surrounding the knocker showed the original
grain of the wood, all the paint having disappeared
for many years past. This circular space was a re
markable feature of the door, being near white, and
this vividly contrasted with the dingy accumulated
paint and dirt which was visible on every other part
of the door. The iron chain communicating with
the kitchen-bell outside was as thoroughly rusted as
if it had lain twenty years in a desert, without shelter

SHELFORD MANOR. 175
from the oxidizing influences of rain and dew. It
could not have been painted for twenty years at least,
perhaps not for forty. As I had to wait some ten
minutes at least before Mr. Turner made his appear
ance, I had leisure to examine the room and its
contents. I have now forgotten the kind of furniture,
but I well remember the dark, dirty, murky -looking
windows. They appeared to me as though they had
been cleaned but once, and that must have been when
they first came from the hands of the glazier. The
room appeared to be less under the influence of the
beautiful light of heaven than any other apartment
I ever remember to have seen. It was a comparative
dungeon with two dark-lanterns for windows. In the
midst of various cogitations, which necessarily occu
pied my mind while alone in this dirty dungeon, of a
sudden the great artist made his appearance. I bowed,
not too obsequiously nor too low, putting a question
to him immediately after the salutation as follows :
' May I ask you if you are the Mr. Turner who visited
at Shelford Manor, in the County of Nottingham, in
your youth?' 'I am,' he answered in a tone and
manner full of dignity, evidently evincing feelings of
an untoward nature. He was clearly paving the way
for a magnificent outburst of passion. The thunder
storm was gathering. To appease him I became some
what bland in manner. I tried to throw oil upon the
troubled waters. Assuming a manner which perhaps
might be denominated one of a more winning kind,
I said, ' May I take the liberty of asking you whether
your mother's name was Marshall?' He replied in a
tone of voice, accompanied with the look of a fury,

176 STORM AND CALM.
clearly showing that the flash of lightning had ap
peared to warn me that the storm was about to break.
After this I began to feel uneasy. I felt half-inclined
to say something monstrously uncivil to him for his
bearish manners. I wanted, however, for him to
begin the attack, which soon followed. He drew
himself suddenly into the most dignified attitude I
ever beheld even from a clever actor or an infuri
ated duke. His manner was full of majesty, accom
panied with a diabolical look. He said, ' I consider,
Sir, that you have taken a most unwarrantable liberty
with me by the manner in which you have obtruded
yourself upon me.' I immediately apologized; to
which he replied (by one. of the most dignified and
elegant bows I ever remember to have seen from
duke, lord, dancing-master, • or actor), ' I accept
the apology.' After humbling myself, I then felt
that it was my turn, in justice to myself, to confront
the great artist in a very bold and independent man
ner, accompanied with resentment. 'I beg leave,
Sir, to state to you,' I said (at the same time as
suming all the dignity of manner at my command),
then marching to within a yard of him, and eye
ing him as a warrior would look at the man he was
about to bayonet, I addressed him as follows, ' I am
independent, Sir, both in spirit and in pocket, and
be assured that my whole and sole object in calling
upon you was to connect myself with the distinguished
name of Turner.' The smile that he gave me at
this moment I can only compare to the rays of
the sun suddenly breaking through dark and stormy
clouds. He said, ' I hope, Sir, whenever you come to

THE GALLERY. 177
town, that you will give me the favour of a visit ; I
shall always be glad to see you.' He then preceded
me to the door, which he opened, politely bowing. I
frequently went to lounge away half an hour in his
gallery, without ever obtruding myself upon him ;
I had also the privilege of taking any other person.
This was our first and last interview."
Turner almost entirely rebuilt his house in Queen
Anne- street, and took great care to cut down the
architect's bill. He himself designed the doorway;
but neither doorway nor building has any merit or
originality. There are several designs for houses in
Turner's sketch-books; and he planned a porch
in his friend Mr. Fawkes's house at Farnley,
in Yorkshire. Had he attempted architecture, Tur
ner would of course have followed the classical
school, the Gothic never having much charm for
him. Everything about the Gallery in Queen Anne-street
seemed of a piece to those who went with a scornful and
Pharisaical determination to find there the miser and
the misanthropist. The drugget, once red, was grey
and threadbare. The screen was made of the black
strips of some refuse or " remainder." The red cloth on
the walls, marked all over with tack holes, had been
bought by Turner as a bargain, after having been used
at the Abbey for the Queen's coronation. Against the
wall there were heaps of dirty frames, and stacks of
dusty pictures with their faces turned inward. As for
the sofa, it seemed dangerous to your future peace to"
rest on it. The drawing-room was peopled by filthy
tailless cats — pets, I suppose, of the old housekeeper
vol. n. n

178 THE BUTTON.
— its chief furniture was a common oak-grained
table, once, I believe, Lawrence's ; a huge paint-box?
sheafs of uncleaned short brushes in a tin case, and
a palette, also once the property of Sir Thomas.
Those who knew well Turner's secretive and sus
picious habits, the result of so many disappoint
ments, took care to never express any of their
opinions in a loud voice when left alone in the
gallery. I do not say Turner was an intentional, but
he certainly was often an accidental eaves-dropper;
and he has been known to go the next day and
stormily accuse his acquaintance, sometimes, too,
mistakingly, of opinions uttered in the Gallery.
The Gallery latterly got most dilapidated ; the
oiled paper of the skylight hung down in black,
sooty, furred slips. The damp here and there had
free access; and it is certain that while many of the
pictures ripened and improved, others were cracked,
warped, chilled, and seriously injured. Both the
" Hero and Leander," and " The Building of Car
thage," suffered. Mr. E. Goodall tells me that
in one picture particularly, a great white button of
paint that had stood for the sun had dropped off.
" I think some one has picked it off intentionally,"
he could not help saying.
" I think he has," replied Turner, quite unmoved.
The Gallery had a fire in winter ; but there were
times when it wanted supervision more than mere heat.
And in this sordid den were all the thirty thousand
proofs of engravings rotting and mouldering, uncared
for by any one but the cats, who hid behind them.

QUEEN ANNE-STREET. 179
The Times of November 10th, 1856, gives a clever
description of the Queen Anne-street house. I give
it, not that it is entirely free from exaggeration, but
because it conveys a good idea of the public opinion of
1856, as to the gloomy and misanthropic way in
which Turner had lived towards the end of his career.
The writer says : —
" In that region of dull and decorous streets which
radiates to the north and west from Cavendish- square',
Queen Anne-street is one of the dullest and dingiest :
and of that dreary Queen Anne-street the dreariest
house any thirty years before 1851 was No. 48.
Judging from its weather-stained and soot-grimed
walls, its patched windows, dark with dust and foul
with cobwebs, its wood- work unfreshened by paint,
its chimneys from which curled no smoke, its unsound
threshold, it might have been in Chancery, it might
have been haunted, it might have been the scene of a
murder. Yet it was not uninhabited. Not unfre
quently a visitor might be seen to knock, and, after
long waiting, the door would be half-opened by a
withered and sluttish old woman, or, before 1830, by
a little, shabby, lean old man. Nay, repulsive as the
house might be, and grim as might be its guardians,
carriages would sometimes be seen drawn up before
its door for hours, while their gay and elegant freight
found occupation inside. Could they be prying into
the laboratory of an adept, or consulting a wizard, or
driving a hard bargain with some sordid old hunks
of a money-lender? Truly, neither deep alchemy,
nor potent witchcraft, nor hard-fisted meanness was
N 2

'180 THE DEN.
wanting inside that dreary door. But it was the
alchemy that coins sunlight from pigments — the
witchcraft that evokes beauty out of the brain — the
nearness that is capable of life-long self-sacrifice to
consummate an intention of noblest patriotism.
"In that desolate house — 48, Queen Anne-street
West,— from 1812 to 1851, lived Joseph Mallord
William Turner, the greatest landscape-painter of
the English school. Hanging along a bare and
chilly gallery on the first-floor of that gloomy house,
stacked against the walls, rolled up in dark closets,
flung aside into damp cellars, the rain streaming
down the canvasses, from the warped sashes and
paper -patched frames of the ill-fitting skylights, were
collected some hundreds of the noblest landscapes
that were ever painted, while piles of drawings even
more masterly, and reams of sketches, the rudiments
and first thoughts of finished works, were piled away
in portfolios, and presses, and boxes, in every nook
and corner of the dark and dusty dwelling. Notes
for hundreds, cheques for thousands, had been offered
again and again in that gallery to the painter of these
pictures. He was said to adore money, and yet he
refused both notes and cheques — scornfully often,
sometimes regretfully, and as if by an effort, but
always persistingly. Dealers wondered ; patrons were
in despair; artists scoffed, or sneered, or doubted. —
'Turner was mad; he meant to be buried with his
" Carthage" for a winding-sheet.' "
The writer is correct — the house was indeed dull
and dingy, soot- stained and weather-stained, its

DE M0RTUIS, ETC. 181.
chimneys breathed up no smoke. The door was paint-
less. The area rails were orange-red with rust. It might
have been the house of Despair. Death's door could
scarcely have been less inviting to knock at.
A bitter and malicious man, now dead, and whose
name I suppress, for I would not grind my heel on
his tombstone, sketches Turner's domicile in much the
same way.

182

CHAPTER VII.
THE ORIGIN OF SEVERAL PICTURES.
Two of the best stories extant about the motives
which led Turner to paint particular pictures are the
following, which were kindly communicated to me by
Mr. G. Jones, the painter's special crony and comrade.
The first relates to Turner's picture of " The Burial
of Wilkie," that funeral picture in which every tone
and tint is so attuned to the subject that the whole
seems as if it were painted on crape. The story dates
the time back to when Wilkie, on his return to Eng
land, died near Gibraltar, and was buried in the sacred
blue water close to Trafalgar. It strikingly shows
Turner's depth of feeling, and his desire, without re
gard to buying or selling, to paint a monumental
picture that might record his esteem forWilkie's talent.
" Shortly after Wilkie's death and burial at sea,
the following conversation took place between Turner
and his friend Jones.
" T. I suppose nobody will do anything to comme
morate Wilkie.
"/. I shall pay a humble tribute by making a
drawing representing his funeral.
" T. How will you do it?

THE BLACK SAIL. 183
" J. On the deck of the vessel, as it has been de
scribed to me by persons present, and at the time
that Wilkie's body was lowered into the sea.
" T. Well, I will do it as it must have appeared
off the coast.
" The picture by Turner and the drawing by Jones
appeared in the ensuing Exhibition; the former under
the title of ' Peace — Burial at Sea.'
" Turner painted the sails in the steamer as black
as he could make them, which occasioned a remon
strance from Stanfield, who justly thought the colour
and effect untrue, upon which Turner said, ' I only
wish I had any colour to make them blacker.' It is
very like Turner, to have indicated mourning by
this means, probably retaining some confused notions
of the death of iEgeus and the black sails of the re
turning Theseus."
The second story relates to that swarthy crimson
picture " The Fiery Furnace."
" The dialogue between the same persons is worthy
of notice, as proving Turner's willingness to be on
the most social terms with his brethren.
" Turner asked his friend what he intended to paint
for the ensuing Exhibition of 1832.
" J. The fiery furnace, with Shadrach, Meshach,
and Abednego.
" T. A good subject; I'll do it also; what size will
you do it?
11 J. Kit-cat.
" T. I'll paint it Kit-cat size too. Will you have an
upright or a long picture ?
UJ. Upright.

184 INDUSTRY,
" T. I'll paint it upright. What will you paint it on ?
" J. On panel.
" T. I'll paint it on panel. Have you ordered a
panel? "/. No.
" T. Then order two, and tell the maker to send one
of them to me, but remember that if I come into your
room while you are painting that subject, you hide
it instantly. "The pictures were painted and exhibited in 1832.
The members of the Academy were surprised to
find that they had been executed with the most
perfect sympathy."
These stories show that Turner was too great a man,
and too original a one, to be afraid of, sometimes from
idleness or caprice, borrowing from a friend. The
humorous suddenness with which he seized, in the
one instance, the notion of painting a picture in re
membrance of Wilkie, and in the other, the quickness
Avith which he made up his mind to ape his old crony,
are eminently characteristic of the man. So is the
obstinacy with which he resisted Stanfield's advice
to make the sails of the funeral vessel lighter. He
knew what he wanted; who should know better?
He had the idea of grief to express, and the ex
pression of that idea was more important to him than
the trivial technicalities of art.
The picture in the Ellesmere Gallery was painted for
the Marquis of Stafford as a rival to a Vandervelde.
The same evening he received the order, he went
home, stretched a canvas, and had it all in dead
colour before he left it; he worked with the greatest

THE MIDDLESEX SUNSET. 185
rapidity, commencing at four o'clock in the morning.
Mrs. Danby told Mr. Trimmer she never saw Turner
idle. Mr. Burnet, the celebrated engraver of Wilkie's
" Blind Fiddler," gives the following instance of the
strength of Turner's memory of natural effects.
As Turner was once driving down with Mr. Wood-
burn to the latter gentleman's house at Hendon, a
beautiful sunset burst forth in all its gorgeous but
transitory pageantry. Turner asked if the carriage
might be stopped, and remained some time in intense
and silent contemplation of the sky. Some weeks
afterwards, Mr. Woodburn called at the Queen Anne-
street Gallery, and saw the identical sky fixed on
canvas. He instantly begged to have a landscape
added to it. Turner refused the commission; he
would not part with it. Wilkie used to call these
studies his " stock-in-trade."
One day, Turner entered the shop of Cobalt, the
picture-cleaner, when he had a fine Cuyp under his
treatment. There was one corner where the golden
brown, the sherry colour, was so transparent and
luminous that you seemed to see deep down into it.
Turner exclaimed, " I would give a thousand pounds
to have painted that!" This transparency, it is
thought, can only be obtained on panel.

186

CHAPTER VIII.
TURNER ON VARNISHING DAYS.
My kind friend, Mr. Wilkie Collins, sends to me
his boyish recollections of Turner. He (Mr. W. C.)
used to go with his father to carry his paint-box, and
make himself generally useful. On one of these
Occasions he remembers seeing Turner (not the more
perfect in his balance for the brown sherry at the
Academy lunch), seated on the top of a flight of
steps, astride a box. There he sat a shabby Bacchus,
nodding like a mandarin at his picture, which he, with
a pendulum motion, now touched with his brush, and
now receded from. Yet in spite of sherry, preca
rious seat, and old age, Turner went on shaping in
some wonderful dream of colour, every touch meaning
something, every pin's head of colour being a note in
the chromatic scale.
That admirable, frank, and simple writer on art,
the late Mr. Leslie, also sketches Turner on these
pleasant days. He says : —
" Turner was very amusing on the varnishing, or
rather the painting days, at the Academy. Singular
as were his habits — for nobody knew where or how

CONSTABLE. 187
he lived — his nature was social, and at our lunch on
those anniversaries he was the life of the table. The
' Academy has relinquished, very justly, a privilege for
its own members which it could not extend to all
exhibitors. But I believe, had the varnishing days
been abolished while Turner lived, it would almost
have broken his heart. When such a' measure was
hinted to him, he said, ' Then you will do away with
the only social meetings we have, the only occasion
on which we all come together in an easy, unre
strained manner. When we have no varnishing days,
We shall not know one another.' "
In 1822, when Constable exhibited his "Opening
of Waterloo Bridge," it was placed in the School of
Painting, one of the small rooms at Somerset House.
A sea piece by Turner was next to it — a grey picture,
beautiful and true, but with no positive colour in any
part of it. Constable's picture seemed as if painted
with liquid gold and silver, and Turner came several
times into the room while he was heightening with ver
milion and lake the decorations and flags of the city
barges. . Turner stood behind him, looking from the
"Waterloo" to his own picture; and putting a round
daub of red lead, somewhat bigger than a shilling, on
his grey sea, went away without a word. The in
tensity of the red lead, made more vivid by the cool
ness of his picture, caused even the vermilion and lake
of Constable to look weak. I came into the room
just as Turner left it. " He has been here," said
Constable, " and fired off a gun." On the opposite wall
was a picture, by Jones, of " Shadrach, Meshach, and

188 THE RED SEAL,
Abednego in the Furnace." " A coal," said Cooper,
" has bounced across the room from Jones's picture,
and set fire to Turner's sea." The great man did
not come again into the room for a day and a half;
and then, in the last moments that were allowed for
painting, he glazed the scarlet seal he had put on his
picture, and shaped it into a buoy.
In finishing the "Waterloo Bridge," Constable
used the palette knife more than the pencil. He
found it the only instrument by which he could ex
press, as he wished, the sparkle of the water.
This is a matchless story. The fact was, Turner
did not much like Constable, and was not going to
let himself be checkmated. What knowledge, too, it
showed to suddenly alter the whole plan of his pic
ture, and yet not to spoil it. Constable was secretly
very severe on Turner's pictures, and in his violent
sarcastic way would sometimes pretend to spit in
disgust when they were mentioned. Leslie, his wor
shipper, acquired somewhat of the same prejudice;
but his strong good sense soon mastered it. Once,
Constable was pacing impatiently before a picture,
the effect of which somehow or other did not please
him. It was true to rules, but still there was some
thing wanting (perhaps a mere red cap, a blue
apron, or a tree stem) ; yet what it was he could not
for the life of him tell. There was a line too much
or too little in the composition, that was certain. A
speck of colour redundant or deficient, that was evi
dent. At that moment Turner entered.
" I say, Turner," cried Constable, " there is some-

THE RUNNING RIPPLE. IS 9
thing wrong in this picture, and I cannot for the life
of me tell what it is. You give it a look."
Turner looked at the picture steadily for a few
moments, then seized a brush, and struck in a ripple
of water in the foreground.
That was the secret — the picture was now perfect,
the spell was completed. The fresh, untired eye of
the great magician had seen the want at a glance.

190

CHAPTER IX.
MR. RUSKIN AND THE TURNER CRITICS.
Mr. Ruskin has laid about him, among Turner's
detractors, with the true club of Alcides; but Hydra
has many heads, and it takes a long time to brain and
brand each particular head.
I, not having the matchless weapons of that truly
great writer, shall dismiss these critics very briefly.
Those who find Turner's works repulsively monoto
nous, or see nothing in them but central splashes of
light, with surrounding groups of dark, I care not to
answer. Those who find his figures more slovenly
than Claude's, and evincing " a coarse, unscrupulous
mind and hand," I can only point to the admirable
figures scattered through his engraved works, and to
the fine picture of the " Departure of Adonis," at
Mr. Munro's, painted in direct rivalry of Titian.
Fuseli was an early admirer of Turner, and so
was Calcott. Hazlitt, too, in his " Round Table," in
an essay on " Imitation and Pedantry," condemns
the vagueness of his later pictures, while thus
praising his general breadth of genius : —
" We here allude particularly to Turner, the ablest
landscape-painter now living, whose pictures are,

DR. WAAGEN. 191
however, too much abstractions of aerial perspective,
and representations not so properly of the objects of
nature as of the medium through which they are
seen. They are the triumph of the knowledge of the
artist, and of the power of the pencil over the bar
renness of the subject. They are pictures of the
elements of air, earth, and water. The artist delights
to go back to the first chaos of the world, and to
that state of things when the waters were separated
from the dry land, and light from darkness, but as
yet no living thing, nor tree bearing fruit, was seen
upon the face of the earth. All is ' without form
and void.' Some one said of his landscapes, that
they were ' pictures of nothing and very like.' "
Among the German critics, Dr. Waagen stands
pre-eminent for pompous blundering. He has one of
those routine minds, unoriginal, bound by precedent
and convention, and holding to the old and safe.
Here is his dictum, which is evidently founded
on a very scanty knowledge of Turner's works,
especially of his divine water-colour drawings, without
which no one can judge of his greatness. Dr.
Waagen is no Solomon in his utterances, as the fol
lowing will show : —
" Of all the English painters at the period of my
first visit to England, I knew least of Turner, having
seen very few of his works, and those almost entirely
of his later time. In my two last visits (1850 and
1851) I endeavoured to repair this omission, and
having succeeded in examining a number of his
pictures and drawings of the most various periods, I
feel myself qualified to give my deliberate opinion

192 TURNER AND BYRON.
upon them. It appears to me that Turner was a
man of marvellous genius, occupying some such
place among the English landscape-painters of our
day as Lord Byron among the modern English poets.
In point of fact, no landscape-painter has yet ap
peared with such versatility of talent. His historical
landscapes exhibit the most exquisite feeling for
beauty of lines and effect of lighting; at the same
time he has the power of making them express the
most varied moods of nature — a lofty grandeur, a
deep and gloomy melancholy, a sunny cheerfulness
and peace, or an uproar of all the elements. Build
ings he also treats with peculiar felicity; while the
sea, in its most varied aspect, is equally subservient
to his magic brush. His views of certain cities and
localities inspire the spectator with poetic feelings
such as no other painter ever excited in the same
degree, and which is chiefly attributable to the ex
ceeding picturesqueness of the point of view chosen,
and to the beauty of the lighting. Finally, he treats
the most common little subjects, such as a group of
trees, a meadow, a shaded stream, with such art as to
impart to them the most picturesque charm. I
should therefore not hesitate to recognise Turner as
the greatest landscape-painter of all times; but for
his deficiency in one indispensable element in every
perfect work of art — namely, a sound technical basis.
It is true that the pictures and drawings of his
earlier and middle period overflow with an abundance
of versatile and beautiful .thoughts, rendered with
great truth of nature; but at the same time his
historical landscapes never possess the delicacy of

THE GERMAN SOLOMON. 193
gradation and the magical atmosphere of Claude, nor
his realistic works the juicy transparency and fresh
ness of a Ruysdael ; while many of his best pictures
have lost their keeping by subsequent darkening, and
with it a great portion of their value. In his later
time, however, he may be said to have aimed gra
dually rather at a mere indication than a represen
tation of his thoughts, which in the last twenty years
of his life became so superficial and arbitrary, that it
is sometimes difficult to say what he really did intend.
Not that I overlook even in these pictures the fre
quent extraordinary beauty of composition and
lighting, which render them what I should rather call
the beautiful souls of pictures. The raptures, there
fore, of many of Turner's countrymen, who prefer
these pictures to those of his early period, I am not
able to share, but must adhere to the sober conviction
that a work of art executed in this material w6rld of
ours must, in order to be quite satisfactory, have a
complete and natural body, as well as a beautiful
soul. Of the earlier period of this great master the
gallery has no specimen. To his later time belongs
' Lake Ayernus, the Sibyl, and the Golden Bough '
(No. 7), an historical composition; while the two
views of 'Venice' (Nos. 51 and 57, the last of which,
though somewhat glassy, is most attractive for effect
of light) show his realistic tendency. In the picture,
'The Prince of Orange landing at Torbay' (No. 75),
he appears as a very spirited marine painter, though
he is somewhat superficial in detail."
About 1844 the wits (wits are ever cruel) began to
be very severe on the poor old painter, of whose
VOL. II. o

194 COMIC WRITERS.
greatness they were ignorant, and whose nobler works
had pleased a previous generation. Turner felt ter
ribly their cruelty and ingratitude.
I append some of the cleverest of these attacks on
tne dying lion, to show how clever and how cruel
they were : —
" Trundler, R. A., treats us with some magnificent
pieces. " 34. A Typhoon bursting in a Simoom over the
Whirlpool of Maelstrom, Norway ; with a ship on
fire, an eclipse, and the effect of a lunar rainbow.
" O Art, how vast thy mighty wonders are,
To those who roam npon the extraordinary deep ;
Maelstrom, thy hand is here. From an unpublished poem.
" 4. (Great Room.) Hippopotamuses at play in the
River Scamander.
"1311. The Duke of Wellington and the Shrimp.
(Seringapatam, early morning).
" And can it be, thou hideous imp,
That life is, ah ! how brief, and glory but a shrimp !
From an unpublished poem.
"We must protest against the Duke's likeness
here ; for though his Grace is short, his face is not of
an emerald green colour; and it is his coat, not his
boots, which are vermilion ; nor is it fair to make the
shrimp (a blue one) taller than the conqueror of
Assaye. With this trifling difference of opinion, we
are bound to express our highest admiration of the
work. It is the greatest that the English school of
quiet landscape has produced. The comet just
rising above the cataract in the foreground, and the

THE " PUNCH" CRITICISM. 195
conflagration of Tippoo's widow in the Banyan forest
by the sea-shore, are in the great artist's happiest
manner."* " No. 77 is called Whalers by J. M. W. Turner,
R.A., and embodies one of those singular effects
which are only met with in lobster salads and in this
artist's pictures. Whether he calls his picture
Whalers, or Venice, or Morning, or Noon, or Night, it
is all the same ; for it is quite as easy to fancy it one
thing as another."
" We had almost forgotten Mr. J. M. W. Turner,
R.A., and his celebrated MS. poem, the Fallacies of
Hope, to which he constantly refers us, as ' in former
years;' but on this occasion he has obliged us by
simply mentioning the title of the poem, without
troubling us with an extract. We will, however,
supply a motto to his Morning — Returning from the
Ball, which really seems to need a little explanation ;
and as he is too modest to quote the Fallacies of
Hope, we will quote for him : —
" Oh, what a scene ! Can this be "Venice 1 No.
And yet methinks it is — because I see
Amid the lumps of yellow, red, and blue,
Something which looks like a Venetian spire.
That dash of orange in the background there
Bespeaks 'tis morning. And that little boat
(Almost the colour of Tomata sauce)
Proclaims them now returning from the ball :
This in my picture I would fain convey.
I hope I do. Alas! what fallacy !"t
Mr. Gilbert a Beckett, who laughed at everything,
sacred or profane, laughed at Turner in his " Al-
* " Punch," vol. vi. p. 200. 1844.
t Ibid., vol. viii. pp. 233, 236. 1845.
02

196 SENSITIVENESS.
manac of the Month" (1846). Mr. Thackeray had
laughed in "Ainsworth's Magazine," at "The Na
poleon and Rock Limpet." Mr. a Beckett laughed at
the " Undine and Masaniello." He calls it a " lobster
salad," and says Turner mixes his colours on the
canvas, or pelts it with eggs. He calls it a " fair spe
cimen of this slap-dash school." The drawing repre
sents him painting with a mop and a bucket.
The fact was, that these small-strained jokes were
chiefly written by young men, who were totally
ignorant of art in general, and of Turner's ante
cedents in particular. It was as if an ape of St.
Helena had sat down to write a Life of Napoleon,
judging him only from his daily observations of him
in that island.
I am afraid the tradition is too true, that that great
and bitter satirist of poor humanity's weaknesses,
Mr. Thackeray, had more than a finger in thus
lashing the dotage of a great man's genius. Long
after, I have heard that Mr. Thackeray was shown
some of Turner's finest water-colour drawings, upon
which he exclaimed : " I will never run down Turner
again." But the blows had already gone to the old
man's heart, and it did no good to lament them then.
Of Turner's sensitiveness to criticism, Mr. Ruskin
says, with deep feeling, "To_ censure, Turner was
acutely sensitive ; owing to his own natural kindness,
he felt it for himself or for others, not as criticism,
but as cruelty. He knew that however little his
higher power could be seen, he had at least done as
much as ought to have saved him from wanton insult,
and the attacks upon him in his later years were to

WILSON AND TURNEB. 197
him not merely contemptible in their ignorance, but
amazing in their ingratitude. ' A man may be weak
in his age? he said to me once, at the time when he
felt he was dying, ' but you should not tell him so?
What Turner might have done for us, had he received
help and love instead of disdain, I can hardly trust
myself to imagine."
I here condense a few of Mr. Burnet's (Wilkie's
engraver) excellent remarks on Turner's genius; they
are as remarkable for their severe common sense as
for the study, learning, and insight they display.
" Objects with distinct outline have a tendency to
advance. Wilson's idea was, that no foreground
ought to be painted nearer than thirty feet, for this
reason the plants in his foreground are broad and
blunt ; where Turner makes foreground objects sharp
and clear they are generally too small to interfere
with the general breadth of his light and shade.
"A multiplicity of objects prevents repose and
breadth of shadow. The later works of Turner were
treated in a lighter key to avoid spottiness. In the
composition of skies, he is more original than any
other painter. If the scene is bald, he breaks his
skies into beautiful forms. If the piece is multitudi
nous, he used the sky for repose; he used the skies
too for contrast of cool or warm colour. Objection
able lines he loses in the darks of his clouds ; agree
able or characteristic lines he brings into notice by
opposition of light.
" The skies are admirable, too, for perspective ; the
clouds duly diminish in size towards the horizon..
"Turner's figures are not true as Raphael's, or «

19S SKETCHY PAINTING.
correct as Paul Potter's, but 'they have a broad
general look of nature.' We must not overlook the
truth of character and bluff forms of Turner's
fishermen and English sailors; they are true tran
scripts of the men they represent— they are portraits.
Keeping the foreground light and warm makes the
distance retire. Turner (unlike Wilson) does this.
"Turner's earlier pictures are heavy; these he
gradually relieved by scumbling ; nor even in his later
works did he adopt rich glazings, but perfected his
effects by washes of delicate opaque colours, that
counteracted heaviness, but likewise destroyed richness
and depth; this habit grew upon him till his lighter
tints at last acquired a milky whiteness. The pictures
of Claude, put beside those of Turner, look dirty and
dingy. He never seems to have imitated Hobbima
or Ruysdael, but to have extracted the essence of
their pictures. The landscapes of Rubens and Rem
brandt contain many of his principles.
" Space seems to have been the guiding principle
with Turner, while the pictures of many artists stretch
merely from left to right of the canvas. His works
lead the eye from the foreground to the distance ; the
light key of colour of the modern school owes its
origin to Turner. Wilson, Gainsborough, and the
dark Dutch school were henceforward laid on the shelf.
" His light tints, the result of pearly scumblings,
make his light pictures as luminous as his water-colour
drawings. No one but Turner has represented the
tremulous, dewy mist stealing along the ground in
fading sunset shadows.

WHITE GROUNDS. 199
" The American and French war left the country too
much excited for any encouragement to painting.
Hence the Academicians painted too many pictures,
and in too slight a manner ; the early works of Turner
have a look of slightness in the execution.
"Turner's style influenced Calcott, Etty, and Wilkie.
Lawrence, except in his lighter pictures, seldom relin
quished his cool shadows. Owen's backgrounds have
an affinity with Turner.
" The theory is false that would make objects less
visible as they recede from the centre to the sides of
a picture. We certainly see this treatment in Rem
brandt, but then these pictures were placed in broad
black frames that gave greater force to the contiguous
light. Now that we have gold ornamented frames,
Lawrence and Turner carry out light and colour to
the borders of their gorgeous works.
" Turner cannot be said to have fallen on evil days.
The British Institution and the Academy Exhibitions
gave an impetus to British art, and still more so did
the formation of the National Gallery. He lived in a
time of great poets, whose works he illustrated; he
influenced the style of theatrical scenery and of pano
ramic exhibitions. He was born, too, in a time of
much chemical change in the manufacture of pigments,
and all new colours he daringly used (whether chrome
yellow, emerald green, or cobalt blue).
" In other respects, he was before his age ; his large
engravings did not succeed. They had to compete
with Landseer's figure-subjects, and Wilkie's genre
pictures. Steel engraving did justice to the latter,

200 LESLIE.
while landscape requires a slower and more expensive
process. The innumerable small prints after his
designs satisfied curiosity and sated the public.
"Turner used white grounds; his later pictures
are too ethereal, prismatic, and poetic for the • mil
lion ; and thirst for novelty led Turner to the dreamy
grandeur which he attained by light, and Rembrandt
by dark. He was amazed by the later imitations
of him, and . by the want of encouragement of his
early style. Water-colours led him partly to this
manner. The most evanescent of Turner's pictures
will acquire a greater solidity as they grow older.
" Latterly, his chief aim was breadth of light and
strong contrast of hot and cold colour. His unfinished
pictures are all cold blue sky, and warm orange brown
foreground." In his "Handbook for Young Painters," p. 266r
Mr. Leslie, with great coolness of temper and some
severity of reasoning, vindicates Canaletti from some
of Mr. Ruskin's attacks, and points out, but not
invidiously, how open ..Turner occasionally was to
censure. The extract is long, but I do not grudge
it :— "Turner began with water-colours, a mode of
painting which he practised at later periods of his
life with wonderful power. In his earliest works a
resemblance may be noticed to Cozens (to whom he
always acknowledged great obligations), and still more
to Girtin, but with inferior power to either. Con
temporary with both, and of about the same age with
Girtin, had Turner died as young, his name would
only have survived as that of a second-rate painter.

THE CHAMPION. 201
His genius was of later development, and first ap
peared in those grand classic and marine subjects
which he painted in the early part of the century.
The sea pieces were his own, the others were made
up from various sources in art, and though noble
works, yet not generally those on which his fame will
ultimately rest. His ' Snowstorm in the Alps,'
however, with ' Hannibal and his Army,' would alone
justify the highest praises of his friends; and his
' Ulysses,' painted at a much later period, is a poem
of matchless splendour and beauty. Among the
great multitude of his conceptions there may be
doubtless other classical subjects equal to those
direct from Nature, but they are exceptions to the
rule by which he will be judged.
"I was equally delighted and surprised when I
heard that a very young man had come forward,
with extraordinary ability, knowledge and love of
Nature, as the champion of Turner, at a time when
(excepting by painters) his transcendent powers were
little felt or understood. But . I own I was disap
pointed, when I read Mr. Ruskin's ' Modern Painters,'
at one of themodes. he adopted in the vindication of
the^T^aLarJa8^84ust claim ,tou.admiration.
" There is little enough of excellence in the world,
and its appreciation is always in danger from the
obtrusion of clever mediocrity, and that direction of
criticism, with whatever ability it is conducted, is
unfortunate, that tends to obscure any of the true
lights in art, in order that one great luminary may
shine the more brilliantly. I think, therefore, it was
equally unnecessary and unsafe to the reputation of

202 poussin.
Turner to assume that he had fewer faults than other
great painters, and to, contrast his. beauties. with the
faults, often indeed imaginary, of Claude, the Pous-
sins, Cuyp, or Canaletti; unnecessary, because his
excellences are of so high an order that his greatest
admirers may fearlessly acknowledge all the defects
with which he may be charged ; and unsafe, because
such a system of comparison might be more easily
turned against him than against any painter that ever
lived, for there never lived one in whose works greater
absurdities or a larger number of impossible effects
might be pointed out. Then, again, the assumption
that other great painters are inferior to him, because
they have not done the same beautiful things, is
unfair. Mr._ Ruskin describes in his own vivid
manner four, or five skies by Turner, and at the close
of every such eloquent passage, asks triumphantly,
' Has, Claude given this ?' Now, it would be quite as
easy to select from the works either of Claude, the
Poussins, of Wilson, of Cuyp, of Ruysdael, and even
cf Canaletti, passages of peculiar beauty, and to ask,
with as little chance of an affirmative reply, 'Has
Turner given this ?'
" I Jiave said that the. faults. Mr. . Ruskin jmds in
the_old masters are^o.ften imaginary; and in proof of
this,.iet us examine his remarks on the picture in the
National Gallery, by Nicolas Poussin, called ' Phocian.'
Mr. Ruskin says, ' The first idea we receive from
this picture is that it is evening, and all the light
coming from the horizon ; not so, it is full noon, the
light coming steep from the left, as is shown by the
shadow of the stick on the right-hand pedestal, for if

turner's errors. 203
the sun were not very high, that shadow could not
lose itself half-way down, and if it were not lateral,
the shadow would slope, instead of being vertical.'
Now the fact is, that if the sun were very high, the
shadow of the stick would be continued instead of
losing itself, and the effect in the picture is in reality
in accordance with the more softened light of the sun
when near the horizon, while the shadow of the
man's head near the stick is placed exactly where an
evening sun would cast it; it is true these sha
dows are thrown laterally into the picture, but this is
quite consistent with as much of warm light as
Poussin has shown in the horizon, and the contra
diction of effects imagined by Mr. Ruskin has no
existence; while, were it worth while to look for
blunders in Turner, we might notice that palpable one
in the ' Dido building Carthage,' of a shadow from a
beam of wood projecting from the brick wall on the
extreme left of the spectator, in a direction which can
only come from a sun much higher than that in the
picture. Another instance of the detection of a
supposed falsehood by Mr. Ruskin, in a great painter,
bujt_jEhich. in fact is a truth, occurs in his description
of Canaletti's manner of treating water. After de-
scribing, with much severity, the ripples in the open
part of a canal, he says (and in the way of censure)
that ' three hundred yards away all the houses are
reflected as clear and as sharp as in a quiet lake.
And most assuredly they are, because Canaletti
painted what he saw, and the water as it approached
the houses, being sheltered by them from the breeze
that occasions the ripple in the middle of the canal,

204 canaletti.
was there as calm as ' a quiet lake.' The reader will
see a fine example of such treatment in the large
Canaletti in the National Gallery. Mr. Ruskin is
right in his censure of the manner, as too mechanical,
in which the ripples are painted by Canaletti — a
censure that applies to his execution generally ; still,
the effect in Nature he meant to express is given, and
his colour is always relatively true and well selected,
though in a subdued scale ; and however below Tur
ner, Canaletti cannot be spared from the list of great
painters; and in proof that Turner is at least as
vulnerable, I would notice that, among the impossi
bilities in his pictures, we often find reflections on
the uneven surfaces of large waves exactly perpen
dicular to the object reflected, and as they could only
be seen on calm water.
" Mr. Ruskin, I know, will agree with me in consi
dering it unfortunate for Turner that his picture of
' Dido building Carthage' is placed in the National
Gallery beside Claude's ' Embarkation of the Queen
of Sheba ;' for his notice of the two pictures of Car
thage is among the few instances in which he admits
a fault in Turner. ' The foreground,' he says, ' of
the ' Building of Carthage,' and the greater part of
the architecture of the ' Fall,' are equally heavy, and
evidently paint, if we compare them with genuine
passages of Claude's sunshine.' For my own part,
when I look at the ' Building of Carthage,' I feel as
if I were in a theatre decorated with the most splen
did of drop-scenes ; but when I stand before Claude's
' Embarkation,' I am in the open air enjoying the sea
breeze, and listening to the plash of the waves on the

VENICE AND SWITZERLAND. 205
beach. Yet this does not convince me that Claude
was a greater man than Turner, because it is a com
parison of one of the most artificial pictures of the
English painter with one of the most natural works
of the Frenchman ; and I only make the comparison
to show that Claude is not ,to be deposed, to place on
his throne one who wants it not, because he has raised
himself to a throne unoccupied before, and from
which his sway is extended over a wider dominion,
though, for that very reason, with less absolute power
in every corner of it. Claude could not paint a storm ;
Turner's sea storms are the finest ever painted; and
though Claude is best seen in tranquil sunshine, yet
there are many beautiful and brilliant mid-day appear
ances, of perfect stillness, that were never seen on
canvas, till Turner gave them with a power preclud
ing all imitation; and I can well believe, with Mr.
Ruskin, in the truth of his Venetian scenes, those
splendid palaces and churches under the brightest
skies and reflected in the clearest waters. Others
may have painted with more truth many of the lesser
facts ; but he alone has given the great facts that are
the prevailing associations with Venice. I have never
seen Switzerland ; but I have known those who have
gone there sceptics, with respect to Turner's excel
lence, and returned worshippers ; and I know enough
of lake scenery to feel how great a painter he is of
mountains and lakes, with all their changes of sun
shine, cloud, and mist. Such are the things which
are the real praise of this wonderful painter of light,
and space, and air.
" I have read with attention Mr. Ruskin's remarks

206 TREES.
on Turner's trees and foliage, but without-being con
vinced that he was so great a painter of these as of
other features of Nature. With the exception of here
and there a willow, and in his Italian views the fre
quent pine and cypress, I look in vain for a specific
discrimination in his trees, or in the vegetation of his
foregrounds, in which there is little that is English.
I cannot remember an oak, an elm, an ash, or a beech,
in any picture by him (only a fine decayed oak in
one of his vignettes) ; nor do I remember anything
much like the beauty of an English hedge. Neither
has he expressed the deep fresh verdure of his own
country ; and hence he is the most unfaithful (among
great painters) to the essential and most beauti
ful characteristics of English midland scenery. Con
stable said to me, 'Did you ever see a picture by
Turner, and not wish to possess it?' I forget the re
ply, but I might have named his 'View from the
Terrace at Richmond ;' from which, with the excep
tion of the general composition, every beauty of that
noble landscape is left out. I remember, in a summer
of unusual drought, when the trees became em
browned and the grass was burnt up, that the colour
of the woods and meadows seen from Richmond
approached to that of Turner's picture ; but I never
remember to have met with trees of such forms as
those which he has placed in its foreground, in any
part of the world; nor am I acquainted, in Nature,
with those trees often to be seen in his middle dis
tances, which Mr. Ruskin accurately describes as
shaped like pears with the stem downwards."
We have no recollection of any other picture than

THE SNOW-STORM. 207
one of Turner's by an artist of reputation, in which
snow is represented " in action."
The " Snow-storm" was painted, and exhibited at
the Academy, in 1842 ; in the catalogue it bore the
title of " Snow-storm : Steamboat off a Harbour's
Mouth making Signals, in Shallow Water, and going
by the Lead;" and we also learn, from the same
authority, that the painter " was in the storm the
night the Ariel" — the name of the steamer — left
" Harwich." The critics of all kinds, learned and unlearned,
were furious when it was exhibited; some of them
described it as a mass of " soapsuds and white-wash."
" Turner," says Mr. Ruskin, " was passing the evening
at my father's house, on the day this criticism came
out ; and after dinner, sitting in his arm-chair by the
fire, I heard him muttering low to himself, at intervals,
' Soapsuds and whitewash,' again, and again, and
again. At last I went to him, asking why he minded
what they said. Then he burst out, ' Soapsuds and
whitewash ! What would they have.? I wonder what
they think the sea's like? I wish they'd been in it.'
" It is thus, too often, that ignorance sits in judg
ment on the works of genius."
One of the severest of Turner's critics, an open
enemy indeed (the late Mr. Rippingille), says of his
works :
" Many of the pictures in the gallery appropriated
to him in Marlborough House are lamentable exam
ples of want of care, as well as conscience; and,
critically speaking, the collection, as a whole, some
what impeaches the talent and powers of the artist,

208 CENTRAL LIGHT.
and to a very great extent impairs the influence
exercised to swell his reputation as a grand imposition.
None question Turner's merits and powers as a
painter ; but these qualities are not found evidenced
in all his works. The man of true taste and honesty
will not fail to see a repulsive monotony of treatment
pervading every subject, and a total absence, in most,
of that freshness of feeling, which is as often exhibited
by himself as by any artist living or dead, and which
ever attends an earnest yearning after excellence. In
a great number of these productions, there is no proof
of the true motive; such pictures appear to be made
by a recipe, and to order. They are same, and man
nered to excess. Each contains a large splash of
light in the centre, with certain masses of darks
grouped round. Nor is there often any variety,
novelty, or ingenuity comprised in these ; so that the
treatment, in a few examples, becomes vapid and
commonplace. This continual trick, often much
marred in the process by slovenly treatment, has the
less to recommend it, since it has no claim to origin
ality in Art ; and, as regards Nature, it is partial,
insulting, and injurious to the boundless and eternal
variety of effects, in which she presents herself to
our notice and admiration. Take, as a test of the
truth of this observation, the three or four pictures
by Claude, hung in conjunction with about the same
number of Turners in the National Gallery. In the
first, as you enter, Claude gives you this effect of the
sun in the centre of his picture, better executed and
more effective than anything of the sort of which
Turner is the imitator. But in Claude you do not

MR. RUSKIN. 209
find this effect repeated ; in each of the other speci
mens are those varied effects by which nature is ever
characterized : return to Turner, and in each example
you find this effect repeated. Claude was a sloven in
his figures, but what shall be said of Turner? — per
haps that he was a landscape and not a figure painter ;
then he should not have put them into his pictures,
but have done as sometimes Claude did, get another
painter to do them. No man can look upon these
works without perceiving the coarse, unscrupulous
mind and hand from which they came, and which, in
spite of all false criticism and sordid interests can do,
will not save them from the condemnation of a wiser
and more honest generation."
The greatest impetus to Turner's fame was the pub
lication in 1843 (Vol. II. in 1846) of Mr. Ruskin's
firsk.v0Jb2naejrf.the " Modern Painters." The painter
whose fame flourished chiefly among his professional
brethren, and who had somewhat tired the public with
his later riddles, fantasies, and experiments, was now
clearly proved to be the greatest landscape-painter
the world had ever known. With great genius, elo
quence, and technical learning, and with a logic almost
to£„juj3fl£^„Claude was lowered, Salvator crushed,
R_aphael_ criticized, and Turner's works reviewed,
eulogized, and explained.
Such wonderful books on art the world^had never
yet seen. They exasperated some, electrified others,
and delighted the majority. Works of Turner for
gotten by the ordinary public were recalled, the
painter's genius was focussed, and its lustre gained by
the focussing. His timid admirers now grew bolder;
vol. 11. p

210 TOO DEEP.
his enemies were gradually silenced ; then came the
generous and magnificent bequest to awaken fresh
interest; lastly, with deeper convictions, arose an
almost universal thrill of proud satisfaction that Eng^
land had at last produced a truly great painter. Those
who at first affected to think the praise extravagant
and paradoxical, gradually became converts. With
each volume, Turner's votaries increased in number.
Latterly, there have been gainsayers, with whom I
have no sympathy, treasonable enough to think that
though equally eloquent, industrious, acute, and ori
ginal, Mr. Ruskin has become almost too voluminous
and episodical, interlarding his commentaries on Turner
with too much of Scriptural quotation, and growing al
most too subtle in reasoning, and too technically and
laboriously scientific. There are even heretics daring
enough to doubt whether Turner ever plunged so
deeply into geological theories, mythological mysteries,
abstruse spiritualisms, and Biblical allegories as is
made out. For myself, I do not think he went much
further than Lempriere for his " Polyphemus," and
some poor translation of Ovid for his " Liber " sub
jects. He had meaning in all he did, but it needed no
Swedenborg interpretation to discover such meaning.
For myself, if there be such faults in the great art
critic, I forget them all when I read those exquisite
rhapsodies that swell on the ear with an almost Miltonic
diapason, those exquisite passages of almost Athenian
subtlety in reasoning, those elaborate and oratorical
comparisons of the genius of different painters, those
fervid outbursts, those eloquent and glowing comments
on the ancient or modern poets, those keen guesses that

THE PRE-RAPHAELITES. 211
seem to lay bare before us the very soul of Titian, An-
gelico, Velasquez, or Veronese; when I read these, J
grow regardless of all faults, and readily pardon
them in an imagination as intense as that of Dante,
if not so inventive ; a soul as devout as that of Ange-
lico, if not so simple; a colourist as gorgeous as
Giorgione, if not of such depth; a genius as versatile
as Turner, if his shaping power be less and his sense
of composition weaker.
About this time a race of young painters arose,
wishing for sounder and more finished painting
and less manufacture from old cracked conven
tional moulds — need I say Messrs. Millais, Holman
Hunt, and Rossetti were the giants among them? A
small magazine with an affected name, " The Germ,"
first organized the sect, and slowly, through much
anger and laughter, their works began to creep out in
the Exhibitions. Mr. Millais' " Ophelia " and " Hugue
not " were among the early pictures ; wonderful works
for colour and finish, but not without certain draw
backs. Mr. Holman. Hunt's " Hireling Shepherd,"
and " Claudio and Isabella," showed the power and
the defects of the new school, its daring ambition,
its indifference to beauty, and its determination to be
unusual. Crimson flesh, rainbow sheep, ill-drawn
horses, ugly, ascetic faces, and exaggerated trivialities,
were among its peculiarities. But still its admirers
increased, especially when Mr. Ruskin dashed forward,
lance in hand, to prove that these men were painting
on Turner principles, were painting faithfully what
they saw, with all truth and love, and that their finish
was not minuter than that of the old masters.
p2

212 MILLAIS AND TURNER.
Their full daylight effect pleased people tired of the
old brown studio gloom. Then came the great sue*
cess of Mr. Millais' " Order of Release," a noble
picture, almost without a fault; and still later, the
even greater triumph of Mr. Holman Hunt's " Christ
in the Temple."
No doubt the progress of photography led to
much of this desire for finish and detail. Our
school of art had grown sadly slovenly ; it wanted a
drastic and tonic. Reynolds had done more harm by
the sham idealism he taught than he had done good
by the excellence of his example.
But the new school has still much to learn: They
disregard composition too much, they weaken their
memories by the habit of drawing and painting
everything direct from nature. Now, Turner might
have taught them that nature must be selected from,
must be even at times slightly re- dressed and re
arranged, and that nature is not always at her best,
nor ripe for the painter.
In his celebrated pamphlet on " Pre-Raphaelitism,"
Mr. Ruskin showed the true descent of the new sect's
creed from the Turnerian principle of truth and finish.
The following is the celebrated comparison between
Millais and Turner, in which the great writer elabo^
rates his argument. He says : —
" Suppose, for instance, two men equally honest,
equally industrious, equally impressed with a humble
desire to render some part of what they saw in nature
faithfully, and otherwise trained in convictions such
as I have above endeavoured to induce ; but one of
them is quiet in temperament, has a memory which

LONG AND SHORT SIGHT. 213
nothing escapes, an invention which never rests, and
is comparatively near-sighted. Set them both free in
the same field, in a mountain-valley. One sees
everything, small and large, with almost the same
clearness — mountains and grasshoppers alike, the
leaves on the branches, the veins in the pebbles, the
bubbles in the stream; but he can remember nothing
and invent nothing. Patiently he sets himself to his
mighty task ; abandoning at once all thoughts of •
seizing transient effects, or giving general impressions
of that which his eyes present to him in microscopical
dissection, he chooses some small portion out of the
infinite scene, and calculates with courage the number
of weeks which must elapse before he can do justice
to the intensity of his perceptions, or the fulness of
matter in his subject. Meantime, the other has been
watching the change of the clouds, and the march of
the light along the mountain-sides ; he beholds the
entire scene in broad, soft masses of true gradation,
and the very feebleness of his sight is in some sort an
advantage to him in making him more sensible of the
aerial mystery of distance, and hiding from him the
multitudes of circumstances which it would have
been impossible for him to represent. But there is
not one change in the casting of the jagged shadows
along the hollows of the hills, but it is fixed on his
mind for ever; not a flake of spray has broken from
the sea of cloud about their bases, but he has watched
it as it melts away, and could recall it to its lost
place iri heaven by the slightest effort of his thoughts.
Not only so, but thousands and thousands of such
images, of older scenes, remain congregated in his

214 ¦ A SIDE WIND.
mind, each mingling in new associations with those
now visibly passing before him, and these again con
fused with other images of his own ceaseless, - sleep
less imagination, flashing by in sudden troops. Fancy
how his paper will be covered with stray symbols
and blots, and undecipherable short-hand ; as for his
sitting down to 'draw from nature,' there was not
one of the things which he wished to represent that
".stayed for so much as five seconds together; but
none of them escaped for all that— they are sealed up
in that strange storehouse of his. He may take one
of them out, perhaps, this day twenty years, and
paint it in his dark room, far away."
Mr. Ruskin, in the course of this volume, adjures,
in the following remarkable way, the periodical
writers of the day; of course intending such adju
ration to be at the same time a bit of kind advice to
Turner. He says : —
" Our. periodical writers, therefore, may save them
selves the trouble either of blaming or praising; their
duty is not to pronounce opinions upon the work of
a man who has walked with nature threescore years,
but to impress upon the public the respect with which
they are to be received, and to make request to him,
on the part of the people of England, that he would
now touch no unimportant work, that he would not
spend time on slight or small pictures, but give to
the nation a series of grand, consistent, systematic,
and completed poems. We desire that he should
follow out his own thoughts and intents of heart,
without reference to any human authority. But we
request in all humility, that those thoughts may be

turner's style. 215
seriously and loftily given ; and that the whole power
of his unequalled intellect may be exerted in the pro
duction of such works as may remain for ever for the
teaching of the nations. In all that he says we
believe, in all that he does we trust. It is therefore-
that we pray him to utter nothing lightly, to do
nothing regardlessly. He stands upon an eminence,
from which he looks back over the universe of God,
and forward over the generations of men. Let every
work of his hand be a history of the one, and a lesson
to the other. Let each exertion of his mighty mind
be both hymn and prophecy, adoration to the Deity,
revelation to mankind."
A friend of Turner's assures me that the great man
oncetoldhim, "that hehadnever read a line of Ruskin."
Yet there is also a vague story that Turner was vexed
at Mr. Ruskin's panegyrics, saying, " The man put
ideas in my head I never thought of." These two
stories contradict each other; it is impossible that
both can be true, and unlikely that either is so.
turner's style.
In discussing Turner's finish, Mr. Ruskin praises
the curves in his tree drawings, which, when you
look long, " seem to be all tremulous and wavering
along every edge into endless melody of change."
Mr. Ruskin thus defends Turner from the charge
of being unable to represent the higher snow-fields of
the Alps. He says, with great truth : —
" For rocks of this kind, being found only in the
midst of the higher snow-fields, are not only out of
the general track of the landscape-painter, but are

216 SNOW WAVES.
for the most part quite beyond his power — even
beyond Turner's. The waves of snow, when it
becomes a principal element in mountain form, are at
once so subtle in tone and so complicated in colour
and fold, that no skill will express them so as to keep
the whole luminous mass in anything like a true
relation to the rock darkness. For the distant rocks
of the upper peaks are themselves when in light paler
than white paper, and their true size and relation to
near objects cannot be exhibited unless they are
painted in the palest tones. Yet, as compared with
their snow, they are so dark that a daguerreotype taken
for the proper number of seconds to draw the snow-
shadows rightly will always represent the rocks as
coal-black. In order, therefore, to paint a snowy
mountain properly we should need a light as much
brighter than white paper as white paper is lighter
than charcoal. So that although it is possible with
deep blue sky and purple rocks and blue shadows to
obtain a very interesting resemblance of snow effect,
and a true one up to a certain point (as in the best
examples of body-colour drawing sold so extensively
in Switzerland), it is not possible to obtain any of
those refinements of form and gradation which a
great artist's eye requires. Turner felt that, among
these highest hills, no serious or perfect work could
be done ; and although in one or two of his vignettes
he showed his knowledge of them, his practice, in
larger works, was always to treat the snowy moun
tains merely as a fading white cloud, concentrating
the interest of his picture on nearer and more tract
able objects."

FINISH. 217
Speaking of Turner's exquisite finish, Mr. Ruskin
says : —
"Every quarter of an inch of Turner's drawings
will bear magnifying ; and much of the finer work
in them can hardly be traced, except by the keenest
sight, until it is magnified. In his painting of
4 Ivy Bridge,' the veins are drawn on the wings of
a butterfly not above three lines in diameter;
and I have one of his smaller drawings of ' Scar
borough' in my own possession, the mussel shells on
the beach are rounded, and some shown as shut, some
as open, though none are as large as the letters of
this type; and yet this is the man who was thought
to belong to the ' dashing' school, literally because
most people had not patience or delicacy of sight
enough to trace his endless details."
Turner was always on the alert for any remarkable
effect. In 1792, when he was eighteen years of age,
the Pantheon, in Oxford-street, was burnt down. It
happened to be a hard frost at the time, and large
icicles were seen the next morning depending from
the different parts of the ruins. The young artist
quickly repaired to the spot; and his picture, the
" Pantheon on the Morning after the Fire," exhibited
in the Royal Academy in the following May, witnessed
the force with which the scene was impressed upon
him. In like manner, the "Burning of the Houses of
Parliament," forty years afterwards, was an event that
could not escape the pencil of Turner. He repaired
to the spot to make sketches of the fire at different
points, and produced two pictures, one for the Aca
demy, another for the British Institution. Here was

218 HUMAN SYMPATHY.
a glowing subject for his palette. Lord Hill, on look
ing closely to the latter picture, exclaimed, " What's1
this? Call this painting? Nothing but dabs." But
upon retiring, and catching its magical effects, he
added, " Painting ! God bless me ! So it is !" The
picture of " Hail, Rain, and Speed," with its wonder
ful interpretation of a night railway train, produced
at a still later period of Turner's life, was another in
stance in which the great artist's attention had been
caught by the hissing, and puffing, and glowing fire
of the locomotive.
Speaking of Turner's wide sympathy, Mr. Ruskin
says —
" Look at the girl putting her bonnet on the dog,
in the foreground of the 'Richmond, Yorkshire;' the
juvenile tricks of the ' Marine Dabblers,' of the 'Liber
Studiorum ;' the boys scrambling after their kites in
the ' Woods of the Greta and Buckfastleigh ;' and the
notable and most pathetic drawing of the ' Kirkby
Lonsdale Churchyard,' with the schoolboys making a
fortress of their larger books on the tombstone, to
bombard with the more projectile volumes. And,
passing from these to the intense horror and dismay
of the ' Rizpah,' consider for yourself whether there
was ever any other painter who could strike such an
octave. Whether there has been or not, in other
walks of art, this power of sympathy is unquestion
ably in landscape unrivalled. ... As few, in looking
at the ' Cephalus and Procris' of Turner, note the
sympathy of those faint rays that are just drawing
back and dying between the trunks of the far-off
forest, with the ebbing life of the nymph, unless, in
deed, they happen to recollect the same sympathy

ALTERING NATURE. 219
marked by Shelley in the ' Alastor :' but the imagina
tion is not shown in any such modifications ; however,
in some cases they may be valuable, and I note them
merely in consequence of their peculiar use in reli
gious art, presently to be examined."
Turner seldom drew a place as it really was. He
gave not the place itself, but the impression it pro
duced upon him. He would melt up a day's journey
into a sketch, in order to focus all the features of that
region into one impression, and place that before the
spectator's mind. This habit arose from the conven
tional compositions to which Turner had been accus
tomed from a boy. In the days of Wilson, nature
was thought never fit to be seen till the artist had
improved it. This reprehensible untruthfulness Mr.
Ruskin thus ingeniously defends : —
" But if a painter has inventive power, he is to
treat his subject in a totally different way; giving
hot the actual facts of it, but the impression it made
on his mind.
" And now, once for all, let it be clearly understood
that an ' impression on the mind' does not mean a
piece of manufacture. The way in which most artists
proceed to invent, as they call it, is this : they choose
their subject, for the most part well, with a sufficient
quantity of towns, mountains, ruined cottages, and
other materials, to be generally interesting ; they then
fix on some object for a principal light; behind this
put a dark cloud, or, in front of it, a dark piece of
foreground; then they repeat this light somewhere
else in a less degree, and connect the two lights toge
ther by some intermediate ones. If they find any
part of the foreground uninteresting, they put a group

220 REVISING NATURE.
of figures into it ; if any part of the distance, the/
put something there from some other sketch; and
proceed to inferior detail in the same manner, taking
care always to put white stones near black ones, and
purple colours near yellow ones, and angular forms
near round ones. All this being as simply a matter
of recipe and practice as cookery; like that, not
by any means a thing easily done well, but still
having no reference whatever to ' impressions on the
mind.' " But the artist who has real invention sets to work
in a totally different way. First, he receives a true
impression from the place itself, and takes care to
keep hold of that as his chief good ; indeed, he needs
no care in the matter, for the distinction of his mind
from that of others consists in his instantly receiving
such sensations strongly, and being unable to lose them ;
and then he sets himself as free as possible to repro
duce that impression on the mind of the spectator of
his picture.
" Now, observe, this impression on the mind never
results from the mere piece of scenery which can be
included within the limits of the picture. It depends
on the temper into which the mind has been brought,
both by all the landscape round and by what has
been seen previously in the course of the day; so
that no particular spot upon which the painter's
glance may at any moment fall is then to him what,
if seen by itself, it will be to the spectator far away ;
nor is it what it would be even to that spectator if he
had come to the reality through the steps which
nature has appointed to be the preparation for it,

IMPROVING NATURE. 221
instead of seeing it isolated on an exhibition wall.
For instance, on the descent of the St. Gothard,
towards Italy, just after passing through the narrow
gorge above Faido, the road emerges into a little
breadth of valley, which is entirely filled by fallen
stones and debris, partly disgorged by the Ticino as
it leaps out of the narrower chasm, and partly
brought down by winter avalanches from a loose and
decomposing mass of mountain on the left. Beyond
this first promontory is seen a considerably higher
range, but not an imposing one, which rises above
the village of Faido. The etching is a topo
graphical outline of the scene, with the actual
blocks of rock which happened to be lying in the bed
of the Ticino at the spot from which I chose to draw
it. The masses of loose debris (which, for any per
manent purpose, I had no need to draw, as their
arrangement changes at every flood) I have not
drawn, but only those features of the landscape which
happen to be of some continual importance : of which,
note, first, that the little three-windowed building on
the left is the remnant of a gallery built to protect
the road, which once went on that side, from the
avalanches and stones that come down the couloir in
the rock above. It is only a ruin, the greater part
having been, by said avalanches, swept away, and
the old road, of which a remnant is also seen on the
extreme left, abandoned, and carried now along the
hill-side on the right, partly sustained on rough stone
arches, and winding down, as seen in the sketch, to a
weak wooden bridge, which enables it to recover its
old track past the gallery. It seems formerly (but

222 ST. GOTHARD.
since the destruction of the gallery) to have gone
about a mile farther down the river on the right
bank, and then to have been carried across by a
longer wooden bridge, of which only the two abut
ments are seen in the sketch, the rest having been
swept away by the Ticino, and the new bridge erected
near the spectator.
" There is nothing in this scene, taken in itself,
particularly interesting or impressive. The moun
tains are not elevated or particularly fine in form, and
the heaps of stones which encumber the Ticino present
nothing notable to the ordinary eye ; but, in reality,
the place is approached through one of the narrowest
and most sublime ravines in the Alps, and after the
traveller, during the early part of the day, has been
familiarized with the aspect of the highest peaks of
the Mount St. Gothard. Hence, it speaks quite
another language to him from that in which it would
address itself to an unprepared spectator; the con
fused stones, which by themselves would be almost
without any claim upon his thoughts, become expo
nents of the fury of the river by which he journeyed
all day long ; the defile beyond, not in itself narrow
or terrible, is regarded, nevertheless, with awe, be
cause it is imagined to resemble the gorge that has
just been traversed above, and, although no very
elevated mountains immediately overhang it, the
scene is felt to belong to, and arise in its essential
characters out of, the strength of those mightier
mountains in the unseen north.
" Any topographical delineation of the facts, there
fore, must be wholly incapable of arousing in the

TREATMENT OF SCENERY. 223
mind of the beholder those sensations which would be
caused by the facts themselves, seen in their natural
relations to others ; and the aim of the great inventive
landscape painter must be to give the far higher and
deeper truth of mental vision, rather than that of the
physical facts, and to reach a representation which,
though it may be totally useless to engineers or
geographers, and, when tried by rule and measure,
totally unlike the place, shall yet be capable of pro
ducing on the far-away beholder's mind precisely the
impression which the reality would have produced,
and putting his heart into the same state in which it
would have been had he verily descended into the
valley of Airlo.
" Now, observe, if in his attempt to do this the
artist does not understand the sacredness of the
truth of impression, and supposes that, once quitting
hold of his first thought, he may, by philosophy,
compose something prettier than he saw, and mightier
than he felt, it is all over with him. Every such
attempt at composition will be utterly abortive, and
end in something neither true nor fanciful — some
thing geographically useless and intellectually absurd.
But if, holding fast his first thought, he finds other
ideas insensibly gathering to it, and, whether he will
or not, modifying it into something which is not so
much the image of the place itself as the spirit of the
place, let him yield to such fancies and follow them
wherever they lead. For, though error on this side
is very rare among us in these days, it is possible to
check these finer thoughts by mathematical accuracies,
so as materially to impair the imaginative, faculty. I

224 LOVE OF BOULDERS.
shall be able to explain this better after we have
traced the actual operation of Turner's mind on the
scene under discussion,
"Turner was always, from his youth, fond of
stones (we shall see presently why). Whether large
or small, loose or imbedded, hewn into . cubes or
moulded into boulders, he loved them as much as
William Hunt loved pine-apples and plums ; so that
this great litter of fallen stones, which to any one else
would have been simply disagreeable, was to Turner
much the same as if the whole valley had been filled
with plums and pine-apples, and delighted him ex
ceedingly, much more than even the gorge of Dazio
Grande just above. But that gorge had its effect
upon him also, and was still not well out of his head
when the diligence stopped at the bottom of the
hill, just at that turn of the road on the right of the
bridge, which favourable opportunity Turner seized
to make what he called a ' memorandum' of the place,
composed of a few pencil scratches on a bit of thin
paper, that would roll up with others of the sort
and go into his pocket afterwards. These pencil
scratches he put a few blots of colour upon (I
suppose at Bellinzona the same evening, certainly
not upon the spot), and showed me this blotted
sketch when he came home. I asked him to make
me a drawing of it, which he did, and casually told
me afterwards (a rare thing for him to do) that
he liked the drawing he had made. Of this draw
ing I have etched a reduced outline, in which
the whole place is altered in scale, and brought
up to the general majesty of the higher forms

TRANSMUTATION. 225
of the Alps. In my topographical sketch, there
are a few trees rooted in the rock on this side of
the gallery, showing by comparison that it is not
above four or five hundred feet high. These trees
Turner cuts away, and gives the rock a height
of about a thousand feet, so as to imply more
power and danger in the avalanche coming down
the couloir.
" Next, he raises, in a still greater degree, all the
mountains beyond, putting three or four ranges in
stead of one, but uniting them into a single mossy
bank at their base, which he makes overhang the
valley, and thus reduces it nearly to such a chasm as
that which he had just passed through above, so as to
unite the expression of this ravine with that of the
stony valley. The few trees in the hollow of the
glen he feels to be contrary in spirit to the stones,
and fells them as he did the others ; so also he feels
the bridge in the foreground by its slenderness to
contradict the aspect of violence in the torrent. He
thinks the torrent and avalanches should have it all
their own way hereabouts, so he strikes down the
nearer bridge, and restores the one further off, where
the force of the stream may be supposed less. Next,
the bit of road on the right, above the bank, is not
built on a wall, nor on arches high enough to give
the idea of an Alpine road in general ; so he makes
the arches taller, and the bank steeper, introducing,
as we shall see presently, a reminiscence from the
upper part of the pass.
" I say he thinks this, and introduces that ; but,
strictly speaking, he does not think at all. If he
VOL. II. Q

226 DISTANCE.
thought, he would instantly go wrong ; it is only the
clumsy and uninventive artist who thinks. All these
changes come into his head involuntarily — an entirely
imperative dream, crying, ' Thus it must be.' "
Of Turner's distance, Mr. Ruskin says : —
" To so singular an extent will the form of things
come out gradually through the mist, as you look
long at Turner's effects of this kind, that many of his
admirers have thought that he painted the whole
scene first, with all its details, and then threw the
mist over it ; but it is not so, and it cannot be done
so. All efforts to copy Turner on such a plan will
end in total discomfiture. The misty effect is, indeed,
partly given by breathing one colour over another;
but the forms of objects are not thus rendered indis
tinct ; if they were, the picture would look as if it
had been rubbed over with blue paint, accidentally,
after it was finished, and every spectator would wish
to clear off the upper colour and see what was under
neath. The misty appearance is given by resolvedly
confusing, altering, or denying the form at the
moment of painting it ; and the virtue of the work is
in the painter's having perfectly clear and sharp con
ception of all that he chooses to confuse, alter, or
deny ; so that his very confusion becomes suggestive,
his alteration decorative, and his denial affirmative.
And it is because there is an idea with, and in — not
under — every touch, that we find the objects rising
into existence as we gaze."
On the subject^of Turner's '' Mystery," so inten-
I tionally indistinct in detail, Mr. Ruskin says: —
" He shows you the spots on trout on a rock in a

THE ARROW HEAD. 227
foreground, but you cannot count them, the painter
never intended you should. Try to draw a piece of
patterned muslin or lace (of which you do not know
the pattern) a little way off, and rather in the shade;
and be sure you get all the grace and look of the
pattern without going a step nearer to see what it is.
Then try to draw a bank of grass with all its blades,
or a bush with all its leaves, and you will soon begin
to understand under what a universal law of obscurity
we live, and perceive that all distinct drawing must be
bad drawing, and that nothing can be right till it is
unintelligible." Mr. Ruskin does not in the least exaggerate the
subtleties of Turner's imagination. In the picture of
the " Mewstone" there were some strange weird clouds
introduced, which had something demoniacal and pos
sessed about them. Mr. Stokes was struck by them,
and asked Turner if he did not mean them for the
demons and angels of the storm; Turner confessed
he did.
" In the same way," Mr. Ruskin says, " the blasted
trunk on the left, in Turner's drawing of the spot
where Harold fell at the battle of Hastings, takes,
where its boughs first separate, the shape of the head
of an arrow; this, which is mere fancy in itself, is
imagination, as it supposes in the spectator an excited
condition of feeling dependent on the history of the
spot."

Q2

228

CHAPTER X,
TURNER AS A CORRESPONDENT.
Turner was notoriously a barred-up man, a man who
would come to the threshold of his mind and talk to
you perhaps, but would by no means throw open the
door and show you in as a welcome guest into the
palace ; yet on this peculiarity, too, the tireless tongue
of envy has been busy, and the fungi stalks of scandal
have been used as pillars to support vast edifices of
lies. Turner was cheerful and social among friends,
loving them and beloved by them. I append here a
batch of letters, trifling enough, but valuable, be-.
cause Turner's letters are scarce. They convey a
very fair notion of his epistolary manner in 1844.
" 47, Queen Anne-street, Thursday, 18th inst.
" Dear Madam, — Mr. Jenkins will take the benefit
of the Act himself, and will (without asking counsel's
opinion thereon) appear before the Court of Brook-
street on Wednesday, the 24th instant, quarter
before seven o'clock, and abide by the same.
" I have the honour to be for Mr. Jenkins's case.
"J. M. W.Turner.
" To Mrs. Carrick Moore,
38, Brook-street, Grosvenor-square."

INVITATIONS. 229
" Dear Madam, — It is very, very, very unlucky for
me that although dear Miss Rogers had induced me
to hope for your kind invitation, it should be thwarted
in any manner, . and particularly by me, against my
own inclination; but I have received a summons to
attend the Council of the Royal Academy at half-past
eight on Saturday evening, to consider on a case
which friend Jones will tell you more about if you
feel inclined to know why I am constrained to defer
(I hope only in the present case) your kind and
friendly feeling towards me.
" I have the honour to be, dear Madam,
" Yours most truly obliged,
" J. M. W. Turner.
" To Mrs. Carrick Moore, 1, Saville-row." « Wednesday, 20th, 1841.
" Dear Miss Moore, — I am very sorry to be en
gaged on the 29th, Friday, and therefore excluded
from the happiness of being in Brook-street on that
day. " Very many thanks for the name of the church,*
Redentori. " Yours truly,
"J. M. W. Turner."
"J. M. W. Turner presents his compliments to
Miss Moore, and requests her to make his thanks to
Mrs. Moore for the very kind offer of forgiveness to
him, which he will avail himself of with very great
* " He had asked me to find the name of the church in Venice
which contained three pictures by G. Bellini." — M.

230 avalanche jenkinson.
pleasure on Sunday next, at a quarter past six
o'clock.
" Feb. 3rd, 1840. 47, Queen Anne-street.
" To Miss H. Moore."
"47, Queen Anne-street, June 16th, 1847.
" My dear Miss Moore, — Very glad to hear Mr.
Moore is quite well again, and hope Mrs. Moore will
now be better, being relieved from the anxiety
attendant on the illness of Mr, Moore.
" Many thanks for the news of the whereabouts of
the Jones's, and his piece of your letter sent me in
closed ! ! ! How we all grumble in search of happi
ness or benefits for others, yet find home at home.
" Yours truly,
" J. M. W. Turner."
" 47, Queen Anne-street, Dec. 9th, 1841.
" Dear Madam, — I am truly sorry in being en
gaged Tuesday and Wednesday next (out of town),
particularly sorry on present occasion of your kind
invitations. " Most sincerely,
"J. M. W. Turner.
" P.S. — Very low, indeed, for our loss in dear
Chantrey.
" Mrs. Carrick Moore, Albemarle-street."
" J. M. W. Turner begs to present his respects to
Miss Moore, and begs to say he is sorry an engage
ment for Christmas Day will prevent him offering
his apology and contrition for his misdeeds and errors,
regretted the more by him because he cannot but
defer expressing his disappointment in person.
" Respects.
" To Miss H. Moore."

time's wing. 231
"Saturday, Jan. 9th, 1847.
" Dear Miss Moore, — Charming weather for the
arts ; they must be fine this weather of uniformity.
" Sorry to be likewise engaged on Sunday next, the
10th; best regards to Mr. and Mrs, Moore, yourself,
and all the family. " Yours truly,
" J. M. W. Turner.
" Miss Moore, 11, Grafton-street, Bond-street." " Tuesday night.
" Dear Miss Moore, — Jones must have pulled a
feather from the wing of Time ; so with your permis
sion, and Mr. and Mrs. Moore's, I will be selfish, and
try to borrow it on Saturday; but if I should be
beyond a quarter past six pray ask him for the loan
(for me), fearing others are like.
" Yours truly,
"J. M. W. Turner.
" Miss Moore, 38, Brook-street, Grosvenor-square."
" Mr. Avalanche Jenkinson presents his thanks to
Mrs. Moore for the kind invitation to Wonhams,
which by some mischance he did not find till this
morning, because ' 'twas not in sight,' and he feels his
mishap the greater because the chance becomes the
lesser, for the Exhibition closes to-day, the anniver
sary dinner on Monday, and the Spanish Fleet (alias
pictures) will be removed from their present moor
ings to be scattered east, west, north, and south, like
the Armada.
" Therefore Mr. Jenkinson fears he may be driven
before the wind with his passport before the end of
next week, but he begs to offer his sincere thanks,

232 the "gay" and "good."
though with slender hope of being able to have the
pleasure of being at Wonhams until his return from
Switzerland. Mr. Jenkinson, with great respect, be
coming to all inquiring friends,
" Most sincerely, " J. M. W- Turner."
Mrs. Carrick Moore used to call him Mr. Jenkinson,
as being a common insignificant name.
These letters, with their pithy brevity and cheerful
jokes, are very characteristic of the man.
How drolly he rejoices in the nickname of " Mr.
Avalanche Jenkinson," and throws in here and there
a clever thought or kind remembrance. " The loss
of dear Chantrey" shows how deeply his heart felt the
loss of friends; Chantrey the "gay" and "good," as
he calls him in the following letter to his friend
Jones, he seems especially to have loved.
I here interpolate a letter of as far back as 1830
(for these letters are too few to be worth arranging
chronologically), written to his friend Jones when at
Rome. He alludes in it with much feeling to the
death of Lawrence and Dawe; to his father's death,
too, and to the contingency of his own. He is quite
sarcastic on the heartless custom of great people
sending their empty carriages to public funerals, and
hints at Academy intrigues. The allusion to " yel
low," refers to the mustard tone of his later Italian
pictures, which Chantrey seems good-naturedly to
have joked him about : —

Lawrence's funeral. 233
To George Jones, R.A. "London, Feb. 1830.
" Dear Jones, — I delayed answering yours until
the chance of this finding you in Rome, to give
you some account of the dismal' prospect of Aca
demic affairs, and of the last sad ceremonies paid
yesterday to departed talent gone to that bourne from
whence no traveller returns. Alas, only two short
months Sir Thomas followed the coffin of Dawe to
the same place. We then were his pall-bearers.
Who will do the like for me, or when, God only knows
how soon; my poor father's death proved a heavy
blow upon me, and has been followed by others of
the same dark kind. However, it is something to
feel that gifted talent can be acknowledged by the
many who yesterday waded up to their knees in
snow and muck to see the funeral pomp swelled up
by carriages of the great, without the persons them
selves. Entre nous, much could be written on this
subject; much has been in the papers daily of anec
dotes, sayings, and doings, contradictory and com
plex, and nothing certain, excepting that a great
mass of property in the unfinished pictures will
cover more than demands. The portraits of the
potentates are to be exhibited, which will of course
produce a large sum. The drawings of the old
masters are to be offered to His Majesty in mass,
then to the British Museum. Thomas Campbell is to
write Sir Thomas's life at the request of the family,
and a portrait of himself, painted lately and engraved,
for which great biddings have been already made. I

234 bottled sunshine.
wish I had you by the button-hole, notwithstanding
all your grumbling about Italy and yellow. I could
then tell more freely what has occurred since your
departure of combinations and concatenations some
what of the old kind, only more highly coloured, and to
my jaundiced eye not a whit more pure. . . . Chantrey
is as gay and as good as ever, ready to serve : he
requests, for my benefit, that you bottle up all the
yellows which may be found straying out of the
right way ; but what you may have told him about
the old masters which you did not tell me, I can't
tell, but we expected to hear a great deal from each
other, but the stormy brush of Tintoretto was only
to make ' the Notte' more visible. May you be better
in health and spirits.
" Adieu, adieu, faithfully yours,
" J. M. W. Turner."
Turner's letters to Mr. Ruskin I have not inserted.
They are of small importance, are very brief, and are
chiefly friendly answers to invitations. In one he
alludes bewailingly to the November fog, that stops
his painting.
There is a letter from Turner to Calcott extant in
which the artist has drawn a wild duck (or mallard)
instead of writing his full name. He was fond of
Calcott's style of painting, his cool sober manner. Mr.
Munro has a picture of a Dutch town closely re
sembling Calcott in style. Turner was fond of these
little good-natured bits of fun, for his spirits were
high, deep as were occasionally his fits of melan
choly.

pope's villa. 235
The following letters are also worthy a place
here : —
" Dear Sir, — Herewith I submit for your in
spection and observations my remarks on your picture
of ' Pope's Villa,' and if you wish to make any alte
rations to the same, I will readily comply with your
suggestions. I must beg the favour of you to return
this sheet by the first post, as I must print the
account immediately. I am sorry I could not submit
it to you previous to your leaving town. Pray in
form me if you can make it convenient to oblige me
with two or three drawings of Lindisfarne; they
shall be engraved in the very best manner.
" Yours truly, " J. Britton.
" Nov. 1 6th, 1811. Tavistock-place."
" Sir, [for Mr. T.'s remarks].
" I rather lament that the remark which you
read to me when I called in Tavistock-place is
suppressed, for it espoused the part of Elevated
Landscape against the aspersio .... of map
mak . . . criticism ; but no doubt you are better ac
quainted with the nature of p . . . . tion, and mine
is a mistaken zeal. As to remark, you will find a . .
alteration or colour in pencil. Two groups of sheep.
Two fishermen occur too close; baskets to entrap
eels is not technical, being called eel pots; and
making the willow tree the identical Pope's willow
(sic) is rather strained. ( ?) Cannot you do it by
allusion, and with deference. ( ?) Mellifluous lyre —
seems to deny energy of thought — and let me ask

236 LINDISFARNE.
one question. ( ?) Why say the Poet and Skophite
are not often united? for if they are not, they ....
ought to be : therefore the solitary instance given of
Dodsley acts as a censure. The fourth and fifth line
requires perhaps a note as to the state of the grotto
that gratfull posterity from age to age may repair
what remains. If ... . will in .... I would ask
a little more to be added ; but as it is, use your own
discretion ( ?), and therefore will conclude cavaling
any further with Dodsley's lines.
" Your most truly obed.
" J. M. W. Turner.
" P.S. — Respecting Lindisfarne, we will have some
conversation when I return; and you may see the
sketches which will best suit, and I must .... know
what size, &c, you wish, before I can positively accept
of your proposal, as one more I think .... bring
into ' Liber Studiorum.' I had not time to return
this by post yesterday, but hope that no delay has
been experienced in the printing."
"July 1st, 1825: Queen Anne-street.
" Dear Sir Thomas, — I have just now received a
letter from the Lord Chamberlain's office, stating that
the amount for my picture will be paid upon demand.
I therefore feel the necessity of again asking you if
you do authorize me in demanding the 600 guineas
you mentioned ; or, if in your warmth for the service
of the arts, you did exceed (in your wishes) the
terms proposed. Do pray have the goodness to tell
me.

REFUSING A REQUEST. 237
" In regard to the fees, I beg to renew my ob
jections ; but do believe me to be,
" With true regard, yours most faithfully,
" J. M. W. Turner.
" To Sir Thomas Lawrence." " Thursday M.
"J. M. W. Turner presents his respects to Sir
Thomas Lawrence, and he feels sorry his engage
ments will prevent him the pleasure of waiting upon
Sir Thomas to-morrow morning ; he called in Russell-
square to request he might be excused giving any
opinion of the picture, in consequence of his having
positively declined so doing to Mr. Wright, a par
ticular friend of Sir W. Pilkington, on the part of
Mr. Gray.
" To Sir Thomas Lawrence."

238

CHAPTER XI.
TURNER'S VENETIAN PICTURES.
It was from the great middle class, and not the aristo
cracy of England, Turner obtained patronage.
It is to the middle class of England, from whom
Shakespeare and our greatest men have sprung, that
English art owes its present flourishing condition.
It was only after the Reform Bill passed both Houses
that national pictures were treated as national pro
perty, and thrown open to the people. Gradually, as
the popular element began to leaven Parliament, and
new intellect to quicken it, committees on art-subjects
began to sit, and art was considered as a national
question, not as the luxury of the few, but the birth
right of the many. Then rapidly good modern pic
tures began to assert their claim over third-rate,
doubtful, black old masters, and modern art emerged
from the deluge, thanks, not to the nobles of England,
but to the great merchants of the North.
From them Turner obtained his most generous
commissions, for taste that had grown paralysed in
drowsy country seats began now to bloom again
amid factory smoke and the roar and buzz of wheels,
amid cotton fluff, and in the vaporous Manchester
engine rooms.

MANCHESTER. 239
Mr. Henry M'Connel was, I believe, one of the
first gentlemen to give Turner commissions for his
later Venetian pictures. For him the painter fixed
on canvas that beautiful dream of the sea Cybele,
" The Grand Canal, Venice."
Mr. M'Connel was one of the first men in the
Northern district who had the originality of taste to
admire and purchase Turner's works. His collection
became one of the best in the whole region. He
generally gave commissions to the artist direct. In
this way he obtained that admirable picture, so full of
pathos and interest, Landseer's " There's Life in the
Old Dog yet;" representing a Highland deerhound
that had fallen into a chasm in the ardour of his
pursuit. He had also in his gallery Sir Charles East-
lake's " Slave Market," and Wilkie's " Sancho Panza
and his Mother at the Fountain," not the happiest
effort of that excellent Scotch artist.
For Turner's " Grand Canal," and another picture
full of a more sober poetry, "Lightermen on the
Thames," Mr. M'Connel gave one thousand guineas,
a large, but not exorbitant sum.
When it came to settlement, Turner's parsimony
arose to the surface painfully. He claimed eighty
more guineas, in consideration of his expenses in
going expressly to Venice to paint the picture, at
least, to make the sketch, for Turner never finished
an oil picture direct from nature. Now, eighty guineas
was more than he could have spent in such a tour, for
Turner did not travel like a grand milord, but rather
too much after the guise of a pedlar or a spy ; he was
hardy, as well as saving, and did not care for luxuries.

240 EXTRAS.
Perhaps the merchant, new to picture-buying, did
not know that such was always Turner's stipulation,
and probably Turner had never thought of telling a
man so to whom money seemed to roll in in floods.
As an itinerant topographical artist, Turner had
always been paid his travelling expenses, and intensely
obstinate and doggedly conservative as he was, he
was sure to keep up his old charges. The merchant,
English all over, and accustomed to clear logical
arrangements, thought this postscript of eighty guineas
an afterthought, an extortion, a shuffle, a mean
attempt at raising a price previously agreed upon.
The blue sky of Venice looked black and ugly, no
doubt, to the merchant, as he looked at it and saw,
" Eighty guineas " written all over it in red ink. He
would not have it.
Down comes a growling letter from Turner request
ing the immediate return of the picture. He will not
bate an ace. " Return the picture." The merchant
determines to do so, but before the coffin-lid of the
packing-case is closed on the precious picture, he goes
to take a last look, I dare say — I am sure, in fact, he
does. No, the sky is of such a forget-me-not blue,
the water so wonderful, so radiant with jewel gleams
of reflections, as if it swarmed with the fish of the
tropics, he cannot part with it.
Back to the dusty lumber-room in the roof goes
the packing-case ; off flies a cheque to scowling Turner
in Queen Anne-street for 1080 guineas, which Turner
pockets with a malicious chuckle, for he knew that
he had not asked too much for such magical pictures.
Some years ago, Mr. M'Connel sold the picture

THE BLUE SKY. 241
" at a very high premium upon the original cost," as
business men would say.
Of one of his small pictures of Venice now in the
Vernon Gallery, a pleasant story is told, which shows
his good-nature and his love of practical joking.
The picture in question, one of those so full of
vivid reflections (not always quite true to fact), was
hung next a view of Ghent, by his old friend, George
Jones, R.A. On the varnishing day at the Academy,
Turner, who delighted in these social moments of
working and chatting amongst comrades, said to his
friend: " Why, Joney, how blue your sky is ! but I'll out-
blue you."
And immediately scrambling upon a box, joking
and chuckling, he deepened the sky of his Venice with
a scumble of ultramarine.
" I've done you now, Georgey," he said, as he
passed on to another picture.
In his absence, as a joke, Jones determined to baffle
the great man, and instantly set to work and painted
the sky of Ghent a blank white, which, acting as a
foil, made Turner's Venetian sky look preposterously
blue. The next day, Turner laughed heartily when he
returned to his picture to find himself again check
mated. " Well, Joney," he said, " you have done me now.
But it must go," and went to work briskly and mer
rily at the water, ships, and fairy-like buildings,
never altering the sky any more.
For this dream of Venice Mr. Vernon gave Turner
VOL. II. R

242 THE AMERICAN AMATEUR.
two hundred guineas; and this price the painter evi
dently thought extravagant, for he was heard to
say— " If they will have scraps, they must pay for them:"
By which oracle, I suppose, Turner meant that the
picture was only a fragment of an harmonious whole
—a merry, fanciful sketch; and it is certain that he
despised such studies in comparison with his earlier
and more solid, though less poetical works.
Mr. Leslie, in his " Autobiography," gives the fol
lowing account of the first picture of Turner that
went to America. He says : —
" It fell to my lot to select the first of his pictures
that went to America. Mr. James Lennox, of New
York, who knew his works only from engravings,
wished very much to possess one, and wrote to me to
that effect. I replied that his rooms were full of un
sold works, and I had no doubt he would part with
one. Mr. Lennox expressed his willingness to give
500/., and left the choice to me. I called on Turner,
and asked if he would let a picture go to America.
' No ; they won't come up to the scratch !' I knew
what he meant ; for another American had offered
him a low price for the ' Tem^raire.' I told him a
friend of mine would give 500/. for anything he
would part with. His countenance brightened, and
he said at once, ' He may have that, or that, or that,'
pointing to three not small pictures. I chose a
' Sunset View of Staffa,' which I had admired more
than most of his pictures from the time when it was
first exhibited. It was in an old frame, but Turner
would have a very handsome new one made for it.

MY FORTE. 243
When it reached NewYork, Mr. Lennox was out of
town, and we were in suspense some time about its
reception. About a fortnight after its arrival, he
returned »to NewYork, but only for an hour; and
wrote to me, after a first hasty glance, to express his
great disappointment. He said he could almost
fancy the picture had sustained some damage on the
voyage, it appeared to him so indistinct throughout.
Still he did not doubt its being very fine, and he
hoped to see its merits on farther acquaintance ; but,
for the present, he could not write to Mr. Turner, as
he coulcTbnly state his present impression.
" Unfortunately, I met Turner at the Academy a
night or two after I received this letter ; and he asked
me if I had heard from Mr. Lennox. I was obliged
to say ' yes.' ' Well, and how does he like the picture?'
' He thinks it indistinct.' ' You should tell him,' he
replied, ' that indistinctness is my forte.'
" In the meantime I had answered Mr. Lennox's
letter, pointing out, as well as I could, the merits of
the picture ; and concluded by saying, ' If, on a se
cond view, it gains your estimation, it will assuredly
gain more and more every time you look at it.' Mr.
Lennox, in reply, said, ' You have exactly described
what has taken place. I now admire the picture
greatly, and I have brought one or two of my friends
to see it as I do; but it will never be a favourite
with the multitude. I can now write to Mr. Turner,
and tell him conscientiously how much I am delighted
with it.'
"Mr. Lennox soon afterwards came to London,
and bought another picture of Turner's at a sale, and
R2

244 THE WINDING-SHEET.
I think, another of himself, and would have bought
the ' Temeraire,' but Turner had then determined not
to sell it.
"It was reported that Turner had declared his
intention of being buried in his ' Carthage,' the picture
now in the National Gallery. I was told that he said
to Chantrey, ' I have appointed you one of my execu
tors. Will you promise to see me rolled up in it?'
' Yes,' said Chantrey, ' and I promise you also that, as
soon as you are buried, I will see you taken up and
unrolled.' This was very like Chantrey, and the story
was so generally believed, that when Turner died, and
Dean Milman heard he was to be buried in St. Paul's,
he said, ' I will not read the service over him if he is
wrapped up in that picture.' I have said that Turner
often expressed himself happily. I remember that when
it was proposed that the new Houses of Parliament
were to be decorated with pictures, he said, ' Painting
can never show her nose in company with architecture
without being snubbed.' "
Some of Turner's enemies accuse him (I think very
unjustly) of latterly taking advantage of his name,
and selling at large prices experiments that had cost
him neither labour nor thought.
I see no fraud or injustice in Turner selling his
later pictures. They were bought voluntarily by men
with their eyes open. If they were slight, they were
wonderful ; they were what no one else could do ; they
were gorgeous ideals of colour and effect; they were
efforts to carry art beyond its hitherto known limits.
Turner did not know that they were unworthy of
him; his sight and brain were failing, but there was

RIDDLES. 245
still the lifetime of a great man in each of them;
they were what only a man at the end of life could
do ; and after all, as even his enemies avow, the worst
of them were of great interest, wonderful proofs of
power, failing only because trying for impossibilities.
They had a value as riddles, experiments, and pro
phecies. Mr. Jones says :
" Turner's late peculiarities in painting arose from
the neglect of his earlier works by the public ; if he
had been encouraged at the time he painted the
4 Carthage,' the ' Tenth Plague,' and the ' Garden of
the Hesperides,' he would not have become eccentric
in his art ; his preference for the style of picture last
named is proved by his leaving the pictures of the
'Rise of Carthage' and the 'Dutch Coast' to the
National Gallery, on the condition of their being hung
Ibetween the ' Seaport ' and the ' Mill ' by Claude
Lorraine. His latter style, though possibly extrava
gant, was only an excess in representing the develop
ments of nature; he exaggerated all he saw, but the
foundation was truth ; the vivid and warm colouring of
nature he painted with the deepest reds and yellows,
the greys he attempted to imitate with blues of too
strong a tint, yet the whole was true in principle, in
general and particular. Warm colour was never
admitted where reason and experience denied its
presence, and the like with cold colours ; and although
such a gorgeous display of colour may not often be
seen in nature, yet it may be seen partially and in
gradation."

246

CHAPTER XII.
THE BUSINESS MAN.
Turner, who began life by painting sailors with
pigtails in Dover Harbour, had lived to see railways
in full operation and to profit by them, having sold
a small meadow of his at Twickenham for a very
large sum to the South- Western Railway Company.
The narrative of the negotiation, as related to me
by Mr. Williams, who managed the matter for Turner,
shows the great man to us in a new light. The sale
happened after this wise : —
"In the autumn of 1848, the late Joseph Mallord
William Turner, Esq., R.A., who was one of the
copyholders of the Duke of Northumberland's Manor
of Isleworth Syon, in Middlesex, called on Thomas
Williams, Esq., of Northumberland House, the Steward
of the Manor, and after stating that he had received
a notice from the South- Western Railway Company
that they required, under the authority of Parliament,
for their proposed line of railway from Richmond to
Windsor, a few square yards of a small piece of copy
hold meadow land in the Parish of Twickenham and
lying detached from his residence there, he asked Mr.

THE BARGAIN. 247
Williams what he had better do in the matter, when
the following conversation took place : —
" Mr. Williams. — As, no doubt, Mr. Turner, you
have a solicitor, you. should consult him, for there
must be a negotiation to enter into with the Railway
Company as to the price and costs of conveyance.
"Mr. Turner. — I have no solicitor, Mr. Williams,
and as I understand that the matter must come before
you as Steward of the Manor, I request you to under
take the business for me ; for if I employ a solicitor,
I shall incur double costs.
" Mr. Williams^ — As you have no solicitor, I will
act for you with pleasure, and as the land is so small
in quantity and detached from your residence, I think
the Railway Company should take the whole. If I
am able to induce them to do so, what do you expect
to get for it? Remember, it is only little more than
half an acre.
" Mr. Turner. — As I shall be compelled to let them
have the few yards they require, I shall be glad to
sell the whole, and I think I ought to get 300/. for it.
"Mr. Williams had the land surveyed and. valued
as building ground; it having frontages to two roads,
after much discussion and many interviews with the
surveyors, the price agreed upon for the whole of the
half- acre of land was 550/.
" When Mr. Turner was told this by Mr. Williams,
his eyes sparkled with delight, and he said, ' A good
price indeed, more than 1 hoped for; thank you very
much ; but I suppose I shall have some heavy costs
and fees to pay out of it.'
"Mr. Williams told him he thought he ought to

248 THE HARD MAN.
give the surveyor he had employed a cheque for
twenty guineas, for he had obtained a large price for
him ; but he had stipulated that all the other costs
for abstract of title, conveyance, and fees should be
paid by the Railway Company.
" Mr. Turner readily gave Mr. Williams a cheque
for the surveyor, and when the conveyance was ready
for his signature, Mr. Williams accompanied Mr.
Turner to the office of the solicitors of the Company
(Messrs. Dalrymple and Drake, in Old Palace-yard)
on 28th December, 1848, when he executed the deed,
and received a cheque for the purchase-money, 550/.
"On getting into the street Mr. Turner observed,
' Oh dear ! this cheque is on Currie's, in Cornhill, and
I must go there for the cash.' Mr. Williams saved
him that trouble by taking him to his bankers, Messrs.
Drummond, Charing-cross, got the cheque cashed, and
handed to him the banknotes.
" Mr. Turner then shook Mr. Williams by the
hand, thanked him again for his great success on his
behalf, and took his way home.
" Mr. Williams saw Mr. Turner several times after
wards, but this transaction with the Railway Company
was never alluded to.
" A few weeks afterwards, Mr. Drake, the solicitor
of the Railway Company, whom Mr. Turner saw
when he executed the conveyance, requested Mr.
Williams to ask Mr. Turner's permission to show him
a picture he had purchased as a Turner ; when Mr.
Williams mentioned this request to Mr. Turner, he
replied : —
" ' No, Mr. Williams, certainly not ; if Mr. Drake has

AN OLD LETTER. 249
purchased a Turner, he ought to know it is a Turner :
I was once silly enough to look at a picture that I
was told had been painted by me, and I found myself
soon after stuck up in a witness-box, giving evidence
about it ; I then said I'll never be so silly again.' "
The narrative is admirable in its business-like
clearness, and it does not, we see, fail to record how
Turner's eyes sparkled when he heard of the large
price the surveyor obtained for him. But sordid as
many represented him to be, we do not find Turner
hesitating for a moment to pay the surveyor the
handsome sum of twenty guineas, at Mr. Williams's
suggestion. Whether he ought also to have given Mr. Williams
more than mere barren thanks, depends entirely on
the relative position of the two men. No doubt it
gave him great pain so soon afterwards to have to
refuse Mr. Williams a favour, but Turner was not the
man to break through a principle on any mere impulse
of courtesy.
The following letter of 1822 refers, no doubt, to a
negotiation with Hurst and Robinson, upon which a
celebrated anecdote is furnished. It is an answer to
a proposition to engrave four of his pictures, which
might be executed in rivalry of Wilson and Woollett's
greatest efforts. It shows his ambition to excel
Wilson, his early model. It must be observed how
severe, business-like, and guarded he is in his arrange
ments (taught by many rude lessons I have no doubt),
and how he cautiously excepts the " Carthage" picture
from the list : —

250 RIVALLING WILSON.
"J. Bobinson, Esq.,
90, Cheapside, Corner of Ironmonger-lane.
" June 28th, 1822, Friday morning.
" My dear Sir, — In the conversation of yesterday
respecting prints, you said that if I would have en
graved a plate, worthy of any of my pictures, that
you would take 500 impressions, provided none were
sold to any other person for two years. If you really
meant the said offer for me to think of, it appears to
me that my scheme, which I mentioned to you in
confidence, would hold — viz., four subjects to bear up
with, the ' Niobe,' ' Ceyx,' ' Cyledon,' and ' Phaeton'
(in engraving as specimens of the power of the
British school). Whether we can in the present day
contend with such powerful antagonists as Wilson
and Woollett would be at least tried by size, security
against risk, and some remuneration for the time of
painting. The pictures of ultimate sale I shall be
content with ; to succeed would perhaps form another
epoch in the English school, and if we fall, we fall by
contending with giant strength.
" If the ' Hannibal,' or the ' Morning of the Chase,'
be taken, the first plate would stand thus —
1. Plate, in two years.
2. Picture to be painted, three years.
3. Ditto and two years longer, fourth.
4. Ditto and ditto — five years the four plates.
Or if all the pictures are painted, if thought more
desirable, then take the pictures now done, 4 Carthage'
picture excepted ; one year more must be added,
making six years, which allows one year for painting

HIS RAGE. 251
each picture, and two to engrave it, and put into the
hands of different engravers immediately. Mr. Pye to
engrave one or more if your arrangement with him
would not be interrupted thereby, or the general
arrangements of time broken in upon, for six years
added to forty-five is not a trifle.
" Yours most truly,
"J. M. W. Turner.
"P.S. This is private; if not to be thought of,
burn it immediately, and only mention on the 1st of
July the receipt of said note."
Hurst and Robinson were the publishers who suc
ceeded to the celebrated Alderman Boydell, the origi
nator of the Shakspeare Gallery. Desirous, like their
predecessor, of publishing works of importance, and
making great ventures for large profit and wide fame,
they waited on Turner to buy his two celebrated
pictures of the " Rise" and " Fall of Carthage." His
price was soon ascertained.
" One thousand guineas each — not a farthing less."
Mr. Robinson, of Cheapside, parrying the thrust with
the ordinary tradesman's skill of fence, not, of course,
for an instant believing in the price first offered
being genuine and really intended, quietly and oilily
suggested —
" Say eight hundred guineas each, Mr. Turner."
The painter turned round like a hurt lion; his
clear grey eyes were phosphorescent. He dilated in
size; his fixity amounted almost to rage. Was he
going to have his masterpiece, that surpassed Claude,
higgled for by a printseller?

252 THE REFUSAL.
"No," he cried, "I'd rather keep them for my
winding-sheet ;" and he meant it too, for the bitter
heats and chills of life had tempered that soul of his
into stuff harder than steel. But let his detractors
say, could a man who was a mere sordid miser have
thrust back a cheque for 1600 guineas?

253

CHAPTER XIII.

TURNER AND CHANTREY.

The good-natured, jovial sculptor had a boundless
admiration for Turner's genius. No one better at the
time appreciated the mental scope of the artist. His
lance was ever in the rest to tilt against Turner's
maligners : hydras that seemed to sprout out fresh
tongues the faster the club fell and the brand
scarred. Yet Chantrey was of the old dark school of art, and
thought Turner a heretic for venturing out of the
glorious twilight region in his " Carthage," " The
Tenth Plague," and " Crossing the Brook," — the
first two epics in themselves ; the last worth all the
pseudo-pastoral poetry written from Theocritus to
Shenstone. . Chantrey would never in his hearing, however, allow
any one to disparage his friend's imagination. He
would not endure sneers from those who could see
faults, and yet would not see merits. The gorgeous
colours he admired, though he did not altogether ap
prove them; the breadth of air he would allow no one
to gainsay. He felt as a sculptor, except occasionally

254 THE TRICK.
in figures. He admired Turner's wonderful appre
ciation of forms, his perfect chiaroscuro, and the
learning and grace with which he varied the lines of
his compositions ; his mountains, skies, water, trees,
ships, buildings; he thought no one was more pro
found in the knowledge of this art than Turner.
Chantrey considered Turner as a poetic genius of
the highest rank-^-in depicting light and atmosphere
as the greatest of past or present painters, perhaps
unsurpassable as a consummate arranger of lines in
his landscape and architectural compositions. He
knew thoroughly that his effects were not merely the
result of observation and selection, but of long
thought and treasured learning.
At Petworth, Chantrey and Turner often met.
They both liked Lord Egremont's rough, hearty
manner and kind nature. Turner would rise early
and get all his work done before the other guests were
well about ; then, like Scott, he could idle the rest
of the afternoon as he chose, to the astonishment of
those who did not know his secret.
It was when Turner was painting a series of land
scapes for the dining-room that Chantrey was there.
The painter, reserved and loving quiet, and having
secrets in his trade, worked always with his door
locked, and no one but the master of the house was
ever admitted.
Chantrey, disliking this secrecy, out of good-
humoured mischief determined to play Turner a trick.
One day when all was still in the house, he paces
down the corridor, imitating Lord Egremont's peculiar

A TRUE FRIEND. 255
step and his cough. He arrives at the mysterious
door and gives two distinct sharp Taps, his lordship's
signal for admittance. Instantly Turner shuffles up,
the key turns, and Chantrey slips in before the angry
recluse has time to rectify his mistake. This trick of
Chantrey's became a standing joke at Petworth and
at Academy meetings.
In the years 1828 and 1837 Chantrey and Turner
were on the same Royal Academy Council. There
they were in their element, for though one was jovial
and the other reserved, they both had humour and en
joyed each other's jokes — they understood and appre
ciated each other. Chantrey liked Turner's pictures,
and Turner liked Chantrey's sculpture ; both were of
humble origin, and neither was ashamed of the clay
that made him ; not even a herald's imagination could
invent pedigrees for the London barber or the small
Hallamshire yeoman.
Yet Chantrey did not spare, his friend ; he made
free of his pictures, and joked about all their eccen
tricities, either of form or colour. It is not the joke,
it is the manner that wounds; it is not the jest of a
friend that stings, it is seeing the visible intention to
give pain that lends barbs to a word. Before Turner's
face Chantrey waved the jester's harmless bladder of
peas; when his back turned he drew his sword to
guard his absent friend, and spoke in raptures of the
pictures he had just been parodying.
The two friends must have had many subjects in
common on which to talk. Chantrey was also a land
scape artist; both were enthusiastic fishermen.

256 THE FIRE OFFICE.
Turner no doubt learned, too, much from Chantrey's
knowledge of geology.
Turner hated plagiarism. At one of the councils a
drawing of " The Falls of Terni" came under notice.
Turner declared fiercely that it was a copy of his own
drawing. "Swear to it; sure of it; sure of it."
(No one could represent the dead, hopeless fall of a
great body of water like Turner. Harding, among
others, imitated this very Terni. Mr. Munro, I
think, has the drawing.) Howard, the secretary,
kindly willing to find excuse for the imitator, said —
" Perhaps, Mr. Turner, the artist only selected the
same spot as you did. This would account for a
resemblance that may after all be mere chance."
" No, no, Howard," said Chantrey; "if the artist
had really been there, then you might be sure his
drawing would not be like Turner's."
He meant that Turner was not a mere copy
ing machine ; but a selector, reviser, a readjuster of
Nature— elevating what was important, depressing
what was detrimental or insignificant, throwing in
effect, yet never forgetting the truth and likeness
above all.
On one of those pleasant varnishing days of old
the weather was very raw and cold : Chantrey, brim
ming over with fun as usual, went up with his beam
ing red face to a picture of Turner's which was
specially luminous with orange chrome. Pretending
to warm his hands at it, as at a fire, the sculptor
said : —
" Why, Turner, this is the only comfortable place
in the room. By-the-bye, is it true, as I have heard,

THE. WET CROSS. 257
that you've got a commission at last to paint a picture
for the Sun Fire Office?"
Turner would have chewed the cud of this joke for
days in his old-fashioned chuckling way.
During Turner's generally solitary rambles on the
Continent, Chantrey used to feel great anxiety for
his absent friend's health and safety, as his intended
route was seldom known to any one, and none knew
the day he would return. To Jones, Shee, Chantrey,
and other friends, it was always a great relief when
he returned.
Chantrey's jokes with Turner on varnishing days
were innumerable. The former was as full of tricks and
mischief as when, as a boy, he had carried the milk
cans to market. Once, when there was a report that
the great artist was using some water-colour to tone
his picture of " Cologne," Chantrey, either to try, or
probably not believing the story, went to the picture,
and wetting his finger, drew a great schoolboy cross
on the sail of one of the vessels. To his horror,
surprise, and bitter regret, he found that he had
removed so many inches of glazing. Turner, how
ever, was not even ruffled; he laughed heartily at
the sculptor's temerity, and at once repaired the
mischief. On the morning of November 26th, 1841, the day
after Chantrey died very suddenly at his house,
No. 13, Eccleston-street, Pimlico, Turner called, ex
pecting to find his friend Jones in the chamber of
death. He did so ; but he could not speak, he wrung
his hand only with affectionate and almost passionate
VOL. n. s \

258 COLOGNE.
vehemence, and rushed out of the house without ut
tering a word. "The grief that will not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break."
Was this a man without heart and without affections,
the mere money-grubber and sordid Harpagon?

259

CHAPTER XIV.
THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE IN OLD AGE.
One of the most admirable things about Turner's
mind was, that it never grew old. It never froze
and petrified into unchangeable fixity, but remained
to the last thirsty for knowledge, and ready to grow
as the world grew.
One of the most interesting proofs of the perpetual
growth of Turner's mind is the following account of
the interest he took in the science of optics and in
the science of photography. It is kindly furnished
to me by that eminent professor of the progressing
and wonderful art, Mr. Mayall, of Regent-street : —
44 Turner's visits to my atelier were in 1847, '48,
and '49. I took several admirable daguerreotype
portraits of him, one of which was reading, a posi
tion rather favourable for him on account of his weak
eyes and their being rather bloodshot. I recollect one
of these portraits was presented to a lady who accom
panied him. My first interviews with him were rather
mysterious ; he either did state, or at least led me to
believe, that he was a Master in Chancery, and his
subsequent visits and conversation rather confirmed
this idea. At first he was very desirous of trying
82

260 THE NIAGARA RAINBOW.
curious effects of light let in on the figure from a
high position, and he himself sat for the studies. He
was very much pleased with a figure-study I had
just completed of ' This Mortal must put on Immor
tality ;' he wished to bring a lady to try something
of the kind himself. This was in 1847 ; and I be
lieve he did fix a day for that purpose. However,
it happened to be a November fog, and I could not
work. He stayed with me some three hours, talking
about light and its curious effects on films of pre
pared silver. He 'expressed a wish to see the spec-.
tral image copied, and asked me if I had ever re
peated Mrs. Somerville's experiment of magnetizing
a needle in the rays of the spectrum. I told him I
had. " I was not then aware that the inquisitive old
man was Turner, the painter. At the same time, I
was much impressed with his inquisitive disposition,
and I carefully explained to him all I then knew of
the operation of light on iodized silver plates. He
came again and again, always with some new notion
about light. He wished me to copy my views of
Niagara — then a novelty in London — and inquired of.
me about the effect of the rainbow spanning the.
great falls. I was fortunate in having seized one of
these fleeting shadows when I was there, and I
showed it to him. He wished to buy the plate. At
that time I was not very anxious to sell them. I
told him I had made a copy for Sir John Herschel,.,
and with that exception did not intend to part with
a copy. He told me he should like to see Niagara,
as it was the greatest wonder in nature; he was.

THE SOIREE. 261
never tired of my descriptions of it. In short, he
had come so often, and in such an unobtrusive man
ner, that he had come to be regarded by all my people
as ' our Mr. Turner.'
"This went on through 1848, till one evening I
met him at the soiree of the Royal Society ; I think
it was early in May, 1849. He shook me by the
hand very cordially, and fell into his old topic of
the spectrum. Some one came up to me and asked
if I knew Mr. Turner; I answered I had had that
pleasure some time. ' Yes,' said my informant, rather
significantly, ' but do you know that he is the
Turner?' I was rather surprised, I must confess;
and later on in the evening I encountered him again,
and fell into conversation on our old topic. I ven
tured to suggest to him the value of such studies for
his own pursuits, and at once offered to conduct any
experiments for him that he might require, and, in
fact, to give up some time to work out his ideas about
the treatment of light and shade. I parted with him
on the understanding that he would call on me ; how
ever, he never did call again, nor did I ever see him
again. " I recollected putting aside a rather curious head
of him in profile, and, you may be sure, on the follow
ing morning after this interview I lost no time in
looking up the portrait, which, I regret to say, one
of my assistants had without my orders effaced. I
am almost certain you will be able to trace some of
the daguerreotypes of him, for I made at least four,
for which he paid me ; and some I rubbed out where
we had tried the effect of a sharp, narrow cross

262 THE STRUGGLE.
light, in which some parts of the face were left in
strong shadow.
" I need not add, that at that time I was a strug
gling artist, much devoted to improving my art, and
had just bought a large lens in Paris, six inches in
diameter. I let Turner look through it, and the ex
pressions of surprise and admiration were such that I
ought at once to have known him in his true cha
racter; however, he was very kind to me, and by
some sort of inuendo he kept up his Mastership in
Chancery so well, that I did not. He sent me many
patrons. I used to hear about him almost daily.
When somewhat desponding of my success one day,
I told him London was too large for a man with
slender means to get along. He sharply turned
round and said, 'No, no; you are sure to succeed;
only wait. You are a young man yet. I began life
with little, and you see I am now very comfortable.'
' Yes,' I replied ; ' and if I were on the same side of
Chancery you are, perhaps I might be comfortable
also.' I was at that time fighting the battle of the
patent rights of the daguerreotype. He smiled and
said, ' You'll come out all right, never fear.' My
recollection now is, that he was very kind and affable
to me, rather taciturn, but very observant and curious ;
he would never allow me to stop working when he
came, but would loiter and watch me polish the
plates and prepare them, and take much interest in
the result of my labours.
" I recollect Mr. Spence, the naturalist, sitting to
me, and was much struck at the time with the re
semblance of the two heads. I mentioned this to

THE GOLDEN CALF. 263
Turner, and I showed him the portrait of Mr. Spence.
Mr. Spence was stouter. Turner stooped very much,
and always looked down ; he had a trick of putting
his hand into his coat-pocket, and of muttering to
himself. " Whatever others may have said of his parsimo
nious habits, I cannot recollect one act of his that
would lead me to infer he was other than a liberal,
kindhearted old gentleman."
When Mr. Mayall, the photographer, whose fame
is now European, was first known as a young strug
gling American photographer in a small shop in the
Strand, the wonderful art was then uncertain in
its results, and few there were who could at that time
foresee the influence it would exercise over art. It
was one day during that moral epidemic, the railway
mania, when Mr. Hudson ruled England, and all the
world, from the countess to the costermonger, knelt
down and beat their heads on the pavement of Capel-
court, in passionate idolatry to the golden calf. The
age of chivalry had indeed gone. At Mr. Mayall's door
there were hanging photographs intended to satirize
the folly of the day. On one side there was a Stock
Exchange man radiant, shares being at a premium ;
on the other, the same man in maniacal despair at
the Great Bubbleton railway shares falling down to
nothing. These pictures (almost the earliest attempts
to make photography tell a story) attracted crowds,
and among them Turner. So interested was he,
indeed, that he came into the shop, and asked to see
the gentleman who designed them. After this, he
came so often, that an Abernethy chair was habitually

264 SOCIETY.
placed for him, so that he might watch Mr. Mayall,
without interrupting him at work. He took great
interest in all effects of light, and repeatedly sat for
his portrait in all sorts of Rembrandtic positions.
Turner at this time painted in whichever room
of his house suited ' the season of the year and
the weather. The gallery was very cold. The valu
able prints were found rolled up in great brown paper
bundles, many of them blotted and spoiled by the
damp. The house looked as if it had been deserted
for fifty years. The area was a sort of House of
Parliament for all the cats in the neighbourhood.
Mr. Trimmer tells me that, amongst Turner's
sketches and drawings, were many which he knew to
be by other hands, for Turner was a great collector
of topographical sketches. Mr. Trimmer well re
members a relation of his — a naval officer — giving
Turner some sketches of Gibraltar.
I have heard people, friends of Turner, assert that
Mr. Ruskin's book killed him, by increasing his fame,
leading him more into society, and so altering his
food, his hours, and his habits. The poet Clare was
driven mad entirely by late London hours, and the
wear and tear of incessant frivolous parties.
Latterly, Turner was always to be seen between
ten and eleven at the Athenaaum, discussing his half-
pint of sherry. As his health failed, he became very
talkative after his wine, and rather dogmatic.
In earlier days he was always shy, especially before
ladies; but if thoroughly at his ease and once roused,
or got in a vein of joking, he became very social and
amusing. He was rather desirous to obtain a repute

A THEATRE-GOER. 265
-for general knowledge, and was a reader of all the
best books and reviews of the day. The " Edinburgh
Review," in its best days, was one of his special
favourites. At one time Turner frequented at night the York
shire Stingo; but he abandoned it on his being re
cognised by a friend. No one before that had ob
served the little old man in the corner. A friend of
mine remembers seeing him often rather the worse
for grog at Offley's, in Henrietta-street, at the time
Macready was bringing out the " Tempest." Turner
was a great theatre-goer at this time, and was very
indistinctly voluble on the subject of Shakspeare,
and Macready's scenic effects.

266

CHAPTER XV.
THE ARTISTS' BENEVOLENT FUND.
Mr. David Roberts, one of Turner's oldest friends,
says : —
t "I think it must have been in the year 1823 or
1824 that being called on to attend a meeting of
stewards of the Artists' General Benevolent Fund at the
Crown and Anchor in the Strand, I first saw Turner ;
my impression at the time was anything but what
I had in my imagination formed of this great painter.
I had come from the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, to
Drury Lane, and with my friend Stanfield, both then
young men, were trying our best to improve upon the
great scene-painters, of whom we were the successors
at Old Drury. De Loutherbourg and Greenwood we
knew only by fame ; but the mighty painter of the
day that all spoke of, and whose works were the all-
and-all to every young artist, was Turner, at Somer
set-house. The first works thought of by such as
ourselves were Turner's. When Calcott exhibited his
magnificent work called ' Now for the Painter Rope,'
the followmg year brought out Turner's 4 Now for
the Painter? His works had been engraved by the
greatest engravers of the day, George and William

THE BENEVOLENT HOARDER. 267
Cooke, John Pye, Edward Goodall, Miller of Edin
burgh, and many others. — Being seated round a table
covered with green baize — of course, with the excep
tion of my friend whom I accompanied, John Wilson,
all to me were strangers — a little square-built man
came in, to whom all paid respect; the business having
begun, he joined in the conversation, and made some
weak attempts at wit — at least I thought so, for no
one seemed to laugh at his jokes but himself! So I
asked who this very facetious little man was, and my
astonishment on being told that it was ' The Great
Turner' almost, without meaning a pun, turned my
head." In this sketch of his first sight of Turner, Mr.
Roberts has unconsciously anticipated by a year or
two the celebrated picture, " Now for the Painter,"
which was not exhibited till 1827; in 1824 Turner
exhibited nothing at the Academy; in 1823 appeared
his " Bay of Baiaj."
It was in connexion with the Artists' General
Benevolent Institution, that he himself had helped to
found, that Turner's kind-heartedness shone out most
conspicuously. But he was always for saving, for
hoarding and scraping for future, perhaps distant,
great emergencies. He was always for collecting and
storing a treasure with which magnificent deeds of
charity were to be done. He was a patient man, and
looked forward to great benevolent schemes. But all
this time, said some, there are the widows and orphans
of poor artists starving. We are planning a rich
meal for our horses, but in the meantime the steed
starves. This saving for future charity, and in the

268 THE RESOLUTE MAN.
meantime being uncharitable, is too stoical for us ;
the groans of the poor reach our ears and wrack our
hearts ; let us open the granary of our benevolence,
and not keep heaping up corn for famines that will
never come. But Turner would not change his plans ;
he was getting old and dogmatic; he was proud, and
expected submission and respect to his views, espe
cially as he was one of the founders. He could not
help saving, it was in his blood ; he had saved when
it was necessary, he saved now because he did not
know how to spend; he had saved for years for
himself on principle, he saved now for others from
habit. The younger men were determined, with all respect
to Turner, to overthrow this principle. They resolved
to give their money nearly all away in contribu
tions. Mr. Turner was treasurer, and kept his hand
clenched beyond any one's strength to open ; he lay
at the door of the money room, whoever entered to
take a handful must tread on Turner's body.
There was a growling conflict, but Turner could
not be moved. His opponents were equally obstinate,
for they felt they combated about a principle. Dog
gedly — for Turner was very obstinate — he abandoned
the Society for ever. In vain Mr. Cockerell, one of
the opposition, went to Queen Anne-street to discuss
the matter with him. He would hardly see him;
he growled; he would not even relent when Mr.
Cockerell told him, " that he would one day have to
answer to the widows and orphans to whom he had
refused bread." As far as I can understand, Turner
all but showed Mr. Cockerell the door, so hurt and

SECESSION. 269
indignant was he at what I dare say he called the in
gratitude shown him by the Society. The Society
then leaving the implacable Achilles, . proceeded on
their own way, and that way prospered. Mr. Hard-
wick, one of the leaders of the opposition, became
treasurer under Mr. Mann.
The subscriptions increased rapidly. From a poor
300/. given away in 1830, the Society progressed, till
in 1861 they give 1050/. Even their opponents
acknowledge its progress, and the antagonists of the
Literary Fund compare it most favourably, both in
economy and general result of its management, with
that of the last-named Society.
Upon this subject of Turner's angry secession from
a charity he had helped to found, Mr. Roberts
says : —
" To Turner we owe the founding and carrying out
this admirable charity, the Artists' General Benevo
lent Fund. Unfortunately, his views respecting its
management differed from those of other directors,
particularly from those of one of them, who after
wards became its leader, Mr. Andrew Robertson,
the miniature painter. Turner was for hoarding
its funds, and distributing but a small part yearly
to its charity; the other directors wished to re
lieve the applicants as they required. That they
were right is proved by the interest taken in' its
prosperity at the present day. Turner thought
otherwise, and seceded from it ; still he deserves the
honour of having originated it. The other fundj only
granting relief to those who subscribed and were
members, was in reality but a benefit fund for its

270 THE TWO SOCIETIES.
own members. What Turner's views may have been
had his wish been complied with by his co-directors,
it is difficult now to say; but it is just possible that,
instead of the muddle made at last with his large
means, he might have left all to the benevolent pur
pose of providing for his less fortunate brethren."
If Turner had this generous intention, it would
serve to excuse his somewhat haughty efforts to con
trol the wishes of the majority.
In 1809, the melancholy poverty of Mr. Tagg, a
once well-known etcher, had led to a meeting of
artists at the Gray's Inn Coffee-house, and in 1810
the Artists' Joint Stock Fund was founded, Mr. Mul
ready being a prominent worker in the charitable
cause. There were two funds raised — one called
the Benevolent Fund, the other the Joint Stock
Fund. Its object was to grant annuities to all its
members who became superannuated, or who were
unable to work from protracted illness. Each member
had to pay a small annual sum, to which others added
a voluntary subscription.
In 1812, on the death of Mr. Pether, many of the
Joint Stock Society members tried to alienate the
money of the Benevolent Fund, and devote it to pur
poses of general charity, instead of reserving it for
members only.
In 1827 a Charter of Incorporation was obtained,
by which the Annuity Fund and Benevolent Fund
were united.
In 1825, a proposal of Mr. John Pye's was acceded;
to, by which it was agreed to publish engravings for
the benefit of the Artists' Fund, and accordingly, the

DISAFFECTION. 271
King having allowed Mr. Mulready to let his cele
brated picture of the " Wolf and Lamb" be engraved,
it was entrusted to Mr. J. W. Robinson, producing a
profit of about 903/.
In 1814 the disaffected members, who wished to
devote the funds to purposes of general charity, with
out any regard to encouraging self-respect and pru
dence, started the Artists' General Benevolent Insti
tution.

272

CHAPTER XVI.
twilight.
Many of the Academicians knew that Turner had lat
terly another home besides the murky house in Queen
Anne-street ; but they did not dare to express openly
their curiosity. He was evidently taken more care
of; he was better dressed; he was more cleanly and
tidy than in former years ; he even ventured on a red
velvet waistcoat, and his linen had more daylight
whiteness about it than it had had for years.
Turner was not an exhibitor at the Royal Academy
Exhibition of 1851. This was a sign of declining
health that his friends did not fail to notice with
alarm. He came, however, to the private view:
those who saw him thought him breaking up fast.
It was evident that he could not live the year out.
He was shaky; he was feeble; he was no longer the
sturdy, dogged, strange being; he was the broken,
decrepit old man.
Not appearing for a long time at the Academy
meetings, at which he had hitherto been so constant,
some of his friends became alarmed, and one of them
(Mr. David Roberts) wrote to Queen Anne-street,
stating how all his brethren regretted his absence

THE LAST VISIT. 273
from their meetings, and to beg him, if he was ill and
could not attend, to let him know, that he might
come and see him, reposing the most perfect confi
dence in him, should it be his wish that the place of
his residence should remain private.
Turner did not reply; but some two weeks after
he appeared at Mr. Roberts' studio in Fitzroy-square,
sadly broken and ailing. He was evidently deeply
moved by the letter his friend had. written, for he
said —
" You must not ask me; but whenever I come to
town I will always come to see you."
" I tried to cheer him up, but he laid his hand
upon his heart and replied, ' No, no ; there is some
thing here which is all wrong.' As he stood by the
table in my painting-room, I could not but help looking
attentively at him, peering in his face, for the small
eye was as brilliant as that of a child, and unlike the
glazed and ' lack-lustre eye' of age. This was my
last look. The rest is soon told. None of his friends
had seen him for months ; indeed, I believe I was the
last, together with his friend George Jones, who
I afterwards learnt had that day also called on
him." He only called once after this, which was some two
months before his death. He died in December of
that year.
But there was one who mourned and wondered at
Turner's absence more than any of his other friends
could, and that was his old housekeeper in Queen
Anne-street, Mrs. Ellen Danby — the guardian of his
murky house— his faithful old servant for so many
VOL. II. T

274 THE VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY.
long years of rain and sunshine. She was deeply
troubled at Turner's mysterious disappearance; she
knew he must be ill, but yet knew not how to find
him amid the labyrinths of London. At last, one
day, as she was brushing an old coat of Turner's,
in turning out a pocket she found and pounced on a
letter directed to him, and written by a friend who
lived at Chelsea. There, then, she felt sure he must
be ; it was for her to sally forth and discover him.
" This poor old lady, with another as infirm and
old as herself, resolved at last to set out on a voyage
of discovery. How they reached there 'deponent
knoweth not,' but they did reach the cottage by
the river-side, and finding that the adjoining cottage
sold ginger-beer, the two old dames craftily treated
themselves to a bottle of the same, got into a diplo
matic gossip with the seller of ginger-beer, and by
dint of the outlay of twopence and a little pumping,
were quite satisfied that the lady and the old gentle
man who lived next door must be the great painter
and his landlady; but what must have grieved them
much was that the gentleman had been very unwell,
and little out for the last two months. Having ascer
tained this, the two got home as they best could, and
Mrs. Danby contrived to apprise a relative and one of
the executors, Mr. Harpur, of her discovery. Mr.
Harpur lost no time in finding out the Chelsea cot
tage — only in time to find Turner fast sinking. On
the following day he breathed his last."
Turner, some time before this, feeling dangerously
ill, had sent for a well-known doctor from Margate,
whom he had before employed, and in whom he had

TURNER'S HOUSE, CHELSEA.

THE LAST SUNSHINE. 275
confidence. The sick man, who had once said that
he would give all his money if he could but be twenty
once again, watched the doctor's face with eager
anxiety. He was told that death was near. " Go down
stairs," he said to the doctor; " take a glass of sherry,
and then look at me again." The doctor did so, but the
reply was the same. Turner would not believe that the
awful change was so near. I fear he had no reli
gious hope to cheer him at that hour. The dreadful
despairing fear of annihilation pressed upon the heart
of this great man, who had done so much to make
men love God's beautiful world. His fame and his
wealth seemed to him then but poor worthless things.
The day he died — nay, I believe the very hour
almost that he died — his landlady wheeled Turner's
chair to the window, that he might see the sunshine
he had loved so much, mantling the river and glow
ing on the sails of the passing boats.
Many legends were afterwards told of Turner's rea
sons for thus hiding himself at Chelsea, like a runaway
bankrupt. The most generally believed story is the
following. Turner, requiring change of air for his
health, went to Chelsea in search of lodgings, and
found at last a little cottage, very cheap, not far from
the present Cremorne pier. The cottage looked on the
river, and had a railed-in roof, from whence he could
observe sky effects. The landlady, seeing a little
thick-set, shabby man, asked him for " reference."
Turner replied, angrily, " My good woman, I'll buy
the house outright." Then the landlady wanted to
draw up an agreement. Turner again parried this
bv showing a roll of bank-notes, and offering to pay

276 THE OLD ADMIRAL.
in advance. There was still a difficulty — the land
lady wanted her new lodger's name.
" In case, sir, any gentleman should call, you
know." " Name, name," the legend goes on to report
Turner as growling—44 what is your name?"
" My name is Mrs. Booth."
" Then, I'm Mr. Booth;" and by that name Turner
went. But, unfortunately for the story, Turner did not
carry about foils of bank-notes which he could
flourish. All that was found in his pockets after
his death was a solitary black half-crown — black
from long seclusion in a grimy unvisited pocket.
In the streets of Chelsea, and all along the shore
of the Thames, Turner was known to the street-boys
as " Puggy Booth," and by the small tradesmen he
was designated " Admiral Booth ;" for the story ran
that he was an old admiral in reduced circumstances.
I am told that up to the period of his very last ill
ness Turner would often rise at daybreak, leave his
bed, with some blanket or dressing-gown carelessly
thrown over him, and go up on the railed-in roof to
see the sun rise and to observe the colour flow, flush
ing back into the pale morning sky. To me, there
is in this tenacity of the dying man to his old love
something very touching, something very sublime.
To him nature could never cloy; he still, with the
true humility of genius, felt how much he had to
learn, and how inimitable was the beauty of the
world he had tried to depict.
The old painter died with the winter-morning sun

DYING. 277
shining upon his face as he was lying in his bed. The
attendant drew up the window-blind, and the morn
ing sun shone on the dying artist — the sun he had
so often beheld with such love and such veneration.
The sun of the " Building of Carthage" and of the
" Frosty Morning" shone still with unfading bright
ness, and the painter who had so often tried to pic
ture its globe of living flame lay lifeless in an upper
room of the river-side cottage — not far from the spot ¦
where he had first floated out in a boat to study
nature — not far from that Lambeth Palace which
was the subject of his first water-colour drawing —
not a great way from that Battersea which had been
the subject of his first effort in oil — no longer the
bright-eyed, ambitious boy, full of living genius and
young hope, but the wrinkled, faded, worn-out old
man, rich, famous, now only cumbering the earth till
the vault can be opened for him to be at rest, in his
regal mausoleum, between Reynolds and Barry.
For many months Turner had not come to his old
friend at Heston. At last the news came to Mr. Trim
mer of his death, and of Mr. Trimmer being appointed
one (the oldest) of the executors. Off to town went
the reverend gentleman, and knocked at the door in
Queen Anne-street. Hannah Danby opened it, and
started when she saw Mr. Trimmer. She had heard
he was dead, and at first seemed almost determined
lo set him down as a ghost. He then found that
with the other executors Turner had left him any
of his pictures, to be chosen by seniority, except the
"Temeraire;" but this codicil was cancelled; indeed,
as it did not except the " Building of Carthage," it

2.78 MYSTERIOUS.
must have been the- production of Turner's imbe
cility, and never could have been intended to hold
good. For some time before his death, Turner had been
very mysterious about his residence. One evening,
during a sharp shower, he had taken shelter in a
public house, where he sat in the farthest corner, with
his glass before him, when an artist who knew him
came in, and began with, " I didn't know you used
the house; I shall often drop in now I've found
out where you quarter." Turner listened to him,
looked at him, knit his brows, emptied his glass, and
as he rose to go out, said, " Will you ? I don't think
you will." While living at Chelsea, a gentleman, who
knew him well, chanced to be out on business in the
neighbourhood early, and found Turner in the same
steamboat with himself, going towards the City.
Seeing Turner clean shaved, his shoes blacked, and
looking as if he had just left home, he made some
remark about his living in the neighbourhood, won
dering to see him there so early. "Is that your
boy?" said Turner, pointing to the gentleman's son,
and evading all questions as to his own "where
about." From my kind friend, Mr. Trimmer, I am indebted
for the following interesting account of the appear
ance of Turner's house after his death : —
"I had often visited Turner, partaken with my
father a dejefiner a la fourchette, and had had my
pockets crammed with biscuits, after the olden fashion.
Now, when I entered, all was altered, the master-mind

THE EMPTY ROOMS. 279
was gone, the-mainspring had snapped. The same aged
attendant let us in, but all was the silence of death.
I will describe the interior. First, the entrance hall.
Here were several casts, from the antique, of Cen
taurs in conflict with the Lapithse, and a picture of
Sir Joshua, all very trite and depressing. Turning to
the right was the dining-room, over the fire-place a
small model of a female figure, and a small Wilson
obscured by smoke, quite in keeping with the sombre
walls. In Turner's time there was also a picture of
Tassi, Claude's master. Backwards stretched a large
unfurnished room filled with unfinished pictures ; then
a larger and drearier room yet ; lastly, a back room,
against the walls of which stood his unfinished pro
ductions, large full-length canvasses placed carelessly
against the wall, the damp of which had taken off the
colours altogether, or had damaged them. Some can
vasses had a coat of white run over the ground, doubt
less the work of Turner senior; the next stage was
putting in large masses of black and white, apparently
with the spatula; at least, the brush seemed used but
sparingly. Turner is said to have laid in his dead-
colouring with body colour, but so far as my in
spection extended, I saw no traces of it; it rather
seemed fat oil. In common with the great masters,
the colours were well loaded, both lights and darks,
but of a darker tint than when finished. Among
them was an extraordinary picture of the " Carnival,"
red and black predominating. Here Turner revelled
in all his luxury. A little before his death (I think
Mr. Griffiths is my authority, and he was one of

280 THE PAINT-BOX.
Turner's oldest friends and associates), Turner used
to go to the top of the house he lodged in to see
the fireworks at Vauxhall.
" There were there many pictures condemned by a
discerning public. Many of Turner's admirers say
that there are parts of these no one could do but
Turner. I must confess that I can see no merit in
them. Some of the figures, with all the defects of
Rembrandt immensely exaggerated, showed an ab
sence of all drawing, and effects of light and shade
unrealized by Nature and outraging all analogies.
" Then we went into Turner's sleeping apartment;
it is surprising how a person of his means could have
lived in such a room; certainly he prized modern
luxuries at a very modest rate.
" turner's painting-room.
" When making an inspection of Turner's residence,
I reserved his studio as the finale. This, during his
lifetime, was enshrined in mystery, and the object of
profound speculation. What would his brother brush-
drivers have given some thirty years before, to have
forced an entrance when Turner was at the height of
his fame ! Often had I seen him emerge from that
hidden recess when shown into his gallery. That
august retreat was now thrown open ; I entered. On
a circular table lay his gloves and neckhandkerchief.
In the centre of the table was a raised box with a
circle in the centre with side compartments ; a good
contrivance for an artist, though I had never seen
one of the kind before. In the centre were his
colours, the great object of my attraction. I remem-

turner's implements. 251
her, on my father's once observing to Turner that
nothing was to be done without ultramarine, his
saying that cobalt was good enough for him ; and co
balt to be sure there was, but also several bottles of
ultramarine of various depths ; and smalts of various
intensities, of which I think he made great use.
There was also some verditer. The next object of
interest was the white ; there was a large bottle of
blanc d'argent, and another of flake white. I had
observed that Turner used silver white before making
this inspection. His yellow pigments consisted of a
large bottle of chrome. There were also a bottle of
tincture of rhubarb and some iodine, but whether for
artistical or medicinal use I cannot say. Since
writing the above, I was told by his housekeeper that
ultramarine was employed by him very sparingly, and
that smalt and cobalt were his usual blues. She was
in the habit of setting Turner's palette. The palette
— at least that in use, for he possessed two large splen
did ones — was a homely piece of square wood, with a
hole for the thumb. Grinding colours on a slab was
not his practice, and his dry colours were rubbed on
the palette with cold-drawn oil. His colours were
mixed daily, and he was very particular. If not to
his mind, he would say to Mrs. Danby, ' Can't you
set a palette better than this?' Like Wilson, Turner
used gamboge : this was simply pounded and mixed
with linseed cold-drawn oil.
"His brushes were of the humblest description,
mostly large round hog's tools and some flat. He
was said to use very short handles, which might
have been the case with his water-colours ; but I ob-

282 TURNERS LIBRARY.
served one very long-handled brush, with which I
have no doubt he put in his effective touches in his
late pictures. I was informed by his housekeeper
that he used the long brush exclusively for the rigging
of ships, &c. However, there were a great many
long-haired sables, which could not have been all
employed for rigging. She also said that he used
camel's hair for his oil pictures; and formerly he
showed my father some Chinese brushes he was
in the habit of using. Mrs. Danby told me that
when he had nearly finished a picture, he took it
to the end of his long gallery, and put in the last
touches. " I next inspected his travelling-box. Had I been
asked to guess his travelling library, I should have
said Young's ' Night Thoughts,' and Isaac Walton ;
and there they were, together with some inferior
translation of Horace. His library was select, but it
showed the man. There was a red morocco pocket-
book, which, from the wear and tear it exhibited, one
might have imagined his companion through life.
There were cakes of water-colour fastened on a leaf,
the centres of which were worn away, the commonest
colours, one a cake of verditer, one or two sable
brushes and lead pencils, not in wood, with which he
seemed to have drawn a few outlines in his sketch
book ; these consisted of a few lines which he used
to say no one could make out but himself. I have
some doubts if he could have made them out himself
without the assistance of other drawings, and he
seems to have purchased detail-views of foreign
scenery, of which there was a large assortment well

THE CAST AFTER DEATH. 283
thumbed; the drudgery of the art, of which master
minds avail themselves.
" There is no doubt that in his early pictures he
used wax, from their having turned yellow; there
was a jar of wax melted with rose madder and also
with blue, which must have been used very recently,
though it might have been for water-colours.
" There was also a bureau of old colours and oils,
which I looked over very carefully. A bottle of
spirit-varnish and a preparation of tar, tubes of
magilp, old bladders of raw umber and other dark
earths, all Newman's, from whom might be learned
Avhat colours he used.
"The above, with numerous unframed pictures
around the apartment, were the contents of his
painting-room, which had no skylight. It had been
originally the drawing-room, and had a good north
light, with two windows.
" I must confess that a deep melancholy pervaded
me as I made this inspection. Till of late years, I
had been in the habit of entering the house from my
childhood; the owner was no more; he stood alone
in the world, and his race was extinct.
" There was a small deal box on a side table; my
father raised the lid to show me its contents; it was
covered with a glass, and under it was the cast of the
great Turner. Dear old Turner, there he lay, his
eyes sunk, his lips fallen in. He reminded me strongly
of his old father, whom long years before I had seen
trudging to Brentford market from Sandicomb Lodge,
to lay in his weekly supplies. Alas for humanity !
This was the man whom in my childhood I had

284 NASMYTH.
attended with my father, and been driven by on the
banks of the Thames; whom I had seen sketching
with such glee on the river's banks, as I gathered
wild flowers in my earliest years ; who had stuffed
my pockets with sweetmeats, had loaded me with
fish, and made me feel as happy as a prince.
" There was written on his calm face the marks of
age and wreck, of dissolution and reblending with
the dust; this was the man whose worst productions
contained more poetry and genius than the most la
boured efforts of his brother artists ; who was the envy
of his rivals, and the admiration of all whose admi
ration is worth the having; nor was it without emo
tion or with a dry eye that I gazed on so sad a sight.
"At the time of the Great Exhibition in 1851,
Turner came to Queen Anne-street, and gave Mrs.
Danby strict orders to admit no one; I heard no
one of the visitors saw his pictures. At this time
his gallery was in a most dilapidated state ; the wet
was running down some of his best pictures, through
the very leaks I had seen twenty years before, and
pointed out to him. Had they been seen, it would
have been at a great disadvantage."
Mr. David Roberts, recognised the undertaker at
Turner's grand funeral as the very same man who
managed the interment of poor Patrick Nasmyth, at
Lambeth, fourteen years before. The undertaker had
thriven since then, and he who had helped to bury
the poor worn-out pauper artist at Lambeth, now
followed the great rich man to his grand mausoleum
in St. Paul's.
Mr. Ruskin had given Turner, on one of his late

THE GRAND FUNERAL. 285
tours, a commission for a drawing of Venice, but it
was so unfinished that it did not please him.
Since Turner's death, some admiring artists wished
to put a memorial tablet over the door of the house
in Maiden-lane where he was born, but the Board of
Works refused to allow it.
The Times gave the following account of his
funeral : —
" The mortal remains of the great artist who has
just been removed from us, full of years and honours,
were received within the walls of St. Paul's on
Tuesday, December 3rd, and borne to their final
resting-place in the catacombs. Whatever hesitation
might have been felt by the mass of those who gazed
on the later efforts of his brush in believing that he
was entitled to the highest rank in his profession,
none of his brethren seemed to have any doubt of his
decided excellence, and the best of them all have
ever readily admitted his superiority in poetry,
feeling, fancy, and genius. Long ere his death he
had the felicity of knowing that his name and his
works were regarded with that reverential respect
and estimation which is given to other artists by
posterity alone, and his earlier productions have been
placed among the classical ornaments of our choicest
collections and galleries for many years. Even those
who could only sneer and smile at the erratic blaze of
his colour, shifting and flickering as the light of the
Aurora, lingered minute after minute before the last
incomprehensible ' Turner' that gleamed on the
walls of the Academy, and the first name sought for
upon the catalogue by the critic, artist, and amateur,

2S6 THE MOURNERS.
as well as by those who could not understand him
when they found him, was his also. Many of the
most distinguished of our painters, and many private
friends, paid the last tribute of respect to his remains,
and followed his hearse yesterday, and a long pro
cession of mourning coaches and private carriages
preceded it to the cathedral. Among those who
attended the sad ceremonial were Mr. Harpur, the
chief mourner, with crape hatband and scarf, Mr.
Jones, Mr. P. Hardwicke, Mr. Munro, Mr. Griffiths,
Sir Charles Eastlake, Mr. Mulready, Mr. Chalon, Mr.
Cooper, Mr. Bailey, Mr. Leslie, Mr. Pickersgill, Mr.
C. Stanfield, Mr. Maclise, Mr. Witherington, Mr.
Roberts, Mr. Barry, Mr. Knight, Mr. Landseer, Mr.
Webster, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Cope, Mr. Westmacott,
Mr. Grant, Mr. Creswick, Mr. Redgrave, Dr. Mayo,
Mr. Hart, Mr. Cockerill, Mr. Copley Fielding, Mr.
Haghe, Colonel Thwaites, Mr. Winders, Mr. Hard
wicke, the Rev. Mr. Kingsley, Mr. Stokes, Mr.
Marsh, Dr. Price, Mr. Bartlett, Mr. Drake, and Mr.
Pound. His housekeeper — for the deceased was a
bachelor — was also in the funeral procession, with
Mrs. F. Danby. When the hearse arrived at the
entrance to the cathedral the coffin was received by
the clergy, and the procession slowly stepped up the
aisle — the singing boys, vicars choral, vergers, minor
canons, the Dean (Milman), the Archdeacon, the Ven.
Hale Hale, the Canon Residentiary, and the Rev. Mr.
Champneys being in attendance, and forming in front
of the pall-bearers and mutes. The choristers chanted
the Dead March in Saul, and the organ pealed

THE WILL. 287
through the aisle as the coffin was borne into the
chapel, where it was laid down while the Dean read
the commencement of the service for the dead, after
which it was raised, and while it was being carried
towards the catacombs the rest of the service was
performed according to the rubric, and at the con
clusion the coffin was deposited in one of the vaults.
It bore the simple inscription, ' Joseph Mallord Tur
ner, Esq., R.A., died Dec. 19, 1851, aged 79 years.'
A considerable crowd was attracted outside by the
ceremonial, and about five hundred persons were
present in the aisles and the chapel."
Turner's will (copied from the Registry of the
Prerogative Court of Canterbury) I have inserted at
full in my Appendix, but here, as containing biogra
phical facts, I insert a condensed version of its
various clauses. He first leaves to his executors and
trustees all his freehold, leasehold, and personal
estates, after payment of his just debts, and he en
joins them immediately after his death to sell all such
property for the benefit of the estate, and directs that
the sums obtained by such sale be united to the
money already invested by him in the Three per
Cents. Then come the bequests — i.e. to Price
Turner, Jonathan Turner (his two uncles), 50/. each;
and to his nephews (the sons of Price Turner, that
is to say, John, Joshua, and Jonathan Turner), 25/.
each. To Hannah Danby, his old housekeeper, niece
of John Danby, musician, 50/. a-year for her natural
life; to the housekeeper's aunt, Sarah Danby, 10/.
a-year ; and to Evelina and Georgiana Danby, daugh-

288 THE CHARITY.
ters of Sarah Danby, 50/. a-year each. The first
quarterly payment to be due at the expiration of
six months from his decease.
To the National Gallery Turner left the pictures,
" Dido Building Carthage," and the picture formerly
in the Tabley Collection ; but " on the following re
servations and restrictions only," that they be hung
between the two pictures painted by Claude, entitled
" The Sea Port," and " The MiU," and be from
time to time properly cleaned, framed, repaired, and
protected ; and if these conditions were not accepted
within twelve months of Turner's decease, they were
to be taken to form part of the charitable funds
hereinafter mentioned.
All the rest of the funded property of Turner was
intended by him to found a charity for " Male De
cayed Artists," being born in England and of Eng
lish parents only, and of lawful issue. A suitable
building was to be provided in an eligible place; the
whole institution to be under the control of four
trustees, chosen from the executors. Future execu
tors were to be chosen, two from the Royal Acade
micians and two from non-members. Turner then
goes on to name as trustees, W. F. Wells, Esq., of
Mitcham, Surrey; Rev. H. Trimmer, of Heston;
Samuel Rogers, of St. James's-place ; George Jones,
R.A. ; and Charles Turner, R. A., as trustees. The
institution was to be called " Turner's Gift," and to
be governed by the ordinary rules of charitable in
stitutions devoted to a similar purpose.
The trustees were directed to reimburse them
selves for all reasonable expenses that they might be

REVOKING. 289
put to in attending to such charity. This will is
dated 10th of June, 1831, and attested by George
Cobb, Clement's-inn ; John Saxon, Bruton, Somerset
shire; and Charles Tull, Winchester-street, London.
The will is written in various legal hands — all ex
cept the first codicil, which is in Turner's own hand
writing. A further codicil desires that the gallery
devoted to his pictures should be respectable, and
worthy of the object, and that it should be viewed
gratuitously. If the money should be found inade
quate, Turner writes, and the charity could not be
founded within five years of his death, then he an
nulled that part of his will, and left the residue pf
his estate in the following manner : — The pictures to
be kept entire and unsold in 47, Queen Anne-street
West, and to be called the " Turner Gallery," and
Hannah Danby appointed custodian at 100/. a-year,
with 50/. more for her services ; to Georgiana Danby,
100/. a-year; and to Evelina Danby, or Dupree, also
100/. a-year. The residue was left to the Royal
Academy, on condition of their giving every year, on
his birthday, the 23rd of April, a dinner, not to cost
more than 50/. He also left 60/. a-year to a Pro
fessor of Landscape at the Royal Academy, and a
gold medal worth 20/. for the best landscape every
second year. In case the Royal Academy refused
this residue, Turner left all the money to Georgiana
Danby and her heirs, after erecting a monument over
his body.
In another codicil Turner revoked all the legacies to
his uncles and nephews, and also those to Georgiana
and all the other Danbys. He leaves his finished
vol. n. u

290 THE MONUMENT.
pictures to the National Gallery, provided additional
rooms were built for their reception. The pictures
not to be removed from Queen Anne-street till such
rooms were built; but if all fell through, and the
lease could not be renewed, then the pictures were
to be sold.
The executors named are Thomas Griffiths, Esq., of
Norwood, Surrey; John Ruskin, Esq., the younger,
of Denmark- Hill ; Philip Hardwick, Esq., of Russell-
square; Henry Harpur, of Kennington-cross, Lam
beth, together with the aforenamed trustees ; and to
each of them was to be given for a ring 19/. 19s.
This last codicil is signed August 2, 1848, and at
tested by Joseph Tibbs and Thomas Schroeder.
The next codicil annuls the gifts to the National
Gallery, if the " Turner Gallery" be not built within
ten years after his decease; and in failure of this, a
gratuitous exhibition and final sale at the house in
Queen Anne-street. He also left a thousand pounds
for a monument to himself in St. Paul's, desiring to
be buried among his brothers in art ; and he left his
housekeeper in Queen Anne-street, and Sophia Caro
line Booth, his housekeeper formerly at Margate, and
now at Chelsea, each an annuity of 150/., and out of
the sale of the finished pictures 1000/. to the Pension
Fund of the Academy, the gold medal for Landscape
Art to be paid out of it ; also 500/. to the Artists'
General Benevolent Fund, 500/. to the Foundlinp;.
500/. to the London Orphan Fund, and then to Mrs.
Wheeler and her two sisters 100/. each, free from
legacy duty. He also adds Mr. Munro's name to

PROBATE. 291
those of his previous executors and trustees. This
last codicil is signed February 1, 1845, attested by
Mr. Joseph Tibbs and Mr. Thomas Schroeder, clerks
to Mr. Harpur.
The only land which, at his death, stood in the
name of Mr. Turner, at Twickenham, is about three-
quarters of an acre on the fourth roadside of the
common, which he bought at the time the Richmond
and Twickenham Railroad was forming.
The will in the Appendix is extracted from the
Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury. The
first part, as well as the second, third, and fourth
codicils, are written in a legal hand, but not by one
and the same person. The first codicil is entirely in
Turner's own handwriting. The Hannah Danby re
ferred to is his old housekeeper.
Unfortunately for the poor artists of England,
Turner's will being a most confused document, full of
confusions and interpolations, it was disputed by the
next of kin, who tried to prove that the testator
was of unsound mind.
The will was therefore first proved, and it was
then established that the testator was of sound mind,
and capable of making a legal will.
The trustees and executors then filed a Bill in
Chancery on the 25th of April, 1852, praying that the
Court would give its construction of the will and for
administration of the estate. The next of kin, by
their answer, contended that it was impossible to place
any construction upon the will at ail, and that it was
therefore void. And further, that if the will could be
u2

292 THE CHANCERY SUIT.
carried out according to the intention of the testator
it was still void, as the bequests came within the
Statute of Mortmain.
The next proceedings were in the Vice-Chancellor's
Court, before Vice- Chancellor Sir R. T. Kindersley ;
and the following report of a day's proceedings in the
suit, Trimmer v. Danby, is a sample of many such
days : —
" This suit relates to the will of the late Mr. Turner,
the celebrated artist, who left a great number of tes
tamentary papers in all stages of alteration, erasure,
and cancellation, and some in duplicate, but so muti
lated as to be virtually destroyed, but generally
executed. The executors applied for probate upon
all, and five — namely, one will and four codicils —
were ultimately proved ; and conflicting claims arising
under the will, this suit was instituted, and Mr.
Hardwicke appointed receiver. The testator left
pictures of a very great value at his house, 47, Queen
Anne-street, and after bequeathing them to the
trustees and directors for the time being of the Na
tional Gallery, with certain directions, declared that
in case such pictures should not be accepted within
one year from his decease, his executors and trustees
should found a charitable institution for decayed
artists, to be called ' Turner's Gift;' but in case such
institution could not be legally founded, then he
appointed Hannah Danby the custodian and keeper
of his pictures, with 100/. a-year for so doing, and to
keep them entire and unsold at his residence, to be
viewed gratuitously by the public, and called 'Turner's
Gallery.' The testator's property was sworn under

THE CROWS ON THE CARCASE. 293
140,000/, and the next of kin and heir-at-law having
made claims, the cause now came on upon minutes
and for a reference to chambers, and the chief question
was, whether the pictures should remain in their
present position, which it was alleged was calculated
to damage them by reason of damp, &c, until their
final destination could be determined upon.
" The Solicitor- General and Mr. Wickens appeared
for the Crown ; Mr. Follett and Mr. W. Morris for
the next of kin ; Mr. J. U. Terrell for the executors
and trustees; Mr. Swanston and Mr. Stevens for
Hannah Danby ; Mr. Walker and Mr. Roxburgh for
the heir-at-law; and Mr. Willcock and Mr. Ellis for
other parties.
" The Vice- Chancellor said that if his own opinion
were to prevail, or he was entitled to have any leaning
upon the subject, he should favour the idea of those
valuable works of art becoming national property;
but as it was most important, whatever might be the
event of the suit, that they should meantime be pro
tected from injury, the best way would be to refer
the question to three gentlemen to be chosen, and he
(the Vice-Chancellor) would, if all parties concurred,
himself see them on the subject.
" Mr. Hardwicke, Sir C. Eastlake, and Mr. Clarkson
Stanfield were then chosen.
"Solicitor for the plaintiff, Mr. Drake; for the
Crown, Mr. Raven; for the next of kin and heir-at-
law, Mr. Tepper."
On Wednesday, the 19th of March, 1856, the
following decision was given by Vice- Chancellor
Kindersley : —

294 ISSUE JOINED.
"Between Henry Scott Trimmer George Jones
Charles Turner Philip Hardwick Henry Harpur and
Hugh Andrew Johnston Munro Plaintiffs Hugh
Danby (since deceased) Mary Tepper (since deceased)
William Turner (since deceased) Thomas Price
Turner Mary Matthews John Widgery and Mary
Ann Turner his wife John Turner Sophia Caroline
Booth and Her Majesty's Attorney-General De
fendants And Between Henry Harpur Plaintiff
Henry Trimmer Samuel Rogers George Jones Charles
Turner John Ruskin the younger when he shall come
within the Jurisdiction of the Court Philip Hardwick
and Hugh Andrew Johnston Munro Defendants
And Between the said Henry Scott Trimmer George
Jones Charles Turner Philip Hardwick Henry Harpur
and Hugh Andrew Johnston Munro Plaintiffs
Grace Coham Turner John Thome Turner Mary Eliza
Turner William Coham Turner Marcella Danby Caro
line Malissa Nixon and Theresa Danby Symondson
Defendants And Between the said Henry Scott
Trimmer George Jones Charles Turner Philip Hard
wick Henry Harpur and Hugh Andrew Johnston
Munro Plaintiffs Jabez Tepper Defendant
" By original Bill and supplemental orders
" Extract
" This Court doth Declare by consent of all parties
by their Counsel (except the Plaintiffs who by their
Counsel submit to act as this Court shall direct and
except the Attorney-General who does not oppose the
same) that all the Pictures Drawings and Sketches
by the Testator's hand without any distinction of

law. 295
finished or unfinished are to be deemed as well given
for the benefit of the public and Doth order that the
same when selected and ascertained in manner here
after mentioned be retained by the Trustees for the
time being of the National Gallery accordingly and
it is ordered that Sir Charles Locke Eastlake Knight
President of the Royal Academy and John Prescott
Knight Royal" Academician and in case they disagree
an umpire to be named by them by writing under
their hands to be at liberty to select from the said
Pictures Drawings and Sketches now in the National
Gallery pursuant to the order made in these Causes
dated the 4th day of August 1854 such of the
Pictures Drawings and Sketches as shall in their
opinion have been painted drawn or sketched by the
Testator's hand without any distinction of finished or
unfinished such selection to be verified by affidavit
and all parties (except the plaintiffs who by their
Counsel submit to act as this Court shall direct and
except the Attorney-General who does not oppose
the same) by their Counsel consenting to abide by the
selection of the said Sir Charles Lock Eastlake and
John Prescott Knight or in case they disagree then
by the selection of such umpire as aforesaid and upon
the additional probate duty (if any) and the legacy
duty payable in respect of such Pictures Drawings
and Sketches being paid or effectually released and the
sum of one hundred and eighty-one pounds ten shillings
being one moiety of the expences of removing the
Testator's works of art to the place where they are now
deposited being repaid to the said Executors to be by
them accounted for as part of the Testator's General

296 TALK.
Estate. It is ordered that the Pictures Drawings and
Sketches so to be selected be retained by the Trustees
for the time being of the National Gallery and this
Court doth declare that the Trustees for the time
being of the said National Gallery are entitled to hold
the two Pictures that is to say Dido Building Car
thage and the Picture formerly in the De Tabley
Collection now in their possession under the order of
the 26th day of July 1852 discharged from the agree
ment of the 12th day of November 1852 in the plead
ings of these Causes mentioned But this order is to
be without prejudice to the claim (if any) of the per
sons in respect of the Legacies bequeathed by the
4th Codicil to the said Testator's Will to the Artists'
General Benevolent Fund to the Foundling Hospital
and to the London Orphan Fund and by the like con
sent and submission and the Attorney- General not
opposing and the Trustees of the Royal Academy of
Arts in London by their Counsel waiving all claim to
the Legacy of one thousand pounds by the said Will
bequeathed to the . Pension Fund of the Royal
Academy and all other benefit under the said Will
and Codicils This Court doth declare that the
Trustees for the time being of the Royal Academy of
Arts in London are entitled to the sum of twenty
thousand pounds sterling free from Legacy duty and
it is ordered that the legacy duty payable in respect
thereof be raised by the said Plaintiffs Henry Scott
Trimmer George Jones Charles Turner Philip Hard
wick and Henry Harpur by a sale of a sufficient part
of the said Bank 3/. per Cent. Annuities or of the
said reduced 3/. per Cent. Annuities respectively

TALK. 297
forming part of the said Testator's Estate and It is
ordered that the said last named Plaintiffs do on or
before the 10th day of October next transfer to the
Trustees for the time being of the said Royal Aca
demy so much of the said 3/. per Cent. Consolidated
Bank Annuities or of the said 3/. per Cent. Reduced
Annuities as will according to the market price of the
said Consolidated Bank Annuities or Reduced An
nuities on the day of such transfer be equal in
amount to the said sum of twenty thousand pounds
sterling And it is ordered that the said last named
Plaintiffs do pay to the said Trustees of the said Royal
Academy interest on the said Twenty thousand
pounds after the rate of 4/. per Cent, per annum from
the 30th day of June 1856 to the time of such
transfer out of any Cash which may be in their hands
or by sale of a sufficient part of the said 31. per Cent.
Consolidated Bank Annuities or reduced Annuities
and by the like consent and submission and the said
Attorney-General not opposing this Court doth
declare that subject to legacy duty (if any) the legacy
of one thousand pounds by the Testator directed to
be expended in erecting a monument in St. Paul's
Cathedral was a good and valid legacy and it is or
dered that the plaintiffs Henry Scott Trimmer George
Jones Charles Turner Philip Hardwick and Henry
Harpur do on or before the 14th day of November
next transfer into the name and with the privity of
the Accountant-General of this Court in trust in the
1st 3rd and 4th above mentioned Causes to an
account to be entitled ' The monument account' of
the plaintiffs subject to legacy duty (if any) so much

29S A COMPROMISE.
of the said 3/. per Cent. Consolidated Bank Annuities
now standing in the name of the said Testator and
forming part of his Estate as will at the market price
of such Bank Annuities on the day preceding the day
of bespeaking such transfer be equal to the sum of
one thousand pounds and interest thereon at 4/. per
Cent, after deducting income tax thereon from the
end of one year after the said Testator's death to the
day preceding the day of bespeaking such transfer the
amount thereof and the said market price to be veri
fied by affidavit and the said Accountant-General is
to declare the trust thereof accordingly subject to the
further order of this Court. "J. A. Murray,
"C. R. &W."
There are tons' weight of documents of this four
years' Chancery suit. The bills of costs in the matter
alone would fill a butcher's cart. How Turner would
have groaned to have seen the lawyers fattening
themselves on his hard-earned savings.
A compromise was eventually effected between all
the parties to the suit; and on the 19th March, 1856,
a decree was pronounced, with the consent of all
parties, to the following effect: — ¦
1. The real estate to go to the heir-at-law.
2. The pictures, &c, to the National Gallery.
3. 1000/. for the erection of a monument in St.
Paul's Cathedral.
4. 20,000/. to the Royal Academy, free of legacy
duty. 5. Remainder to be divided amongst next of kin.

A GRATEFUL GOVERNMENT. 299
The interest and accumulations to stand as an in
demnity to the said plaintiffs in respect of their con
tingent liabilities to the rent and costs of the lease
hold estates of testator or devisee relating to his
estates, and any claim or demand which may be
made against or upon them in respect of any under
taking on the part of the said testator ; but any
engraved plates should be destroyed or' cancelled.
The engravings (mentioned in order 4th August,
1854), and the pictures, drawings, and sketches, not
selected by Eastlake and Prescott, to belong to the
defendants. The trustees of the National Gallery to deliver up
the same to* defendant, Jabez Tepper, on behalf of the
defendants. In relation to the discussions in Parliament about
the Turner bequest, the " Art Journal" said : —
" On the 27th of June, in the House of Lords,
Lord St. Leonards asked the President of the Council
whether any steps had been taken to provide a sepa
rate gallery for Turner's pictures, according to the
conditions under which they were bequeathed to the
nation. ' The trustees of the National Gallery took
324 pictures, besides a vast quantity of water-colour
drawings, and the Royal Academy 20,000/. in money,
and both the nation and the Royal Academy believed
they held the property as their own, not subject to
any conditions.' Lord St. Leonards read the codicils
to the will of Mr. Turner, to prove that the pictures
were left in trust to the National Gallery, on the
condition that a separate room should be built for
them, to be called the Turner Gallery. He\then pro-

300 DELAY.
ceeded to comment on the exhibition of these works
by gaslight, observing that if even every precaution
were taken to secure them against injury from gas
vapour, they were yet exposed to great risk.
" The rooms containing the Turner pictures were
erected two or three years ago for the reception of
the collection on. its removal from Marlborough
House ; the money voted for the building containing
these apartments was 10,000/., and the erections
were spoken of as 'temporary.' For the purposes
for which they were intended, these rooms are well
suited; they are not lighted according to the best
principle, yet Turner's pictures were never seen until
they were placed there. In Marlborough House they
were — as their lordships described Turner's will —
'ambiguous,' and it is not, therefore, matter of
wonder that the 'Avalanche' should have been criti
cised hanging upside down. Turner painted for
light, and admitted into his works the smallest pro
portion of dark — a rule of art which, to be appre
hended, demands the fullest measure of daylight.
As we see ' Crossing the Brook' in that gallery, it is
the grandest landscape of this or any other time ; but
in a lower light its beauties would be obscured. Lord
St. Leonards is resolved that its present abiding-place
shall not be the permanent home of the collection, for
he concluded his speech with the expression of a hope
that the Government, in moving the Civil Service
estimates, would propose a vote of credit for the
immediate commencement of a Turner Gallery.
" It was a principal condition of the bequest that a
room for the reception of the pictures should be com-

TALK. 301
pleted in ten years from the death of the testator;
but Lord Granville's reply does not indicate on the
part of the Government any immediate intention of
fulfilling the conditions of the bequest. Though
many plans have been proposed, they have not yet
been considered. Lord Overstone said he could
easily understand that the trustees of the National
Gallery found themselves in an embarrassing position
in consequence of the serious ' ambiguities' which
attached to the Turner trust. It is a slur upon the
memory of the man that the trustees should shrink
from dealing with the provisions of the will. He was
not unfrequently mysterious with his brush ; he
seems to be more so with his pen, for his will is even
more difficult of interpretation than his ' Fallacies of
Hope.' But yet he must be had in charitable and
grateful remembrance, for the history of art records
no similar act of munificence. We must, however,
look at things as they present themselves, and in
doing so we discover in the gold a large alloy of
baser metal than usual. Even the most rabid of the
Turnerini will not presume to deny that the great
painter hampered his presentation of the ' Carthage'
with the condition that . it should be placed between
the ' Claudes ;' the}7 will not deny that he left money
to glorify himself in a statue ; nor can they deny that
the condition of his great bequest is absolute in re
spect of the separate room to be called the ' Turner;'
and of his minor bequest to the Royal Academy, with
the medal equally to be called the 4 Turner.' These
things are public property; they may be separated
from an estimate of the worth of the public presenta-

302 THE ART JOURNAL.
tion, but they cannot be sifted out as mere caput
mortuum in an estimate of the man. While Turner
was a living myth in that miserable house in Queen
Anne-street — which, from its superior dirtiness and
preferable dilapidation, was by the population of the
neighbouring areas reputed as the den of a mysterious
man, who was seen only in the morning and evening
twilight — while he lived in Queen Anne-street he
was misunderstood and universally adored. With the
artistic section of society he was great by common
acclamation ; with the rest of the world he was great
by the grace of public benevolence. He was con
tinually before the world in black and white — that is,
in engraving ; and in clear-obscure Turner was greater
than any man that has ever lived. He had his
periodical paroxysms of colour, but still his lights
and darks were always right, and every engraved
subject was a precious lucid interval ; then indeed
" ' Fata canit, foliisque notas et nomina mandat.'
And further, like the Sibyl, he cared not to revert to
multitudes of his inditings, as is shown by the thou
sands of sketches that are still in. the possession of
the trustees. At the bidding of the hierarchy of the
art, whole populations have bowed before the ' Na
poleon' and the ' Ulysses and Polyphemus,' and the
' Gardens of the Hesperides ;' and because they do not
understand them, would canonize the man who
painted them, did they consider a niche in the calen
dar a condition sufficiently respectable for him. It
was by no means necessary that Turner should ex
pose himself in his will, by raising his patronymic

GOING TO BEGIN. 303
into an historical institution. But for that, we might
have all believed that he was totally pictorial ; that
all vulgar essences had been driven off in the passage
of a longer course of years than falls to the lot of
many men ; to having lived so long under a veil, it
is a bad consummation that he should at last have
placed himself under a microscope. The comparisons
between the ' Liber Studiorum' and the ' Liber Veri-
tatis,' and between the ' Carthage' and the ' Claudes,'
are in favour of Turner ; but the proclaimed challenge
of the comparisons is against him ; these comparisons
would infallibly have been drawn, but in forcing
them, Turner was less just to himself than his friends
have been. It is ungrateful to look at Turner through
himself; through his works he assumes proportions
attained not even by the genii of the Eastern tales —
in this view he is more worthy of a pyramid than
Cheops, and his pyramid is a more pleasing erection.
" Lord St. Leonards and Lord Overstone are un
willing to consider the portion of the Kensington
galleries allotted to the Turners, as fulfilling the con
ditions of the will. The pictures are most perfectly
exhibited where they now are ; but if the legal autho
rities on whom Lord Granville relies for the interpre
tation of the terms of the bequest determine that
another room shall be built, it is high time that the
money were voted and the work begun.
" Thanks to an order of the House of Lords, on a
motion of Lord St. Leonards, Turner's Will and the
various codicils attached to it have been printed in
extenso. The immediate occasion of this publication
was the official representation of the Trustees of the

304 CIRCUMLOCUTION.
National Gallery to Her Majesty's Treasury, respecting
the care and custody of the pictures. The period
within which provision was to be made, under the
will, for the gallery to be named after the testator
was limited to ten years after his decease. This will
shortly expire, and although the decree of Vice-
Chancellor Kindersley delivered the pictures to the
Trustees without express reference to this condition
of time, there are, say the Trustees, grave doubts,
supported by high legal authority, whether that con
dition does not still bind them to erect the gallery on
pain of forfeiture. It is added, that whatever be the
legal effect of this decree, there is no doubt of the
moral obligation under which the Trustees lie. They
think Turner intended that his pictures should be
exhibited in immediate proximity to the other pictures
forming the National Gallery, and in order that they
may be enabled to carry out this intention, they
appeal to their Lordships of the Treasury, adding
that, whether they hold the pictures under the will
or the decree, or both, there is no doubt of their being
under a moral as well as legal obligation to see the
undoubted wishes of the testator fulfilled. It is
urged that it is not fitting to impair the completeness
of the general collection of national pictures by the
severance from it of such surpassing examples of the
British School. To this is added a reminder that on
repeated occasions the temporary character of the
present location of the Turner pictures has been
made the subject of express acknowledgment and
assurance. The representation concludes by calling
attention to the report of the late Mr. Braidwood on

TALK. 305
the increased danger of lighting public buildings
with gas, under the influence of which the British
Museum Trustees decided against lighting that
building. The Trustees state that they would not
consider their responsibility met were they not to
draw the attention of their Lordships to the question
able nature of the present location of the Turner
pictures, and the arrangements under which they are
now exhibited by gaslight."
" The Select Committee appointed to consider in
what manner the conditions annexed by the will of
the late Mr. Turner, R.A., to the bequest of his
pictures to the Trustees of the National Gallery can
best be carried out; and, having completed such in
quiry, then to consider and report the measures proper
to be taken with respect to the Vernon Gallery, and
the prospective measures proper to be taken with
respect to any future gifts of the same kind ; and to
whom were referred copies of the will and codicils of
the late Mr. Turner, R.A., and of the decree of the
Vice- Chancellor Kindersley, establishing the right of
the nation to the pictures of Mr. Turner, given by
him to the public, and also of the representations
lately made by the Trustees of the National Gallery
to the Treasury upon the subject of Mr. Turner's
gift of his pictures to the nation, and to report
thereon to the House, have reported—
"'That the committee have met and considered
the subject-matter referred to them, and have come
to the following resolutions, viz. : —
" ' That the late Mr. Turner, R.A., by his will gave
to the Trustees of the National Gallery his picture
VOL. II. x

306 DISCUSSION.
of "Dido building Carthage," and his picture
formerly in the De Tabley Collection, for ever, subject
to the direction that they should be kept and placed
always between the two pictures painted, by Claude,
the " Seaport " and the " Mill;" and the right of the
Trustees to these pictures was declared by the decree
after mentioned; and the two pictures have ever
since been, and now are, placed in the National Gallery
between the two Claudes, according to Turner's will.
" ' That Mr. Turner made several codicils to his
will; by the first codicil, which was superseded by
the later ones, he desired a gallery to be erected for
his pictures (except the two given by his will), and
that they should be maintained and exhibited as a
separate collection, to be called " Turner's Gallery;"
by the second codicil he gave his finished pictures
(except the " Dido " and the " De Tabley " pictures)
to the Trustees of the National Gallery, provided
that a room or rooms were added to the National
Gallery, to be entitled "Turner's Gallery;" in the
meantime they were not to be removed until rooms
were built; the Trustees of the National Gallery
were not to have any power over the pictures unless
his wish was fully carried out by them ; it was his
will that either such pictures should remain and be
called " Turner's Gallery," and be the property of the
nation, or to remain at his house as one entire gallery,
to be viewed gratuitously ; if the lease could not be
renewed, the pictures were to be sold; by the third
codicil, if the National Gallery should not carry out
the provisions in the second codicil within five years,
on or before the expiration of the lease of his present

PALAVER. 307
gallery, then he declared his bequest to the National
Gallery to be void, and in that case his gallery to be
continued upon the terms mentioned in his last co
dicil. By the fourth and last codicil he limited ten
years for offering his finished pictures to the National
Gallery; if rooms were not built, the pictures were
to be exhibited gratuitously during the existence of
the lease of his Queen Anne-street house, except the
last two years, and then the pictures were to be sold ;
by the decree of the Court of Chancery, made in
March, 1856, the Court declared that all the pictures,
drawings, and sketches, wholly or partially by the
testator's hand, without any distinction of finished or
unfinished, were to be deemed as well given for the
benefit of the public, and were to be retained by the
trustees for the time being of the National Gallery.
" ' That under the above testamentary dispositions
and the decree of the Court of Chancery, the nation
is now in possession of 362 pictures painted by
Turner, and of a very large number of water-colour
drawings of the highest excellence; and the nation
ought, in the opinion of this House, to carry out the
conditions annexed to the gift in like manner as the
conditions annexed to the gift of the two pictures
now between the two Claudes have been complied
with. " ' That, for want of a room to receive them at the
National Gallery, the pictures are now at Kensing
ton, but the power of the trustees of the National
Gallery has been preserved over them; and itwas
publicly announced that they were removed to Ken
sington only as a temporary measure.
x2

308 TALK.
" ' That Turner died in December, 1851, and, in
the opinion of this House, no further delay should
take place in providing a room or rooms for the re
ception and exhibition of his pictures and drawings,
now the property of the nation, in connexion with
the National Gallery, to be called " Turner's Gallery."
" ' That it is expedient that the finished pictures
by Turner should be forthwith deposited and pro
perly hung in one of the rooms of the present Na
tional Gallery, according to the plan which Mr.
Wornum, the keeper, has stated in his evidence that
he is prepared to carry out.
" ' But this arrangement, as it will necessarily
involve considerable inconvenience in the exhibition
of the pictures now in the National Gallery, must
be considered as of a strictly temporary character,
pending the execution of some more enlarged and
comprehensive plan.
" ' That, with a view to provide such accommoda
tion, Mr. Pennethorne, the architect, has stated in
his evidence that he can undertake to erect rooms
fully sufficient for the reception of the Turner pic
tures at the back of the present National Gallery,
within a period of time not exceeding twelve months,
and at a cost not to exceed 25,000/.
" ' That unless there be some reasonable prospect of
seeing a noble gallery worthy of the fine collection of
pictures by the ancient masters and British artists
which the country now possesses, and which is, year by
year, receiving additions of great importance, erected
upon a comprehensive plan on the present or any
other site, it appears desirable that steps should be

ARRANGING THE DRAWINGS. 309
forthwith taken for making the limited addition to
the present gallery suggested by Mr. Pennethorne.
" ' That with regard to the second portion of the
order of reference — viz., "And having completed
such inquiry, then to consider and report the mea
sures proper to be taken with respect to the Vernon
Gallery, and the prospective measures proper to be
taken with respect to any future gifts of the same
kind," the late period of the Session making it im
possible for the committee fully to consider the im
portant questions involved, the committee beg to
recommend to the House that the subject be again
referred early in the ensuing Session.
" ' And the committee have directed the Minutes
of Evidence taken before them, together with an
Appendix, to be laid before your Lordships.
"'July 30th."*
In a letter which appeared in the Times soon after
Turner's death, Mr. Ruskin undertook to select, sift,
and arrange the drawings that Turner left to the
nation. He divided them in this letter into three
classes : — ¦
" 1. Finished water-colour drawings. 2. Studies
from Nature, or first thoughts for pictures, in colour.
3. Sketches in pencil or pen and ink. The drawings
belonging to the two latter classes are in various
stages of completion. There are in the first class
45 drawings of the ' Rivers of France,' 57 illustrating
Rogers's poems, 23 of the 'River Scenery' and 'Har
bours of England,' 4 marine vignettes, 5 middle-
sized drawings (including the beautiful ' Ivy Bridge'),
and a drawing, some 3 feet by 2, finished with ex-

310 SKETCH-BOOKS.
quisite care, of a scene in the Val d'Aosta; total, 135.
The larger number of studies forming the second
class are light sketches, valuable only to artists or to
those interested in the processes of Turner's mind
and hand. The total number of those which I cata
logued as important is 1757. The sketches of the
third class are usually more elaborate than the co
loured ones. They consist of studies from Nature or
for compositions, in firm outlines, usually on grey
paper, heightened with white. They include, among
other subjects more or less complete, 50 of the ori
ginal drawings for the ' Liber Studiorum,' and many
of the others are of large folio size." Mr. Ruskin
prefaces this letter by explaining that his active
executorship to the Turner estate confined itself to
the cataloguing of these drawings, and that, finding
his stewardship involved some legal difficulties, he
threw it up. He closes the epistle from which the
above extracts have been taken, by assuring the
Trustees of the National Collections and the country
in general that there is no one so eminently fitted to
arrange and provide for the exhibition of the Turner
drawings as himself; — " that he will only undertake
the task on condition of the entire management of
the drawings, in every particular, being entrusted to
him" — that he wishes to undertake the task; and
that, on receiving the appointment, he will enter
upon it instantly, and undertakes to " furnish, in order
to prove the working of the system proposed, 100 of
the frames, with their cases, at my own cost; and
that within six weeks of the day on which I am per
mitted to begin work (illness or accident not inter-

MR. RUSKIN. 311
fering) I will have the 100 drawings arranged,
framed, accompanied by a printed explanatory cata
logue, and ready for public inspection."
Mr. Ruskin was in Scotland, visiting Dumblane,
Jedburgh, and other favourite sites of Turner, when
he received a letter informing him that the Trustees
of the National Gallery had granted him permission
to arrange the Turner drawings for the nation.
From the autumn of 1857 to May, 1858, Mr.
Ruskin worked hard. I can bear witness to this
labour of love. Mr. Ruskin's own account of the
state he found the drawings in is full of interest, not
unmingled with pathos. He says : —
" In seventeen boxes in the lower room of the
National Gallery I found upwards of 19,000 pieces of
paper, drawn upon by Turner in one way or another.
Many on both sides. Some with four, five, or six
subjects on each side (the pencil point digging
spiritedly through from the foregrounds of the front
into the tender pieces of sky on the back)-. Some in
chalk, which the touch of the finger would sweep
away. The best book of studies for his great ship
wrecks contained about a quarter of a pound of
chalk debris, black and white, broken off the crayons
with which Turner had drawn furiously on both sides
of the leaves ; every leaf, with peculiar foresight and
consideration of difficulties to be met by future
mounters, containing half of one subject on the front
of it, and half of another on the back. Others in
ink, rotted into holes. Others (some splendid- colon red
drawings among them) long eaten away by damp and
mildew, and falling into dust at the edges, in various

312 THE DEBRIS OF A LIFE.
states of fragile decay. Others worm-eaten; some
mouse-eaten; many torn half-way through ; numbers
doubled (quadrupled, I should say) into four, being
Turner's favourite mode of packing for travelling;
nearly all rudely flattened out from the bundles in
which Turner had finally rolled them up and squeezed
them into the drawers in Queen Anne-street. Dust,
of thirty years' accumulation, black,, dense, and
sooty, lay in the rents of , the crushed and crumpled
edges of these flattened bundles, looking like a jagged
black frame, and producing altogether unexpected
effects in brilliant portions of skies, whence an acci
dental or experimental finger-mark of the first
bundle unfolder had swept it away.
" About half, or rather more, of the entire number
consisted of pencil, sketches' in flat oblong pocket-
books, dropping to pieces at the back, tearing late
rally whenever opened, and every drawing rubbing
itself into the one opposite. These first I paged with
my own hand, then unbound, and laid every leaf
separately on a clean, sheet of perfectly smooth
writing-paper, so that it might receive no further
injury. Then enclosing the contents and boards of
each book (usually ninety -two leaves, more or less
drawn on both sides, with two sketches on the boards
at the beginning and end) in a separate sealed packet,
I returned it to its tin box. The loose sketches needed
more trouble. The dust had first to be got off them
(from the chalk ones it could only be blown off), then
they had to be variously flattened ; the torn ones to be
laid down, the loveliest guarded so as to prevent all
future friction, and four hundred of the most characte-

LUMBER. 313
ristic framed and glazed, and cabinets constructed for
them, which would admit of their free use by the
public." How sad this reads. These sketches were the drift
and debris of a 'moraine, the lumber of an unhappy
man's life, the half-fulfilled purposes of a confused,
entangled life. What despair there was in that dread
of looking over the records of the past; despair of
working his destiny into one harmonious whole!
Whoever looks at his own lumber but says to him
self, there are so many more unfulfilled intentions,
so many dwarfed expectations, so many stunted
hopes, so many disappointments added to the old
store.

314

CHAPTER XVII.
THE TURNER PORTRAITS.
There is a current notion prevailing, that.no portrait
of Turner exists. Perhaps no great artist was oftener
sketched ; from behind pictures, from the ambush of
dark corners of exhibition rooms, the busy pencil was'
perpetually recording him.
Mr. Mulready drew him, Mr. Gilbert drew him,
Mr. Linnel drew him, Mr. Dance drew him, Mr.
Munro drew him, Mr. Fawkes drew him ; and so, says
Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his very inaccurate me
moir, did Mr. Maclise and Mr. Charles Turner.
Yet the painter never sat willingly but once. He
had a settled idea that if the public saw his portrait,
they would think less of his pictures.
I know for certain that he sat to Dance for the
portrait published in 1800, when Turner was R.A.,
and twenty-five years old. This portrait is one of
a series of Academician portraits published by George
Dance. It shows us a handsome young man, with
rather large features, a full, prominent nose, a fine,
strong-willed chin, and a rather sensual mouth, the
lower lip of which is fleshy, and the upper lip beauti
fully curved. The eyebrow is arched, and the eyelids

TURNEE.
FROM DANCE'S PORTRAIT.

d'orsay. 315
long, presenting a great depth between the eye and the
eyebrow. The forehead is full, but rather receding,
and is covered with a stray wisp of hair, as Turner
always kept it. The hair, close and thick, and rather
stubborn-looking, is long behind, and tied with a
ribbon. He wears a white cravat, the ends of
which bulge out in front of his waistcoat. The cape
of his coat is of immense width, and the lapels
are thrown back in a careless, but still rather cava
lier way. Indeed, in this portrait, unless Dance's
pencil has flattered, Turner looks a frank, handsome-
hearted young man of genius, as far as appearance
goes. The portrait might be as well that of a young
general or a young statesman, for the expression is at
once winning and commanding.
In 1851, the year Turner died, a flimsy caricature
of the artist was published by that feeble dilettante,
Count D'Orsay; Sir Edwin Landseer is said to
have retouched it. It must have been drawn from
memory not many months before, at some soiree, at
which Turner and the Count were both present — per
haps at Mr. Windus's.
The Count evidently drew Turner, not from any
admiration of his genius, of which he probably under
stood nothing, but as being a character, and old-
fashioned in dress and manner. Some of Turner's
friends think this a base caricature, while others
regard it as, after all, the best likeness extant. I
regard it as at least an admirable record of his cos
tume and attitude. His enormous, loose, large-
buttoned dress coat, with the square wide tails and
the outside pockets, are very characteristic ; so are his

316 SIR EDWIN.
white cravat and frilled shirt; so are the meagre
dancing shoes and the rudely-made trousers. I like,
too, the grim listening air with which, as he stands
near the piano, he stirs round his cup of tea.
But whether he ever wore that wobegone misery
aspect, I cannot say, though the amateur artist has
certainly given the face a look of declining health and
vitality. The nose sharpens, the cheeks sink, the
mouth falls in, the eye is feeble, even the hair is lean
and sickly. Death is very near at hand with the
great artist, and is watching him even now in that
room echoing with music and sparkling with lights.
One day, at a dinner-party given on a varnishing
day at Mr. Wells', Sir Edwin Landseer exhibited a
little portrait of Turner that he had painted on his
palette at the Academy that morning. It was very
clever; every one, liked it; many thought it perfect.
Unluckily, an artist present induced Sir Edwin (who
knows not how to say " No " ) to give it him. In order to
carry it home, the pleased man put it into his hat ; un
luckily, the colours were wet, and when the artist took
off his hat on reaching home, the picture had stuck to
his hair, and was entirely blurred and spoiled, and the
likeness effaced.
Mr. White, the well-known picture-dealer of Mad-
dox-street, has in his possession the precious portrait of
Turner painted surreptitiously by Mr. Linnel, from
sittings unconsciously given him at Mr. Daniel's dinner
parties. Mr. White naturally enough attaches great
value to this relic, and keeps it enclosed in a sort of
altar- case, as if it were a Leonardo or a Raphael.
Yet many of the best judges do not think it very

THE PORTRAIT TAKEN BY STEALTH. 317
correct in likeness. It was arranged by Mr. Daniel
that at these premeditated dinners, Mr. Linnel should
sit opposite Turner, so as to carry off a vivid memory
of his face; but few men, and those only born portrait-
painters, can remember faces with perfect accuracy,
and then merely as sketches, and not in detail of outline
and colour. Still, with all its defects ( especially that of
being rather smaller than life), this is an interesting
picture, and worthy of record. The picture with this
strange history represents Turner in almost the prime
of life, and in the fantastic full-dress of the George IV.
period ; red velvet waistcoat, dandy coat with velvet
collar, a high wall of stiff black satin stock, the ends
cascading down over his shirt-front, and fastened
with a red coral breast-pin. It is not the barber's son
we see, but the great Mr. Turner, R. A., who proposed
an Irish tour to Mr. Thomas Moore — the Turner who
was kind to poor Campbell, and who climbed up
Arthur's Seat with old Sir Walter Scott.
Mr. Ruskin does not think this portrait like him.
Mr. Griffith, who knew Turner at the time when it
was taken, considers it " a very good likeness." I
applied to Mr. Linnel for his version of this story,
and he wrote me the following letter : —
" The history of my portrait of Turner the Great
is a very short one. I painted it from recollection, at
the request of a friend of his, at whose table we fre
quently met. I made no memorandum at the time of
meeting, but painted from memory entirely, the first
opportunity. I believe the portrait was painted about
1837, and as the friend for whom it was intended
died, it remained with me until I sold it to Mr. D.

318 CHARLES TURNER.
T. White, the picture-dealer in Maddox-street, Han
over-square. I have also a very careful outline of
Turner's father, taken when attending his son's lecture
at the Royal Academy, about 1810, and a sketch of
the eyes and brow looking down at the lecturer. The
picture was intended for Mr. Birch, of Birmingham,
and was I believe valued at 200 guineas; it is now
worth triple that sum. It is a vivacious likeness, and
highly interesting to those who knew the great
painter twenty years ago."
There is yet another portrait to record. Mr.
Charles Turner, A.R.A., the mezzotint engraver of
his " Liber Studiorum," and his oldest and most con
stant friend, was so desirous of securing a likeness of
him at all hazards, that he availed himself, from time
to time, of every opportunity of collecting memo
randa for the purpose. He at length obtained a most
characteristic portrait in oil, small half-size, in the
act of sketching. The singularity of his dress and
figure have been scrupulously attended to, and it has
been pronounced an admirable and faithful likeness.
I believe that Mr. C. Turner engraved this portrait.
" He at length," says another account, " obtained a
portrait of his friend ; it has been pronounced by Sir
Charles Eastlake, Mr. George Jones, Mr. Alfred Cha-
lon, Mr. David Roberts, Mr. Willmore, and other
friends of the great deceased, who have seen it, to be
an admirable and faithful likeness."
Turner distinctly told one of his friends that he
did sit for Dance's portrait of him. His less enthu
siastic friends describe him as having a red Jewish

THE GOOD BIT OF COLOUR. 319
face with staring bluish-grey eyes, and the smallest
and dirtiest hands on record. His complexion was
very coarse and weather-beaten, the cuticle was that
of a stage- coachman or an old man-of-war boatswain.
It was as tough as the skin of a rhinoceros, and red
as the shell of a boiled lobster. That complexion told
of rough days, when the rain had driven in his eyes
as he sat on diligence roofs, or in boats lifting over
enormous waves. The sea wind had buffeted him,
the hot Italian sun had parched and browned him.
His dress was always careless and often dirty, his
sleeves were long, so as to hide his small pliable hands.
Latterly he improved in his costume, thanks to the
care of his Chelsea housekeeper, and even shone out
at Academy meetings in a red velvet waistcoat. On
one occasion he was particularly struck by his friend
Jones's blue waistcoat, and its contrast with ' a red
scarf worn underneath. " I like that, Joney," said
Turner; "good bit of colour, Joney;" and soon after
he appeared in the same effective dress. A hat with
the nap carefully brushed the wrong way was also one
of Turner's characteristics.
" Turner had fine intelligent eyes, dark blue or
mazarine," says Mr. Trimmer, " and, as it is said of
Swift's, they were heavy rather than animated. He had
a pleasing but melancholy expression. His conversa
tion was always sensible, and in all matters connected
with his profession invaluable. He dressed in black,
with short black gaiters, and though neat, was not
smart. He was retired in his habits, and sensitive
in his feelings; he was an excessively kind-hearted

320 HIS OWN PORTRAIT.
person, and fond of children, says one who knew him.
His domestic life was founded on the models of the
old masters, his conversation was most correct, and
no one more upheld the decencies of society.*
" He had been focused of miserly habits, but as it
was known full thirty years before his death that he
was accumulating his property for decayed artists and
their families, he cannot be charged with selfishness.
If he exacted from publishers the market value of his
great talents, do such persons as a class act differently
with inferior talents? I believe he was hard in his
dealings with engravers ; in fact, he was averse to any
but first-rate hands engraving his pictures."
Turner's own portrait, as painted by himself, is
rather brown in colour, but fine in expression. The
forehead is high, the rather too large nose cleverly
concealed by being taken full- face. The lip is full,
but not unduly so. The chin is strong and Napo
leonic. The young artist wears a huge cape to his
coat; the fashionable double waistcoat, and a full
white handkerchief, with pendent ends, round his neck ;
the colour is wanting in tenderness, and in trying for
breadth the greys have been sacrificed.
Turner's iron-grey eye (it was really blue), says
Mr. Goodall, seemed to strike through you. There
was a great consciousness of power in it. When ani
mated, Turner's eyes were quite handsome, says an
old friend. Turner's eyes were blue as enamel, and
were round, staring, and bull-like as those of Frederick
the Great's.
* It is remarkable that in his will he restricts his charities to
persons born in lawful wedlock.

JOHN GILBERT. 321
Mr. Leslie, after deriding D'Orsay's libel, errs in
saying that Turner never sat to any one, and never
would ; but it is true he thought himself coarse, ugly,
unpoetical-looking, and said, " that if he had por
traits taken people would never believe he painted his
own pictures."
Leslie describes Turner as short and stout, and with
a sturdy, sailor-like walk, He says : " There was, in
fact, nothing elegant in his appearance — full of
elegance as he was in art. He might have been taken
for the captain of a river steamer at first sight, but a
second would find far more in his face than belongs
to any ordinary mind. There was that peculiar keen
ness of expression in his eye that is only seen in men
of constant habits of observation. His voice was deep
and musical."
Mr. John Gilbert, one of the first of modern
draughtsmen on wood, took a sketch of Turner on
one of the varnishing days of the last Exhibition at
the British Institution (1841) to which he contri
buted. Turner's picture was not finished, for latterly he
finished them always on the walls; Mounted on a
box, the little squab man was scumbling (driving
opaque paint in a transparent coat) in the rays of
the sun, which, in the exact centre of the picture
(says Mr. Gilbert), projected like the boss on an an
cient shield. Mr. Gilbert watched him as he worked,
and took a sketch, which he afterwards from memory
elaborated. The sketch (which appeared long ago in one of
Cassell's publications) represents, very humorously
VOL. II. y

322 AN ENEMY'S POINT OF VIEW.
and vigorously, the awkward, untidy dress of the
painter; and the swab of a handkerchief hanging
from the side-pocket of his tail-coat, the large,
almost Jewish nose, the loose, slovenly trousers, and
the eagle eyes, are not easily forgotten.
That most foul-mouthed of Turner's detractors,
the late Mr. Rippingille, gives the following hostile
view of his manner, face, and bearing. I should
call it, " How Turner struck an enemy."
" Personally, Turner was as much a character as
his house, and as cold and forbidding in aspect. I
have witnessed meetings between him and those who
considered themselves in the light of friends. I have
seen a ' friend' seize his arm in a public room, and
attempt to walk and to speak with him ; and have
seen him receive much the same treatment as a
butcher would meet with who attempted to put his
arm under the fore-leg of an unsocial and imprac
ticable pig. It is said he could talk, and that he
had a good deal of sedate fun, seasoned with a spice
of sarcasm : I have heard casual remarks from him,
which betrayed neither of these qualities — except,
perhaps, a little of the last, which I observed was
accompanied with a certain self-complacent grunt.
He professed to know me personally, and once or
twice I have put this knowledge to the direct test by
asking him who I was, and by his reply have ascer
tained that his recollection was about as good as his
word, or his acquaintance. I know a gentleman who
sat next him at a dinner-table, one, too, of such a
stock of resources and acquirements as would move
a stoic, but not more than a few words could be

THE VULGAR MAN. 323
obtained from Turner. It was clear that Turner
was at home, from the familiar way in which he
addressed one of the ladies of the family ; and his
silence or sulkiness was afterwards accounted for by
the master of the house calling him aside, and point
edly asking him what was the matter, when it was
ascertained that, upon handing him his cheque for a
seven-hundred-pound picture, he had forgotten to pay
the hire of the coach in which Turner had come,
and brought the picture with him. There is but
little dependence to be placed upon the numerous
stories extant, and by no means to his credit ; I there
fore speak only of what I know and saw. Turner
was a short, vulgar-looking man, with an ordinary
head, and a coarse, red, ' pimply' face, utterly devoid
of any degree of refinement or intelligence. I can
not recollect any other clever man I ever saw who
did not carry evidence of the fact in his face ; Turner
was the exception. It was impossible to make any
thing of such a head, such a face, look, and expres
sion. So far from its bearing the impress of any
thing like thought, there was a vulgar, half-sup
pressed giggle, that seemed imprisoned in features
too rigid or obstinate to let it escape; while in the
twinkle of his eye there was a kind of triumph and
self-satisfaction, as much as to say, you 'might look,
but you could not make him out ; but with this he
showed no disposition to face, but to escape from,
observation." This is little better than mere spite, and the^ poi
sonous envy that ever rankles in the heart of a dis
appointed man. From such men too often come
y2

324 TURNER FURIOSO.
our satirists, our epigrammatists, and our critics;
and the world, leaning ever to the worst side, takes
their bitterness for honesty. Yet, so far it is true,
that Turner was a stumpy, ill-dressed man, with a red
face and something of a satyr's mouth; but this was
towards the close of his life.
I have seen an admirable caricature of Turner by
that clever coloured caricaturist, Mr. Chalon, which
represents him with little staring grey eyes, arched,
astonished eyebrows, and very scarlet face. Mr.
Mulready also possesses an inimitable little sketch of
Turner furens, taken by stealth at an Academy
Council where the artist was thwarted. He looks
ready for a spring ; Achilles chafing in his tent could
not have appeared more grandly furious. Mr. Mul
ready has caught the true yet momentary expres
sion. Mr. Rippingille (who viewed Turner with the
jaundiced eye of envy) also says of him, " He was
short, stumpy, and vulgar, without one redeeming
personal qualification, slovenly in dress, not over
cleanly, and devoid of all signs of the habits of a
gentleman, or a man moving in good society."

TURNEB.
FROM BAILY'S STATUE.

325

CHAPTER XVIII.

TURNERS GENIUS.

With a Resume of Mr. Ruskin' s Criticisms on the Chief
Features of his Styles.
With all the delights of a perpetual study of nature
in her loveliest haunts, Turner's life was an unhappy
one. Born in a sordid house, his mother insane, the
dwarfed mind of his father unable to comprehend him,
unfortunate in love, struggling on as a small draw
ing-master and painter of backgrounds ; then battling
with the engravers and publishers, with no wife to
share his cares and console him in his disappoint
ments; surrounded by jealous rivals, neglected by
the rich cognoscenti of the day, unable to sell the
most favourite works of his genius, Turner arrived at
middle life before he could be said to have attained
any certainty of fame. In a room that resembled the
miserable Barry's, he lived his enthusiast life, with
no companion but his old housekeeper — the some
what more than housekeeper, other than wife — finally
retiring to a fresh haunt at Chelsea to die, untended
but by the mercenary love of a new mistress, with no
hope for the next world, as there had been none in
this. Then the melancholy result of an entangled
and ill thought-out existence — blunders growing from

326 IMITATIONS.
blunders, and culminating in that of a confused and
half-cancelled will.
Relations, disregarded or disliked, dispute the will.
The great charity that has been the great man's
thought for forty years falls to the ground (surely
Turner must have moved in his coffin if he heard the
decision), and a poor 20,000/. goes to the Royal Aca
demy — a body already groaning with useless wealth.
Unhappy result of a confused life ! Turner's charity
falls to the ground. The wish, Turner's ambition (his
baser part), is gratified. There will be a 1000/. statue
in St. Paul's, where Turner lies, tranquilly and with
out jostling, between Sir Joshua and Barry. There
will be a Turner gallery devoted to his best and worst
works. There will be a Turner gold medal given
away at stated periods ; but the good he wished to do
is not done.
To Mrs. Radcliffe and Thomson Mr. Ruskin
thinks we first owe an escape from the Queen Anne
formalism of literature. In both these writers we
find expressions of a love for wild nature. Then
came Scott and the Lake poets to develope it
further, and to teach us to sympathize with Gothic
architecture, all agreeing in a love for natural scenery.
To supply the same want in art, Turner and his
brother landscape-painters arose.
Turner never imitated Salvator Rosa — because he
had rocks and torrents of his own to go and copy
and recompose from — he imitated Morland, Wilson,
Reynolds, and Loutherbourg, but never West or
Fuseli. Tintoret and Paul Veronese were of service
to him, says Mr. Ruskin, but how I do not know.

TREES. 327
Titian Turner competed with in his " Venus and
Adonis." Turner has been heard to rebuke a young
man at a party for foolishly running down Titian;
and the putting in of the beech-leaves in the upper
right-hand corner of "Peter Martyr" he has been
known to mention with " singular delight." One day,
at the British Institution, as he was looking with
admiration at a glowing Cuyp, Turner said to a friend,
" They would have called that too warm if I had
done it."
Turner painted views of Cashiobury, for the Earl
of Essex, of the highest quality; one in parti^
cular, once in the collection of Mr. Windus, where
the light falls on the floor of a vaulted apartment
through a stained-glass window, stands unequalled.
He has introduced a rich Persian table-cover, which
for careful finish is as elaborate as anything of the
Dutch masters.
On the subject of Turner's treatment of trees, Mr.
Ruskin says : —
" These two characters, the woody stiffness hinted
through muscular line, and the inventive grace of the
upper boughs, have never been rendered except by
Turner; he does not merely draw them better than
others, but he is the only man who has ever drawn
them at all. Of the woody character, the. tree sub
jects of the 'Liber Studiorum' afford marked ex
amples; the 'Cephalus and Procris,' 'Scenes near
the Grand Chartreuse,' and ' Blair- Athol,' ' Juvenile
Tricks,' and ' Hedging and Ditching,' may be par
ticularized; in the England series, the ' Bolton Abbey'
is perhaps a more characteristic and thoroughly

328 SUN COLOUR.
Turneresque example than any. ... In the group
of trees on the left in Turner's ' Marley,' we have
there perfect and ceaseless intricacy to oppose to
Poussin, perfect and unbroken repose to oppose to Hob-
bima, and in the unity of these the perfection of truth.
This group may be taken as a fair standard of Tur
ner's tree-painting. We have in it the admirable-
drawn stems, instead of the claws or the serpents ;
full, transparent, boundless intricacy, instead of the
shell pattern ; and misty depth of intermingled light
and leafage, instead of perpetual repetition of one
mechanical touch."
No one now will accuse Turner of gaudiness of
colour when they have once studied the burning
crimsons and purple of a summer sunset or the
luminous folds of a white cloud with the sun on it.
Turner used pure colour only in minute touches, and
knew that all paint was clay compared with light and
flame. Once, to give verdure with sunshine on it,
he used pure yellow in this way, in his determination
to express its relative intensity of light.
Turner never gives detail on near objects in cold
sky blue; he uses it only where Nature uses it, and
brings in his warm colour directly detail and surface
become visible by light. His works are distinguished
by the intensity of light he sheds through every hue,
as he never lowered his middle tint to give greater
value to his high light, as the old masters did. It is
this unusual brilliancy that makes his pictures some
times appear to ignorant critics glaring and dazzling.
No one is more cautious and sparing in the use of
pure colour than Turner. He attains his brilliancy

CUYP AND TURNER. 829
by his variety and subtlety of semitones. He stipples
his grounds, not his shadows, with one broad yet
sharp touch.
Mr. Ruskin says that there is no instance in the
works of Turner of anything so faithful and imitative
of sunshine as the best parts of Cuyp; but at the
same time there is not such solecism in them.
Cuyp gives us only a narrow view of Nature, and
is too intent on the truth of his omnipresent sun
shine to think of any other truth. Cuyp is trying
for tone, not colour ; he is giving us a monochrome in
gold colour. But Turner wants colour, and he must
give us both cold and warm colour. He must have
his contrast and balance, his forte and piano. He
shows us the sunset in the west, and he shows us the
colour dying off cold to the east. As instances of
this sacrifice of tone to colour, Mr. Ruskin adduces
the blue and white stripes on the drifting flag in the
" Slave Ship," and the white part of the dress of the
" Napoleon," which, though valuable for colour, are
discords in tone.
The best proof of the grammatical accuracy of the
tones of Turner, is the perfect and unchanging in
fluence of all his pictures at any distance. Some of
his pictures seem to me too artificially balanced with
hot and cold colour ; yet Turner did what no one had
attempted before, he gave us reverse tones in one
picture. Speaking of Turner, Mr. Ruskin says : —
" Colour without form is less frequently obtainable ;
and it may be doubted whether it be desirable ; yet I
think that to the full enjoyment of it a certain sacri-

330

SKIES.

fice of form is necessary; sometimes by reducing it
to the shapeless glitter of the gem, as often Tintoret
and Bassano ; sometimes by loss of outline and blend
ing of parts, as Turner ; sometimes by flatness of mass,
as often Giorgione and Titian.
" Now, in Turner's power of associating cold with
warm light no one has ever approached, or even
ventured into the same field with him. The old
masters, content with one simple tone, sacrificed to
its unity all the exquisite gradations and varied
touches of relief and change by which nature unites
her hours with each other. They gave the warmth
of the sinking sun, overwhelming all things in its
gold, but they did not give those grey passages about
the horizon, where, seen through its dying light, the
cool and the gloom of night gather themselves for
their victory. Whether it was in them impotence or
judgment, it is not for me to decide. I have only to
point to the daring of Turner in this respect as some
thing to which art affords no matter of comparison,
as that in which the mere attempt is, in itself, supe
riority." In the " Rivers of France," you see very small
quantities of excessive light or excessive shade ; always
sharp, decisive, and conspicuous, the mass of the
picture is infinitely graduated middle tint. In later
works, Turner surrounds light with shade.
In criticizing Turner's skies, Mr. Ruskin says :—
" Take up one of Turner's skies, and see whether
he is as narrow in his conception, or as niggardly in
his space. It does not matter which we take; his
sublime ' Babylon' is a fair example for our present

THE SEA. 331
purpose. Ten miles away down the Euphrates, where
it gleams last along the plain, he gives us a drift of
dark elongated vapour, melting beneath into a dim
haze which embraces the hills on the horizon. It is
exhausted with its own motion, and broken up by the
wind in its own mass into numberless groups of
billowy and tossing fragments, which, beaten by the
weight of storm down to the earth, are just lifting '
themselves again on wearied wings, and perishing in
the effort. Above these, and far beyond them, the
eye goes back to a broad sea of white illuminated mist,
or rather cloud melted into rain, and absorbed again
before that rain has fallen, but penetrated throughout,
whether it be vapour or whether it be dew, with soft
sunshine, turning it as white as snow. Gradually, as
it rises, the rainy fusion ceases. Now, this is nature !
It is the exhaustless living energy with which the
universe is filled; and what will you set beside it of
the works of other men?"
Mr. Ruskin speaks of Turner's pathetic interest in
the sea, and of his inexhaustible knowledge of ship
ping. It is hardly necessary to remark how deeply
he loved the Thames; his first oil picture was the
" Moonlight at Millbank." I believe he kept a boat
on the river. He once spent a whole season sailing
up and down to the Nore and back; four typical
pictures of his at four different periods of his career
were devoted to the Thames — i.e. " Millbank,"
" Greenwich," " Kingston," and " Richmond."
Mr. Dillon, one of the great Turner collectors, says
beautifully of his genius : — ¦
" The premature discontinuance of that work (the

332 GENIUS.
'Liber') would appear to have left incomplete the
plan he had formed of formally arranging and ex
pressly illustrating the varied objects of art under
these or other heads; but the intellect which sug
gested the division, and the grasp of mind which
sought to unite or combine them into a system, con
tinued to direct all his after-labours, and to connect
them into one harmonious whole. His mind was a
generalizing mind. Whatever his subject, there is
always in him a 'touch of nature,' or a word of truth,
which, recalling the past or revealing the future, con
nects the part with the whole, leads us from art to
nature, and conducts us from the individual land
scape to the universe. Thus, for example, it is not
' Coniston Fells' only which we see ; it is morning
amongst the Fells. It is not ' Calais Sands,' but the
far-stretched shores of the ocean. It is not ' Rome,'
ancient or modern, or the ' Fighting T^meraire
tugged to her last berth to be broken up;' it is not
of these only we are reminded, but of the fate and
fall of nations. There lie the ghastly, grisly skele
tons, protected from the birds of the air and the
beasts of the field by Rizpah ! The darkness of night
has fallen on them; but the moonlight, beaming on
the distant sheaves, reveals to us, or reminds us, that
when the sons of Saul were slain, it was ' in the
days of harvest — in the first days, in the beginning
of the barley harvest.' What appear, on first sight,
to be Turner's wildest visions, had an eye to order
and reality, as well as to beauty; and even his ex
periments on colour were founded on a theory, and
tended to a system. He illustrates ' Shade and Dark-

SCARLET. 333
ness,' ' Light and Colour,' by the evening before and
the morning after the Deluge, and conveys ' Goethe's
Theory' by the destruction and renovation of a
world." One of Turner's favourite subtleties was to introduce
scarlet into his skies when he wished to indicate death
or ruin. He did so in the " T^meraire," in the " Fall of
Carthage," in the " Slaver," the " Ulysses," the " Na
poleon," and the " Goldau," and even in a little sad
and tender sketch of dawn made by him in his last
years, which is thus wonderfully pictured by Mr.
Ruskin : —
" It is a small space of level shore ; beyond it a fair
soft light in the east, the last storm-clouds melting
away oblique into the morning air; some little vessel
— a collier, probably — has gone down in the night,
all hands lost; a single dog has come ashore utterly
exhausted, its limbs failing under it ; sinking into the
sand, it stands howling and shivering. The dawn-
clouds have the first scarlet upon them, a feeble tinge
only, reflected with the same feeble blood-stain on the
sand." Mr. Ruskin directs attention to the fact that, in a
twin drawing made as a companion to the " Goldau,"
Turner has made the sun rising above Morgarten,
and gilding the two peaks that protect the village
that gives its name to Switzerland. In all his Cartha
ginian, Venetian, and Roman pictures, Mr. Ruskin
says Turner dwelt on three morals. He used Car
thage to illustrate the dangers of the pursuit of wealth;
Rome to show the fate of ambition ; and Venice to
prove the vanity of pleasure and luxury.

334 clouds.
It is for Turner that his great defender justly
claims pre-eminent superiority in representing the
various forms and phenomena of the cloudy sky,
and in drawing mountains and stones, with a
thorough knowledge of their spirit and organization.
Turner was the first to suit the foreground for the
distance; to show that it was possible to express
foreground proximity without detaining the eye by
made out forms ; he leaves them decisively imperfect,
and so leads you on to the distance that he takes
most delight to express, and in expressing which his
great power lay. He shows us just as much as the
eye sees of forms that its focus is not directed to. He
makes his figures vague lest they should detain the
eye from the magical blue fold on fold of the distance ;
put in better-drawn figures, and the landscape would
be at once destroyed.
Turner gives us all varieties of clouds crowded
together: wind-compelled, as in the "Shylock;"
blended with the sky itself, as in the " Mercury and
Argus;" in equal-rounded flakes, to express repose,
as in the " Aero-Corinth ;" in fiery-flying fragments,
as in the " Temeraire ;" woven together with fine
threads of intermediate darkness, as in the " Na
poleon;" in fleecy lines, as in the "Alps at Daybreak,"
in Rogers's poems; the form, depth, perspective of
each cloud, as well as its individuality, are given by
Turner. Turner's " Rouen," in the " Rivers of
France," is adduced by Mr. Ruskin as a special ex
ample of the quality of infinity that this painter
gives his horizon. He is also equally remarkable for
mists, melting mountain into cloud, or the horizon

THE SLAVE SHIP. 335
into the twilight, of dew rising from hill pastures,
and storms gathering over cliffs. Turner's storms,
deep without blackness, and sharp in outline, as in his
" Passtum," " Stonehenge" and " Winchelsea Castle,"
are inadequately rendered by the engravers, who
blacken the shadows and blunt the sharp edges of the
colour. Generally speaking, I have abstained from quoting
any passages of Mr. Ruskin's for their mere poetry,
unless they really contained some exposition of Turner's
style and mind ; but the following I cannot pass by,
especially as I have not myself seen the picture
alluded to.
" But I think the noblest sea that Turner has ever
painted, and if so, the noblest certainly ever painted
by man, is that of the ' Slave Ship,' the chief Academy
picture of the Exhibition of 1840. It is a sunset on
the Atlantic, after prolonged storm ; but the storm is
partially lulled, and the torn and streaming rain
clouds are moving in scarlet lines to lose themselves
in the hollow of the night. The whole surface of sea
included in the picture is divided into two ridges of
enormous swell, not high nor local, but a low, broad
heaving of the whole ocean, like the lifting of its
bosom by deep-drawn breath after the torture of the
storm. Between these two ridges the fire of the
sunset falls along the trough of the sea, dyeing it with
an awful but glorious light, the intense and lurid splen
dour which burns like gold, and bathes like blood."
In the " Pas de Calais,',' there is a buoy poised on
the ridge of a sea- wave, that casts its reflection verti
cally down the flank of the wave that slopes steeply.

336 WATER.
It is a mistake. But the vertical line is wanted, and
Turner trusted to few of his public spending much
time in observing the reflections of buoys on waves.
(In the above sentence, as in many other places, I
have to thank Mr. Ruskin for criticisms which I have
condensed, but left unaltered in essentials.)
For examples of the sea seen twenty or thirty yards
from the shore, where Turner generally places the
spectator, beyond the first line of breakers, see the
"Land's End," "Fowey," "Dunbar," and "Lang-
bourne." The latter is remarkable for the fine dark
furrows of tremendous swell. The tossing of the
individual lines expresses the sea's fitfurness'and fury,
its "unwearied, reckless incoherency." The waves
are remarkable for their expression of weight, and
their intensity is gained by the sense of breadth, not
by mere height. In open sea, Turner followed too
much the Dutch painters, reserving his chief strength
for coast sea.
For still water, the " Chateau of Prince Albert "
deserves study. It expresses great width; the eye
is kept moving over the surface. There are end
less reflections of sun, sky, and foliage, yet not one
traceable to its exact source. Everything is given
correctly, yet nothing given too definitely, because
the painter knows what to show, and what to conceal.
It is not known how Turner obtained some of the
surface he gives water, but it looks like a modification
of body colour (as in the distance of the " Devon-
port, with the Dockyard "). For extended surface of
water, see the " Loch Katrine " and " Derwentwater "
in Scott's poems, and the " Loch Lomond " vignette

TORRENTS. 337
to Rogers's poems. The first shows distant breeze
on the water; the second, slight motion prolonging
the reflection of the waves ; the third^ full ripple over
the whole surface. For distant rivers, with exquisite
perspective, see the sweeping streams in the " Dry-
burgh and Melrose" (Scott), and the "Rouen, from
St. Catherine's Hill." For showing the height of the
observer above the river, and the loss of reflections,
see the " Caudebec."
Of Turner's torrents, Mr. Ruskin remarks : —
" We see, therefore, why Turner seizes on these
curved lines of the torrent, not only as being among
the most beautiful forms of nature, but because they
are an instant expression of the utmost power and
velocity, and tell us how the torrent has been flowing
before we see it. For the leap and splash might be
seen in the sudden freakishness of a quiet stream, or
the fall of a rivulet over a mill-dam ; but the undu
lating line is the attribute of the mountain-torrent,
whose fall and fury have made the valleys echo for
miles ; and thus the moment we see one of its curves
over a stone in the foreground, we know it has come
far and fiercely. And in the drawing we have been
speaking of, the 'Lower Fall of the Tees,' in the
foreground of the ' Killiecrankie,' and ' Rhymer's
Glen,' and of the ' St. Maurice ' in Rogers's 'Italy,'
we shall find the most exquisite instances of the use
of such lines; but the most perfect of all is the
' Llanthony Abbey,' which may be considered as the
standard of torrent drawing."
Turner's Alps are eminently true in structure, and
might have been drawn by a geologist — the sharp
VOL. II. z

338 MOUNTAINS.
aiguille, the plank-like slab, the fissures, the ridges,
he knew them all. For hills, the " Caudebee," in the
"Rivers of France," is a fine example. Honfleur, and
the scene between Clairmont and Mauves, are also fine
examples of grand and simple treatment. The latter
shows the furrowing of hills by descending water.
You can traverse them mile after mile, such endless
detail is there, and yet such breadth ; never an inch
of unmeaning surface, whether the wooded hills and
undulating moors of North England, the rolling
surges of Southern England park and forest, the soft
vine-clad ranges of the French c6teaux, casting
shadows on silver leagues of glancing rivers, or the
olive-whitened promontories of Alp and Apennine.
Of Turner's mountains, Mr. Ruskin observes : —
" But look at the mass of mountain on the right in
Turner's ' Daphne hunting with Leucippus.' It is
simple, broad, and united as one surge of a swelling
sea; it rises in an unbroken line along the valley, and
lifts its promontories with an equal slope. But it con
tains in its body ten thousand hills. There is not a
quarter of an inch of its surface without its sugges
tion of increasing distance and individual form. First,
on the right, you have a range of tower-like preci
pices, the clinging wood climbing along their ledges
and cresting their summits, white waterfalls gleaming
through its leaves; not as in Claude's scientific ideals,
poured in vast torrents over the top, and carefully
keeping all the way down on the most projecting parts
of the sides ; but stealing downj traced from point to
point, through shadow after shadow, by their evanes
cent foam and flashing light — here a wreath and

MYSTERY. 339
there a ray — through the deep chasms and hollow
ravines, out of which rise the soft, rounded slopes of
mightier mountain, surge beyond surge, immense and
numberless, of delicate and gradual curve, accumu
lating in the sky until their garment of forest is ex
changed for the shadowy fold of slumberous morning
cloud, above which the utmost silver peak shines
islanded and alone. Put what mountain painting you
will beside this of any other artist, and its heights
will look like molehills in comparison, because it will
not have the unity and the multiplicity which are in
nature, and with Turner, the signs of size."
Of Turner's " Mystery," Mr. Ruskin beautifully
says : —
" There is yet not one atom in its whole extent and
mass which does not suggest more than it represents ;
nor does it suggest vaguely, but in such a manner as
to prove that the conception of each individual inch
of that distance is absolutely clear and complete in the
master's mind, a separate picture fully worked out ;
but yet, clearly and fully as the idea is formed, just so
much of it is given, and no more, as nature would
have allowed us to feel or see ; just so much as would
enable a spectator of experience and knowledge to
understand almost every minute fragment of separate
detail, but appears to the unpractised and careless
eye just what a distance of nature's own would
appear, an unintelligible mass. Perhaps the truth of
this system of drawing is better to be understood by
observing the distant character of rich architecture
than of any other object. Go to the top of Highgate-
hill on a clear summer morning at five o'clock, and
z 2

340 FOREGROUNDS.
look at Westminster Abbey, you will receive an im
pression of a building enriched with multitudinous
' vertical lines. Try to distinguish one of these lines all
the way down from the one next to it ; you cannot.
Try to count them; you cannot. Try to make out
the beginning or end of any one of them; you cannot.
Look at it generally, and it is all symmetry and ar
rangement ; look at it in its parts, and it is all inex
tricable confusion. Am I not at this moment de
scribing a piece of Turner's drawing with the same
words by which I describe nature ?"
Turner used to say that he found moonlights very
difficult. Petter, Barrett, and Loutherbourg had
tired the public of them. The finest I know in his
works is the " Villa Madonna" in Rogers's "Italy."
His early picture of moonlight at Millbank is very
opaque, and is more like lamplight. It is imitative
of a Dutch effect.
In all Turner's works there will be seen a truly
Wordsworthian recognition of detail and a love of
common things. His sympathy is with the life he
sees and shares in. Under the ruined Northumbrian
castle he shows you the steamer, and in the fore
ground of the scene, where the avalanche falls and
the inundation rises, he places the homely red bundle
and the gridiron.
Turner was too great a man for affected archaisms.
Talking of Turner's foregrounds, Mr. Ruskin says :
" The utmost that Turner ever allows in his fore
grounds is a water-lily or two, a cluster of heath or
foxglove, a thistle sometimes, a violet or daisy, or a

turner's faults. 341
bindweed bell, just enough to lead the eye into the
understanding of the rich mystery of his more dis
tant leafage."
But while thus expressing my admiration and
astonishment at the genius of Turner, I should not
be a lover of truth were I to conceal my opinion of
his faults. In many respects he was born at an un
fortunate period. He was compelled at first to be
imitative in order to sell. He was now trying to see
nature like Vandervelde— now to turn English hills
into Poussin mountains — now to lap his canvas in
Cuyp's sunshine ; sometimes because the manner of
these painters was more like nature than he could
yet reach, but more often because buyers would not
look at any picture that was not in the Vandervelde
or Claude manner.
Later, there fell upon Turner a baser spirit, that
of rivalry ; not the wish to paint like Claude, because
Claude's manner sold, or because Claude often ob
tained a serenity of air that was pure and exquisite,
but because he was determined to show that he could
paint better than Claude, with more grandeur and
more thought.
Turner, born in a Claude atmosphere, nursed at
the foot of a Vandervelde, and nurtured on Thom
son, and Akenside as his poetical food, lived long
enough to see a new and daring sect of reformers
arise in art — men whose creed emerged from the
Gpthic reaction, and was a pushing forward of the
old Wordsworthian lines into new regions of conven
tion. Indirectly they were disciples of Tennyson

342 BAD COLOUR.
and assailants of all academic and eclectic precedent.
They arose to renovate art by a series of great experi
ments not altogether untinged with rashness, obsti
nacy, arrogance, pedantry, affectation, and absurdity.
They talked of Dante and the thirteenth century, of
Giotto, Cimabue,.and Fra Angelico; they resolved to
paint no more effete subjects, but to read and think
for themselves. They were all young men, of course,
and they laughed bitterly at the old conservatives,
at the Don Quixote painters and the conventional
landscape-painters, at the sham idealists, and the
inflated historical painters. They were religionists,
these young men, and really in earnest ; but quaint,
well read, and fond of chivalry and the Italian
poets. Nor can I (as I am making a clean breast of it)
conceal either the fact that, whether from carelessness,
fatigue, or experiment, Turner's colour was often
weak, and sometimes downright bad. In his York
shire drawings his blue distances have often a dis
agreeable green tinge about them. In some of the
England series there is a violent foxy tone, very hot
and oppressive. In the Roman oil pictures there
often prevails a mustardy yellow, which perhaps
seemed beautiful at the time, but is now quite out of
tone. Vermilion shadows in flesh I have not a word
to say for; nor do I like the opacity of his Vander
velde period more than I do the crude staring whites of
the architecture in some of his later Venetian pictures.
" Turner is exceedingly unequal," says Mr. Ruskin
(vol. i. p. 134), "most frequently in elaborate com
positions from redundant quantity. Sometimes from

FAILURES. 343
over-care, as very signally in a large and most
laboured drawing of 'Bamborough Castle.' Some
times his eye for colour seems to fail, as in ' Rome
from the Forum,' ' Cicero's Villa,' and ' Building of
Carthage.' Sometimes criminally, from taking
licences, or indulging in conventionalities. His dry
sea that does not wet the boat in one of his storms is
specially reprehensible, and so is the occasional foxy
colour, as in his drawing of ' Oxford,' in Mr. Munro's
collection. His 'Blenheim' is an almost unique
instance of failure in composition, as the Duke's
house is the last thing the eye observes. There is
sometimes, too, a livid purple about his colour which
is far from pleasing."
Mr. Ruskin observes, when we come to treat of
the sublime: —
" I shall only point to an unfortunate instance of
inexcusable and effectless exaggeration in the dis
tance of Turner's vignette to Milton, ' The Temptation
on the Mountain,' and desire the reader to compare it
with legitimate exaggeration in his vignette to the
second part of ' Jacqueline,' in Rogers's poems."
Mr. Ruskin makes, I think, too much of Turner's
dragon in the " Garden of the Hesperides." The
jaws are thin and weak, and would break off when
they took a bite at a stone. The claws do not fix
with any power. It is said that Turner drew it from
a pasteboard dragon that had been used in a London
pantomime. "Always take advantage of an acci
dent," was one of his mottoes.
Of the fault of Turner's second period Mr. Ruskin
says : —

344 'over' done.
" He saw there were more clouds in any sky than
ever had been painted, more trees in every forest,
more crags on every hill-side; and he set himself
with all his strength to proclaim this great fact of
quantity in the universe.
" Now, so long as he introduced all these three
changes in an instructive and unintruding way his
work was noble ; but the moment he tried to idealize,
and introduced his principles for the sake of display,
they led him into depths of error proportioned ex
actly to the extent of effort. His painting at this
period, of an English town, or a Welsh hill, was
magnificent and faultless; but all his idealism, my
thology, romance, and composition in general were
more or less wrong. He erred through all, and by
reason of all, his great discoveries. He erred in
colour, because, not content with discerning the
brilliancy of Nature, he tried to enhance that bril
liancy by every species of colour accessory, until
colour was killed by colour, and the blue skies and
snowy mountains, which would have been lovely by
themselves, were confused and vulgarized by the blue
dresses and white complexions of the foreground
figures. He erred in refinement, because, not content
with the natural tenderness of tender things, he strove
to idealize even strong things into tenderness, until
his architecture became transparent and his ground
ghostly ; and he erred finally and chiefly in quantity."
I have tried carefully, yet without malice, to show
that Turner was not immaculate ; that with all his
genius there was no finality in him; and that, with

DOLL-FIGURES. 345
all his knowledge and industry, a genius may still
arise who may combine great truth and quantity
with better drawing of the figure, less classic con
vention, and a more exact delineation of nature.
His faults in linear perspective were not unfrequent,
although he had made that science his special study ;
his colour was subject to aberrations, and in oil
painting his work was too often experimental and
perishable. He too often used dangerous vegetable
colours and uncertain vehicles ; his skies darken and
crack, his distemper pictures wash out. Indeed, I
sometimes fear that in time we shall have, after all,
to turn to that wonderful " Liber" as the great monu
ment of his genius.
It must not be thought that Turner always drew
such distorted, doll-figures as in the " Phryne," the
" Exile," &c. In the drawings of his best period
the figures are always firmly, expressively, and in
telligently drawn, often with admirable grace and
truth. The figures in the " Liber " are generally
beautiful to line and composition. The life-studies
in Turner's sketch-books are not unworthy of a pro
fessional figure-painter. The " Venus and Adonis "
in Mr. Munro's gallery is ostentatiously well drawn.
In his best moments no one knew better than Turner
how to express momentary action in a figure. In
the illustrations to Scott there are figures worthy of
any landscape-painter, and a thousand times superior
to those puerile inanities of Claude, which are so
feeble and so unreal. In his later pictures Turner's
sense of form became utterly weakened, partly, per-

346 RE-ARRANGING NATURE.
haps, from a lessening of mental power, and still
more from his sensual sacrifice of every other quality
to that of colour.
The fatal conventionalisms of an artificial and past
age had too deep a hold on Turner's mind. The dreams
of a false and obscene mythology that he could not
understand, and with which the great world never
did and never will sympathize, excited his imagi
nation. He could not appreciate our real national
architecture. The Gothic ruins he spent half his
life drawing, never really touched his heart as they
did Scott's and Wordsworth's.
He had, too, a fatal belief of the necessity of re
arranging Nature. Few of his later works are faith
ful representations of the places they pretend to
describe. He was always remaking the world ac
cording to some ideal theory of his own.
I think, after all, that Turner was a better water-
colour than oil painter. He never acquired the built-
up solidity of Titian's handling, or the vigour and
dash of Velasquez. To the last he was rather a
" niggler" in oil, often brown and heavy, oftener still
flimsy and fantastic, in execution, confounding the
shadow and the substance, heightening the colour,
and exaggerating the reflections and subtleties of
Nature. I am sure that, with the exception of the " Poly
phemus" and the "Temeraire," his water-colour
drawings were more unapproachable than his oil,
more aerial, more tender, more magical. I am not
sure if the " Liber Studiorum," for variety, grasp,
versatility, and handling, is not, both in the etchings

VERSATILITY. 347
and the unfinished states, more wonderful than any
thing else he did.
Of his later works I am no defender. They are
dreams, challenges, theories, experiments, and ab
surdities. The figures are generally contemptible.
The colour, that of fireworks, rising sometimes almost
to insanity, and occasionally sinking into imbecility.
The eye is dim, the sense of form was lost, the out
lines are gone, the sentiment only remains. They
are certainly what no one else could do; but, then,
no one wishes to do them.
If I was, in as few words as possible, to try to
describe the special characteristics of Turner's genius,
I should not select the versatility that led him from
poor English hedgers and ditches to Jason on the war-
trail and Ulysses triumphing at the sunrise, nor to
the industry that produced twenty thousand sketches,
but the wide sympathies that made him take as
great an interest in a plain Scottish peat-bog as in
the most gorgeous visions of Modern Italy, or the
wildest depths of the Alps, the aerial perspective in
which he revels in the " Modern Italy," the " Bay
of Baiae," and the " Crossing of the Brook," and the
extraordinary " multitude " and quantity which we
see in his " Grenoble," in the " Liber," &c. Turner
was the first to venture to place twenty miles qf land
scape within the four walls of a frame ; he was the first
to attempt all natural phenomena, first to give us storm
and sunshine; in fact, to widen on all sides the hitherto
narrow dominions of landscape-painting.

348 A DANGEROUS ALLY.
All through my book, I have felt great difficulty" in
deciding how to make use of Mr. Ruskin's beautiful,
profound, and generally true 'criticisms of Turner's
genius. I felt that if I were too heedlessly to call him
in as an auxiliary, I should certainly be overwhelmed
by my ally, as the Britons were by the Saxons they
rashly summoned to their assistance; and yet how
could I reject the aid of one whose name has become
indissolubly bound up with that of Turner? In the
name of all frankness and honesty, No. I have
therefore used his books throughout, but only
when I was obliged. I have quoted him as briefly as
possible, and where I could, have even condensed his
words. I have also gathered together into one chapter
as many as possible- of his more valuable generalisms.
The chief subject in which I regret to differ from him is
Turner's constant, and I think, wrong habit of altering
the places he drew, so that they are seldom topo
graphically correct, and yet the defence of his advocate,
I must own, is as clever as it is ingenious.
In writing these two volumes, I have felt as a re
storer of a fine old Gothic church must feel when he
is peeling the moss from the marred face of some calm
stone figure. I have concealed no faults, because I love
truth. I have detracted from no virtues, because I re
spect the memory of Turner. I know that I shall offend
some fanatics in his praise, by owning that I do not like
the theoretical, obscure, and sketchy pictures of his
old age; others, more discriminating, by confessing
that I think him a greater water-colour painter than an
oil-painter, and showing that he, too, often exaggerated
and revised nature. His enemies will be annoyed that

OLD MORTALITY. 349
I have not shown him pure soot ; his older friends that
I have not clothed him in shining silver.
I can only plead that I have rejected no evidence
and suppressed no fact, and it is for my kind country
men to consider on their verdict, which I am sure will
be an impartial one.

LINES ON THE TUENER STATUE EOE ST. PAUL'S.
BY K. J. LANE, ESQ., A.E.R.A.
" ' In habit as he lived' and wrought,
And listened as sweet Nature taught,
Turner in simple .guise
Upon a rock observant stands ;
He pauses as the scene expands
In splendour to his eyes;
Then glancing o'er the land, the sea,
Sets his creative fancy free.
" And as the sculptor's lofty reach
Aspires in metaphor to teach,
Thus in immortal stone,
MacDowell's ready wit suggests
The rock on which great Turner rests
Unshackled and alone."

THE TURNER SOLD MEDAL.
[From a drawing by Maclise,]

APPENDIX.

A COMPLETE CATALOGUE OE ALL TUENEE'S
ENGEAVED WOEKS,
JFrom tfie papers of tfte late JKr. i&to&ea, of ffirag's Inn,
WHO DEVOTED MANY YEAES TO ITS COMPILATION ;
KINDLY COMMUNICATED TO ME BY MR. GRIFFITH, OF
NORWOOD, ONE OF TURNER'S EXECUTORS.

Summary of Mr. Stokes's Catalogue.

9 Almanacs, Oxford.
1 Anniversary.
61 Annual Tour, 1833, 4, 5.
7 Britannia Depicta.
3 Cassiobury.
15 Copper-plate Mag. Itinerant.
1 Craven, Antiquities of.
3 Durham, Surtees'.
2 Dunster Castle.
96 England and Wales.
5 Holloway, published by.
7 Gallery of British Engravers.
7 Himalaya, Views in the.
26 Illustrations to the Bible.
9 „ Finden, Lord Byron.
17 ,, Murray.
20 „ Campbell.
4 „ Epicurean.
7 „ Milton.
75 „ Rogers's Italy.
23 „ Poems.
24 „ Cadell, 1834, Scott's Poems.
21 Plates of Liber Studiorum.
20 Unpublished ditto.

40 Illustrations to Scott's Prose, Cadell
3 _ „ Tilt, Poems.
15 Itinerant (see Copper-plate Mag.).
18 Italy, Hakewell.
15 Keepsake.
5 Leodis and Elmete.
2 Lincoln, Select Views in.
3 Mawman's Tour.
6 Poets of England.
Pocket Books.
17 Rivers of England.
61 Rivers of France, Annual Tour,
1833, 4, 5.
20 Richmondshire.
13 Scotland, Provincial Antiquities.
40 Southern Coast of England.
5 Sussex.
8 Whalley, Parish of.
3 Wight, Isle of.
22 yorkshire in Richmondshire.
1 Faith of Perrin, Welch Pil. Prog.
Mezzo Tintos.
Subscription Plates.
&c. &c.

APPENDIX. 353
1794.
Rochester. Walker and Storer  Itinerant, Walker's Oop.-pl. Mag.,
1 May  6J 4J
Chepstow. Storer  Ditto, 1 Nov  6J 4]
1795.
Nottingham* J.Walker  Ditto, 28 Feb  6$ 4£
Bridgenorth. Ditto  Ditto, 1 Aug  64 4i
Matlock. J. Widnell  Ditto, 1 Oct  64 4£
Birmingham. Storer  Ditto, 2 Nov  64 4|
The Tower of London. T. Tagg  Pocket Magazine, 1 Jan  4§ 2|
Cambridge. Ditto  Ditto, 1 June  4| 2|
Worcester. Rothwell  (?) Ditto, (Harrison &Co.), 1 Aug. 4# 24
Guildford. Ditto  (?) Ditto, 1 Oct  7. 4| 2f
1796.
Chester. J.Walker  Itinerant, 1 Jan  6| 4f
Peterborough. Ditto  Ditto, 1 May  6| 4|
Neath, 1796 or 5. G. Murray  Lady's Pocket Magazine, 1 Oct. 4# 24
Tunbridge (?)  Ditto.
Bath.Staines.
Bristol. Northampton. Wallingford.
Windsor. 1797.
Westminster Bridge. J.Walker  Itinerant, 1 Aug. ;  6| 4|
Ely. Ditto  Ditto, 1 March  6J 4J
Flint, from Park Gate. Ditto  Ditto, 1 Aug  64 4f
HamptonCourt, Herefordshire. Ditto... Ditto, 1 Sept  6| 4£
Grantham Church, Lincolnshire (from a
sketch by Schnebbelie). B.Howlett... Views in the Oo. of Lincoln,f 1
March  7 5J
1798.
Sheffield. J.Walker  Itinerant, 1 Aug  6J 4|
Wakefield. Ditto  Ditto, 1 Oct.
1799.
Christ Church, from the Meadows.
J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17j 12£
Durham (?) 1800.
Fonthill House, Wilts. W.Angus ... Angus' Seats  7f 5|
Ancient Crosses at Whalley. J.Basire. Whittaleer's Parish of Whalley.
Farnley. Ditto  Ditto, Plate 5.
Remains of Whalley Abbey. Ditto ... Ditto, Plate 6.
Cloisters of ditto. Ditto  Ditto, Plate 7.
Remains of ditto. Ditto  Ditto, Plate 8.
Clitheroe, from Eadsford Bridge. Ditto Ditto, Plate 11.
Browsholme. Ditto 
Stonyhurst. Ditto 
The Sherbourne Chapel in Milton
Church. Ditto 
Dunster Castle, Somersetshire, North
east View. S.Rawle  1 May  14| 9J
Ditto, South-east View. Ditto  1 May  14J 9|
* Republished from the same copper retouched (see Bust in front), in
" Gentleman's Magazine," 1821.
-(• Published by W. Miller, Old Bond-street; came out in Nos., 1797—1801.
VOL. II. A A

354 APPENDIX. 1801.
Hampton Court, Herefordsh. J. Storer.. Beauties of England and
Wales*  6 8|
Sleaford Church, Lincolnsh. B. Howlett Select Views in the Oo. of Lin
coln.
Chapel and Hall of Oriel Col. J.Basire Oxford Almanac  174 x-i
1502.
Inside View of the East End of Merton
College. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17412J
1803.
Wickham, from the Marlow road. W.
Byrne  Britannia Depieta  84 5^
Eton, from the Slough road. Ditto... Ditto  84 6
1804.
Worcester College, &c. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  174 12|
Windsor, from the Forest, Berks. J.
Greig  Views of London and itsEn-
virons  1\ 5J
1805.
Inverary. J. Heath  Mawman's Tour.
Loch Lomond. Ditto  „ „
Patterdale  „ „
Abingdon, from the Thames. W.Byrne. Britannia Depieta.
Newbury, from Speen Hill. Ditto  „ „
Donnington Castle. W. and L. Byrne. „ „
Inside of Brazennose College, Quad
rangle. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17| 12J
1806.
Exeter College, All Saints' Church
from the Turl. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17J 12|
1807.
Inside View of the Hall of Christ
Church. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17J 13
Liber Studiorum, No. 1. C.Turner... 1808.
Oxford, from the South side of Hed-
dingtonHill. J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17f 12|
Liber Studiorum, Nos. 2 and 3. 1809.
Liber Studiorum, No. 4. 1810.
Part of Chester Castle. W.Byrne  Britannia Depieta  8J 6
Distant View of Chester. Ditto  „  84 6
1811.
View of theCathedral of ChriBt Church.
J.Basire  Oxford Almanac  17| 12£
Liber Studiorum, Nos. 5, 6, and 7.
* The only plate from Turner in the work.

APPENDIX. 355
1812.
South Transept of Fountains Abbey.
J. Basire  Whitdker's History and Antiquities of
Craven, in the County of York.
Liber Studiorum, Nos. 8, 9, and 10.
Oxford A Imanacs.
1799. Christ Church, from the Meadows  J.Basire.
1801. Chapel and Hall of Oriel College 
1802. Inside View of the East End of Merton College Chapel... „
1804. Worcester College, &c  „
1805. Inside of Brazennose College, Quadrangle  „
1806. Exeter College, All Saints' Church from the Turl  „
1807. Inside View of the Hall of Christ Church  „
1808. Oxford from the South Side of Heddington Hill  „
1811. Cathedral of Christ Church, and part of Corpus Christi
College  „
Isle of Wight, by J. Landseer.
Orchard Bay  J. Landseer.
Shanklin Bay  „
Freshwater Bay  „
1. Cassiobury, Herts — Seat of the Earl of Essex  Howell & Son.
1. The Great Cloister at Cassiobury, Herts  Acq. Tint. Hill.
2. The West Front of Cassiobury  „
3. View from the N.W  „
Engravings from Leodis and Elmete.
Leodis and Elmete ; or, an Attempt to Illustrate the Districts described in those
works by Bede, and supposed to embrace the lower portions of the Airedale
and Wharfdale, together with the entire Vale of Calder, in the County of
York. By Thomas Dunham Whitaker, LL.D., Vicar of Whalley, and
Rector of Heysham in Lancashire. Printed by T. Davison, London, for
Robinson, Son, and Holdsworth, Leeds.
View of Gledhow  G.Cooke, p. 131.
View of Harewood House  J. Scott, p. 168.
Flower Garden Porch at Farnley  Vig., p. 192.
Gateway to the Flower Garden at Farnley.
Bay Window in the Flower Garden at Farnley.
Engravings from Drawings by Turner in Whitaker 's History
of Richmondshire. 2 vols, folio. Longman. 1823.
Vol. I. p. 83. Richmond  3rd March, 1819. W. R. Smith.
„ 94. Richmond Castle and Town 6th June, 1820. J. Archer.
„ 113. St. Agatha's Abbey  14th Feb., 1822. J. Le Keux.
115. Aste Hall  28th Aug., 1821. J.Scott.
„ 142. High Tore  12th Sept., 1821. J. Landseer.
„ 152. Eggleston Abbey  Dec, 1822. T. Higham.
" 184' JU?hei0Teesf ^ ?*?* "^ | 2nd AuS-> 1819' John *>•
194. Brignols Church  25th Oct., 1821. S. Rawle.
197. WyclifFe  1st March, 1823. John Pye.
"„ 222. Marrick Abbey, Swaledale... Dec, 1822. J. C. Varrall.
393. Aysgarth Force  1st June, 1820. J. Scott.
412. Simmer Lake  25th Oct., 1822. H. Le Keux.
413. Moss Dale Fall  22nd Aug., 1822. G. Middiman.
' HardrawFall  1st Oct., 1818. John Pye.
A A 2

356 APPENDIX.
Vol. II. p. 204. Crook of Lune  10th Aug., 1821. J. Archer.
„ 250. Ingleborough  2nd Jan., 1822. C. Heath.
263. Hornby Castle  June, 1822. W. Radclyfl'e. '
„ 277. Kirby Lonsdale Churchyard 25th Jan., 1821. C. Heath.
" 317' stunts aDd Cumberland | 22nd Aug., 1822. W. R. Smith.
„ 343. Weathercote Cave'  30th Oct., 1821. G. Middiman.
Additional in Yorkshire.
Wentworth House   ,1816. G.Cooke.
Gillside   . S. Rawle.
Engravings from Turner in Cooke's Southern Coast. Published
in Nos., ito, 12s. 6d., per No.; Imperial 4to, Proofs, 18s.
No. 1. 1814. St Michael's Mount  Date on plate 1 Jan. 1814.
Poole 
2. Land's End  1 March. 1814.
Weymouth 
3. LulworthCave  1 June.
4. Corfe Castle  1 Nov.
5. 1815. Lyme Regis  „
Dartmouth  1 June. 1815.
Teignmouth  „ ,,
6. 1816. Falmouth  March. 1816.
New Stone  l'Feb. „
7. Plymouth Dock, from Mount Edgecumbe... 1 Oct. „
8. 1817. Plymouth, with Mount Batten  1 May. 1817.
Pendennis Castle  „ „
Bow-and-Arrow Castle, Portland 
Bexhill, Martello Tower (Lib. Stud.) 
9. 1818. East and West Looe  1 July. 1818.
Ilfracomb  „ „
Tintagel  „ „
10. 1820. Watchet  1 April. 1820.
Bridport  „ „
Fowey  Date on plate 1 April 1820,
11. 1821. Lulworth Castle  1 Jan. 1821.
Torbay from Brixham  „ ,,
Minehead  „ „
12. 1824. Margate  Feb. 1824.
Rye  March.
Clovelly  „ „
13. Hythe  Dec.

St Mawes  *  Sept.
14. 1825. Brighton  1 Sept. 1825.
Bocastle  10 March.
Combe Martin  1 Jan.
15. 1826. Portsmouth  15 Feb.
Folkestone  24 Feb. 1826.
Deal  1 April.
Dover, from Shakspeare's Cliff.  6 May.
Whitstable  8 May. „
Mount Edgecumbe  13 April.

APPENDIX.

357

Turner's England and Wales, 1827-1838.

No. 3. 9.
18. 14. 3.
21. 12. 16. 1.
19. 15. 4.
19.17. 8.
18.
14. 2.
17.23. 8. 1.
8.4.
19.
23. 8.
16.12. 6.
21. 11. 5.
11.
21. 7.9.
15.
22.22. 6.
5. 1.
16. 2.
18.
22.
20.

Aldborough. E. Goodall.
Alnwick. J. Willmore.
Arundel Castle and Town. T. Jeavons.
Ashby de la Zouche. W. Radclyffe.

Barnard Castle.
Beaumaris.
Bedford.Blenheim House
Bolton Priory.
Boston.Brentburn Priory.

R. Wallis.
W. R. Smith.
J. T. Willmore.
W. Radclyffe.
R. Wallis.
T. Jeavons.
J. C.Varrall.

Buckfastleigh Abbey. R. Wallis.
Caernarvon Castle. W. Radclyffe.
Carew Castle. W. Miller.
Carisbrook Castle. C. Westwood.
Christ Church College, Oxford.
J. Redway .
Chatham. W. Miller.
Colchester. R. Wallis.
Coventry. S. Fisher.
Crickheith Castle. S. Fisher.
Cowes. R. Wallis.
Dartmouth Cove. W. R. Smith.
Devonport Dockyard. T. Jeavons.
Dover Straits. " W. Miller.
Dudley. R. Wallis.
¦ Durham Cathedral. W Miller.
Dunstanboro' Castle. R. Brandard.

Ely Cathedral.
Eton College.
Exeter.Flint Castle.
Folkestone.

T. Higham.
W. Radclyffe.
T. Jeavons.
J. H. Heenor.
J. Horsburgh.

Entrance to Fowey Harbour. W. R. Smith.
Gosport. R. Brandard.
Harlech Castle. W. R. Smith.
Hampton Court Palace. C. Westwood.
Holy Island. W. Tombleson.
Kenilworth Castle. T. Jeavons.
Keswick Lake. W. Radclyffe.
Kidwelby Castle. T. Jeavons.
Kilgarren Castle. J. T. Wilmore.
Knaresborough. T. Jeavons.
Lancaster. R. Wallis.
Langhorne Castle. J. Horsburgh.
Launceston. J. C. Varrall.
Llanberris Lake. J. T. Willmore.
Llangollen. ,,
Llanthony Abbey. „

No.
20. 7.
22. 11.
21. 6.
13.14.17. 5.3.
12.17.13.
20. 4.
13.
24.

6. 1.
24. 14.10.
24. 13. 3.9.
7. 9.
15.
24. 2.
10.11. 16.19. 4.
10.15.
23.23.10. 12.
20. 7.

Longship's Lighthouse. W. R. Smith.

Louth.Lowestoffe.
Ludlow Castle.
Lyme Regis.

W. Radclyffe.
W. R. Smith.
R. Wallis.
T. Jeavons.

Malmesbury Abbey. J. C. Varrall.
Malvern Abbey. 3. Horsburgh.

Margate.
Nottingham. Okehampton. Oxford.
Pembroke Castle.

R. Wallis.
W. J. Cooke.
J. T. Willmore.
W. Brandard.
T. Jeavons.

Penmaen Mawr. J. T. Willmore.

Plymouth. Powis Castle.
Prudhoe Castle.
Richmond Hill.

W. J. Cooke.
J. T. Willmore.
E. Goodall.
W. R. Smith.

Richmond Terrace. J. T. Willmore.
Richmond, Yorkshire. W. R. Smith.
„ „ J. T. Willmore.
Rivaulx Abbey. E. Goodall.
Eochester, Stroud, Chatham. J. C. Varrall.
St. Catherine's Hill, Guildford.
J. H. Kernot.
St. Mawes. „
St. Michael's Mount. S. Fisher.
Salisbury. W. Radclyffe.
Saltash. W. R. Smith.
Stamford. W. Miller.
Stonehenge. R. Wallis.
Stonyhurst. J. B. Allen.
Tamworth Castle. J. T. Willmore.
Tees, Chain Bridge over the.
W. R. Smith.
„ Fall of the.
Frematon Castle.
Tynemouth.
Upnor Castle.
Ulleswater.

E. Goodall.
R Wallis.
W. R. Smith.
J. B. Allen.
J. T. Willmore.

Valle Crucis Abbey. J. C. Varrall.
Walton Bridge. „
Warwick Castle. R. Wallis.
Whitehaven Castle. W. R. Smith.
Winandermere. J. T. Willmore.
Winchelsea. J. Henshall.
Windsor Castle. W. Miller.
Worcester. T. Jeavons.
Yarmouth. W. Miller.

Published by Holloway for the England and Wales.
Allen.

Harborough Sands (vign.)
Lowestoffe Lighthouse (vign.)
Lowestoffe. „
Aldborough. ,

Dymchurch (vign.).
Orfbrdness. Allen.
Two other plates unfinished.

35S

APPENDIX.

Engravings from Turner in The
Published by W.
Totness, on the Dart.
Dartmouth. Reynolds.
Dartmouth Castle. T. Lupton.
Stangate Creek, on the Medway. T. Lupton.
Rochester, on the Medway. „
Wirkworth Castle, on the Coquet. T. Lupton.
Kirkstall Abbey, on the Aire. Bromley.
Kirkstall Lock, on the Aire. Jay.

Rivers of England. Mezzolinto.
B. Cooke, 1824.
Norham Castle, on the Tweed. C. Turner.
Newcastle, on the Tyne. T. Lupton.
Shields, on the Tyne. C. Turner.
Brougham CaBtle, on the Eamont. Jay.
Arundel Castle, on the Aran. Phillips.
More Park, on the Colne.
Mouth of the Humber. Phillips.
Okehampton, on the Okement. C. Turner.

Engravings from Turner in The Ports of England. Mezzotinto.
Whitby. T. Lupton. Dover. T. Lupton.
Scarborough. „ Ramsgate. „
Sheerness. ,, Portsmouth. „

Views in Sussex, from Turner. W. Cooke.
Vale of Ashburnham. Crowhurst.
Battle Abbey. Heathfield. (?)
Brightling Observatory. Pevensey Bay. (?)
Bodham Castle. ) Tjnt)Uj)lished
Hurstmonceux Castle ) *
HakewilVs Picturesque Tour of Italy. J. Murray, 1820. From
HakewilVs Sketches, made in 1816—17.
The Rialto, Venice. J. Pye.
Cascade of Torni. J. Landseer.
Bridge at Nami. J. Middiman.
Rome — Bridge and Castle of St.
Angelo. G. Hollis.
„ The Forum from the Capitol. G. Cooke.
„ From the Farnese Gardens.
Figures by Mitan. G. Hollis.
„ The Forum Romanum. J. Le Keux.
„ From the Monte Testaccio. J. Byrne.

Rome — From the Monte Marco. J. Byrne.
The Tomb of CeciliaMetella. J. Byrne.
La RiGcia. J. Pye.
The Lake of Nerni. Middiman and Pye.
Naples from the Mole. G. Cooke.
Florence from the Ponte alia Carraia.
S. Rawle.
Florence from the Chiesa al Monte.
G. Cooke.
Florence from Fiesoli. W. R. Smith.
Isola Bella, Lago Maggiore. J. Fitler.
Turin from the Superza. J. Mitau.

Provincial Antiquities and Picturesque Scenery of Scotland, with
Descriptive Illustrations by Sir Walter Scott. 2 vols., 1826.

The Vignette, Stirling Castle. G. Cooke.
The Title Vignette.
Cricbton Castle. G. Cooke.
Dunbar. J. B. Allen.
Dunbar CaBtle. E. Goodall
Roslin Castle. W. R. Smith.
Edinburgh from the Calton Hill. G. Cooke.

Heriot's Hospital. Figures by G.
Cooke. Le Keux.
Edinburgh High-street. „
Borthwick Castle. „
Tantallon Castle. E. Goodall.
Linlithgow Palace. R. Wallis.
The Bass Rock. W. Miller.

APPENDIX.

359

Lord Byron's Works. Murray's Edition, 11 vols. 8vo, 1825.

Vol. 1. Temple of Minerva, Cape
Colonna. Sketch by Alli
son.
„ 2. Tomb of Cecilia Metella.
Childe Harold.
„ 11. Negropont. Bride of Abydos.
Sketch by Allison,

Vol. 3. Acropolis of Athens. Siege
of Corinth.
„ 9. Malta. Adieu to Malta. MS.
Poem.
„ 10. Rhodes. Don Juan, from the
Sea looking on Pharos and
Town.
„ 11. The Drachenfels.

Finden's Landscape and Portrait Illustrations to the Life and
Works of Lord Byron. Murray and Till, 1833.
Vol. 2. Tomb of Cecilia Metella.

Vol. 1. Gibraltar, from a Bketch by
Reinagle. 1833.
„ 1. Malta.
„ 1. Acropolis of Athens. Sketch
by Allison. 1832.
Temple of Minerva. Sketch
by Allison. 1832.

1.

2. Rhodes.
2. Drachenfels.
3. Cephalonia. Page.
3. Negropont. son.

Sketch by W.
Sketch by Alli-
17 vols.

Works of Lord Byron and Life by Moore.
Murray, 1834.
Vol. 13. The Walls of Rome.

Vol. 1. Sta. Maria della Spina Pera,
after Page.
„ 5. The Gate of Theseus, at
Athens.
„ 7. The Plain of Troy, after
Page.
„ 8. Bacharach.
„ 8. The Castle of St. Angelo.
„ 10. Corinth, after Page.
„ 11. The Bridge of Sighs, after
T. Little.
„ 11. The Bernese Alps.

From The Keepsake, 1828 to 1837.
1828. Florence. E. Goodall.
1829. Lake of Albano. Wallis.
„ Lago Maggiore. W. R. Smith.
1830. Virginia Water. Wallis.

1831. Saumur.
Nantes.
1832. 

Willenden.

Tomb
of Caius Sextus.
14. Parnassus, after Page (Gaily
Knight ?)
14. The Field of Waterloo.
15. Scio, after Page.
15. Genoa.
16. Cologne.
16. St. Sophia, after T. Barry.
17. The School of Homer, after

Wallis.
B. Allen.
Wallis. Miller.

17. Castellated Rhine.

1833. Ehrenbreitstein.
„ Falls of the Rhine.
1834. Havre.
„ La Belle Gabrielle
1835. 
1836. Fire at Sea. Williamson.
„ The Wreck. H. Griffith.
1837. The Sea ! the Sea ! Willmore.

From the Anniversary, 1829.
1829. Fonthill, Burn and Trees, Tower in the distance. T. Crostick.
From Heath's. Gallery of British Engravings. Longman, 1836.

jake Albano (from Keepsake)

1 Virginia Water.

Wallis.

Wallis.

1 Ehrenbreitstein.

n

Florence. Goodall.

1 Palace of La Belle Gabrielle.

Miller.

Virginia Water. Wallis.

Marly.

>)

Engravings from Turner, in Finden's Illustrations qfthe Bible.
Mount Moriah  After Barry  E. Finden.
Red Sea and Suez  „ J.G.Wilkinson 
Valley of Sinai  Gaily Knight  Allen.

360

APPENDIX.

Wilderness of Sinai  After
Jericho  „
The Dead Sea 
Engedi and Convent of St. Saba „
Ramah and Rachel's Tomb ... „
Solomon's Pools  „
JerusalemfromMountofOlives „
Jerusalem, N.W. View  „
Jerusalem, Pool of Bethesda... „
Jerusalem, from the Latin
Convent 
Valley of the Brook Kedron... „
Bethlehem  „
Nazareth  ,,
Joppa  „
Sidon  „
Assos 
Rhodes 
Corinth, Cenchrea  „
Mount Lebanon, Convent of )
St. Antonio  ) "
Lebanon from Tripoli 
Babylon  ,,
Nineveh  ,,
Egypt, near the Pyramids ... „

Major Felix  E. Finden.
Rev. R. Masters  W. Finden.
 E. Finden.
Barry  Allen.
Sir A. Edmonstone 
Barry  J. Stephenson.
Barry  Allen.
Barry  W. Finden.
Barry  E. Finden.
Barry  E. Finden.
Barry and R. Masters ... E. Finden.
Barry  E. Finden.
Sir A. Edmonstone  E. Finden.
Barry  W. Finden.
 W. Finden.
 S. Fisher.
R Cockrell  E. Finden.
Barry  W. Finden.
 E. Finden.
Sir R. Kerr Porter  J. Cousen.
C. J. Rich  W. Radclyffe.
Barry  E. Finden.

From Italy, a Poem by Samuel Rogers. London, T. Cadell. 1830.
Lake of Geneva.
Toll's Chapel.
St. Maurice.
The Great St. Bernard.
Mount St. Bernard. Figures by Stot
hard ; Dogs by Landseer.
The Battle of Marengo.
Aosta.Martigny.The Alps.
Como.Venice.
Florence.

Villa of Galileo.
Villa Madonna ; moonlight.
Rome. Campagna of Rome.
Castle of St. Angelo.
Tivoli.Ruins. Scene with Banditti.
Naples.Psestum. Amalfi.
The Felucca.
Farewell.

From Rogers's Poems. London, T. Cadell. 1834.
Vignette to the Pleasures of Memory. St. Julienne. Goodall.
Miller. Castle. „
Goodall. The Old Oak.
The Dockyard. „
The Boy of Egremond. „
The Abbey, Wharfdale. Wallis.
The Alps at Daybreak. Goodall.
H. Le Keux. Loch Lomond. Miller.
Miller. Trellis Arbour. Goodall.
R. Wallis. Gate to Monastery.
Goodall. Embarkation of Columbus „
Spectral Procession. „
Land Discovered. ,,
Landing in America. „
Miller. The Vision. „
Goodall. Cortes in La Rabida. „
Datur hora quieti „

Twilight Village.
Mill and Gipsies.
Village Boy on Stile.
Greenwich.
London. St. Herbert's Chapel.
Llewellyn's Hall.
Tornaro's Brow.
Awake — Newcastle !
The Tower, Watergate
St. Anne's Hill.
Caravan overwhelmed.
The Rialto.
Valombre Falls.
J acquelene.

APPENDIX.

361

From the Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott.
Edinburgh. 1834.

Cadell,

Vol. 1. Dryden's Monument (vig
nette). J. Horsbury.
„ 3. Dumbarton Castle. W. Miller.
„ 5. Brussels. „
Hougoumont. „
„ 6. Jerusalem. „
Shakspeare's Monument. J. Horsbury.
„ 7. Norham Castle. W. Miller.
New Abbey, near Dumfries. W. Miller.
„ 8. Hdtel de ViUe, Paris. „
,, 9. Brienne. „
Napoleon's Logement, Quai
Conte. Horsbury.
„ 10. Piaceuza. W. Miller.
Venice. „
,, 11. Verona. ,,
Vincennes. „
„ 12. St. Cloud.
Mayence. „
„ 13. Milan. J. Horsbury.
The Simplon. W. Miller.
„ 14. Paris, Pere la Chaise. „

Malmaison. W. Miller.
Vol. 15. Fontainebleau. „
„ 16. Field of Waterloo. „
Bellerophon, Plymouth Sound.
E. Goodall.
„ 18. Chiefswood Cottage. W. Miller.
„ 21. Rhymer's Glen. „
„ 22. Edinburgh, from St. An
thony's Chapel. W. Miller.
Dunfermline. J. Horsbury.
„ 23. Stirling. W. Miller.
Craigmillar Castle. „
„ 24. Dunstaffnage „
Linlithgow. „
„ 25. Glencoe. „
Killicrankie.
,, 26. Inverness. „
Fort Augustus. „
„ 27. Rouen. W. Richardson.
Calais. J. Horsbury. "
,, 28. CMteau d'Arc, near Dieppe-
W. Forrest.
Abbeville. J. Horsbury.
12 vols.

Vol.

From the Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott.
Cadell, Edinburgh. 1834.
1. Carlisle. Goodall.
Smailholme Tower. „
2. Jedburgh Abbey. Brandard.
Johnny Armstrong's .Tower. Goodall.
3. Kelso. Wallis.
Lochmaben Castle. Willmore.
4. Caerlaverock Castle. Goodall.
Hermitage Castle. Wallis.
5. Dryburgh Abbey. Miller.
Bermeside Tower. Horsbury.
6. Melrose. Miller.
Newark Castle. W. J. Cooke.

Miller.
Horsbury. Miller.

Greta and
J. Pye.
E. Webb.
Le Keux.
Goodall. Miller.
Horsbury.

Vol. 7. Edinburgh.
Ashestiel.
„ 8. Loch Katrine.
Loch Achray.
„ 9. Junction of the
Tees.
Bowes Tower.
„ 10. Loch Corriskin.
Staffa.
,, 11. Skiddaw.
Mayburg.
„ 12. Berwick-upon-Tweed. Miller.
Abbotsford. Le Keux.
From Illustrations (Landscapes, Historical, and Antiquarian) to the
Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart. C. Tilt, London. 1834.
Roslin and Hawthornden. W. R. Smith.
Crichtoun Castle. W. B. Cooke.
Tautallon. „
The Rivers qf France, by J. M. W. Turner. The Annual Tour,
4,5. Canal of the Loire and Cher. Jeavons.
Tours (looking back). Brandard.
Saumur. Willmore.
Rietz, near Saumur. Brandard.
Montjean. Willmore.
St. Horent. Brandard.
Between Clairmont and Mauves. Miller.
Chateau Hamelin. Brandard.

1833,

Chateau Gaillard (vign.).

Cousen.

Orleans.

Higham.

Blois.

Brandard.

Palace at Blois.

Wallis.

Beaugency.

Brandard.

Amboise.

Smith.

( chateau d'Amboise.

Allen.

St. Julien Tours.

Radclyffe.

Tours.

Wallis.

362

APPENDIX.

Clairmont. Willmore.
Scene on the Loire. Wallis.
Coteaux de Mauves. „
Nantes, Chateau de. Miller.
Nantes (vign.) Allen.
Havre. „
Havre, Tower of Francis I. Wallis.
Graville. Brandard.
Harfleur. Cousen.
Chateau de Tancarville. Brandard.
Lillebonne Chateau. Jeavons.
„ and Tower. Willmore.
Caudebee Allen.
Junieges. Armytage.
La Chaise de Gargantua. Brandard.
Rouen. Miller.
„ looking up the River. Brandard.
Rouen Cathedral. Higham.
„ looking down the River. Miller.
Quillebceuf. Brandard.
Between Quillebceuf and Villequier. Brandard.
Chateau de la Maillerie. „
Honfleur. Cousen.
Lighttowers of Heve (vign.) „

Chateau de Gaillard from the E. Smith.
Pont de l'Arche. Willmore.
Vernon. „
Between Nantes and Vernon. Brandard.
Nantes. Radclyffe.
Bridge of Meulan. Cousen.
From the Terrace of St. Germain. Allen.
St. Denis. Fisher.
Bridges of St. Cloud and Sevres. Radclyffe.
The Lanterne at St. Cloud. Willmore.
Bridge of St. Cloud from Sevres. _
Fisher.
Paris from the Barriere de Passy. Willmore.
Pont Neiif. Miller.
Marche aux Fleurs. Radclyffe.
Hotel de Ville. Jeavons.
Boulevard. Higham.
Confluence of the Seine and Marne.
Armytage.
Meben. Miller.
Troyes. Armytage.

From the Works of Milton, 7 vols. John Macerone.
The Poetical Works, 1 vol. Tegg. 1841.

1835.

Expulsion from Paradise.
Mustering of the Warrior Angels.
Fall of the Rebel Angels.
The Temptation on the Pinnacle.
From Campbell's Poetical Works.
Summer Eve— Rainbow. Goodall.
Andes Coast. „
Prague.

The Temptation on the Mountain.
St. Michael's Mount — Shipwreck of
Lycidas.
Ludlow Castle.

Moxon. 1837.

Sinai.

Wallis.

Swiss Valley.

Goodall.

O'Connor's Child.

Lochiel's Warning.

Battle of the Baltic.

Hohenlinden.

Wallis.

Lochgyle.

H

The Soldier's Dream.
The Last Man.
Wyoming. „ the Waterfall.
Rolandseck.The Beech-tree's Petition.
Camp Hill, Hastings.
Death Boat of Heligoland.
Ehrenbreitstein. Oran.

Goodall.

Miller.

From the Epicurean, with Vignette Illustrations by J. M. W.
Turner, Esq., R.A. London, John Macerone. 1839.
On the Nile. I The Garden.
The Trial of the Ring. | The Chaplet.
From Views in India, chiefly among the Himalaya Mountains.
Drawn by Lieut. G. F. White, 31st Regt. Fisher, Son, & Co.
1836, 37.
Vol. 1. Part of the Ghaut during the Fair at Hurdwar  Higham.
„ 1. Mussores from Landour  Allen.
„ 1. Snowy Range from Tyne or Marma  Goodall.
„ 1. View near Jubberah  Cousen.

APPENDIX. 363
Vol. 2. Falls near the Source of the Jumna  Cousen.
„ 2 . Valley of the Dhoon from the Landour Ridge  Floyd.
„ 2. Rooks at Colgony on the Ganges  Goodall.
From Faith qf Perrin (Pilgrim's Progress). Fisher. 1847.
Frontispiece Vignette.
Subscription Plates from Turner.
Dido and iEneas — Morning of the Chase  Smith  24 16
Caligula's Bridge  Goodall  24 16
Juliet after the Masquerade  Hollis  22J 164
Mercury and Herse (upright)  Cousins  18J 15
Crossing the Brook (upright)  Brandard  18J 15
Heidelberg  T. A. Prior.
Zurich  „
The Lake of Lucerne  Wallis.
Hastings  „
The Grand Canal, Venice  W. Miller.
The Rhine, Osterprey, and Feltzen  „
The Rhine, Neuwied, and Weissenhurn  R. Brand.
Ancient Italy  ,  Willmore.
Modern Italy  „
Venice  „
Dover Castle  „
The Departure of Regulus  D. Wilson.
Tivoli  E. Goodall.
Cologne  „
Old London Bridge  „
Oxford  „
Ehrenbreitstein  J. Pye.
The Golden Bough  Prior.
The Lake of Nerni 

Single Plates Engraved from Turner.
The Mausoleum at Brocklesby, begun 1787, completed by
James Wyatt  F. C. Lewis.
Hylton Castle  S. Rawle.
Dunster Castle, from the S.W. 1800  „
„ „ from the N.W  „
Raby Castle  „
Hampton Court. Herefordshire, in The Beauties of Eng
land and Wales. 1801  S. Storer.
Fonthill House, Wilts. 1800. Angus' Seats (?)  W. Angus.
Windsor from the Forest. 1804. Select Views of London
and its Environs  J. Greig.
Pope's Villa. Figures by C. Heath. 1st April, 1811 ... J. Pye.
Fishing Boats. 19th December, 1811  Fittler.
Autumn, Sowing Grain. 1st June, 1813  Hassel& Co., London.
Redclyffe Church, Bristol. From The Lady and Gentle
man's Annual Pocket Ledger. 1814  J. Pye.
Kirkstall Abbey Crypt. Britton's Architectural Anti
quities. 1814  Scott.
Antiquities of Pola. Vignette to Title-page. Allison.
1813  G. Cooke.
Colebrook Dale  F. C. Lewis.
New Weir on the Wye  ,,
Arundel Castle. 1820  G. Cooke.

364 APPENDIX.
View near Plynlimmon. Coloured Print. T. Clay,
Ludgate-hill, July 1, 1820  T. H. Fielding.
Calais Pier. Mezzotinto. (Never finished)  Lupton.
The Eddystone Lighthouse. Mezzotinto. 1824  „
Ehrenbreitstein during the Demolition of the Fortress in
1819, from the Quay at Coblentz. 1824  J.C.Allen.
Sunrise. Whiting Fishing at Margate. Mezzotinto.
June 1, 1825  T. Lupton.
Wilton House. Published by Sir R. Colt Hoare.
January 1, 1825  T. Higham.
Bolton Abbey. 1826  E. Finden.
Richmond Hill. 1826  E. Goodall.
Norham Castle. 1827  Percy Heath.
Ivy Bridge, Devonshire  Allen.
Source of the Tamar  W. B. Cooke.
Plymouth  „
Rivaulx Abbey, Yorkshire  J. C. Bentley.
The Tower of London. 1831  W.Miller.
The Shepherd. 1840 
The Thames at Mortlake  W.J. Cooke.
Damon and Pythias  Bacon.
Fish Market, Rotterdam  W. Floyd.
The Bell Rock Lighthouse  J. Horsbury.
Llangollen  Willmore.
Barnard Castle  „
Fetcham Park  „
Holy Island. (Only 15 published on India paper, and 10
plain)  „
Burning of the Houses of Parliament  ,,
St. Germain en Laye  R. Wallis.
Whitby 
The Ship on Fire  Willmore.
Abbey Pool. 1846  J. Cousen.
Whitby 
St. Agatha's Abbey  „
Mount Vesuvius  T. Jeavons.
A View of Oxford, etched by LI Pye, engraved by  C. Heath.
High-street, Oxford 
Frontispiece Vignette. Faith of Perrin. (Pilgrim's
Progress.) S.Fisher. 1847  E. Goodall.
Raglan Castle and the Mill. Coloured Lithograph 
Grouse Shooting. Chromo-Lithograph. 1854 
Snipe Shooting 
The Blue Lights  R. Carrick.
The Bridge at Tours. 1856 
Mezzotintos from Turner.
The Garden of Boccaccio. Unpublished  J. B. Luilley .
The Deluge. Unpublished 
The Field of Waterloo. Unpublished  F. C.'Lewis.
Fishing-boats off Calais. Unpublished  Davison.
Calais Pier. Unpublished  T. Lupton.
Whiting Fishing off Margate 
The Eddystone Lighthouse 
The Wreck of the Minotaur  Cousins and Barlow
Ihe Wreck   C. Turner.
A Shipwreck, from the same Picture  F. Fieldino-.
The Burning Mountain. Engraved in Colours  C. Turner?

APPENDIX.

3(55

Piute qfthe Liber Studiorum, by J. M. W. Turner, R.A., P.P.
20 Jan. 1807... Cows in Brook  P. C. Turner.
Woman with Tambourine  E.P. ,,
Vessels aground. Flint  M. „
Basle  A. „
Jason  H. „
No. 2. 20 Feb. 1808... Barn and Straw-yard  P. „
Boy Piping (Castle in mid. dis.) E.P. „
Mount St. Gothard  M. „
Ships; Gale of Wind  M.
Holy Island Cathedral  A. „
No. 3. 10 June, 1808. Pembury Mill  P.
Bridge in Mid. Dis  E.P.
Dunstanborough Castle  A. „¦
LakeofThun  M.
The Fifth Plague of Egypt  H.
No. 4. 29 May, 1809. Farm-vard, with Cock  P. „
The Clyde  E.P.
Little Devils' Bridge  M. „
Ships  M. I#
Morpeth  A.
No. 5. 1 Jan. 1811... Juvenile Tricks  P. W. Say.
Hindoo Worshipping  E.P. R. Dunkarton.
Coast of Yorkshire  M. W. Say.
Hind Head Hill  '.  M. I. W. T.
Greenwich Hospital  A. C.Turner.
No. 6. 1 June, 1811... Lock and Mill  P. W. Say.
Junction of the Wye and Severn E.P. I. W. T.
Marine Dabblers  N. W. Say.
Near Blair-Athol  M. „
Lauffenbury  A. T. Hodgetts.
No. 7. L June, 1811... Young Anglers  P. R. Dunkarton.
St. Catherine's Hill  E.P. J. C. Easling.
Martello Towers, Bexhill  M. W. Say.
InveraryPier  M. I. W. T.
From Spenser's " Fairie Queene" H. J. Hodgetts.
No. 8. 1 Feb. 1812 ... Water Mill  P. R. Dunkarton.
Woman at a Well  E.P. W. Say.
Crypt of Kirkstall Abbey  A. J. M. W. T.
Coast Scene, Sunset  M. { Jh *°™£*
Cephalis and Procris  H. G.Clint.
No. 9. 23 April, 1812. Winchelsea  P. J. C. Easling.
Goats on a Bridge  E.P. T.C.Lewis.
Calm  N. I. W. T.
Peat Bog  M. G.Clint.
Rizpah  H. R. Dunkarton.
No. 10. 23 May, 1812. Hedging and Ditching  P. J. C. Easling.
The River Wye  E.P. W. Annis.
Chain of Alps, Chamberi  M. W. Say.
Mer de Glace  M. I. W. T.
Rivaulx Abbey  A. H. Dawe.
The Frontispiece was given in this No. I.W.T.; J. C. Easling.
No 11. 1 Jan. 1816... Solway Moss  P. T.Lupton.
Magdalen Ruding  E.P. W. Say.
Mill near the Grand Chartreuse. M. H. Dawe.
Entrance to Calais Harbour  M. I. W. T.
Dunblane Abbey  A. T.Lupton.
No 12 1 Jan. 1816... Norham Castle  P. C.Turner.
River, with Woods. Goodrich... E.P. I. W. T.
VilledeThun  A. T. Hodgetts.

366

APPENDIX.

No. 12. 1 Jan. 1816... Source of the Avernon  M. I. W. T.
Tenth Plague of Egypt  H. W. Say.
No. 13. 1 Jan. 1819... Watercress Gatherers  P. T.Lupton.
Water, with Round Temple  E.P. H. Dawe.
Bonneville  M. „
Inverary Castle  M. C.Turner.
Hesperia  H. I. W. T.
No. 14. 1 Jan. 1819... East Gate, Winchelsea  P. S. W. Reynolds.
Isis  E.P. W. Say.
Ben Arthur  M. T.Lupton.
Interior of a Church  A. I. W.T.
Woman of Samaria  H. S.W.Reynolds.

Unpublished Plates
Premium Landscape. W. Say.
Glaucus and Scylla. „
Sheep-washing; Windsor Castle. C. Turner.
Dumbarton. T. Lupton.
Crowhurst. H. Dawes.
Temple of Jupiter, .ffigina.
Swiss Bridge, Mount St. Gothard.
Ploughing, Eton. T. Lupton.
Pan and Syrinx.
Stonehenge at Daybreak.

of the Liber Studiorum.
The Felucca.
Aqueduct over Mountain Torrent.
Storm over the Lizard.
Moonlight at Sea. The Needles.
Moonlight on River, with Barges.
The Thames near Kingston.
The Deluge.
Flounder-fishing near Battersea.
Narcissus and Echo.
Cows on a Bank.

CATALOGUE

OP ALL THE

PICTUEES EXHIBITED BY TUENEE IN THE EOYAL
ACADEMY AND BEITISH INSTITUTION.
Between the years 1787 and 1850, with the Quotations appended.

Exhibition xxii. 1790.
J. W. TURNER, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
1 View of the Archbishop's Palace, Lambeth.
Exhibition xxiii. 1791.
W. TURNER, 26, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
2 King John's Palace, Eltham.
3 Sweakley, near Uxbridge, the seat of the Eev. Mr. Clarke.
Exhibition xxiv. 1792.
W. TURNER, 26, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden .
4 Malmsbury Abbey.
5 The Pantheon, the morning after the fire.
Exhibition xxv. 1793.
W. TURNER, Band-court, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
6 View on the River Avon, near St. Vincent's Rock, Bristol.
7 Canterbury : Gate of St. Augustine's Monastery.
8 The Rising Squall, Hot Wells, from S Vincent's Rock,
Bristol. Exhibition xxvi. 1794.
W. TURNER, Hand-court? Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
9 Second Pall of the Riyer Monach, Devil's Bridge, Cardigan
shire.
10 Great Malvern Abbey, Porch of, Worcestershire.
1 1 Canterbury, Christ Church Gate.
12 Tintern Abbey, Monmouthshire, Inside of.
13 Canterbury Cathedral, St. Anselm's Chapel, with part of St.
Thomas a Becket's crown.

36S APPENDIX.
Exhibition xxvii. 1795.
W. TURNER, 26, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
14 Lincoln Cathedral, St. Hugh, the Burgundian's Porch at.
15 Marford Mill, Wrexham, Denbighshire.
1 6 Peterborough Cathedral ; West Entrance.
1 7 Tintern Abbey, Monmouthshire, Transept of.
18 Shrewsbury : Welsh Bridge.
19 View near the Devil's Bridge, Cardiganshire; with the Eiver
Eyddol.
20 Choir in King's College Chapel, Cambridge.
21 Cathedral Church at Lincoln.
Exhibition xxviii. 1796.
W. TURNER, Hand-court, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
22 Fishermen at Sea.
23 Salisbury-Close Gate.
24 St. Erasmus, in Bishop Islip's Chapel, Westminster Abbey.
25 Wolverhampton, Staffordshire.
26 Llaudilo Bridge, and Dynevor Castle.
27 Interior of a Cottage ; a study at Ely.
28 Chale Farm, Isle of Wight.
29 LlandafF Cathedral, South Wales.
30 Waltbam Abbey, Essex, Eemains of.
31 Ely Minster, Transept and Choir of.
32 Bath Abbey, West Front of.
Exhibition xxix. 1797.
W. TURNER, Hand-court, Maiden-lane.
33 Moonlight, a study at Milbank.
34 Fishermen coming Ashore, at sunset, previous to a Gale.
35 Glamorganshire, Ewenny Priory, Transept of.
36 Salisbury Cathedral, Choir of.
37 Ely Cathedral, South Transept.
38 Salisbury Cathedral, North Porch of.
Exhibition xxx. 1798.
W. TURNER, Hand-court, Maiden-lane.
39 Winesdale, Yorkshire — an Autumnal Morning.
40 Morning amongst the Coniston Fells, Cumberland.
" Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold
In honour to the world's Great Author rise."
Milton, Paradise Lost, book v.
41 Dunstanburgh Castle, N.E. Coast of Northumberland — Sun
rise after a squally night. " The precipice abrupt,
Breaking horror on the blacken'd flood,

APPENDIX. 369
Softens at thy return.- — The desert joys,
Wildly through all his melancholy bounds,
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep,
Seen from some pointed promontory's top
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Restless, reflects a floating gleam." Thomson's Seasons.
4 2 Eefectory of Kirkstall Abbey, Yorkshire.
43 Norham Castle, on the Tweed — Summer's Morn.
" But yonder comes the powerful King of Day,
Rejoicing in the East ; the lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illumined, — his near approach betoken glad." Thomson's Seasons.
44 Holy Island Cathedral, Northumberland.
45 Ambleside Mill, Westmoreland.
46 Dormitory and Transept of Fountain's Abbey — Evening.
" All ether soft'ning, sober evening takes
Her wonted station on the middle air;
A thousand shadows at her beck —
In circle following circle, gather round,
To close the face of things." Thomson's Seasons.
47 Buttermere Lake, with part of Cromack Water, Cumberland— .
a shower. " Till in the western sky the downward sun
Looks out effulgent — the rapid radiance instantaneous strikes
Th' illumined mountains — in a yellow mist
Bestriding earth — the grand ethereal bow
Shoots up immense, and every hue unfolds." Thomson's Seasons.
48 A Study in September of the Fern House, Mr. Lock's Park,
Mickleham, Surrey. Exhibition xxxi. 1799.
W. TURNER, Hand-court, Maiden-lane, Oovent-garden.
49 Fishermen Becalmed previous to a Storm — Twilight.
50 Harlech Castle, from Trwgwyn Ferry — Summer's Evening,
Twilight. " Now came still evening on, and twilight grey
Had in her sober livery all things clad.
 Hesperus that led
The starry host rode brightest till the moon
Rising in clouded majesty unveil'd her peerless light."
Milton's Paradise Lost, book iv.
5 1 Battle of the Nile, at ten o'clock, when the L'Orient blew up,
from the Station of the Gun-boats between the Battery and
Castle of Aboukir. " Immediate in a flame
But soon obscured with smoke, all heaven appear'd
From these deep-throated engines belch' d, whose roar
Imbowell'd with outrageous noise the air,
And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul
Their devilish glut, chain'd thunderbolts and hail
Of iron globes." — Milton's Paradise Lost, book vi.
VOL. II. B B

370 APPENDIX.
52 Kilgarran Castle, on the Twyvey — hazy Sunrise, previous to a
sultry day.
53 Sunny Morning; the cattle by S. Gilpin, R.A.
54 Abergavenny Bridge, Monmouthshire — clearing up after a
showery day.
55 Salisbury Cathedral, Inside of the Chapter House of.
56 Salisbury Cathedral, West Front of.
57 Caernarvon Castle. "Now rose
Sweet evening, solemn hour, the sun declined,
Hung golden o'er this nether firmament,
Whose broad cerulean mirror, calmly bright,
Gave back his beamy visage to the sky
With splendour undiminish'd." — Mallet.
58 Morning, from Dr. Langhorne's " Visions of Fancy. *
" Life's morning landscape gilt with Orient light,
Where Hope, and Joy, and Fancy hold their reign,
The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling bright,
The blithe hours dancing round Hyperion's wain.
In radiant colours youth's free hand portrays,
Then holds the flattering tablet to his eye.
Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays.
Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky.
Mirror of life thy glories thus depart."
59 Warkworth Castle, Northumberland — thunderstorm approach
ing at sunset. " Behold, slow settling o'er the lurid grove,
Unusual darkness broods ; and growing, gains
The full possession of the sky; and on yon baleful cloud
A redd'ning gloom, a magazine of fate,
Ferments." — Thomson's Seasons.
60 Dolbadern Castle, North Wales.
" How awful is the silence of the waste
Where Nature lifts her mountains to the sky;
Majestic solitude, behold the tower,
Where hopeless Owen, long imprison'd, pined
And wrung his hands for liberty in vain."
Exhibition xxxii. 1800.
W. TURNER, A., 64, Harley-street.
61 The Fifth Plague of Egypt.
"And Moses stretched forth his hands towards heaven, and the Lord
sent thunder and hail, and the fire ran along the ground." Exodus, ix. 23.
62 View of the Gothic Abbey (Afternoon) now building at Font-
hill, the seat of William Beckford, Esq.
63 South-west View of the Gothic Abbey (Morning) now buildup
at Fonthill, the seat of W. Beckford, Esq.
64 Caernarvon Castle, North Wales.
"And now on Arvon's haughty towers
The bard the song of pity pours,
For oft on Mona's distant hills he sighs,

APPENDIX. 371
Where jealous of the minstrel band,
The tyrant drench'd with blood the land,
And charm'd with horror, triumph'd in their cries.
The swains of Arvon round him throng,
And join the sorrows of his song."
65 South View of the Gothic Abbey (Evening) now building at
Fonthill, the seat of W. Beckford, Esq.
66 East View of the Gothic Abbey (Noon) now building at
Fonthill, the seat of W. Beckford, Esq.
67 North-east View of the Gothic Abbey (Sunset) now building
at Fonthill, the seat of W. Beckford, Esq.
Exhibition xxxiii. 1801.
W. TURNER, A., 75, Norton-street, Portland-road.
68 Dutch Boats in a Gale; fishermen endeavouring to put their
fish on board.
69 The Army of the Medes Destroyed in the Desert by a Whirl
wind — foretold by Jeremiah xv. ver. 32, 33.
70 London — Autumnal Morning.
7 1 Pembroke Castle, South Wales — thunderstorm approaching.
72 St. Donat's Castle, South Wales — Summer Evening.
73 Chapter House, Salisbury.
Exhibition xxxiv. 1802.
"JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER, R.A., 75, Norton-street,
Portland-road.
74 Fishermen upon a Lee Shore in Squally Weather.
75 The Tenth Plague of Egypt.
Ver. 29. " And it came to pass, that at midnight the Lord smote
all the first-born in the land.
Ver. 30. "And Pharaoh rose, he and all the Egyptians : and there
was a great cry in Egypt : for there was not a house where there was
not one dead."
76 Ships bearing up for Anchorage.
77 The Falls of the Clyde, Lanarkshire — Noon.
Vide Akenside's Hymn to the Naiades.
78 Kilchern Castle, with the Cruchan-Ben Mountains, Scotland —
Noon.
79 Edinburgh, New Town, Castle, &c, from the Water of Leith.
80 Jason.
81 Ben Lomond Mountain, Scotland — the Traveller.
Vide Ossian's War of Oaros.
Exhibition xxxv. 1803.
J. M. W.' TURNER, R.A., 75, Norton-street, Portland-road.
82 Bonneville, Savoy, with Mont Blanc.
83 The Festival upon the Opening of the Vintage of Macon.
84 Calais Pier, with French Poissards preparing for Sea, an Eng
lish Packet arriving.
* Turner signed his name in full after 1802.
BB 2

372 APPENDIX.
85 Holy Family.
86 Chateau de St. Michael, Bonneville, Savoy.
87 St. Hughes denouncing Vengeance on the Shepherd of Cor-
mayeur, in the Valley of d'Aoust.
88 Glacier and Source of the Arveron going up to the Mer de
Glace, in the Valley of Chamouni.
Exhibition xxxvi. 1804.
J. M. W. TURNER, 64, Harley-street.
89 Boats carrying out Anchors and Cables to Dutch Men-of-War,
1665.
90 Narcissus and Echo.
" So melts the youth, and languishes away,
His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.
She saw him in his present misery,
Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see :
She answer 'd sadly to the lover's moan,
Sigh'd back his sighs, and groan'd to every groan :
'Ah! youth, beloved in vain !' Narcissus cries ;
' Ah ! youth, beloved in vain !' the nymph replies.
' Farewell !' says he ; the parting sound scarce fell
From his faint lips, but she replied, ' Farewell !' "
91 Edinburgh, from Calton Hill.
Exhibition xxxviii. 1806.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., 64, Harley-street.
92 Fall of the Rhine at Schaffhausen.
93 Pembroke Castle — clearing up of a thunderstorm.
Exhibition xxxix. 1807.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., 64, Harley-street.
94 A Country Blacksmith disputing upon the price of Iron, and
the price charged to the Butcher for Shoeing his Pony.
95 Sun Rising through Vapour — Fishermen cleaning and selling
fish. Exhibition xl. 1808.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, 64, Harley-street,
and West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith.
96 The Unpaid Bill, or the Dentist reproving his Son's prodi
gality. Exhibition xli. 1809.
J. M.W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, 64, Harley-street,
and West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith.
97 Spithead, Boat's crew recovering an anchor.
98 Tabley, the seat of Sir J. F. Leicester, Bart. — Windy day.
99 Tabley, Cheshire, the seat of Sir J. F. Leicester; Bart. —
Calm morning.

APPENDIX. 373
100 The Garreteer's Petition.
" Aid me, ye powers ! Oh, bid my thoughts to roll
In quick succession, animate my soul ;
Descend, my muse, and every thought refine,
And finish well my long, my long-sought line."
Exhibition xlii. 1810.
J. M. W. TURNER, R. A., Professor of Perspective, 64, Harley-street,
and West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith.
101 Lowther Castle, Westmoreland, the seat of the Earl of Lons
dale ; North-west view from Ulleswater Lane — Evening.
102 Lowther Castle, Westmoreland, the seat of the Earl of Lons
dale (the north front), with the river Lowther — Mid-day.
103 Petworth, Sussex, the seat of the Earl of Egremont — Dewy
morning. Exhibition xliii. 1811.
J. M. W. TURNER, West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith.
104 Mercury and Hers^.
' ' Close by the sacred walls in wide Munichio's plain,
The God well pleased beheld the virgin train !"
Ovid's Metamorphoses.
105 Apollo and Python.
" Envenom'd by thy darts, the monster coil'd,
Portentous, horrible, and vast his snake-like form :
Rent the huge portal of the rocky den,
And in the throes of death he tore
His many wounds in one, while earth
Absorbing, blacken'd with his gore." Hymn of Oallimachus.
106 Somer Hill, near Tun bridge, the seat of W. F. Woodgate,
Esq.
107 Whalley Bridge, and Abbey, Lancashire; Dyers washing and
drying cloth.
108 Windsor Park, with horses by the late Sawry Gilpin, Esq.,
E.A.
109 November: Flounder-fishing.
110 Chryses. " The trembling priest along the shore return' d,
And in the anguish of a father mourn'd;
Disconsolate, not daring to complain,
Silent he wander'd by the sounding main,
Till safe at distance to bis God he prays,
The God who darts around the world his rays."
Pope's Homer's Iliad, book 1.
Ill May: Chickens.
112 Scarborough, Town and Castle— Morning— Boys collecting
crabs. Exhibition xliv. 1812.
J. M. W. TURNER, Esq., R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
113 View of the Castle of St. Michael, near Bonneville, Savoy.
114 View of the High Street, Oxford.

374 APPENDIX.
115 Oxford, a View of, from the Abingdon Road.
116 Snow Storm, Hannibal and his army crossing the Alps.
" Craft, treachery, and fraud — Salassian force,
Hung on the fainting rear ! then Plunder seized
The victor and the captive — Saguntum's spoil,
Alike became their prey ; still the chief advanced,
Looked on the sun with hope ; low, broad and wan.
While the fierce archer of the downward year,
Stains Italy's blanch'd barrier with storms.
In vain each pass, ensanguined deep with dead,
Or rocky fragments, wide destruction roll'd.
Still on Campania's fertile plains — he thought,
But the loud breeze sobbed, Capua's joys beware."
MS. P. Fallacies of Hope.
Exhibition xlv. 1813.
J. M. W. TURNER, Esq., R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
1 1 7 Frosty Morning. " The rigid hoar frost melts before his beam." Thomson's Season*.
118 The Deluge.
" Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black wings
Wide hovering, all the clouds together drove
From under heaven 
 the thicken'd sky
Like a dark ceiling stood, down rush'd the rain
Impetuous, and continued till the earth
No more was seen." — Milton's Paradise Lost.
Exhibition xlvi. 1814.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West, and at Solus Lodge,

119 Dido and ^Eneas.
" When next the sun his rising light displays,
And gilds the world below with purple rays,
The Queen, iEneas, and the Tyrian Court
Shall to the shady woods for sylvan games resort. "
Dryden's Mneis, book iv.
Exhibition xlvii. 1815.
J. M. W. TURNER, R. A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
1 20 Bligh Sand, near Sheerness — Fishing-boats trawling.
121 Crossing the Brook.
122 Dido Building Carthage: or the Rise of the Carthaginian
Empire.
123 The Battle of Fort Rock, Val d'Aouste, Piedmont, 1796.
" The snow-capt mountain, and huge towers of ice,
Thrust forth their dreary barriers in vain ;
Onward the van progressive forced its way,
Propelled ; as the wild Reuss, by native glaciers fed,
Rolls on impetuous, with ev'ry check gains force
By the constraint upraised ; till, to its gathering powers
All yielding, down the pass wide Devastation pours
Her own destructive course. Thus rapine stalk'd
Triumphant ; and plundering hordes, exulting, strew'd,
Fair Italy, thy plains with woe." Fallacies of Hope, MS.

APPENDIX. 375
124 The Eruption of the Souffrier Mountains, in the Island of St.
Vincent, at midnight, on the 30th of April, 1812; from a
sketch taken at the time by Hugh P. Keane, Esq.
" Then in stupendous horror grew
The red volcano to the view,
And shook in thunders of its own,
While the blaz'd hill in lightnings shone,
Scatt'ring thin arrows round.
As down its sides of liquid flame
The devastating cataract came,
With melting rocks, and crackling woods,
And mingled roar of boiling floods,
And roll'd along the ground I"
125 The Passage of Mount St. Gothard, taken from the centre of
the Teufels Briick (Devil's Bridge), Switzerland.
126 The Great FaU of the Riechenbach, in the Valley of Hasle,
Switzerland.
127 Lake of Lucerne, from the Landing-place at Fluelen, looking
towards Bauen and Tell's Chapel, Switzerland.
Exhibition xlviii. 1816.
J. M. W. TURNER, R. A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
128 The Temple of Jupiter Panhellenius restored.
" 'Twas now the earliest morning ; soon the sun,
Rising above digina, poured his light
Amid the forest, and with ray aslant
Entering its depth, illumed the branching pines,
Brighten'd their bark, tinged with a redder hue
Its rusty stains, and cast along the ground
Long lines of shadow, where they rose erect
Like pillars of the temple."
129 View of the Temple of Jupiter Panhellenius, in the Island of
^Egina, with the Greek National Dance of the Romaika;
the Acropolis of Athens in the distance. Painted from a
sketch taken by H. Godly Knight, Esq., in 1810.
Exhibition xlix. 1817.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
130 The Decline of the Carthaginian Empire. — Eome, being de
termined on the overthrow of her hated rival, demanded
from her such terms as might either force her into war, or
ruin her by compliance; the enervated Carthaginians, in
their anxiety for peace, consented to give up even their
arms and their children. "At Hope's delusive smile,
The chieftain's safety and the mother's pride,
Were to the insidious conqueror's grasp resign'd ;
While o'er the western wave th' ensanguined sun,
In gathering haze, a stormy signal spread,
And set portentous."

376 APPENDIX.
Exhibition l. 1818.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
131 Eaby Castle, the seat of the Earl of Darlington.
132 Dort, or Dordrecht — the Dort Packet-boat, from Rotterdam,
becalmed.
133 The Field of Waterloo.
" Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay ;
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn, the marshalling in arms — the day,
Battle's magnificently stern array !
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse — friend, foe, in one red burial blent 1"
134 Landscape — Composition of Tivoli.
Exhibition li. 1819.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
135 Entrance of the Meuse — Orange Merchant on the bar going
to pieces; Brill Church bearing S.E. by S., Marensluys E.
byS.
136 England — Richmond Hill, onthe Prince Regent's Birthday.
" Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course ;
The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose ?
All is the same with thee; say, shall we wind
Along the streams ? or walk the smiling mead ?
Or court the forest glades ? or wander wild
Among the waving harvests ? or ascend,
While radiant summer opens all its pride,
Thy Hill, delightful Shene ?"— Thomson.
Exhibition lii. 1820.
J. M. W. TURNER, R. A., Professor of Perspective, Member of the Roman
Academy of St. Luke, Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham, and
Queen Anne-street West.
137 Rome, from the Vatican — Raffaelle, accompanied by La
Fornarina, preparing his pictures for the decoration of the
Loggia. Exhibition liv. 1822.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Sandycombe Lodge,
Twickenham, and Queen Anne-street West.
138 What you will! Exhibition lt. 1823.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West,
and Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham.
1 39 The Bay of Baise, with Apollo and the Sibyl.
" Waft me to sunny BaiaVs shore."

APPENDIX. 377
Exhibition lvii. 1825.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West,
and Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham.
140 Harbour of Dieppe (Changement de Domicile).
Exhibition lviii. 1826.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West,
and Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham.
141 Cologne — the Arrival of a Packet-boat — Evening.
142 Forum Romanum; for Mr. Soane's Museum.
143 The Seat of WiUiam Moffatt, Esq., Mortlake— Early (summer)
morning. Exhibition lix. 1827.
J. M. W. TURNER, Esq., R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
144 "Now for the Painter" (rope) — Passengers going on board.
145 Port Ruysdael.
146 Rembrandt's Daughter.
147 Mortlake Terrace, seat of William Moffatt, Esq. — Summer's
evening.
148 Scene in Derbyshire. " When first the sun with beacon red."
Exhibition lx. 1828.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
149 Dido directing the Equipment of the Fleet, or the Morning
of the Carthaginian Empire.
150 East Cowes Castle, the seat of J. Nash, Esq. — the Regatta
beating to windward.
151 East Cowes Castle, the seat of J. Nash, Esq. — the Regatta
starting for their moorings.
152 Boccaccio Relating the Tale of the Bird-cage.
Exhibition lxi. 1829.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
1 53 The Banks of the Loire.
154 Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus : Homer's Odyssey.
155 The Loretto Necklace.
156 Messieurs les Voyageurs on their return from Italy (par la
Diligence) in a Snow-drift upon Mount Tarra, 22nd of
January, 1829. Exhibition lxii. 1830.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
157 Pilate Washing his Hands.
" And when Pilate saw he could prevail nothing, but that rather a
tumult was made, he took water and washed his hands before the multi
tude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person, see ye to it."
—St. Matthew xxvii. 24.
158 View of Orvieto; painted in Rome.

378 APPENDIX.
159 Palestrina: composition.
"Or from yon mural rock, high-crown'd Prseneste,
Where, misdeeming of his strength, the Carthaginian stood,
And marked, with eagle-eye, Rome as his victim." MS. Fallacies of Hope.
160 Jessica. Shylock. — " Jessica, shut the window, I say." Merchant of Venice.
161 Calais Sands, low water — Poissards collecting bait.
1 62 Fish-market on the Sands — the Sun rising through a vapour.
163 Funeral of Sir Thomas Lawrence; a sketch from memory.
Exhibition lxiii. 1831.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
164 Life-Boat and Manby Apparatus going off to a stranded
Vessel making signal (blue lights) of distress.
165 Caligula's Palace and Bridge.
" What now remains of all the mighty bridge
Which made the Lucrine lake an inner pool,
Caligula, but massy fragments, left
As monuments of doubt and ruined hopes
Tet gleaming in the morning's ray, that tell
How Baise's shore was loved in times gone by?"
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
166 Vision of Medea.
" Or Medea, who in the full tide of witchery
'Had lured the dragon, gained her Jason's love,
Had filled the spell-bound bowl with iEson's life,
Yet dashed it to the ground, and raised the poisonous snake
High in the jaundiced sky to writhe its murderous coil,
Infuriate in the wreck of hope, withdrew,
And in the fired palace her twin offspring threw."
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
167 Lucy, Countess of Carlisle, and Dorothy Percy's Visit to their
father, Lord Percy, when under attainder upon the suppo
sition of his being concerned in the Gunpowder Plot.
168 Admiral Van Tromp's Barge at the entrance of the Texel,
1645.
169 Watteau Study by Fresnoy's Rules.
"White, when it shines with unstained lustre clear,
May bear an object back, or bring it neir."
Fresnoy's Art of Painting, p. 496.
"In this arduous service (of reconnoissance) on the French coast,
1805, one of our cruisers took the ground, and had to sustain the attack
of the flying artillery along shore, the batteries, and the fort of Vimieux,
which fired heated shot, until she could warp off at the rising tide, which
set in with all the appearance of a stormy night.'1 — Naval Anecdotes.

170

APPENDIX. 379
Exhibition lxiv. 1832.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
171 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. — Italy. "And now, fair Italy !
Thou art the garden of the world.
Even in thy desert what is like to thee ?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes' fertility :
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced."
Lord Byron, canto iv.
172 The Prince of Orange, William III., embarked from Holland
and landed at Torbay, November 4th, 1688, after a stormy
passage. — History of England.
The yacht in which His Majesty sailed was, after many changes and
services, finally wrecked on Hamburgh sands, while employed in the
Hull trade.
173 Van Tromp's Shallop, at the Entrance of the Scheldt.
174 Helvoetsluys; the City of Utrecht, 64, going to sea.
175 " Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery
furnace, and spake and said, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, ye
servants of the most high God, come forth and come hither. Then
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came forth of the midst of the fire." —
Daniel iii. 26.
176 Staffa, Fingal's Cave.
" Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,
And still, between each awful pause,
From the high vault an answer draws. "
Sir Walter Scott's Lord of the Isles, canto iv.
Exhibition lxv. 1833.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
177 Eotterdam Ferry-boat.
178 Bridge of Sighs, Ducal Palace, and Custom House, Venice;
Canaletti painting.
179 Van Goyen, looking out for a subject.
180 Van Tromp, returning after the battle off the Dogger Bank.
181 Ducal Palace, Venice.
182 Mouth of the Seine, Quille-boeuf.
This estuary is so dangerous from its quicksands, that any vessel
taking the ground is liable to be stranded and overwhelmed by the rising
tide, which rushes in in one wave.
Exhibition lxvi. 1834.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective. Queen Anne-street West.
183 The Fountain of Indolence.
184 The Golden Bough {MS. Fallacies of Hope).
185 Venice.

380 APPENDIX.
186 Wreckers. — Coast of Northumberland, with a steam-boat
assisting a ship offshore.
187 St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall.
Exhibition lxvii. 1835.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
1 88 Keelmen heaving in coals by night.
189 The Broad Stone of Honour (Ehrenbreitstein), and Tomb of
Marceau ; from Byron's Childe Harold.
' ' By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground,
There is a small and simple pyramid
Crowning the summit of the verdant mount ;
Beneath its base are hero's ashes hid,
Our enemy's — but let not that forbid
Honour to Marceau 
 He was freedom's champion !
Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,
Yet shows of what she was."
190 Venice, from the Porch of Madonna della Salute.
191 Line-fishing, off Hastings.
1 92 The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, October
16th, 1834. Exhibition lxviii. 1836.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
193 Juliet and her Nurse,
194 Eome, from Mount Aventine.
195 Mercury and Argus. Exhibition lxix. 1837.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
196 Scene. — A Street in Venice.
" Antonio. Hear me yet, good Shylock.
Shylock. I'll have my bond. "
Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. 3.
197 Story of Apollo and Daphne. — Ovid's Metamorphoses.
" Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart ;
But, ah ! more deadly his who pierced my heart.
» * * * *
As when th' impatient greyhound, slipt from far,
Bounds o'er the glebe to course the fearful hare,
She in her speed does all her safety lay ;
And he with double speed pursues the prey."
198 The Parting of Hero and Leander — from the Greek of
Musaeus. " The morning came too soon, with crimsoned blush,
Chiding the tardy night and Cynthia's warning beam ;
But Love yet lingers ou the terraced steep,
Upheld young Hymen's torch and failing lamp,
The token of departure, never to return.
Wild dashed the Hellespont its straitened surge,
And on the raised spray appeared Leander' s fall."*

APPENDIX. 381
199 Snow Storm, Avalanche, and Inundation, a Scene in the
upper part of Val d'Aouste, Piedmont.
Exhibition lxx. 1838.
J.M. W. TURNER, R.A., Professor of Perspective, Queen Anne-street West.
200 Phryne going to the Public Bath as Venus — Demosthenes
taunted by iEschines.
201 Modern Italy— the Pifferari.
202 Ancient Italy — Ovid banished from Rome.
Exhibition lxxi. 1839.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
203 The Fighting Tem6raire tugged to her last Berth to be
broken up, 1838.
" The flag which braved the battle and the breeze,
No longer owns her."
204 Ancient Rome — Agrippina landing with the Ashes of
Germanicus. The Triumphal Bridge and Palace of the
Csesars restored. " The clear stream,
Aye, — the yellow Tiber glimmers to her beam,
Even while the sun is setting."
205 Modern Rome — Campo Vaccino.
" The moon is up, and yet it is not night,
The sun as yet divides the day with her." — Lord Byron.
206 Pluto carrying off Proserpine. — Ovid's Metamorphoses.
207 Cicero at his Villa. Exhibition lxxii. 1840.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen A nne-street West.
208 Bacchus and Ariadne.
209 Venice, the Bridge of Sighs.
" I stood upon a bridge, a palace and
A prison on each hand." — Byron.
210 Venice, from the Canale della Giudecca, Chiesa di S. Maria
della Salute, &c.
2 1 1 Slavers throwing overboard the Dead and Dying. Typhoon
coming on.
"Aloft all hands, strike the topmasts and belay;
Yon angry setting sun and fierce-edged clouds
Declare the Typhoon's coming.
Before it sweeps your decks, throw overboard
The dead and dying — ne'er heed their chains.
Hope, Hope, fallacious Hope !
Where is thy market now ?" — MS. Fallacies of Hope.
212 The New Moon ; or, " I've lost my Boat, you shan't have
your Hoop."
213 Rockets and Blue Lights (close at hand) to warn Steamboats
off Shoal-water.
214 Neapolitan Fisher-Girls surprised Bathing by Moonlight.

382 APPENDIX.
Exhibition lxxiii. 1841.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
215 Ducal Palace, Dogana, with part of San Georgio, Venice.
216 Giudecca, la Donna della Salute and San Georgio.
217 Rosenau, seat of H.R.H.' Prince Albert of Coburg, near
Coburg, Germany.
218 Depositing of John Bellini's Three Pictures in La Chiesa
Redentore, Venice.
219 Dawn of Christianity (Flight into Egypt).
" That star has risen." — Rev. T. Grisborne's Walks in a Forest.
220 Glaucus and Scylla. — Ovid's Metamorphoses.
Exhibition lxxiv. 1842.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
221 The Dogano, San Giorgio, Citella, from the steps of the
Europa.
222 Campo Santo, Venice.
223 Snow Storm; Steamboat off a harbour's mouth making signals
in shallow water, and going by the lead. The author was
in this storm on the night the Ariel left Harwich.
224 Peace — Burial at Sea.
" The midnight torch gleam'd o'er the steamer's side,
And Merit's corse was yielded to the tide. "
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
225 War, The exile and the rock limpet.
"Ah ! thy tent-formed shell is like
A soldier's nightly bivouac, alone
Amidst a sea of blood ....
. . . but can you join your comrades ?"
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
Exhibition lxxv. 1843.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
226 The Opening of the Walhalla, 1842.
" L'honneur au Roi de Baviere.''
"Who rode on thy relentless car, fallacious Hope ?
He, though scathed at Ratisbon, poured on
The tide of war o'er all thy plain, Bavare,
Like the swollen Danube to the gates of Wien ;
But peace returns — the morning ray
Beams on the Walhalla, reared to science and the arts,
And men renowned, of German fatherland." MS. Fallacies of Hope.
227 The " Sun of Venice," going to Sea.
" Fair shines the morn, and soft the zephyrs blow a gale,
Venicia's fisher spreads his painted sail,
Nor heeds the demon that in grim repose
Expects his evening prey."
228 Dogana, and Madonna della Salute, Venice.

APPENDIX. 383
229 Shade and Darkness. — The Evening of the Deluge.
" The moon puts forth her sign of woe unheeded;
But disobedience slept ; the darkening Deluge
Closed around,
And the last token came : the giant frame-work floated,
The scared birds forsook their nightly shelter screaming,
And the beasts waded to the Ark." — Fallacies of Hope.
230 Light and Colour (Goethe's Theory) — The Morning after the
Deluge — Moses writing the Book of Genesis.
' ' The ark stood firm on Ararat ; th' returning sun
Exhaled earth's humid bubbles^ and, emulous of light,
Reflected her lost forms, each in prismatic guise
Hope's harbinger, ephemeral as the summer fly
Which rises, flits, expands, and dies."— Fallacies of Hope.
231 St. Benedetto, looking towards Fusina.
Exhibition lxxvi. 1844.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
232 Ostend.
233 Fishing Boats bringing a disabled ship into Port Ruysdael.
234 Rain, Steam, and Speed. — The Great Western Railway.
235 Van Tromp, going about to please his masters, ships a sea,
getting a good wetting. — Vide Lives of Dutch Painters.
236 Venice — Maria della Salute.
237 Approach to Venice.
" The path lies o'er the sea, invisible ;
And from the land we went
As to a floating city, steering in,
And gliding up her streets as in a dream,
So smoothly, silently." Rogers's Italy.
" The moon is up, and yet it is not night ;
The sun as yet disputes the day with her." — Byron.
238 Venice Quay — Ducal Palace.
Exhibition lxxvii. 1845.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
239 Whalers. — Vide Beale's Voyage, p. 163.
240 Whalers. — Vide Beale's Voyage, p. 175.
241 Venice — Evening ; Going to the Ball. — MS. Fallacies of Hope.
242 Morning ; Returning from the Ball, St. Martino. — MS.
Fallacies of Hope.
243 Venice — Noon. — MS. Fallacies of Hope.
244 Venice — Sunset ; a Fisher. — MS. Fallacies of Hope.
Exhibition lxxviii. 1846.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
245 Returning from the Ball (St. Martha).
246 Going to the Ball (San Martino).
247 "Hurrah for the Whaler Erebus! another fish ! "—Beale's
Voyage.

384 APPENDIX.
248 Undine giving the Ring to Massaniello ; Fishermen of
Naples.
249 The Angel standing in the Sun.
" And I saw an angel standing in the sun ; and he cried with a loud
voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and
gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God ;
' ' That ye may eat the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains,
and the flesh of mighty men, and the flesh of horses, and of them
that sit on them, and the flesh of all men, both free and bond, both
small and great." — Revelation xix. 17, 18.
' ' The march of arms, which, glittering in the sun,
The feast of vultures ere the day was done." — Rogers.
250 Whalers (boiling blubber) entangled in flaw ice, endeavouring
to extricate themselves. Exhibition lxxix. 1847.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
251 The Hero of a Hundred Fights.
An idea suggested by the German invocation upon casting the bell ;
in England called tapping the furnace.— M S. Fallacies of Hope.
Exhibition lxxxi. 1849.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
252 The Wreck Buoy.
253 Venus and Adonis. Exhibition lxxxii. 1850.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street West.
254 Mercury sent to admonish tineas.
"Beneath the morning mist,
Mercury waited to tell him of his neglected fleet."
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
255 iEneas relating his Story to Dido.
" Fallacious Hope beneath the moon's pale crescent shone,
Dido listened to Troy being lost and won." MS. allades of Hope.
256 The Visit to the Tomb.
"The sun went down in wrath at such deceit."
MS. Fallacies of Hope.
257 The Departure of the Fleet.
" The orient moon shone on the departing fleet,
Nemesis invoked, the priest held the poisoned cup."
MS. Fallacies of Hope.

APPENDIX.

BRITISH INSTITUTION.
Exhibition 1806.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., 64, Harley-street.
258 Narcissus and Echo. From Ovid's Metamorphoses.
259 The Goddess of Discord choosing the Apple of Contention in
the Garden of the Hesperides.
Exhibition 1808.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith, and
Harley-street.
260 The Battle of Trafalgar, as seen from the mizen starboard
shrouds of the Victory.
261 Jason ; — from Ovid's Metamorphoses.
Exhibition 1809.
262 Sun rising through Vapour, with Fishermen landing and
cleaning their Fish. Exhibition 1814.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Harley-street, Cavendish-square.
263 Apuleia in search of Apuleius.
Vide Ovid's Metamorphoses.
Exhibition 1817.
J. M. W. TURNER, Queen Anne-street, Cavendish-square.
264 View of the Temple of Jupiter Panhellenius, in the Island of
..-Egina, with the Greek National Dance of the Romaika :
the Acropolis of Athens in the distance ; painted from a
sketch taken by H. Gaily Knight, Esq., in 1810.
Exhibition 1835.
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A., Queen Anne-street.
265 The Burning of the House of Lords and Commons, 16 th
October, 1834. Exhibition 1836.
266 Wreckers on the North Shore.
267 Fire of the House of Lords.
Exhibition 1837.
268 Regulus.
VOL. II. C C

3S6 APPENDIX.
Exhibition 1838.
269 Fishing Boats, with Hucksters bargaining for Fish.
Exhibition 1839.
270 Fountain of Fallacy.
" Its Rainbow dew diffused fell on each anxious lip,
Working wild fantasy, imagining ;
First, Science, in the immeasurable
Abyss of thought,
Measured her orbit slumbering. "• — MS. Fallacies of Hope.
Exhibition 1840.
271 Mercury and Argus. Exhibition 1841.
272 Snow Storm, Avalanche, and Inundation in the Alps.
273 Blue Lights (close at hand) to warn Steamboats off Shoal-
water. Exhibition 1846.
274 Queen Mab's Cave.
" Frisk it, frisk it, by the moonlight beam."
Midsummer Night's Dream.
" Thy orgies, Mab, are manifold." MS. Fallacies of Hope.

CATALOGUE OF
PICTUEES GIVEN BY TUENEE TO THE NATION,
NOW EXHIBITING IN THE TURNER GALLERY AT KENSINGTON.

The Sun rising in Mist.
Dido building Carthage.
Portrait of himself.
Moonlight.Buttermere Lake.
Coniston Fells.
Cattle in Water.
tineas with the Sibyl.
Rizpah.Castle. View in Wales, Castle.
Sandpit. Clapharo Common.
Sea Piece.
The Tenth Plague.
Jason. Calais Pier.
The Holy Family.
Destruction of Sodom.
View of a Town.
The Shipwreck.
The Garden of the Hesperidea.
Blacksmith's Shop.
Death of Nelson.
Spithead.
The Garreteer's Petition.
Greenwich Hospital.
St. Mawes, Cornwall.
Abingdon, Berkshire.
Windsor.
Ruin, with Cattle.
Apollo and the Python.
Avalanche. Hannibal crossing the Alps.
Kingston Bank.
Frosty Morning.
The Deluge.
Dido and .iEneas.
Apuleia in search of Apuleius.
Bligh Sand.
Crossing -the Brook.
The Decline of Carthage.
The Field of Waterloo.
Orange-Merchantman going to pieces.
Richmond Hill.
Rome, from the Vatican.

Rome, the Arch of Titus.
The Bay of Baiie.
Carthage. Scene from Boccaccio.
Ulysses deriding Polyphemus.
The Loreito Necklace.
Pilate washing his Hands.
View of Orvieto.
Caligula's Palace and Bridge.
The Vision of Medea.
Watteau Painting.
Lord Percy under Attainder.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
The Fiery Furnace.
Heidelberg Castle.
Regulus leaving Rome.
Apoilo and Daphne.
Hero aud Leander.
Phryne going to the Bath.
Agrippina.The TemeVaire.
Bacchus and Ariadne.
The New Moon.
Venice, Bridge of Sighs.
Burial of Wilkie.
The Exile and the Rock Limpet.
Steamer in a Snowstorm.
The Evening of the Deluge.
The Morning after the Deluge.
The Opening of the Walhalla.
Approach to Venice.
The " Sun of Venice" going to Sea.
Port Ruysdael.
Van Tromp.
Rain, Steam, and Speed.
Venice, the Giudecca.
Venice, the Quay.
Venice, Noon.
Venice, Sunset.
Venice. Going to the Ball.
Venice. Returning from the Ball.
Whalers.Whalers.Whalers boiling Blubber.
Queen Mali's Grotto.
Massaniello.

c c 2

388

APPENDIX.

The Angel in the Sun.
Tapping the Furnace.
jEneas relating his Story to Dido.
Mercury sent to admonish j3Sneas.
The Departure of the Trojan Fleet.
The Visit to the Tomb.
The Battle of Trafalgar.

Richmond Bridge.
Fire at Sea.
Petworth Park.
Chichester Canal.
Mountain Glen.
Harvest Home.

List of the Turner Drawings and Sketches, exhibited with tlie
Turner Collection of Pictures.
The Libee Studiorum.
Fifty-one Water-colour Drawings in Brown, being the greater portion of
the original Drawings made for the so-called Liber Studiorum, or 'Book of
Studies,' in imitation of Claude's Liber Teritatis, or 'Book of Truth.' The
prints, in brown ink, from these drawings, were published in numbers, from the
year 1808 until 1819. Many of the plates were etched, and some engraved, by
Turner himself.

Compositions.
No. 1. Jason.
2. Solitude.
3. Bridge with Goats.
4. Bridge in middle distance.
5. Cephalus and Procris.
6. Pastoral.
7. Pastoral with Castle.
8. Woman playing Tambourine.
9. The Tenth Plague of Egypt.
10. Hindoo Devotions.
11. Hindoo Ablutions.
12. Christ and the Woman of Samaria.
Foreign Views.
13. Laufenburg on the Rhine.
14. The Lake of Thun, Switzerland.
15. Thun, Switzerland.
16. The Little Devil's Bridge, Altdorf.
17 Mount St. Gothard.
18. Bonneville, Savoy.
19. The Alps from Grenoble to Cham-
beri. British Views.
20. Norham Castle, on the Tweed.
21. Holy Island Cathedral.
22. Morpeth.
23. Rivaulx Abbey, Yorkshire.
24. Crypt, Kirkstall Abbey.

25. Dunstanburgh Castle.
26. Coast of Yorkshire.
27. Winchelsea.
28. East Gate, Winchelsea.
29. Hind Head HiU.
30. Martello Towers, Bexhill.
31. St. Catherine's Hill, near Guild
ford.
32. Pembury Mill, Kent.
33. Greenwich Hospital.
34. Chepstow Castle, River Wye
35. The Wye and the Severn.
36. Flint Castle : Smugglers.
37. Dumblane Abbey.
38. Peat Bog, Scotland.
39. View near Blair. Atholl.
40. The Clyde.
41. Inverary Castle. Various.
42. Sketch for Sea Piece.
43. Ditto.
44. Bridge and Cows.
45. Watermill.
46. Stack-yard.
47. Farmyard with Pigs.
48. Hedging and Ditching.
49. Marine Dabblers.
50. Young Anglers.
51 . Juvenile Tricks.

APPENDIX. 3S9

Sketches and Drawings extending over a period qf nearly Sixty
Tears, arranged as nearly as practicable in Chronological Order.
First Pekiod, Early. Sketches.
No. Subject. Method.
1 North-west View of Malmesbury Abbey —
View on the River Avon, "from Wallace's
Wall" — "View of Cook's Folly," looking up
the Avon, " with Wallace's Wall and the
Hot Wells"  In Water Colour.
2 The Mewstone  Do.
3 Tower of St. Mary RedclifFe, Bristol— Transept
and Towers of York Cathedral-^Tower of
Boston, Lincolnshire  Pencil Outline.
4 Malmesbury Abbey  Do.
5 Kirkstall Abbey — Holy Island Cathedral ... Do.
6 Leeds — Bolton Abbey  Do.
7 Fire (Steam) Engine, Coalbrook Dale —
Copperworks, Swansea — Fire Engine, Coal-
brook Dale — Iron Foundry, Maidley Wood —
Fire Engine, Coalbrook Dale — Fire Engine
nearGlasmount. (So named at the backs) ... Pen and Ink.
8 View of the Interior of the Savoy Chapel ... Light and Shade.
9 ViewofTivoli  Do.
10 Study of Shipping  Do.
11 Portico of St. Peter's, Rome  Do.
12 Study of a Cottage  Water Colour.
13 A Cottage Roof  Do.
14 Carisbrook Castle  Do.
15 An Interior  Do.
16 Landscape  Mo.
17 Three Studies of Boats  Do.
I Body Colour on Brown.
18 Do. Do  | and on Blue.
19 Seven Studies of a Shipwreck — Sketch of a
Boat  Pen and Ink.
20 Two Coast Scenes  Do-
21 Sketch for Picture of Ivy Bridge, Devon—
Study of a Stream  Pencil and Water Colour.
22 Two Studies of Fir and Willow  Pencil on Brown.
Second Period, from about 1802.
( Pencil and Chalk on
23 Study near Grenoble  | Brown.
24 The Lake of Brientz— Vevay  Do.
25 Convent of the Great St. Bernard— The Town
ofAosta  Vo-
26 Roman Gate, Aosta— Another View of the
same  (Pencil and Chalk on
Castle of Aosta, two Views  Brown, and Water Co-
( lour.
I Pencil and Chalk on
Glaciers, Grindel wald— Fallen Trees  j Brown.
, The Ascent to Cormayeur— Valley of the Isere. . Do.
30 The Road from Voreppe to Grenoble— Mont
Blanc from Fort St. Louis  Vo<

27 2829

890 APPENDIX.
*
No. Subject. Method.
31 The Alps looking towards Grenoble — Grenoble ) Pencil and Chalk on
with Mont Blanc  \ Brown.
32 Two Views of Grenoble  Do.
33 View of an English Country Seat  Do.
34 Study of a Mountain Stream  Oil Colours.
35 Edinburgh from Calton Hill  Drawing in Water Colour.
36 Building, with Cattle  Body Colour on Blue.
37 Funeral of Sir Thomas Lawrence  Water Colour.
38 Contamines, Savoy  Body Colour on Brown.
39 Source of the Arveron  Chalk on Brown.
40 Valley of Chamouni  Do. and Body Colour.
41 Battle of Fort Bard, Val d'Aosta, 1800 ; exhi-
bitedinl815  Drawing in Water Colour.
42 Ivy Bridge, Devon  Do.
43 Two Studies of a Figure, for Picture of Deluge.. Chalk on Blue.
44 Sketch of a Group of Figures, for Picture of
Hannibal  Do.
45 Study of a Cutter  Do.
46 Study of a Pilot Boat  Pen and Ink on Blue.
47 Two Marine Sketches  Pen and Chalk on Blue.
48 Do. Do  Do.
49 Study of an Arm-chair  Oil Colours.
50 Four Studies of Dock Leaves  Pen and Ink.
_.. t. _, . I Pen and Ink on White
51 Do. Plants  -j and Brown.
52 Study of Sheep  Pencil.
53 Study of Pigs and of Donkeys  j Boadnyd ^^ll™
_ . t. -p. , , „ , . ( Pencil and Pencil Out-
54 Do. Dutch Hardware, &c  ¦< ,¦
55 Views in Rouen — Norman Caps  Pencil.
56 Studies on the Seine — Sketches from Claude... Do.
57 Studies of a Skeleton  Chalk on Brown.
58 Dead Ducks  Colour and Chalk.
59 Study of a Teal flying  Water Colour.
Nine Views of Eome, 1819. Sketches im body colour.
1. Rome from Monte Mario.
2. Rome from the Barberini Villa.
3. Bridge and Castle of Sant' Angelo from St. Peter's.
4. The Colosseum.
5. The Basilica of Constantine.
6. The Arches of Constantiae and Titus.
8. The Church and Convent of the Quattro Coronati.
9. The Claudian Aqueduct.
Third Period, from about 1820.

60

Two Landscapes 

... Pencil Outlines.

61

Do. 

. ... Do.

62

Do. 

. ... Do.

63

Landscape — Moonlight 

Water Colour.

64

A Stormy Sky 

. ... Do.

65

Three Marine Sketches 

. ... Do.

66

Do. Do 

. ... Body Colour on Blue.

67

Dover 

... Drawing in Water Colour.

68

North Shields 

. ... Do.

69

Rochester 

. ... Do.

70

Four Sketches — Rivers of France 

Body Colour on Blue.

71

Four Sketches — Calais 

... Pen and Ink on Blue.

APPENDIX.

391

No. 72
73

74757677
7879
80
81
82S384 85
86
87

Subject.
Evreux Market-place — Louviers — and two
Sketches of Vernon 
Marly, near St. Germain, looking up the River
— Castle of the Fair Gabrielle — and near
St. Germain, looking down the River
Four Studies — Ambleteuse (?) Dieppe and
Rouen 
Three Sketches of Rooms at Petworth 
Four Sunset Studies at Petworth 
Four Sketches — Rivers of France 

Do.
Do.Do.
Do.Do.
Do.Do. Do.
Do.

Do.
Do.
Do. Do. Do.
Do. Do.Do. Do.

Two Studies for Vignettes, Rogers's Columbus
oo Two Vignettes
89 Do.  "'¦. "\
90 Studies of Swiss Costume 
91 French Dance in Sabots 
92 Villeneuve — Gallery on the Spliigen— Vevay
93 Fortress — Lausanne, Sunset 
94 Moselle Bridge, Coblentz — Bridge over the
Rhine, Coblentz 
95 Two Views on Lake Lucerne 
96 The Lake of Annecy 
97 San Giorgio Maggiore, and Santa Maria
della Salute, Venice 
9S The Riva degli Schiavoni, and Lagoon,
Venice 
99 Sunset, Lake Lucerne — Night, Zurich
Morning on Lake Lucerne, three Sketches ...

Method..
Pen and Ink on Blue.
Pen and Ink.
Do.
Body Colour on Blue.
Do.
Do. Do.Do.
Do. Do.Do.
Do.Do. Do.
Do.
Water Colour.
Do.Do.
Do.
Body Colour on Blue.
Pencil on Brown.
Water Colour.
Do. Do.
Water Colour.
Do.
Do.
Do. Do.

100
101 View of Rome. Date 1819. (Full of accurate detail. )
102 Rome — the Bridge and Castle of St. Angelo. (Lovely colour.)
103 Rome from Monte Mario. (Beautiful middle distance.)
104 Rome from the Barberini Villa.
105 Rome — Nytnphasum of Alexander Severus. (Fine, but careless.)
106 The Claudian Aqueduct at Rome.
107 The Colosseum at Rome.
108 The Basilica of Constantine at Rome.
109 The Church of St. Giovanni e Paolo at Rome. *
110 The Arches of Constantine and Titus at Rome.
Ill Study for the Oil Pictures of the Loggie. (A foreground at Rome.)
112 Four leaves from a Sketch-book filled on the way to and from Scotland
by sea, on the occasion of George the Fourth's visit to Edinburgh.
113 Ten leaves from a Book of Sketches on the Rhine and Meuse — Huy and
Dinant.
114 Six leaves from a Sketch-book on the Lake of Geneva — Junction of the
Rhone and Arve; Studies of Boats; Lausanne from the North;
Lausanne from the East ; Geneva from the West ; Geneva from the
West at a greater distance.
115 Twelve leaves from a Sketch-book at Venice, comprising Santa Maria
della Salute ; the Custom House ; St. Mark's Place ; Casa Grimani
and the Rialto; St. George's and St. Mary's of Health; the Grand
Canal from Casa Foscari to the Rialto; Riva degli Schiavoni, with

392 APPENDIX.
St. Mark's and St. Zachary's ; the Doge's Palace and Mint ; the
Fruit Market ; the Coal Market ; the Rialto, with the West Side of
the Grand Canal ; the Rialto, with the East Side of the Grand Canal.
116 Three leaves from Note-books — Seven Sunsets and Sketches of Clouds
from Andernach on the Rhine; the Borromean Islands on Lago
Maggiore.
117 Two leaves of a Note-book filled at Naples.
118 Studies from Claude and in France — View near Dieppe; Fishwives
quarrelling on Dieppe Beach.
119 View of Dresden.
120 The Arch of Titus. Same from the side.
121 Studies of Light and Shade in and on hollow glass balls.
122 Angry Swans.
123 Studies of Poultry.
124 Buckingham Gate (?), Hungerford Bridge.
125 Source of the Arveron.
126 Study for the drawing of Grenoble.
127 Ditto.
128 A Mountain Stream. (In oil.) r
129 Study of Masts and Rigging.
130 Boat in Heavy Sea. Boat Swamped in Surf.
131 Three Studies of a Ship on Fire.
132 Sunset over a Town. Twilight. (Same as at Petworth.)
133 Town on the Loire (Saumur?); Huy on the Meuse from above the
Chateau ; Dinant on the Meuse.
134 Orleans (Theatre and Cathedral). Nantes (Promenade near the
Chateau).
135 Promenade at Nantes. Dressing for Tea. Firelight and Cat.
136 Havre (?). Harfleur. Caudebee. Saumur. (Mr. Ruskin thinks the
Harfleur specially beautiful. )
137 Sauinur. Montjean. (Study for a drawing [Saumur?] made for the
"Keepsake.")
138 Studies on the Loire and Meuse. Huy. (Morning effect.)
139 Study of a Town on the Loire. The Carrara Mountains from Sarzana.
140 Vignette of Turbot and Mullet.
141 Vignette of Mackerel.
142 Swiss Fortress — Grenoble.
143 Calm. Fresh Breeze. (Pen studies.)
144 Carew Castle about 1800 (published 1834). Lancaster. (First Sketches
of England Series. )
1 45 Caernarvon Castle. Wells Cathedral.
146 Two Bridge subjects.
147 Cologne Cathedral — on the Rhine. ("Magnificent, and of his finest
time." — Ruskin.)
148 Sketches at and near York. (Pencil— Middle time.)
149 Sequel to ditto.
150 On the Rhine. (Brown paper — Late.)
151 Bellinzona. (Very late.)
152 Fribourg. (Probably last Swiss journey, 1845.)
153 Fribourg, companion. (From a book with fourteen detailed sketches.)

MISCELLANEOUS COLLECTIONS.

(In their present state. )

Turner's Pictures and Drawings in the Gallery of F. H. Fawkes,
Esq., Farnley Hall, near Leeds.

Oil Paintings.

Lake of Geneva, from above Vevay,
and looking towards the Valley of
the Rhone.
Pilot with Red Cap hailing a Smack
in stormy weather.
The Victory returning from Trafalgar,
beating up Channel, in three posi
tions; fresh breeze.

Coast Scene — Sunset, with men-of-
war at anchor ; fine weather.
Landscape. (The last five were painted from
1808 to 1816.)
Dort— Holland. 1818.
Rembrandt's Daughter. 1827.

Water-colour Drawings.

Scarborough, Yorkshire.
Flounder-fishing, Putney-bridge.
Cottage Scene.
Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire.
Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire.
The Strid, Bolton Abbey.
High Force — Tees River.
Wharfdale, from Chevin Park.
Lancaster Sands.

Coast Scene.
Windermere, Westmoreland.
Loch Fine, Argyleshire.
View of Coniston, Westmoreland.
,, ,, and Old Man.
First-rate, taking in stores.
Old House, Farnley.
Party on the Moors, 12th August.

Swiss.

Valley of Chamouni, looking eastward.
Mont Blanc, from Val D' Aosta.
Lake of Lucerne, from Fluelen.
Teufels- Brack, St. Gothard.
Falls of the Reichenbach, Valley of
Grindelwald.
Source of the Avernon, Chamouni.
Valley of Chamouni.
Montanvert and Mer de Glace.

Lac de Brientz — Moonlight.
Mont Cenis — Snow-storm.
Lausanne and Lake of Geneva.
Mont Blanc, from Chamouni.
Vevay and Lake of Geneva.
Sallenche.
Bonneville, Savoy.
Falls of Staubach, Lauterbrunnen.
Falls of Reichenbach.

Venice, from Fusina.
The Rialto, Venice.
Rome, from Monte Mario.
, , , , Pinoio.
The Colosseum, Rome.
All these drawings were made between the years 1803 and 1S20.

Italian. Interior of St. Peter's, Rome.
Naples, and Bay.
Eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
Ships hailing a Pilot off the Tagus.

394

APPENDIX.

Water-colour Drawings in Cases,
Illustrative of Poems by Lord Byron and Sir W. Scott and Moore.
Frontispiece. 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more. — Byron's Giaour.
Day sat on Norham's Castle steep. — Scott's Marmion.
If you would view fair Melrose aright,
You must view it by the pale moonlight. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Lone Glenartney's hazel shade. — Scott's Lady of the Lake.
Here, 'twixt rock and river, grew
A dismal grove of sable hue. — Scott's Rokeby.
Lalla Rcokh. — Moore. Drawings of 1822.
Frontispieces to " Chronology," by Walter Fawkes, Esq.
Pyramids, for Ancient History. | Stonehenge, for Modern History.
Illustrative of Periods of English History.

The Reformation.
First Period of the Civil War.
Second , , , ,
Third „ ,,
Fourth ,, ,,
Swords of Oliver Cromwell, Sir Thomas

Fairfax, and Lambert, as preserved
at Farnley Hall.
Banners of the Royal side.
Banners of the Parliamentarians.
Revolution of 1688.

Water-colour Drawings.

London, from windows of 45, Grosve-
nor-place, when in possession of
Walter Fawkes, Esq.
Drawing-room of 45, Grosvenor-place.

Frontispiece to Catalogue of Water-
colour Drawings in 45, Grosvenur-
place.
Top of a Snuff-box — Grouse, Par
tridge, and Gun.

Water-colour Drawings of Birds.

Head of a Moor Buzzard.
Head of White Owl.
Jay, dead.
Head of Cuckoo.
Head of Green Woodpecker.
Goldfinch. ¦
Robin Redbreast.
Ringdove, dead.
Head of Game-cock.
Head of Cock Pheasant.

From Nature. Head of Hen Pheasant.
Head of Turkey-cock.
Head of Peacock.
Head of Grouse.
Grouse Hanging (killed by himself).
Head of Partridge.
Head of Woodcock.
Kingfisher, dead.
Head of Heron.
Head of Guinea-fowl.

Sketches on the
Mayence and Cassel.
Mayence. N.
Mayence., S.
Palace of Breberech.
Johannisberg.Rudisheim, looking to Bingen Klopp.
Bingen Ehrenfels, looking out of Loch .
Abbey of Bingen, looking into Loch.
Bingen Loch and Mansethurn. N.
Bautsburg. S.

Rhine (in a Case).
Sonneck on left — on right, Bacharach
in the distance.
Fiirstenberg.
Bacharach and Stableck.
Pfa'z Caub and Outenfels.
Oberwesel and Sohonberg Castle.
Lurleyberg. N.
Goerhausen and Hatz Castle.
Lurleyberg. S.
Lurleyberg and Goerhausen. N.
Lurleyberg. S.

APPENDIX.

395

Lurleyberg. Goerhausen. N.
Lurleyberg. S.
Ditto.Hatz Castle, with Rheinfels. W.
From Rheinfels, looking over St. Goar
to Hatz.
Hirzenach. N.
Rheinfels, looking to Hatz and
Goerhausen.
Castles of the Two Brothers, with
Sternberg and Liebeistein.
Boppart. Peterhoff.Marksburg. S.
Oberlanstein. N. Chapel.
Entrance of the Lahn. S.
Abbey, near Coblentz. S.

Back of Ehrenbreitstein, from the
Pfaffen.
From Ehrenbreitstein.
Quay of Coblentz.
Bridge over the Moselle, Coblentz.
Neuwied and Weissenthurm. N.
Weissenthurm and Hoche", Monument.
Andernach. N.
Roman Tower, Andernach. N.
Hamerstein. S.
Remagen (S.) and Lintz.
Rolandsworth Nunnery (N.), with
Drachenfels.
Drackenfels and Nunnery.
Drackenfels.Godesberg. S.
Rhein Gate, Cologne. S.
Cologne. N.

Sketches (in cases) of the Farnlet Property.
Case 1.

Otley Lodges.
Approach to Farnley Hall from
West.
Dairy, Farnley.
Old Porch— Flower Garden.
Old Part of House and ditto.
Old Fairfax Gateway, and Firs.
West Lodge, designed by himself.
Wharf and Chevin, from Park.
Glen to Loch Tiny.
Caley Hall.
Rocks in Caley Park.
„ East.
West Entrance to ditto.
Newall Old Hall.
Lindley Old Hall.
Hawkworth Old Hall.
Fairfax Cabinet. All these drawings

Glen leading to Loch Tiny.
the Loch Tiny and Summer-house.
,, and Almscliffe.
„ and Boat-bouse.
„ and Lindley Hall.
Banks of Washburne. S.
Lindley Mill. S.
Lindley Bridge, Wood, and Hall.
Guy Barn, Bank, and Ford.
Case 2.
Oak Room at Farnley Hall.
Old Staircase.
Study.
Ditto. Painted Window.
Modern Staircase.
Dining-room.
Drawing-room.
made between 1806 and 1820.

Sketches Framed.
Washburne. N. •
Junction of Wharfe and Washburne Rivers, with Farnley Hall
in the distance.
Turner's Drawings in the Collection of J. Ruskin, Esq.
Paintings.
" Shylock." The Rialto at Venice. | Slaver Throwing Overboard the Dead.
Drawings. Constance. S.

Richmond, Yorkshire — Town and
Castle, from the banks of the
River. E.
Richmond, Yorkshire, from the
Moors. E.
Richmond, Yorkshire — the Town and
Castle, fromFootpathaboveRiver. E.
Warwick. E.

Salisbury. E.
Lucerne Town, from above. S.
,, ,, from Lake. S.
,, Lake, from Brunnen. S.
,, „ from Fluelen. S.
,, ,, with Rigi. S.
Pass of St. Gothard, near Faido. S.

396

APPENDIX.

E.

S.
K.

Lake of Lug, from Goldau.
Lake of Lug, near Aart. R.
Coblentz. S.
Winchelsea. E.
Gosport. E.
Richmond, Surrey.
Dudley. E.
Devonport. E.
Schaffbausen Town.
,, Falls.
Arona — Lago Maggiore. K.
Chateau de la Belle Gabrielle. K.
Llanthony Abbey. E.
Derwent Water. E.
Okehampton. E.
Rochester. E.
Buckfastleigh Abbey. E.
Bolton Abbey. E.
Nottingham. E.
Harlech. E.
Devonport. E.
Carisbrook Castle. E.
St. Catherine's Hill. E.
Flint Castle. E.
Scarborough (once at Farnley).
Farnley Hall (once at Farnley).
Grandville. (Unpublished drawing on
coast of France.)
Isola Bella. (Hakewell's "Italy.")
Turin from Superga. (Hakewell.)

Yarmouth. (Unpublished. A body-
colour drawing — Sailors illustrating
Trafalgar by models of the ships.)
Lebanon. (For Finden's Bible.)
Pool of Solomon. Ditto.

Pool of Betbesda,
Jericho. Corinth.Rhodes.Combe Martin.
Barcastle. Wolf's Hope

Ditto.
Ditto.Ditto.
Ditto.
(Southern coast.)
Ditto.
(Small.)

St. Cloud. Ditto.
Pisa. (Byron vignette.)
School of Homer. Ditto.
Gate of Theseus. Ditto.
Ashestiel. (Vignette to Scott'sPoems.)
Linlithgow. Ditto.
Margate. (Harbours of England.)
Malta. (Life of Byron.)
Rouen, from St. Catherine's Hill.
(Rivers of France.)
Seventeen Drawings of the Loire
series. (Rivers of France.)
Nainur, on the Meuse.
Dinant, on the Meuse.
On the Meuse.
Ditto.
Sketches of Venice.
Early Sketches (various).

The letter E. in above list means England series ; S. Swiss series, meaning
a series executed for various private persons by Turner after the year 1842, of
which two only, belonging to Mr. Windus, of Tottenham, have been engraved.
None of mine have. K. means made for the "Keepsake." — J. Ruskin.
Water-colour Drawings by Turner in possession ofH. A. Munro, Esq.,
of Hamilton-place, Piccadilly.
Lancaster Sands.
Chatham from Fort Pitt.
Bedford.Richmond-hill.Val Cruris Abbey. (Girtin's yellow
tone. )
Leicester Abbey.
Kidwelly.Malmesbury Abbey.
Ashby -de -la -Zouche. (Badly en
graved.)
St. Germain. (Faded.)
Louth — Horse Fair.
Caernarvon Castle — Boys Bathing.
The Temple of JEgina.
Northampton — Election-time.
Whitehaven. Ludlow.Venice. (Not engraved.) (?)
Bellinzona. Sallenche. (Pencil sketch.)
Coloured sketches of same place.
Whalley Abbey.

Florence, with Michael Angelo's For
tifications.
Marley.
Lucerne from Brunnen.
Lucerne (or Zurich) — Moonlight.
JCnomadt (Lucerne).
Zurich.St. Gothard.
Ditto, Airolo in the distance.
The Spliigen.
Criccieth Castle.
Dunstanboro' Castle.
Pembroke Castle.
(Jllswater.
Lichfield. (Not engraved.)
Knaresborough.Coventry. (Rainy effect.)
Lowestoffe — Stormy.
Chain Bridge on the Tees.
Worcester.Christ Church, Oxford.
Kenilworth — Moonlight.
Blenheim. (Bad colour.)

APPENDIX.

397

Temple of Venus. (Early.)
Iffy Mill, near Oxford. (Early.)
Hindshead Hill, Surrey. (Early.)
Pencil Sketch of same.
An Abbey. (Hearne's manner.)
Dover. (Early.)

Cliffs with Rainbow. (Early.
Abbey Crypt. (Early.)
Ludlow Castle.
Nantwich, &c.
Waterfall. (Early.)

A List qfthe Pel-worth Turner Pictures in the Early Manner
the Gallery.

The Thames at Eton.
The Thames at Windsor.
The Thames near Windsor.
The Thames at Weybridge.
Tabley House and Lake, Cheshire.

Sea Piece — Indiaman and Man-of-
War.
Evening — Landscape with Cattle, &c.
Echo and Narcissus.

In his Later Manner.
Jessica, "Merchant of Venice.'
Pictures in the Carved Room.

Chichester Canal — Sunset.
The Chain Pier at Brighton.

Petworth Park and Lake, with
Cricketers, &c.
The Lake in Petworth Park.

Turner Drawings in the Collection of Mr. Smith, of
Southwick- street.

Harlech Castle. (Early blue drawing.)
Two small Drawings of St. Alban's
Abbey, circa 1790.
Ruins of Corfe Castle in 1792.
Tintern Abbey (interior), in 1793.
Tivoli, circa 1795.

Waterfall— dated 1795. (From Lord
Essex's Collection.)
Plymouth, from Mount Battery, En
graved for W. S. Cooke for the
" Southern Coast," published 1817.

Lord Yarborough's Collection.
The Wreck of the Minotaur. | On the Haak Sands in 1810.
The Opening of the Vintage of Macon.
Collection qf Mr. Henderson.

Early Drawing by Turner of Dover
Castle from the Harbour.
Three other Views in the Harbour of
Dover. (Later.)
Four Sketches after the late Mr. Hen
derson, made probably between
1790 and 1793.
A View of Edinburgh Castle, after
Hearne. (The figure omitted.)
Hearne's view was engraved 1780.
Two Drawings on the Seine, Paris.
(I believe from Girtin's work.)

A Drawing of the Ouse Bridge, York.
A Drawing of Cowes, (?) in the Isle
of Wight, after one by Hearne.
Magdalen Bridge and the Tower of
Magdalen College (probably in 1794
or 1795).
Three larger Drawings, the result of
Turner's first tour; one dated 1793.
The West Window of Shrewsbury
Cathedral.
Tintern Abbey.
Christchurch, Oxford.

(These were a commission for Mr. Henderson.)
Collection of Charles Borrett, Esq., in Queen Anne-street.

George the Fourth leaving Ireland
and Embarking at Kingstown on
the 3rd of September, 1821. (The
setting sun in this picture can only
be compared with the two finest

sun-pictures which he left to the
nation — I mean Collingwood's vessel
tugged to her last berth, and the
Ulysses and Polyphemus. The
picture is full of golden colour.)

398

APPENDIX.

Swiss Cottage.
The Castle of Dieppe, with Turner
among other figures in the fore
ground.
Tbe Interior of the Alhambra.
Highgate Church from Hampstead.
The Wreckers.
The Thames at Gravesend, and many
other pictures by Turner, almost all
of which are signed with bis name
or initials.

The Arch of Ancona.
A View in Venice.
Wreck off Margate.
Queen Adelaide Landing at South
ampton on her return from Malta.
Coast View, with Afternoon Sun.
Battle Abbey.
Calais Pier — Boats going off to »
Shipwreck.
The Earthquake at Lisbon.
Falls of the River Dove.
Conway Castle.
Collection of J. E. Fordham., Esq., of Milbourn Bury, near
Royston.
View of a Gateway at Gloucester, with the Cathedral Tower. (Early. )
Fowey Harbour. (Engraved in the " Southern Coast.")
Vale of Llanwrst, N.W.
Shakspeare's Monument at Stratford-on-Avon.
Fort Augustus, N.B.
Loch Achray, N.B.
Meeting of the Greta and Tees at Rokeby.
Derwent Water and Skiddaw. (These five highly-finished drawings are en
graved as illustrations to Scott.)
Whitby, Yorkshire.
Alnwick Castle by Moonlight. (Engraved in the "England and Wales.")
Lake of Nemi. (A small but very highly-finished drawing, of which there is
a private plate.)
Margate, with the Sun rising on the Sea. (Signed, and dated 1822.)
Lake of Nemi. (Engraved.)
Oberwesel. (Engraved. Dated 1840.)
The last two drawings represent the afternoon of a cloudless day with heat.
Collection of John Hugh, Esq., Manchester.
" 1st. 'Outline drawings, in pen or pencil, thinly washed in Indian ink or
Prussian blue.' " The drawings in question have, some of them, more colour
than Mr. Taylor says, and do not seem to me of so very early a date, judging
both from the abounding effect of atmosphere in them all, as well as the mas
terly drawing and the subjects. For instance, one is of the ' Bay of Naples.'
I suspect that he made these careful drawings at many periods, for his own
use, as notes to work from. Of this class I have thirty drawings, chiefly made
on the South Coast, in the neighbourhood of Dover and Folkestone.
Then came an early period, certainly, but with more colour — not at all
cmilime drawings, but finished as much as he could at the time. I call this
period No. 2, and date it from 1790 to 1795 or '96. Of this period I have four
drawings, and also three drawings — "Interior of New College Chapel," "Mal
vern Abbey," and a " Gate at Durham Cathedral," of the same period.
¦ No. 3. period is that referred to by Mr. Taylor in speaking of "Falls of
Clyde" as "wrought out within the limits of a narrow scale of coloui-B, but
masterly in the disposition of the masses," &c. Of this period I have twelve
drawings, some of them of importance for size and subject — viz.:

Edinburgh, from Leith Water.
Falls of Clyde.
View in Yorkshire Highlands.

View in Yorkshire Highlands.
Inverary.Plymouth Citadel.

Some of the smaller ones are not only carefully finished, but full of poetry.
These were all probably produced between 1810 and 1814. The two largest
measure about 3 feet 6 inches by 2 feet 4 inches.
No. 4 period — or periods, I ought to say — for I believe the works I have, and
range under No. 4, were made from about 1825 to 1833. Many of them are
well known, and are all, or almost all, engraved. They are as follow : —

APPENDIX. 399
England and Wales series :
Malvern Abbey aud Gate.
Dartmouth Cove.
Land's End and Longship's Lighthouse.
Cowes.Upnor Castle, on the Medway.
For other works :
Hastings, from the Sea.
Rivaulx Abbey and Valley.
Plymouth Sound, looking up into the Catwater
Mount St. Michael.
Bible Series :
Dead Sea.
Moses showing the Tables of the Law to the People.
Vignettes :
Frontispiece to " Lay of Last Minstrel."
Mayence.Bridge of Sighs, for Rogers's Poems.
Twelve drawings in sepia for the published and the unpublished "Liber' views.
These are of the same size as the plates in the "Liber, " and are all care
fully finished.
Oil Paintings : —
The Grand Canal at Venice. (The well-known picture engraved by
Miller.)
The Mouth of the Maas. (An earlier picture, painted about 1815 for
the Harcourt family.)
A small Sea-piece, (Which Mr. Griffiths had .about same time.)
" Liber" Engravings : —
A complete book in the state of proofs, all either initialed by Charles
Turner or J. Lupton, and also by Miss Mary Constance Clark or
J. H. Hawkins, from whom I had the whole.
A complete book of the etchings.
Above thirty early proofs before letters, nearly all touched on by Turner,
and sometimes with his written instructions for alterations ; some
are touched all over by him -with brush, in sepia.
Unpublished Plates of the "Liber" : —
Ten etchings, some touched and written upon.
Twelve proofs before letters, all touched by him more or less ; and some
of these are unique.
Collection of B. G. Windus, Esq., of Tottenham Green.
Drawing of Tynemouth (for the Series for "England and Wales.")
Paintings :
The Dawn of Christianity — Flight into Egypt. (Circular.)
Glaucus and Scylla.
Collection of J. Dillon, Esq. — Water-colour Drawings.
Vesuvius in Calm.
Vesuvjus in Eruption.
The Eddystone Lighthouse — part of a Wreck in the foreground.
Interior of Westminster Abbey.
Drawing for Hakewell's " Italy."
Two of the Yorkshire Series.

400 APPENDIX.
Collection of Mr. Bale.
Bridge in the Tees Valley. (Match- Guildford,
less.) Llanthony.
Ingleborough. (Unsurpassable.) Welsh View.
Lyme Regis.
In the same collection, Snowdon, and Sunrise from St. Peter's, by Girtin ;
and Glaciers, and Gondolfo, by Cozens. The glaciers radiant with the most
spiritual beauty.
Destroyed by fire, Drawing of Brignal Church,- near Rokeby (engraved for
the Yorkshire Series).

Oil Pictures at Mr. Munro's.

Cicero's Villa.
Ancient Italy
The Green Buoy.
Rotterdam.

The Forum
The Avalanche.
Modern Italy.
Loch Katrine.

Venice — Moonlight and
Illuminations.
Venus and Adonis.

Folkestone. Scene on the Borders of Wales.

Collection of Sir John T. Hippisley.
Byron Drawings :
Marathon. The Rhine.

Collection of John Naylor, Esq.
Cologne — the Arrival of a Packet- I Dieppe.
boat (Evening). |
The above two were purchased at Mr. Wadmore's sale for about iOOOl.

Pas de Calais : Now for the Painter
(rope). (Passengers going on
board.)
Dutch Fishing- boats. (Purchased
from Turner direct.)
Venice.

Moonlight Scene on the Tyne —
Getting in Coals by Night.
Mercury and Argus. (The upright
engraved picture).
Rockets and Blue Lights. (The en
graved picture.)

Miscellaneous.
The Fifth Plague of Egypt. (Formerly Mr. Beckford's ; is now Mr. Young's.)
Fishermen endeavouring to put their Fish on board. (In the Bridgewater
Gallery. )
Fishermen upon a Lee-shore in Squally Weather. (In the collection of Mr.
White, of Brownlow- street.)
Van Tromp entering the Texel. (In the Soane Museum.)
Battle of Trafalgar. (Painted Hall, Greenwich.)
Mercury and Argus. (Iu the late Sir John Swinburne's collection.)
Temple of Jupiter. (Mr. Wynne Ellis.)
Cologne ; Dieppe ; Guard-ship at the Nore. (Mr. Wadmore, of Stamford- hill.)
Venice. (Mr. Lewis Pocock.)
Tivoli : Drawing. (Mr. Allnutt.)
Dover : Drawing. (Mr. Dillon.)
Ivy Bridge : Oil-picture. (E. Bicknell, Esq., Herne-hill.)
Schaffhausen : Water-colour. (P. Hardwicke, Esq.)
On the Lake of Brientz. ' ' Bold, and very beautiful." — Ruskin. Water-colour.
(Sir John Swinburne. )
Grenoble : Water-colour. (Mrs. Holford, Hampstead.)
Folkestone: Water-colour. (Sir John Hippisley, Bart.)
A large Picture in Oil — View of Raby Castle— is at Newton House, the seat
of Her Grace the Duchess Dowager of Cleveland. Thus described : —
This view of Raby was painted for the late Duke when Earl of Darlington.

APPENDIX. 401
It was one of the few things the Duchess took away, though I believe she
had the power by will of stripping Raby of every article — furniture,
plate, &c. ; and this act was the means of reconciling the present Duke
to her.
At Streatham Castle (Mr. Bowes'), there are two beautiful water-colour
drawings of Gillside; one or two of Hilton Castle. It is probable the
above are all engraved in " Surtees' History of the County of Durham."
Two views of Gillside, by J. M. W. Turner. No. 1, on the right-hand side
of the chimney-piece, represents Gillside in the distance, thus forming
almost an accessory to, instead of the principal object in, the picture. This
arrangement gives greater space to the landscape, and thus admits of the
beautiful variety of tint so conspicuous in nature and the works of this
greatest of modern painters. The sky of the picture is more tranquil, or
rather less striking, than is generally seen in Turner's paintings, and accords
well with the air of perfect repose which characterizes the scene, giving it
that pensive effect so often observed in an English landscape at noonday.
The hazy grey of the distant hills, the neutral tint of the middle distance,
gradually ripening (if the term may be used) into the rich yet subdued
colouring of the foreground, the winding of the river marking admirably
the perspective, and giving distance to the scene ; the graceful form and
exquisite tint of the tree nearest the eye, — all combine to form a composition
at once true to nature and perfect in art. — No. 2, on the left-hand side,
is, like No. 1, remarkable for the admirable blending of colours of infinite
variety with Nature's own richness of tint, but "softened all and tempered
into beauty." Chastened, mellowed, and subdued, the tone of the sky,
which is much wilder than in No. 1, is repeated in the fainter colouring
of the river; a gentle mist arises, like breath, from the bosom of the
water, mingling and contrasting with the warm tints of the foliage on its
banks. The whole composition of this picture consists in a series of half
tones admirably varied and repeated in the hills, corn-fields, trees, and
rivers, producing that effect, changeful yet consistent, so visible in the
harmonious versatility Nature displays in all her works, and which it
requires the wonderful accuracy and unrivalled observation of Turner to
seize and delineate. Collection of E. Bicknell, Esq.

Calder Bridge, Cumberland.
Campo Santo, Venice. Ex. R.A., 1842.
Venice — the Giudecca Canal, &c. 1841.
Ehrenbreitstein. 1827.
Wreckers — Coast of Northumberland : Steamboat assisting ship offshore. 1834.
Van Goen looking for a Subject. Antwerp. 1833.
Palestrina. 1830.
Port Ruysdael. 1827.
Ivy Bridge, Devon.
Brielle, on the Maas, Holland.

The Rigi. I Mowberry Lodge, Ripon.
Lake of Lucerne. | Woodcock Shooting.
Scarborough. | Grouse Shooting.
Two Views in the Himalayas.
Vignettes.
Castle of Elz. Havre.
Rouen. Lake of Geneva, from the Jura.
Chateau Gaillard. Lighthouse of the Heve.

VOL. II. D D

402 APPENDIX.

Pictures and Drawings by J. M. W. Turner, R.A., sold
by Messrs. Christie, Manson, and Woods; with Date of
Sale, Description in Catalogue, Prices, and Purchasers.

1851 May 24 ...Summer Hill, Kent, with Cattle in Shallow Water. (Painted
for Mr. Alexander.) 315?. Mr. Fletcher.
,, The Sheer Hulk. Bought in at 185?.
" June 13  The Whaler— " Hurrah for the whaler Erebus and the
fish!" — Beale's Voyage. 299?. Gambart.
Saltash Harbour. 330 gs. Mr. Bicknell.
"t The Lock. (Engraved in the "Liber Studiorum.") Bought
in at 360 gs.
Mr. Granville Penn's Collection..
„ July 10  View of Corfe Castle, taken from the Sea. 483?. Mr.
Gambart. Sigismund Rucher's Collection.
1852. March 26 ...Flint Castle. (In water colours). 1522. Mr. Agnew.
„ April 1  Dummil Bridge, Fifeshire. (Painted in 1812.) 105?. Mr.
Gambart.
Collection of William Wells, of Redleaf.
,, May 20  A Harbour Scene — Sunset, Ships of War at Anchor:
numerous Figures on the Sands near a Jetty. 672?.
Mr. Graves, of Pall Mall.
Mr. Ellis's Collection.
May 22  A View on the Teign. Bought in at 225?.
lt A View on the Wye — Evening. Bought in at 315?.
Four Water-Colour Drawings, sold by Order of the Court of Chancery.
(Evans v. Heath.)
„ May 22  Graville on the Seine. (Engraved in the " Southern Tour.")
33?. 12s.
,, lt The Confluence of the Seine and Marne. 42?.
,, ,', The Chateau de Maillerie. 46?. 4s.
,, rr The Boulevard des Italiens at Paris, with numerous
Figures. 47?. 5s. (These four bought by Mr. Lambe, of
Gracechurch-street.)
,, A View of Edinburgh, from the Water of Leith. (A large
drawing). Bought in at 210?.
,, The Brunnig Passage from Marengen to Grundewald.
(Painted in the master's finest time.) Bought in at 120?.
Collection of E. S. Ellis, Esq.
1853. April 6  .A Seashore, with a Fishing-boat pushing off, a Lugger
making for the mouth of a Harbour, a fine gleam of Sun
shine breaking through the Clouds above. (Another
example of the powers of the great master. Oils.)
1312?. 10s. Mr. Gambart.
,, April 12 ...View of Edinburgh from the Calton Hill. (Small.) 31?. 10s.
Mr. Cubitt.
,, ,, Smugglers. (Said to have been painted for Mr. Smith, at
the Sussex Hotel, in 1818.) Bought in at 210?.
,, „ Limekilns — a Night Scene. Bought in at 65 gs.

APPENDIX. 403
Collection of W. J. Broderip, Esq.
1853. June 18  The Dogana and Church of San Giorgio at Venice. (Painted
for Sir Francis Chantrey, at whose decease this picture
passed direct into Mr. Broderip's possession. Exhibited
at the Royal Academy iu 1841 ; a pendant to the picture
now in the Vernon Gallery. A work of the rarest beauty
and excellence.) 1155?. Mr. Egg.
Collection of B. 67. Windus, Esq.
„ June 20  Venice — Going to tbe Ball. " Fallacies of Hope. " — MS.
(Exhibited in the R.A., 1846. No. 117.) 546?. Mr.
Gambart.
,, ,, Morning — Returning from the Ball, St. Martino. (Ex
hibited in the R. A., 1846. No. 162.) 640?. Wallis.
,, „ Dawn of Christianity — Flight into Egypt. "That star has
risen." (Exhibited in the R.A., 1841. No. 532.)
Bought in at 730?.
,, ,, Glaucus and Scylla. (Painted on panel. Exhibited in the
R.A., 1841. No. 542.) Bought in at 735?.
„ ,, The Approach to Venice. "The path lies o'er the sea."
(Described by Ruskin in "Modern Painters," vol. i., as
"one of the most beautiful bits of colour ever done by
any man, by any means, at any time.") 850?. Mr.
Gambart. Collection of James Wadmore, Esq.
1854. May 5  Cologne, with boats full of figures on tbe Rhine, the tower
of St. Martin's Church seen above the city walls ; a
glowing sunset diffuses a magical light over the whole
composit;on. 2100?. Mr. Grundy, for Mr. Naylor of
Liverpool.
,, „ The Harbour of Dieppe. (An elaborate composition of
numerous vessels, buildings, and figures, seen under the
full glare of an afternoon's sun.) 1942?. 10s. The same
purchaser.
,, ,, The Guardship at the Nore. 1606?. Mr. Rought.
Collection of William Cave, Esq.
„ June 29  Kilganan Castle. (This important and scientific work was
exhibited in 1799, and was in Lord De Tabley's collec
tion.) 525?. Mr. Wallis.
Collection of Dr. Roupell.
1855. Feb. 24  A Lake Scene, with buildings, fire, and moonlight. 47?. 5s.
Mr. Wallis.
Collection of the Duke of Argyll.
,, March 17 ...A View of Inverary from the Sea, with boats in a breeze.
(A drawing in water colours.) 88?. Mr. White.
Mr. M'Crachen's Collection, from Belfast.
„ March 31 ...St. Mawes. (The drawing engraved in the "Southern
Coast.") Bought in at 47?.
„ April 21 ...A Coast Scene — View of the Old Pier at Great Yarmouth
at low water, with shipping and numerous figures.
(Signed, and dated 1813.) 199?. Mr. George.
„ May 8  Prudhoe Castle. (Water colours.) 31?. 10s. Mr. Wallis.
,, „ Dilston Castle, Northumberland. (Water colours.) 22?.
Mr. Wallis.
,, ,, Bow-and-Arrow Castle, Isle of Portland. (Engraved in the
" Southern Coast." Water colours.) 51?. Mr. Agnew.
DD 2

404 APPENDIX.
1855. May 8  Combe Martin. (Engraved in tbe " Southern Coast."
Water colours.) 52?. 10«. Mr. Wallis.
,, ,, Larne Castle, Caermarthenshire. (Engraved in the " Eng
land and Wales." Water colours.) 129?. Mr. Rought.
„ ,, Conway Castle. (Water colours.) 110?. Mr. Bale.
„ „ Rivaulx Abbey. (Water colours.) 46?. Mr. Gambart.
„ „ The Tomb of Cecilia Metella. (Water colours.) Bought
in at 25?.
Collection of C. Macdonald, Esq.
„ May 29  Newark Castle. (From Lord De Tabley's collection.)
Bought in at 470?.
Collection of Samuel Rogers.
1856. May 8  Stonehenge. (Drawing in water colours, engraved in
" England and Wales.") 304?. Mr. Wallis.
The Property of Lord Delamere.
„ May 24  Carrying out an Anchor — a grand sea-piece, with a fleet
of Dutch men-of-war lying-to in a strong breeze ; fisher
men in a boat carrying out an anchor.
,, „ A Dutch Coast Scene, with fishermen hauling up a boat in
shallow water near the shore ; vessels under sail ; grand
effect of approaching storm. [The two above-named pic
tures were sold by private contract for 3000?. to Mr.
White, of Brownlow-street.]
Leopold Redpath's Sale.
1857. May 23  The Lock. (Engraved in the " Liber Studiorum," and in
the Royal Gallery of British Art.) 525?. Mr. Gambart.
Collection of W. Prior, Esq.
„ ,, A View in the Alps, 1814. (In Indian ink.) 5?. 15s.
Mr. Wallis.
>> ,, St. Agatha's Abbey. (Water colours. ) 127?. Mr. Rought.
„ „ Conway Castle, 1829. (Water colours.) 117?. Mr. Wallis.
Collection of Drawings of the Earl of Harewood.
1858. May 1  Interior of Westminter Abbey — a Chapel north of the Choir.
(Water colours.) 109?. Col. Pennant.
,, Kirkstall Abbey, with a waterfall. (Water colours.) 65?.
Mr. Townend.
,, Norham Castle, with cows watering — Evening. (Water
colours.) 109?. Colnaghi.
„ Pembroke Castle, with grand stormy sky. (Water colours.)
210?. Mr. Miller, of Preston.
,, A Lake Scene in the North of Italy, with cattle and figures
— Warm afternoon's sun. 278?. Mr. White, of Brown-
low-street.
„ Harewood Castle. (Water Colours.) 52?. 10s. Mr. Beau
mont.
Collection of John Miller, Esq., of Liverpool.
May 20  Hythe Church. (A slight study. Water colours.) 5?. 5s.
Mr. Gambart.
,, An old Watermill. (Water colours.) 24?. Mr. Gambart.
„ Hatfield Castle. (Water colours.) 18?. 18s. „
,, Hampton Court, Hereford — the Seat of Mr. Arkwright.
(Water colours.) 6?. 16s. 6d.

APPENDIX. 405
1858. May 20  The Bass Rock. (Water colours. Exhibited at Man
chester.) 125?. Mr. Farrer.
,, Rokeby. (Water colours. Exhibited at Manchester.)
38?. 17s. Mr. Gambart.
,, Hougoumont. (Water colours. Exhibited at Manchester.)
33?. 12s. Mr. Gambart.
,, Kelso. (Water colours. Exhibited at Manchester.) 42?.
Mr. Gambart.
„ Edinburgh. (Water colours.) 53?. lis. Mr. Rought.
„ The Cathedral of Milan. (Exhibited at Manchester. Water
colours.) 47?. 5s. Mr. Gambart.
,, The Amphitheatre at Verona. (Water colours.) 46?. is.
Mr. Gambart.
„ Bemerside Tower. (Water colours. The frontispiece vig
nette to " Sir Tristram," vol. i. Exhibited at Man
chester.) 29?. Mr. Gambart.
,, Quai de Carte at Paris. (Water colours.) 36?. 15s. Mr.
Addington.
„ Rye. (Water colours.) 73?. 10s. Mr. Farrer.
,, St. Mawes. (Water colours.) 75?. 12s. Mr. Gambart.
„ Plymouth. (Engraved in the " Southern Coast." Water
colours. Exhibited at Manchester.) 115?. 10s. Mr.
Gambart.
,, Windsor Castle. (A very early small work in water co
lours.) 7?. 7s.
„ View of Henley House, on the Thames. (This picture was
painted for Mr. Wright, of Upton.) 131?. Mr. Robertson.
, , View of the Pummell Bridge. (Exhibited at Manchester. )
126?. Mr. Gambart.
„ The Whale-ship. 367?. 10s. Mr. Gambart.
„ Van Tromp. 567?. 5s. „
„ Saltash, Devon. 430?. „
Collection of Mr. Pilkington.
„ June 22  Bridport. (Water colours.) 73?. Mr. Gambart.
Collection of Mr. Green.
1859. Feb. 12  A View of Blackheath. (A small early sketch, made for
Mr. Green, of Blackheath.) 15?. 15s. Mr. Waters.
Collection of B. Q. Windus, Esq.
„ March 26 ...The Bridge of Sighs, Venice. (The vignette drawing en
graved in Byron's work.) 72?. Mr. Gambart.
, , „ The Lake of Zug. (A fine drawing in water colours, not
engraved.) 210£. Mr. Gambart.
„ ,, Bellinzona. (A beautiful drawing, not engraved.) 189?.
Mr. Pritchard. Collection of R. Chambers.
„ March 29 ...Pont Aberglaslynn. (A sketch.) 4?. 10s. Mr. White.
„ „ Westminster Bridge. (A slight drawing.) 51. 5s. Mr.
Gambart.
„ „ Flint, North Wales. (A slight drawing.) 6?. 10s. Mr.
Gambart.
„ „ View of Northampton. (Sketch). 3?. 13s. 6d. Mr.
Chadwick.
„ „ Chepstow Castle and Bridge. (Slight sketch.) 15/. Mr.
Gambart.
M „ Llanthony Abbey. (In water colours.) 14?. 14s. Mr.
Gregory.

406 APPENDIX.
1859. March 29 ...Abergavenny Bridge — Clearing-up after a Shower. (This
drawing was exhibited at Somerset House in 1799.) 25?.
Mr. Gambart.
„ ,, Tbe Porch of Great Malvern Church. (In water colours.)
21?. Mr. Gambart.
„ Ely Cathedral. (An early drawing ) 11?. lis. Mr.
Warbury.
,, ,, Chelsea Hospital. (An early drawing.) il. 5s. Mr.
Chadwick.
„ ,, Matlock Bridge. (An early drawing.) 91. 19s. 6d. Mr.
Warbury.
Collection of E. Rodgett, Esq., of Preston.
„ May 14  Warwick Castle. (Iu water colours; an early work.)
Bought in at 49?.
„ ,, Cashiobury Castle. (x\n early drawing.) Bought in at 25?.
,, ,, Portsmouth. (The engraved drawing.) 107?. Mr. D. White.
„ „ Hampton Court. (The engraved drawing.) 168?. Mr.
Dixon.
, , „ Dartmouth. (The drawing engraved in the ' ' Southern
Coast.") 162?. Mr. Agnew.
,, July 9  Kidwelly Castle, the Seat of the Bishop of St. David's.
(An early drawing.) 9?. 19s. 6c?. Mr. White.
Collection of the Rev. H. S. Trimmer, Executor of Turner.
1860. March 17 ...A small Landscape. (In pencil. A present from the
artist.) 1?. Is. Mr. Locke.
,, ,, A Landscape. (In the manner of Gainsborough.) 1?.
Mr. Waters.
,, ,, A Sea-piece, with fishing-boats. (A small, picture.) 46?.
Mr. Hooper.
,, ,, A View of a Town on a River. 7?. Mr. Delaine.
Collection of 67. R. Burnett, Esq.
,, March 24 ...An Italian Scene, with an archway. (An early drawing.)
15?. 15s. Mr. Wallis.
,, ,, Kilchern Castle, with a rainbow. (A grand drawing in water
colours.) 367?. Mr. Flatow.
,, „ Autumnal Sunset at Sea. (Painted for Sir John Mildmay.)
590?. Mr. Shepherd.
,, ,, The Grand Canal at Venice. (The celebrated work en
graved by Miller ; painted in 1834.) 2520?. Mr. Gambart.
,, „ Ostend — a Stormy effect at Sea. 1732?. ,,
>, „ Neapolitan Bathers Surprised. 225?. Mr. Flatow.
i, ,, London, from Battersea Fields. (A drawing made in
1812.) Bought in at 300 #s.
„ Bemerside Tower. (Vignette frontispiece to "Sir Tris
tram." Iu water colours.) 37?. 16s. Mr. Wallis.
Collection of J. Heugh, Esq., of Manchester.
„ April 28 ...Bamborough Castle. (Drawing in water colours.) 525?.
Mr. Pennett.
,, .„ Lyme Regis. (The drawing engraved in the "England
and Wales.") 190?. Mr. Gambart.
Collection of George Hibbert, Esq.
2  Plymouth Citadel. (The drawing engraved by Cooke;
purchased by Mr. Hibbert from Turner.) 126?. Mr.
Rought.

APPENDIX. 407
1860. May 2  The Plains of Italy. (An early drawing.) 17?. Mr. Wallis.
>> >> The Custom House, London. (The engraved drawins- )
49?. Mr. Wallis. . ' 6 s '
" -> Corinth. (The drawing engraved in the Bible Series.) 106?.
Mr. Gambart.
>> >> The Children of Israel in the Valley of Horeb. (The en
graved drawing.) 107?. Mr. Agnew.
Collection of W. Herring, Esq.
,, May 14  Rochester Castle. (An early drawing, made for the Rev.
P. Douglas, an early patron of Turner. ) Bought in at 39?.
Collection of J. M. Thetford, of Singleton House.
„ May 28  The Desert of Sinai. (The drawing engraved in the Bible
Series.) 85?. Mr. Gambart.
i» St. Ive's, Cornwall. (The engraved drawing.) 73?. 10s.'
Mr. Vokins.
Collection of H. Bradley, Esq.
n .» An English Lake Scene, with a church, and cattle in a
pool of water. (In water colours.) 80?. Mr. Rought.
>> >> A Scotch Lake Scene, with peasants. (The companion
drawing.) 79?. Mr. Agnew.
>> ,, Dover, from the Sea. (The celebrated engraved drawino- )
317?. Mr. White.
Collection of John Mitchell, Esq., of Bradford.
,, May 28  Milan Cathedral. (The engraved drawing.) 45?. Mr.
Gambart.
,> ,, The Colosseum. (The engraved drawing. ) 46?. Mr. Agnew.
>i ,, Cumberland Fells. (A drawing.) 12?. „
,, ,, View of a Mansion in Essex. (A drawing.) 14?. Mr.
Pocock.
.j >> Bow-and- Arrow Castle. (The engraved drawing in the
" Southern Coast.") 58?. Mr. Gambart.
Collection of Mr. Wallis.
„ March 16 ...The Burning of the Houses of Parliament. (Exhibited at
the British Institution in 1835.) 708?. Mr. White.

Sale of the Pictures of Mr. A. Fairrie, of Liverpool.
Five Turners ; one an Italian subject, an early drawing, and Lichfield and
Rochester, both early works ; also the View of Stamford, one of the very best
of his water-colours, which was engraved by Miller for the "England and
Wales;" and Lucerne, a later drawing, which also has been engraved, but
which is as different as possible from the Lucerne at Farnley Hall — one of the
most tender and poetical of Turner's poetical works. There is more colour, and
greater feeling of atmosphere, in this Lucerne, but there is more exquisite repose
and positive beauty about that at Farnley Hall.
Sale of Sir John Swinburne's Pictures.
(From Chantrey's Collection.)
What you will. (The first picture in the artist's last manner.) 245 gs.
Agnew. A t the same Sale, from another Collection.
Loch Katrine. 750 gs. D. J. White.

408 APPENDIX.
Sale of Turner Pictures, 24<th November, 1860.
A highly important Bale of water-colour drawings at Messrs. Foster's. These
are the principal lots: —
Outside Walls of Rome. (A delightful sketch.) 3J guineas.
View of London from Battersea. (A large, fine, and early drawing.) 135
guineas.
One of the most perfect of Turner's drawings, the famous and admirable Mount
Sinai, engraved in the Bible Series, went for 72 guineas.
The Bridge of Sighs, Venice. (Engraved in the Rogers Series.) 80 guineas.

In the Collection of — Allnut, Esq., Clapham.
The St. Gothard. (Early oil.)
Abergavenny Bridge. (Clearing up after shower.)
Italian Scene. (Engraved.)
Two large Water-colour Drawings of Fonthill, Wiltshire.

Note to Page 396.
Mr. Ruskin has lately given 2000?. worth of his Turner Drawings to the
University of Oxford. It is said he contemplates a similar gift to the
University of Cambridge.

AUTHENTIC COPY OF TURNER'S WILL
(with the cancelled codicil).

In the name of God Amen I Joseph Mallord William Turner
R.A. of Queen Ann Street Cavendish Square in the County of
Middlesex Esquire do mate publish and declare this to be and
contain my last "Will and Testament in manner and form following
that is to say after payment of all my just debts funeral expenses
and the costs and charges of proving this my Will I give and
bequeath unto my Executors and Trustees hereinafter named or
the survivor of them his Executors or Administrators All the
Freehold and Copyhold Estates whatsoever and wheresoever situated
And also all my Leasehold and Personal Estates and property of
every kind and description whatsoever aud wheresoever situate of
which I shall or may be possessed or be entitled to or interested in
at the time of my decease To have and to hold the said Freehold
and Copyhold Estates unto my said Executors their heirs and
assigns To the use of them their heirs and assigns for ever and To
have hold receive and take all my said Personal Estate (except as
hereafter mentioned as to my pictures) unto them my said Executors
their Executors and Administrators nevertheless as to the said
Freehold and Copyhold Estates and the said Personal Estates Upon
Trust that they my said Executors or the survivors or survivor of
them their Heirs Executors or Administrators do and shall as soon
after my decease as may be sell and dispose of all my said Freehold
and Copyhold Estates and such part of my said Real and Personal
Estate and Effects (except as aforesaid) as shall not consist of
money vested in the Public Stock Funds called Three pounds per
cent: Consolidated Annuities or other Funds transferable at the
Bank of England for the most money that can be had or obtained
for the same either by Public Auction or Private Sale as shall be
deemed best for the advantage and interest of my Estate to such
person or persons as they may think fit And I do hereby authorize
and empower my said Executors or the survivors or survivor of
them and the Heirs Executors or Administrators of such survivor
to sign seal and deliver good and sufficient Conveyances Assign
ments and Assurances to the purchasers thereof And I declare that
the receipt or receipts of my said Executors or the survivor of them
his Heirs Executors or Administrators shall from time to time be
to the purchaser or purchasers of my said Freehold Copyhold and
Personal Estate and every part thereof good and sufficient releases
and discharges for so much of the purchase money as shall in such
receipt or receipts be expressed to be received and such purchaser

410 APPENDIX.
or purchasers shall not be bound to see to the application of such
purchase money or be liable or accountable for the loss mis-applica
tion or non-application thereof or of any part thereof And upon
further Trust to lay out and invest the monies to arise from such
sale or sales of my said Freehold and Copyhold and Personal Estates
and Effects in the purchase of like Three per cent. Consolidated
Annuities in his or their names so that the same may form one
fund together with such sum as I shall be possessed of in the said
Three pounds per cent. Consolidated Annuities or any other stocks
or funds standing in my name at the time of my decease and I
direct that my said Executors or the survivors or survivor of them
his Executors and Administrators shall stand possessed thereof
Upon the Trusts and purposes hereafter mentioned that is to say
Upon Trust to pay the several Legacies Annuities and Payments
to the respective person hereafter named that is to say to Price
Turner Jonathan Turner the present surviving Brothers of my late
Father William Turner Fifty pounds each to the eldest son of Price
John Joshua Jonathan Turner Twenty-five pounds each to Hannah
Danby Niece of John Danby Musician Fifty pounds a year for her
natural life to Eveline and Georgiana T the Daughters of Sarah
Danby Widow of John Danby Musician Fifty pounds a year each
for their natural lives and aforesaid Sarah Danby Widow of John
Danby Musician the sum of Ten pounds a year for her natural life
all which Annuities and Legacies I direct my Executors or the
survivor of them his Executors or Administrators to pay and dis
charge out of the Annual Interest or Dividends that shall become
due and payable from time to time upon the Three per cent. Con
solidated Annuities or any other stocks or funds which may be
standing in my name at the Bank of England at my decease or
which may be purchased with the produce of my said Freehold and
Copyhold and Personal Estates so directed to be funded as aforesaid
the first quarterly payments of the said several Annuities to com
mence and be paid at the expiration of 6 months from the date of
my decease And I direct my said Executors or the survivors or
survivor of them his Executors or Administrators to set apart so
much of the said Three per cent. Consolidated Annuites or any
other stocks or funds as will be sufficient to pay the said several
Annuities And I declare that upon the respective deaths of the
said several Annuitants the principal sum of stock from which their
several Annuities shall arise be applied in the manner hereafter
ordered with regard to the residue of the said funds And I direct
my Executors or the survivor of them his Executors or Adminis
trators to pay the Legacies within 6 months next after my decease
Also I give and bequeath unto the Trustees and Directors for the
time being of a certain Society or Institution called the " National
Gallery" or Society the following pictures or paintings by myself
namely Dido building Carthage and the picture formerly in the
Tabley Collection To hold the said pictures or paintings unto the
said Trustees and Directors of the said Society for the time being

APPENDIX. 411
In Trust for the said Institution or Society for ever subject never
theless to for and upon the following reservations and restrictions
only that is to say I direct that the said pictures or paintings shall
be hung kept and placed that is to say Always between the two
pictures painted by Claude the Seaport and Mill and shall be from
.time to time properly cleaned framed preserved repaired and pro
tected by the said Society and. in case the said Pictures or Paintings
are not within Twelve months next after my decease accepted and
taken by the said Society under and subject to the above regula
tions restrictions and directions and placed as directed that then I
will and direct that they shall be taken to and form part of the
[fixed] Property of the Charity hereafter named and to be formed
for the Maintenance and Support of Male Decayed Artists and by
the Governors Trustees Directors or other persons having the care
and management thereof placed in proper situations in the building
or house to form such Charitable Institution and who are to pro
perly preserve and keep them in repair And as to all the rest
residue and remainder of the said Three Pounds per cent. Consoli
dated Annuities or any other Stocks or Funds as shall not be
required to pay the said several Annuities And also as to such
part thereof as shall be set apart to pay the said Annuities as and
when the said Annuitant shall severally and respectively depart
this life I give and bequeath the same and every part thereof unto
my Executors or the survivors or survivor of them. Upon Trust
that my said Executors or the survivors or survivor of them his
Executors or Administrators shall and do apply and dispose of the
same Upon and for the following uses trusts intents and purposes
following that is to say It is my Will and I direct that a Charitable
Institution be founded for the Maintenance and support of
Poor aud Decayed Male Artists being born in England and of
English parents only and lawful issue And I direct that a proper
and suitable Building or Residence be provided for that purpose in
such a situation as may be deemed eligible and advantageous by
my Executors and the Trustees to the said Charitable Institution
And that the same be under the direction guidance and manage
ment of [Four] Trustees for the time being for life whereof my said
Executors during their lives shall be provided they prove
my Will and act in the Trusts thereof but not otherwise And I
declare that in case my said Executors and the said other Trustees
hereinafter nominated to act with them as to the said Institution
or any of them shall die or become incapable of acting in the exe
cution of the Trusts hereby created as to the said [Charitable]
Institution that it shall and may be lawful to and for and I direct
that the survivors or survivor of my said Executors and the said
Trustees or the Executors or Administrators of such survivor by
any deed or writing under their hands and seals shall be bound
with all convenient speed after any of my said Executors or Trustees
shall die or become incapable of acting in the said Trusts hereby
created as to the said Institution to be signed sealed and delivered

412 APPENDIX.
by them or him in the presence of and attested by two or more
credible persons to appoint one or more person or persons being a
Member or Members of the Royal Academy and two other persons
not being Members of the said Royal Academy to act as Trustee or
Trustees or as to the said [Charitable] Institution in the stead and
place of such of my said Executors or of the said Trustees who
shall so die or become incapable of acting in the execution of the
Trusts hereby created so that the number of Trustees shall always
be 7 exclusive of my Executors during their lives who shall prove
this my Will and act in the Trusts thereof And I direct that
immediately upon such appointment the said Trust Funds and
every part thereof shall be transferred into the names of the sur
viving or continuing Trustee or Trustees and the said new Trustee
or Trustees jointly so tbat the same be effectually vested in such
surviving and continuing new Trustees and that all and every
such new Trustees or Trustee shall and may from time to time
act in the management execution and carrying on of the said
Trusts hereby created as to the said [Charitable] Institution jointly
with the surviving or continuing Trustee or Trustees in as full and
ample a manner to all intents and purposes as if such new Trustee
or Trustees had been originally appointed a Trustee or Trustees
herein as to the said [Charitable] Institution And I direct that
the said [Charitable] Institution shall be governed guided managed
and directed by such rules regulations directions restrictions and
management generally as other Public Charitable Institutions
resembling this my present one are governed managed and directed
And I hereby appoint my Executors who shall act in the execution
of the trusts hereof and the survivors or survivor of them together
with William Fredrick Wells of Mitcham Surrey Revd Henry
Trimmer of Heston Samuel Rogers of St. James Place George
Jones R.A. Charles Turner A. R.A. Esquire to be Trustee or
Trustees of the said [Charitable] Institution And I direct that the
number of Trustees for the time being be Five at all times and
that they shall be composed and formed of Artists being Members
of the Royal Academy together with Two persons not being Mem
bers of the said Royal Academy (except my Executors during
their lives) And I declare that they shall be at liberty and
have power in case they shall think it necessary for the more
effectually and better establishment of the [Charitable] Institution
to sell only part of the principal of the said Stock for the purpose
of building a proper and fit house for the reception of the objects
of the said Institution or that the said Trustees shall or may rent a
proper house and offices for that purpose as they shall think fit and
as shall be allowed by law but so that there always remain a
sufficient amount of Stock to produce dividends and interest equal
to the full maintenance and support of the respective individuals
and the houses or buildings and premises before mentioned and
which [Charitable] Institution I desire shall be called or designated
"Turner's Gift" and shall at all times decidedly be an English

APPENDIX. 413
Institution and the persons receiving the benefits thereof shall be
English born subjects only and of no other Nation or Country
whatever And I do authorize and empower the respective Trustees
for the time being from time to time to deduct retain and reim
burse themselves and himself all such reasonable expenses as they
shall be put unto in the execution and maintenance of the said
Institution and the support and government thereof And I do
hereby nominate constitute and appoint William Fredrick Wells
of Mitcham Surrey The Revd Henry Trimmer of Heston Middx
Samuel Rogers of St. James Place George Jones R.A. Duke St.
Portland Place Charles Turner A.R.A. Warren Street Executors
and Trustees of this my last Will and Testament And I do hereby
revoke annul and make void all former or other Will or Wills by
me at any time heretofore made aud executed and do declare this
alone to be and contain my last Will and Testament written and
contained on eight sheets of paper to the seven first sheets of which
I have set my hand and to the eighth and last I have set and sub
scribed my hand and seal this tenth day of June in the year of our
Lord One thousand eight hundred and thirty-one.
Signed Sealed Published and Declared by the
within-named Joseph Mallord William Turner
as and for his last Will and Testament in the
presence of us who at his request in his presence
and in the presence of each other have subscribed
our names as Witnesses thereto Joseph Mallord Wm. Turner (L.S.)
Geo. Cobb Clements Inn
John Saxon Bruton Somerset
Charles Tull Winchester St. London.

August 20 1832
the first
I direct that this may be taken as a Codicil to my Will as regards
a certain Charitable Institution therein named and called Turner's
Gift which I mean to be carried into effect by giving my whatever
sum or sums of money may be standing in my name in the Three
per cent. Consols Bank of England for the erection of the Gallery to
hold my Pictures and places houses or apartments for one two three
or more persons according to circumstances or means which my
Executors may find expedient keeping in view the first objects I
direct namely is to keep my Pictures together so that they may be
seen known or found at the direction as to the mode how they may
be viewed gratuitously I leave to my Executors and that the
building may for their reception be respectable and worthy of the
object which is to keep and preserve my Pictures as a collection of
my works and the monies vested in my name in the Reduced for
the endowment of the same and charitable part for decayd Artists
as before mentioned provided the other vested sum or sums in Navy
5 per cent, be equal to pay all demands and bequests before men-

414 APPENDIX.
tioned or mentioned in any subsequent Codicil in case only of there
being any legal objection to the Institution and carrying into effect
my Will as to the said Institution Charity of Turners Gift But
it is my express desire that the said Institution Charity or Gift be
formed and kept up in case it can legally be done without risk of
the funds to be employed therein going into any others hands than ¦
for those purposes but if it be found impossible to fully carry the
same into effect within five years from my death and then and in
that case I revoke annul and make void that part of my said Will
which relates to the formation of the said Charitable Institution
and the funds and property set apart or to form a part thereof shall
then be taken as residue of my Estate and Effects and I thereby
give and bequeath the said residue of my said Estate and Effects in
manner and form following that is to say I direct my Executors
or the survivors of them or his Executors or Administrators to
keep all the Pictures and Property in Queen Ann S* West N° 47
held under lease of the Duke of Portland Intire and unsold And I
direct the rent for the said premises held terms of years together
with all charges for repairs and covenants therein entered into be
paid and all necessary charges for keeping and taking care insurance
from fire preservation *cleansing and holding the same as Turner's
Gallery out of the 3 per cent. Consols and likewise for renewing
from time to time the said Lease after the present held term of
years shall have expired and rebuilding the same if requisite or
necessary I do direct my Executors Administrators or Assigns so
to do out of the said Stock vested in the Bank of England and to
consider and appoint Hannah Danby the Custodian and Keeper
of the Pictures Houses and Premises 47 Queen Ann Street and
One hundred a year for her service therein during her natural life
and Fifty pounds for her assistance service which may be required
to keep the said Gallery in a viewable state at all times concurring
with the object of keeping my Works together and to be seen
under certain restrictions which may be most reputable and ad
visable To Georgianna Danby One hundred a year for her natural
life and to Evelina Danby or Dupree One hundred a year for her
natural life the residue of my property in the funds after said
bequests are provided for I give to the Trustees of the Royal
Academy subject to their having every year on the 23rd of April
(my birth day) a dinner to the sum of 50£ to all the Members of
Academy and if 60 more will be left to be for a Professor in Land
scape to be read in the Royal Academy elected from the Royal
Academicians or a Medal called Turner's Medal equal to the Gold
Medal now given by the Academy say 20£ for the best Landscape
every 2 [3] years and if the Trustees and Members of the Royal
Academy do not accept of this offerd residue I give the same to
Georgia Danby or her Heirs after causing a Monument to be placed
near my remains as can be placed*
A t1e„„ J. M. W. Turner
Aug' 1832 * This Codicil is not attested.

APPENDIX. 415
This is a Codicil to my Will dated the Tenth day of June One
thousand eight hundred and thirty one and which I request to be
taken as part of my Will together with a Codicil dated the
Twentieth day of August One thousand eight hundred and thirty-
two and a* Codicil dated the Twenty-ninth day of August One
thousand eight hundred and forty six I revoke the following be
quests made by my Will namely Fifty pounds and Fifty pounds to
Price Turner and Jonathan Turner and also the bequest of Twenty-
five pounds to the eldest sons of Price John Joshua and Jonathan
Turner I revoke also the bequest of Fifty pounds to Hannah
Danby for her natural life also the bequest to Evelina and Geor
giana of Fifty pounds each for their natural lives Aud I also
revoke the legacy of Ten pounds to Sarah Danby for her natural
life And as to my finished Pictures except the Two mentioned
¦in my Will I give and bequeath the same unto the Trustees of
the National Gallery provided that a room or rooms are added
to the present National Gallery to be when erected called " Tur
ner's Gallery" in which such pictures are to be constantly kept
deposited and preserved and it is my wish that until such room
or rooms be so erected that my said Pictures remain in my pre
sent Gallery and House in Queen Ann Street under the sole
coutroul and management of the Trustees and Executors appointed
hereby and by my Will And I direct my Trustees to appoint
Hannah Danby to reside in the said House and to be the cus-
todiam of the said pictures and to be paid One hundred and fifty
pounds during her life but in case she shall be such custodium
and receive the One hundred and fifty pounds per annum then
the One hundred and fifty pounds per annum given to her by
thet Codicil of the Twenty-ninth day of August One thousand
eight hundred and forty- six shall cease And I also direct that
the rent of the said House and the repairs shall be paid out of
my estate Provided always and I do express my will and meaning
to be that the said pictures shall not be removed from my pre
sent House and Gallery until and unless the said rooms are
attached to the National Gallery in manner aforesaid nor shall
the Trustees of the said National Gallery have any power what
ever over the said Pictures unless my wish as before declared as
to the said rooms is fully carried out by them it being my will
and meaning that either such pictures shall remain and be and
called " Turner's Gallery" and be the property of the Nation or
that they shall remain entire at my said House and Gallery during
the existence of the present lease and if my wishes are not carried
by the Trustees of the National Gallery during the existence of
such lease then I direct my Trustees or the survivor of them or the
Executors Administrators or Assigns of such survivor to renew the
lease thereof from time to time at the expense of my estate to the
intent and purpose that such pictures may always remain and be
* The revoked Codicil ; for copy, vide post.
t The revoked Codicil.

416 APPENDIX.
one entire Gallery and for the purpose of regulating such Gallery
it is my wish that so many of the Pictures as may be necessary
shall be seen by the public gratuitously so that from the number of
them there may be a change of Pictures either every one or two
years as my said Trustees shall think right and from and after the
decease of the said Hannah Danby my Trustees shall have power
to appoint any other custodium of the said Gallery at a Salary of
Sixty pounds a year but in case my said Trustees shall not be able
to renew the lease of my said Gallery then I direct the said Pic
tures to be sold I nominate and appoint Thomas Griffiths of
Norwood in the county of Surrey esquire, John Ruskin the younger
of Denmark Hill Camberwell in the county of Surrey esquire
Philip Hardwicke of Russell Square in the county of Middlesex
esquire and Henry Harpur of Kennington Cross Lambeth in the
county of Surrey gentleman to be Trustees and Executors of my
Will jointly with William Frederick Wells Henry Trimmer
Samuel Rogers George Jones and Charles Turner named in my
Will as Trustees and Executors And I give unto each of them
that shall act in the trusts of the execution of this my Will the
sum of Nineteen pounds nineteen shillings each for a ring
And whereas in my said Will there are many interlineations
marked in the margin by me with my initials And I do declare
that all such interlineations were made in my said Will before I
executed the same
In Witness whereof I the said Joseph Mallord William Turner
have to this Codicil to my last Will and Testament contained in
two sheets of paper set my hand to the first sheet hereof, and to
this second and last sheet my hand aud seal this Second day of
August One thousand eight hundred and forty-eight.
Signed sealed published and declared by~
the said Joseph Mallord William Turner as
and for a Codicil to his last Will and Testa
ment in the presence of us who in his T ¦,,- m „, /ton
presence at his request and in the pre- [ J" M> W" TuRNER (L'S")
sence of each other have at the same
time subscribed our names as Witnesses
hereto Joseph Tibbs } Clerks to Mr. Harpur
Thomas Schroeder $ Kennington Cross Surrey

This is also a Codicil to my* within Will and my meaning is
that in case the National Gallery shall not carry out the provisions
contained in my within Codicil within the term of Five years on
or before the expiration of the lease of my present Gallery then I
do declare my bequest to the National Gallery is void And in
* Note — That this Codicil is indorsed on the second sheet of the preceding
Codicil and not on the Testator's Will.

APPENDIX. 417
that case I direct my Gallery to be continued upon the Terms
mentioned in my within Codicil In Witness whereof I the said
Joseph Mallord William Turner have to this Codicil to my last
Will and Testament set my hand and seal this Second day of August
One thousand eight hundred and forty-eight
Signed sealed published and declared by
the said Joseph Mallord William Turner
as and for a Codicil to his last Will and
Testament in the presence of us who in
his presence at his request and in the
presence of each other have at the same
time subscribed our names as Witnesses
hereto J
Joseph Tibbs
Thq3 Schroeder

J. M. W. Turner (L.S.)

This a Codicil to my Will Now I do hereby as to the disposition
of my finished Pictures limit the time for offering the same as a
gift to the Trustees of the National Gallery to the term of Ten years
after my decease and if the said Trustees of the said National
Gallery shall not within the said space of Ten years have provided
and constructed a room or rooms to be added to the National
Gallery that part thereof to be called Turners Gallery Then 1
declare the gift or offer of the said finished pictures to be null and
void and of none effect and in that case I direct the said Pictures
to be exhibited gratuitously by my Trustees and Executors during
the existence of the lease of my present House and Gallery except
the last Two years of the said term And then the said finished
Pictures are to be sold by my Trustees and Executors I do give
and bequeath unto my Trustees and Executors the sum of One
thousand pounds and I direct them to lay out and expend the same
iu erecting a Monument in Saint Pauls Cathedral Church London
where I desire to be buried among my Brothers in Art I give
and bequeath unto Hannah Danby residing with me and Sophia
Caroline Booth late of Margate one annuity of One hundred and
fifty pounds each And as to the produce of the said finished
pictures when sold I give thereout the sum of One thousand
pounds to the Pension Fund of the Royal Academy (provided they
give a Medal for Landscape Painting and marked with my name
upon it as Turners Medal silver or gold in their discretion Five
hundred pounds to the Artists General Benevolent Fund Five
hundred pounds to the Foundling Hospital Lamb's Conduit Street
Five hundred pounds to the London Orphan Fund and the residue
of the produce to fall into the residue of my estate for the benefit
of the intended Hospital in my Will mentioned I give and be
queath unto Mrs. Wheeler and her two sisters Emma and Laura
One hundred pounds each free from Legacy Duty I hereby
nominate and appoint Hugh Johnston Munro of North Britain to
VOL. II. E E

418 APPENDIX.
be a Trustee and Executor to act with the other Trustees and
Executors appointed by my Will and Codicils And I hereby
expressly declare that the Trustees and Executors appointed by my
Codicils shall have equal powers and be clothed with the same
authorities to all intents and purposes as if they had been appointed
by my original Will instead of being appointed by any codicil
thereto In Witness whereof I the said Joseph Mallord William
Turner have to this my third Codicil (I having revoked my Codicil
dated the Ninth day of August One thousand eight hundred and
forty-six*) contained in two sheets of paper set my hand to the
first sheet thereof and to this second and last sheet my hand and
seal this First day of February One thousand eight hundred and
forty-nine Signed sealed published and declared by-|
the said Joseph Mallord William Turner
as and for a Codicil to his last Will and
Testament in the presence of us who in his
presence at his request and in the presence [j. M. W. Turner (L.S.)
of each other have at the same time sub
scribed our Names as Witnesses hereto the
word " Will" having been first interlined
in the first sheet hereof J
Joseph Tibbs ) Clerks to Mr. Harpur
Thos Schroeder J Kennington Cross Surrey

The foregoing Will and Four Codicils were proved on the 6th
day of September 1852 in the Prerogative Court of the Archbishop
of Canterbury by the Reverend Henry Scott Trimmer Clerk (in
the Will written "The Revd. Henry Trimmer") George Jones
Esquire and Charles Turner Esquire three of the surviving Executors
named in the will and Philip Hardwick (in the second Codicil
written " Hardwicke ") Esquire and Henry Harpur Esquire two of
the Executors named in the second Codicil — power reserved of
making the like grant to Hugh Andrew Johnston Munro — (Samuel
Rogers Esquire and Thomas Griffith in the second Codicil written
" Griffiths " and John Ruskin the younger having first renounced)
— Effects sworn under £140,000 and that Testator died on or about
the 19th day of December 1851

The following is a copy of the revoked Codicil of the 29th day
of August 1846 so far as the same can be made out — Note that
this Codicil was written and executed in duplicate — both parts are
cancelled and they are not to an equal extent legible
This is a Codicil to be added to and taken as part of bhe last
Will and Testament of me Joseph Mallord William Turner of
* The revoked Codicil is dated 29th August 1846.

APPENDIX. 419
Queen Ann Street Harley Street in the County of Middlesex
Esquire Whereas the Residuary Legatee mentioned in my Will
has died Now I hereby appoint
and Sophia Caroline Booth to be such Residuary Legatees And I da
hereby give and bequeath to them all such Estate right and powers
as if they had been appointed Residuary Legatees in and by my
Will And inasmuch as it may take some time before the full
provisions of my Will may be fully performed I do hereby give
unto the said Hannah Danby and Sophia Caroline Booth one
Annuity or clear yearly sum of One hundred and fifty pounds each
And I do declare that they shall be joint Custodiers and Keepers
of the Gallery or Foundation mentioned in my Will And I do
give and bequeath unto my Executors the sum of One thousand
pounds and I do direct them to lay out and expend the same in
erecting a Monument for me and for my memory in Saint Pauls
Cathedral Church London where I desire to be buried among my
Brothers in Art In witness whereof I have hereunto set and
subscribed my hand and seal the Twenty-ninth day of August One
thousand eight hundred and forty-six
Signed sealed published and declared by
the said Joseph Mallord William Turner
as and for a Codicil to his last Will and
Testament in the presence of us who in
his presence at his request and in the
presence of each other have hereunto at
the same time subscribed our Names as
Witnesses
XT , n , , , . , , f J. Hubbard } Clerks to Mr Harpur
Note— One part attested by ¦> Rr Watts j Kermington Cross
The other part attested by j t'h5 Scho^dar } Clerks to Mr HarPur
Note — That the two parts not being equally cancelled the above
copy can be made from both parts and thus only

-J. M. W. Turner (L.S.)

The following condensation of the last Eeport issued by the Government
makes our readers acquainted with the latest aspect of this ill-managed busi
ness : —
" The Eeport of the Committee of the House of Lords upon the manner of
fulfilling the conditions of Turner's Will contains so much matter interesting to
artists, that we shall make running extracts from the evidence of the various
witnesses examined, quoting briefly those subjects which are of current im
portance. With regard to the duty of fulfilling the conditions of Turner s will,
the Director stated that it was the general wish, and more especially the wish
of the Trustees of the National Gallery, to fulfil them. He considered the
removal of the pictures from South Kensington a departure from the obligation
to do so. He considered, and other witnesses fully agreed, that a selection of
Turner's pictures would be indispensable; that many were unfit for public
exhibition; as being unfinished, and therefore only of interest to ar fasts, to
whom a reserve might be advantageously displayed. It was elicited that under
the Act, 19th & 20th Vict. c. 29, s. 3, the Trustees were at hberty to accept
EE 2

420 APPENDIX.
portions of a bequest of pictures and return the remainder, in which case the
last would fall into the residuary estate of the testator ; by this Act it would
seem, says Sir Charles Eastlake, ' that the Trustees would not have the option of
Betting aside the certain pictures for the purposes of study ; it would appear that
such pictures ought to go to the nearest of kin.' With Mr. Buskin the witness
thought that the Turner collection would enable six separate collections of a
most instructive character to be made. The next matter which arose illus
trated in no small degree the progress of public taste and the growth of a
sound judgment in Art. Habitual visitors to the National Gallery remember
how the pictures of West, which countryfolks loyally considered as the real
gems of the collection, gradually disappeared, first going on to the stair-
landing, then on the stairs, thence into the hall, and finally, how they took a
dive and vanished altogether to the region below, only to re-appear upon the
ample walls of South Kensington. Miss Angelica Kauffmann's works followed
to fit obscurity, and were not missed. These weedings were, of course, desirable
and right ; and the evident willingness of the Trustees to part with the two
large Guidos shows how the people have learnt to prize the real above the
meretricious art. Years ago the people crowded before these big pictures,
were fascinated by the minaudering nudities, and thought far more of an ill-
drawn and clay-cold ' Christ crowned with Thorns' than of the ' Ariadne' or the
Raphaels ; now the case is so much altered, that some sort of apology is thought
needful for a proposition to send them to Dublin or Edinburgh, and ' it would
be a great relief to the Gallery' to do so. It is even said that the fact of trans
ferring indifferent pictures to the above cities ' might deter people from leaving
inferior pictures, which might be rather an advantage.' As to the disposal of
the Turner pictures, the witness considered various courses were open, sup
posing it were absolutely necessary to house them in the National Gallery before
the expiration of the decade after referred to. ' One would be to place them
in the National Gallery, removing an equivalent number of pictures to the
South Kensington Museum. I should say not the Mediaeval pictures, but the
Dutch, Plemisu, and Spanish pictures, because that would make room enough ;
the Mediaeval might be added, if necessary, but the removal of these alone
would not make room enough in the Gallery. Another course would be to
place the Turner pictures in the rooms below, where many of them once were,
but where they were not exhibited; the Vernon pictures were exhibited in those
ruoms : they were so badly placed as hardly to be visible, but still they occupied
the walls of rooms in the National Gallery. If that were done, and if some
were placed in such space as can be afforded in the upper rooms, the legal con
ditions would be complied with.' In the event of immediate action not being
imperative, the witness would prefer the pictures should remain where they
are ; but he hoped this very inquiry would urge the Government to carry out
what the public had been waiting for so long — namely, the erection of a New
National Gallery, to contain the works of the old masters, the British school,
and the best works of Turner. He is entirely opposed to gas in the neigh
bourhood of pictures, and, notwithstanding the high authorities asserting its
harmlessness, he could not believe it to be so; he thought the works should be
examined, to decide the question, from decade to decade, as change would be
exceedingly gradual. Photographs of the cracks in certain pictures have been
taken, which could be compared with the originals from time to time ; not the
slightest change has been observable hitherto. It would not be possible to
provide a better temporary place than South Kensington for the reception of
the pictures, but the more temporary it was the better. With regard to the
Eoyal Academy vacating the National Gallery, Sir Charles did not know what
arrangement is pending with the present Government, but under the last Go
vernment 'it was decided that the Royal Academy should be removed to Bur
lington House, and the members would, upon a site to be granted, erect an
edifice for themselves. It would depend upon the terms offered whether the
Academy would hold themselves ready to vacate on the requisition of the
Government; on those above named it would certainly do so. Mr. Redgrave
was examined. If it was put to him he should not exhibit in tbe National
Gallery many of Turner's pictures which are now at South Kensington ; he

APPENDIX. 421
does not think they do Turner's fame any justice, being in such an unfinished
state that they are caviare to the multitude ; there are some which would not
even benefit students, — the works of one whose powers were failing. Mr.
Redgrave regretted there is no exhibition of Turner's water-colour drawings.
Turner was the father of water-colour art in this country, and, with a, very
few exceptions, there were no examples of his work in the Gallery. It would
be desirable to change the works exhibited from time to time, so that they might
pass successively under the public eye; with proper arrangements as to light,
a series of water-colour drawings might be as safely exhibited as oil-pictures.
(Mr. Wornum expressed a very decided opinion in opposition to this.) The
witness was not prepared to say that they will not gradually fade, any more
than that oil-pictures will not deteriorate in time ; but he believed that, under
due conditions, they may be preserved, and thought, taking into account
Turner's fame and the impression he has made upon the world at large, it is
better that one hundred thousand should see these drawings annually, than
that ten thousand should see them in ten centuries. (It is well worth while for
the public to give good heed to this opinion, for it is now acted upon, and may
be still more so. It is opposed to all the feelings and experience of amateur
collectors and the conservators of great galleries. Which party is in the
right should be decided at once. We may, out of sheer heedlessness, be de
stroying the heritage of our children in Art.) With regard to the complete
exhibition of Turner's works, and the manner in which he conceived that artist
desired his will should be carried out, the witness thought he had two views — ¦
' One was that in our National Gallery there should be » tribune, or salon
carre", in which the choice works of all schools should be gathered together ;
and he desired to have some of his best works in that collection: he speci
ally named two that should be put with the Claudes. In no arrangement
that can be made (I speak with deference to Sir C. Eastlake) could you place
these Turners by the Claudes in a sequence of schools; they must be in a
collection forming the cream of various schools.' In the second place, Mr.
Redgrave considered Turner wished his works to be kept together as far as
possible, in order to form a part of a British School of Art in the National
Gallery. The witness was of opinion that if the powers given by the above-
named Act of Parliament for the disposal of bequests of works of Art, irre
spective of conditions attached thereto by the testator, were known to the
latter, there would be no difficulty in dispensing with those conditions, as the
Act declares, beforehand, an intention so to deal with bequests.— In reply to a
question, the witness said that most deceased British artists of eminence are
represented in the National Gallery— that is, if the Collections at South Ken
sington are the National Gallery; 'but then Turner's will is carried out,
because his pictures are in part of the National Gallery. Adopting this view,
I consider that Turner's will is carried out; but if he wished his pictures to
be in Trafalgar- square, in connexion with the Old Masters, neither his pic
tures, nor the other British pictures, are in the National Gallery, since they
are both at South Kensington.' Mr. R. N. Wornum, Keeper and Secretary
of the National Gallery, was examined. Presuming it were desirable to remove
the pictures now in the Kensington Museum to Trafalgar-square, he would
wish to build a wing over the east side of the barrack-yard, running from
the new square room contiguous to the new large gallery, which would give
the space of perhaps four such rooms as the new gallery. He would propose a
wing on iron pillars, giving great headway to the barracks. These rooms
would not only hold the Turner Collection, but those of Vernon, Bell, and the
Old English pictures. Such a work might be constructed va. a few months,
and would be permanent. A corresponding wing could be made hereafter,
where the workhouse now stands, and the extremities of the two wings joined
by a cross gallery. The gallery proposed would cover part of the barrack-yard,
and be of great service to the soldiers when drilling in wet weather. By adding
this wing the pictures would be better seen, as they would be more accessible
to the public at Trafalgar-square than at South Kensington. The nation pos
sesses 362 pictures, 105 of which are finished oil pictures; the remainder con
tains many that are 'mere botches.' There are 19,000 and odd altogether,

422 APPENDIX.
including pencil and water-colour sketches; ' the mass -of them are of no value
whatever.' The witness's opinion is, that water-colour drawings generally fade
on being exposed to the light, but tbat pencil, chalk, and sepia drawings do not
fade. To exhibit all the water-colour drawings of Turner that might _ be exhi
bited would require a very large space. Turner, in one of the codicils to his
will, directed the course of changing the drawings in succession to be pur
sued. The finest of them were exhibited for one year at Marlborough House, '
and withdrawn from fear of injuring them by a constant exposure to the
light; these are now framed,' and may be seen on application; probably
twenty persons apply to do so in the course of a year ; but there is really
no one to show them, except myself, — and I have not time. If we are to
be liable to public applications to see these drawings, ' I must have a curator
for the purpose. 1800 are prepared for public exhibition, if we had a place
and a servant who could watch them.' 400 are in frames and 1400 mounted.
If the Royal Academy were removed, there might be more accommodation for
the pictures than in the proposed wing, ' because we should have the sculpture-
room, which would be a very good room for the exhibition of these framed and
mounted drawings.' If the wing were built, there would be room to display
the water-colour drawings in frames, changing them from time to time. ' I am
sure they (water-colour drawings) fade, because I have often seen drawings
which have faded. When a drawing has been taken out of a frame, where the
frame has covered part of the drawing, the colours protected have been more
intense than the part of the drawing which has been exposed to the fight. You
do not detect deterioration in oil pictures so readily as you do in water-colour
drawings.' Mr. J. Pennethorne was examined. He would not recommend a
temporary building being added to the National Gallery, but a permanent
enlargement, so as to comprise part of what would ultimately be a very fine
building ; therefore, if anything is to be done for the temporary accommodation
of the pictures, it ought to be done inside the present building. A permanent
gallery might be completed in nine months. The witness had submitted a
plan to the Chief Commissioner of Works for a further extension, and would
undertake, if needful, to erect a complete and sufficient National Gallery in
connexion with the present site in two years. In this plan there would be no
alteration of the present building, except breaking through the two internal
doorways. ' There would be a great advantage in building at the back, because
you need not go to much outlay for architectural ornament ; but, besides that,
we are, without difficulty, enabled to have recourse to all those means of
lighting which a good deal interfere with the architecture of a building facing a
public street. I propose to build an addition to the National Gallery, in such
a manner that the ground-floor of it should be built upon columns, so that it
should serve as a colonnade for the soldiers, thereby increasing their accommoda
tion. The ground-floor of this building would not be necessary for the purpose
of the Gallery, and would be valuable for the barracks. There are two pas
sages through the building : one to the barracks, and the other to Castle-street.
I propose not to encroach upon the last, but to let that be the boundary of the
new buildings. In doing that, I have only to take from the workhouse half
its site, leaving the other half on which to re-erect the schools and parish
offices, &c. The witness would begin with a gallery, 136 feet long over the
barrack-yard, which would accommodate the Turner pictures. The cost of the
entire building would be about 100,0002. ; it would cover an area of 30,000
feet: that of the present National Gallery and the Royal Academy taken
together cover 20,000 feet superficial. The portion of the scheme which is
considered pressing to be executed, would form a portion of the larger design,
and be consistent with an alteration of the facade to the south. The witness
would undertake to build that portion required for the Turner pictures for
25,000Z. in nine months. It would cost about 100,0002. to erect a similar
building in the rear of Burlington House to that proposed for the National
Gallery. If the Royal Academy were removed, there would be plenty of room
in Trafalgar-square for all the pictures belonging to the nation ; but that would
be turning the Academy into the streets ; they ought to be allowed two years
to find a new home, even in Burlington House. The Turner Collection requires
3500 feet of wall for exhibition.

APPENDIX.

423

Note to Vol. I., p. 386.
Account-books of Mr. W. B. Cooke.

W. B. Cooke, Dr. to J. M. W. Turner.

1817.

February 20.
Drawing of Ilfracombe

£ t. d.
10 10 0

March 1.

Loan of Drawing of the
Eddystone for Rivers

5 5 0
Loan of Drawing of Junc
tion of Tamar for Ri-
5 5 0
Loan of Drawing of Ply
mouth Sound for Ri-
5 5 0
June.
10 10 0
July.
10 10 0
10 10 0
10 10 0
10 10 0
6 6 0
Two Drawings of Vesu-
6 6 0
31 10 0
£122 17 0
1817. £ s.d.
PaidAugust4  40 0 0
1818. Paid Mr. Turner for one
Drawing of Vesuvius
(Pompeii)  15 15 0
Paid Mr. Turner for an
other Drawing of Ve
suvius, for Pompeii ... 15 15 0
August 21.
Paid Mr. Turner  51 7 0
£122 17 0
W. B. Cooke, Dr.
1818.July. £ s. d.
Battle Abbey  6 6 0
August 31.
Hastings from the Sea,
for Mr. Fuller's Work 42 0 0
Watchet, Coast  10 10 0
Dunster  10 10 0
Mount Edgecombe  10 10 0
£79 16 0
1818. Cr.
August 29. £ s. d.
Paid Mr. Turner in Bills
as follows : —
One at six months
for  43 10 0
One at nine months
for  30 0 0
Copper for "Liber Stu
diorum" (three plates) 116
Reed. Gairdner's Views
on the Rhine, charged
in Arches Account ... 14 0
£75 15 6
424

APPENDIX.

W. B. Cooke, Dr. £ s. d.
Three Drawings (Rhine) 85 1 0
Lulworth Castle  10 10 0
Margate  10 10 0
Dover. — Large Drawing
for Exhibition 1823:
Shipwreck at Margate,
Sunrise  189 0 0
Touching Tomkinson's
Cuyp  2 2 0
Touching Chelsea Reach 2 2 0
Colne  8 8 0
Rochester  8 8 0
Norham  8 8 0
Coast, St. Maws  10 10 0
Touching Cuyp's Horse 2 2 0
Ditto Boat 2 2 0
Girtin's Kirkstone  2 2 0
Dartmouth  8 8 0
Rivers, ditto  8 80
1824. Folkestone  68 0 0
£96 12 0
Rye  10 10 0
CovilleBay  10 10 0
Hythe  10 10 0
>te  10 10 0

£138 12 0

1822.September. Bill four months for three
Drawings (Rhine) ...
Paid Mr. Turner for Lul
worth Castle and Mar
gate 
1823.March 18.
Bill at two months 
July 27.
A Bill at two months for
the loan of two Draw
ings, No. 1 Rivers,
and touching Tomkin
son's Cuyp and Gir
tin's Chelsea Reach ...
September 5th.
Bill at four months  69 10
69 10

£ s. d.
85 1 0

21 0 0

50 0 0

21 0 0

Ditto at five months
October 1.
Bill at two months for
Loan of three Draw
ings for No. 2 Rivers 25 4 0
Liber Studiorum, Arches
paid  31 10 0

W. B. Cooke, Dr. to J. M.W.Turner.
1822. £ 8. d.
Three Drawings of the
Rhine  85 1 0
Lulworth Castle, Coast 10 10 0
Margate, Coast  10 10 0
Dover. — Large Drawing
for theExhibition 1823 :
Shipwreck and Mar
gate, Sunrise  189 0 0
Touching Tomkinson's
Cuyp  2 2 0
Touching Chelsea Reach 2 2 0
Loan of More Park, Ri
vers  8 8 0
Ditto Rochester, ditto... 8 80
Ditto Norham, ditto  8 80
St. Mawes, Coast  10 10 0
Touching Traveller, Cuyp 2 2 0
1824. Large Drawing of Smug
glers Fishing Gin  63 0 0
Rye, Coast  10 10 0
Clovelly Bay, ditto  10 10 0
Carried forward  £421 10

1822. Or.
September. £ s. d.
Bill at four months for
three Drawings of the
Rhine  85 1 0
Paid Mr. Turner for
Lulworth Castle and
Margate  21 0 0
1823.March 18.
Bill at two months  50 0 0
July 27.
Bill at two months for
the Loan of two draw
ings (Rivers), and
touching Tomkinson's
Cuyp and Chelsea
Reach  21 0 0
September 5.
Bill at four months  69 10 0
Ditto at five months ... 69 10 0
October 1.
Bill at two months, paid
at Oxford, for Loan of
Carried forward  £316 1 0

APPENDIX.

425

£ s. d.

£ s. d.

Brought forward  421 1 0

Brought forward 

316 1 0

Ramsgate, ditto  10 10 0

More Park, Rochester,

" Liber Studiorum, "

and Norham Castle ...

25 4 0

fourteen numbers at

Arch paid for Rye, Clo-

U. Is. ; twenty per

velly Bay, and Hythe

31 10 0
Arch to pay Ramsgate ...
10 10 0
1824.
July 17.
Two Bills as follows, for
balance, one dated
June 25th, at four
months, another dated
June25, at five months,
each for i5l. 15s. Sd. i
91 11 0
£474 16 0
474 16 0
W. B. Cooke, Dr.
1824. Cr.
1824.
July 22.
£ s. d.
July 22. £ s. d.
Bill at two months for
Loan of three drawings
Brougham Castle, Tot
for Rivers, as follows :
ness, Okehampton ...
25 4 0
Brougham Castle ... 8 8 0
Totness  8 8 0
Okehampton CaBtle 8 8 0
£25 4 0
1825.
1825.
Jan. 14. £ s. d.
January 14.
£ s. d.
Loan of two Drawings as
Bill at two months for
follows :
Arundel Castle and
Rainbow (Arundel
Kirkstall Abbey
16 16 0
Castle)  8 8 0
Bromleys (Kirkstall
Abbey)  8 8 0
£16 16 0
W. B. Cooke, Dr.
Cr.
£ s. d.
£ s. d.
Bill held by Mr. Turner,
By Frame of Glass sent
dated September 9th,
to Sir Anthony Carlisle
and which remains un-
4 10 0
Touching Vandervelde in
No. 6 Gems  2 2 0
Sandgate Creek Rivers,
Two first Drawings of the
continuation of the
Coast (purchased by Mr.
£91 8 0
THE END.
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