Читать книгу The Autobiographical Works of Wilkie Collins - Уилки Коллинз - Страница 13

Table of Contents

1816-1820.

Sojourn at Hastings in the autumn of 1816 — Letters to Mrs. Collins, Mr. F. Collins, and Sir Thomas Heathcote — Domestic and professional life in London — Sir David Wilkie and Mr. F. Collins — Mr. Leslie, R.A. — Anecdotes of the painter’s dog “Prinny” — Pictures of 1817 — Mr. Gary’s criticism on the sea-piece called “Sunrise” — Effect of the new coast scenes on the public — Journey to Paris with the late Washington Allston, A.R.A., and Mr. Leslie, R.A. — Journal of 1817 — Recurrence of pecuniary difficulties second application to, and timely loan from, Sir Thomas Heathcote — Pictures of 1818 — Sea-piece purchased by the Prince Regent Sir George Beaumont Lord Liverpool — Increase of employment — Visit to the Duke of Newcastle’s country seat, Clumber Park — Visit to Sir George Beaumont, at the Cumberland Lakes — Anecdote of Southey Tour to Edinburgh with Sir Francis and Lady Chantrey — The late Mr. Marshall, of Leeds — Remarks — Sketches — Letter to Lady Beaumont — Notice of, and letters to and from Washington Allston, and S. T. Coleridge — Commission from Sir J. F. Leicester, bart. — Correspondence with that gentleman — Description of the picture painted for him — Pictures of 1819 — Extracts from Journal — Tour to Devonshire — Letters to Mrs. Collins — Elected Royal Academician in 1820.

Had Hastings in 1816, been what Hastings is in 1848, the fashionable loiterers who now throng that once unassuming little “watering-place,” would have felt no small astonishment when they set their listless feet on the beach, yawned at the library window, or cantered drowsily along the seaward rides, in beholding, at all hours, from earliest morning to latest evening, and in all places, from the deck of the fishing boat, to the base of the cliff, the same solitary figure, laden, day after day, with the same sketching materials, and drawing object after object, through all difficulties and disappointments, with the same deep abstraction and the same unwearied industry. Such a sight would have moved their curiosity, perhaps excited their interest, could they have known the object with which those sketches were made, or have foreboded the pleasure and instruction which, in their after combination they were so shortly to convey.

But, in those days, the visitors to Hastings were comparatively few, and the streets of the little watering-place had not yet expanded into splendid terraces, or spacious drives. Saving in the presence of a few local idlers, my father remained undisturbed by spectators, and unapplauded by friends. Conscious of the responsibility that now weighed upon him, of the serious chances that awaited the result of his new studies, he practised the most rigid economy, and laboured with the most unfailing care. The character, dress, implements, and employments of the fisherman, every peculiarity in the expression of his weather-beaten countenance, in the “fit” of his huge leathern boots, in the “rig” of his stout boat, was as faithfully transcribed by the hand, as his manners, feelings and pleasures were watched by the mind of the observant painter. Nor were the features of the sea-landscape forgotten in their turn. They were studied under all their characteristics, — in the glow of the morning sunshine, and the gloom of the evening shower. The cliffs were copied in their distant grace, and in their foreground grandeur; the beach was portrayed now as it shone, dry and brilliant, in the midday sun; now as it glistened, watery and transparent, from the moisture of the retiring wave. The ocean was transcribed in its calm, as the clouds breathed their shadows over its cool surface, and caught in its momentary action, as it dashed upon the beach, or rocked the fishing-boat on its distant waters: and the sky, in the variableness of its moods, in its fleeting and magical arrangement of clouds, in its spacious form and fathomless atmosphere, more difficult of pictorial expression than all the rest, was yet, like the rest, studied and mirrored on the faithful paper which was soon to be the rich storehouse of the artist’s future wants. Studies such as these, interrupted only by the intervals of his scanty and simple meals and his needful rest in his humble lodging, he persevered in for six weeks, nursing his aspirations secretly in his own mind, and building his hopes where he found his pleasures, in the aspect of Nature and the capabilities of Art.

The subjoined are, unhappily, the only letters written by him during his sojourn at Hastings. His correspondence will, throughout his biography, be found to be in quantity the reverse of what it is in quality. Cheerful, graphic, and unconstrained as are most of his letters as compositions, they were all written with great labour and hesitation, from the nervous fastidiousness about the commonest words and expressions which invariably possessed him whenever he took up the pen, and which made epistolary employment so much a task and so little a pleasure to him, that he avoided it on all ordinary occasions with undisguised alacrity and delight.

“To MRS. COLLINS.

“Hastings, 1816.

“Dear Mother, — The inconvenience occasioned by my folly in not taking your advice with respect to the boxes, namely, to send them by a porter before seven, is not worth paper, any further than as it may serve as a lesson. However, I give myself credit for starting when I did; for, although I ran almost all the way, the coach was coming out of the inn-yard when I reached it. But the impossibility of remedying an evil is its best cure, and the fineness of the day, and the beauty of the road removed all unpleasant notions. A person who sat on the coach with me, and who I expected was no joker, after about an hour’s ride, turned out exactly the reverse, and more than this, an acquaintance — Mr. Collard, who has enabled me to look smart, by lending me a cravat, marked, too, with his initials, ‘W. C.’ I have a thousand other little things to say, but as I am under the necessity of writing by daylight, my mind is on the beach, and my only inducement to attempt this employment at such an hour is in the hope that you may receive my letter a day earlier than writing by candlelight would admit of.

“The packages came safe last night, and I am very comfortably situated in lodgings, (which are had with difficulty, poor, dear things) as under. — Frank’s handwriting is much improved, and negligently neat.

“Your affectionate son,

“WILLIAM COLLINS. “At Mrs. Nash’s, All Saints’-street, Hastings.”

The following letter to his brother, not only illustrates the painter’s constant anxiety for the welfare and pleasure of others, but exhibits some amusing and creditable details of his conscientious principles of economy under the straitened circumstances that now oppressed his household:

“To MR. F. COLLINS.

“Hastings, 1816.

“Dear Frank, — Your letter, with two halves of five-pound notes, came safely. My plan of coasting home I had entirely abandoned, before I received your opinion on that head. I now purpose quitting this place by the Wednesday’s coach, should nothing arise to prevent it. Now, as London is so dull, and if there should be every prospect of a fine day on Monday, (there is no Sunday coach,) you might come down and return with me, if mother thought proper.

You would then have one clear day to dip in the sea, and stock yourself with some entirely new ideas. The whole amount of the expense would be the coach, provided you put two biscuits in your pocket, which would answer as a lunch; and I would have dinner for you, which would not increase my expenditure above tenpence. You could sleep with me, but as my lodging is out on Wednesday, it would be encroaching on a new week to stay any longer than Wednesday morning. I shall be at the place where the coach stops for you, should you be able to come. Write me nothing about it unless you have other business, for a letter costs a dinner.

“Now, observe, I shall be most dreadfully hurt and mortified if, during your absence, mother does not get Mrs. Langdon to sleep in the house with her. You are to consider, yourself, whether, under all the circumstances, the journey is practicable. The expense will be about twenty-five shillings altogether. This we can save in five-and-twenty other ways; and if everything at home can be made comfortable to mother, I think it will be of service to your head. Will the journey be too much for you? — sixty miles down, and, to the best of my knowledge, the same up again.

“I came here to make sketches and not acquaintances. I have had no heavy time on my hands; a man should be able to bear his own company. I spend my time more satisfactorily than I usually do; live at a fisherman’s house; lodging, twenty-five shillings a week, (nothing to be had cheaper;) but as his wife cooks for me, and as I live upon fish and tea, (and live well, too, — sometimes to be sure with a chop,) I have something to spare for models, which I frequently make use of. *

“Don’t trouble yourself about the exact tint of the painting-room wall. I shall cover it with sketches.

“Your affectionate brother,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

At the beginning of October the painter returned to London, and resumed his Journal in the following manner:

“October, 1816. — On Sunday, September 29th, 1816, I made a solemn resolution to abstain from any compliance with desires calculated to weaken my faculties. This resolution was made in St. Clement’s church, at Hastings; and, as it has for its end the improvement of my powers as an artist and a man, I shall proceed to adopt a more strict and periodical examination of my conduct, with a view to banish from my constitution those inclinations to indolence, which, by their unobserved agency, might overcome my mental resources.

“I have for some years kept a commonplace book and diary; but the irregularity with which it has been attended to renders it little more than a book of remorse. I shall, in order to make atonement for this neglect, .consider it an imperative duty to render the diary begun this day a more complete abstract of my employment of each four-and-twenty hours. It has this moment struck my recollection, that the day on which I made the above determination, which did not occur to me at the time, was my dear father’s birthday. God grant him peace — he had little here! His life was one scene of narrow poverty; which, to my finite capacity, he less deserved than any one I ever knew. ‘ God’s holy will be done!’ was his saying under each affliction.

“22nd, Thursday. — Arose at seven o’clock; walked, thought, and planned; read and resolved; hoped for power to carry my plans into execution; found myself in health and strength of body; and, so far, with no excuse for gloom. Strict attention will, I hope, enable me to preserve this necessary condition of my faculties.

“At twelve, began to paint upon Mr. Heathcote’s picture of ‘The Kitten Deceived,’ upon which I worked till five o’clock. 23rd. — Painted upon Mr. Heathcote’s picture until five o’clock. Mrs. L — - called. In my endeavour to paint while I was talking to her, (or rather she to me,) I painted the wrong side of the kitten in the looking-glass introduced into the picture. This shows the futility of attempting to paint with company, and the necessity of giving the entire attention to the work in hand. Went in the evening to Mr. P — -’s, for the first time, where, in attempting to be as precise as himself, I rather bewildered myself. 24th. — Painted till half-past two; went out to walk till dinner. At Murphy’s chess party in the evening. 25th. — Painted on Mr. Heathcote’s picture till two o’clock, with repeated interruptions from the smoking of the chimney, the inconvenience of which was such as to induce me to submit to the alternative of taking down the grate, and having it reset upon my own plan. This occupied the rest of the day. Henry — - came to give us a lesson in chess. I fell asleep frequently between the moves. This I tried all in my power to prevent. I hope it is not a disease with me, perhaps being up so late might have produced this effect. 26th. — My study is in a miserable state, in consequence of the grate being reset; painted, however, till four o’clock; read the ‘Antiquary’ in the evening till twelve. November 1st. — Up at eight o’clock; heavy and gloomy, head wandering. Began to clear away obstacles at twelve. Read No. 127 of the ‘Rambler;’ then to study upon Mr. Heathcote’s picture till five. Johnson says, in the above number, ‘When indolence once enters upon the mind, it can scarcely be dispossessed but by such efforts as very few are willing to exert.’ Perhaps I may be one of the ‘few.’ By a close examination of everything I see and hear, I hope to improve as a painter and as a man. 2nd. — Went to — - in the evening. My hours there were most foolishly, or rather, as affording a lasting lesson to me, most profitably spent. 3rd. — Rose ill; talked with visitors till three o’clock; also upon religion with Mr. Allston, whom I like much. Deduced the necessity of three resolutions from my follies of last evening, all to be rigidly enforced; read at night.

* 5th. — If I am indolent during the progress of a picture, that picture, at every sight of it, will make me so uncomfortable that I either risk putting it by unfinished, or getting it out of hand in a hasty manner.”

Sentiments such as those above displayed will sufficiently testify that Mr. Collins’s expedition to Hastings was morally, as well as intellectually, useful to him; and will, moreover, explain the secret of the unwearied endurance with which he struggled against the new disappointments which it will be seen misfortune for a time still directed against him — provided though he now was with the material, and the capacity to produce the most forcible pictorial appeals to the world of Art. Before however proceeding further in the progress of the painter at this important period of his life, it will not, in the first place, be irrelevant to show that one at least of his kind friends still continued to watch his doubtful fortunes with interest, by the insertion of the following letter, written by him in answer to a most liberal and spontaneous offer of payment in advance for a commissioned picture, by Sir Thomas Heathcote:

To SIR THOMAS HEATHCOTE, BART.,

“Dec. 7th, 1816.

“Dear Sir, — I shall not attempt to describe the pleasure I received upon the receipt of your letter of yesterday, nor to apologize for accepting your kind offer, as, after the account of my arduous situation which I troubled you with in a former letter, it would be perfectly inconsistent to conceal the necessity you have so generously anticipated.

“From my excursion to Hastings I returned early in October, with a sufficient number of sketches and observations to complete the pictures I propose exhibiting in the ensuing season; and should it please God to continue that degree of health which I have so happily enjoyed for the last twelve months, I hope to prove that I have not been idle.

“By the exhibition of these pictures, I trust I shall not lose that favour the public has shown towards my works; but, although I cannot exist without fame, yet I cannot live upon it, so that, in order to accomplish the increase of my resources, I must devote some of my intervening time to the production of one, or perhaps two highly-finished small portraits. Upon this subject, Mr. Owen has kindly given me advice, so decisive, that I shall not fail to adopt it. On this head, I hope to have the pleasure of communicating more at large when you favour me with a call. *

“Yours obliged and obediently,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

It is now necessary, viewing the painter as already provided with his new stock of materials, to return with him to the mingled pleasures and anxieties of his London home. Designs for his projected efforts, of all sizes and peculiarities, soon flowed from his pencil; and like the beginnings of all his other works, were shown to his family and his friends, before they were seriously undertaken for the approaching exhibition. In this peculiarity of his character, he differed all his life from some of his professional brethren. No man ever lived who less affected mystery in his Art, or more thoroughly despised the easy ambition of shining before a “select few” — the unworthy satisfaction of being contented to remain the colossus of a clique, the great man of a small party. His efforts, from first to last, were addressed to every grade of his fellow beings who were likely to behold them; and were tried in his own mind by no other final standard than that of general approbation.

Among those whom he most frequently consulted at the different stages of his pictures were his brother and his friend Wilkie, to whom he had been introduced while they were students together at the Academy. The first of these companions and advisers, Francis Collins, added to a quick and lively intellect a profound knowledge of the theory of Art and an uncommon capacity for just and intelligent criticism — qualities which his brother never omitted to call into action for his benefit, and never found to fail in directing and encouraging him aright. Of Wilkie’s capabilities as the adviser of his friend it is unnecessary to speak. The powerful genius of that simple-minded and amiable man never failed in its deep sympathy with the efforts of his brother painter. From the first to the last day of their friendship, Wilkie and Collins sought each other’s advice and enjoyed each other’s confidence, without a moment’s alloy on either side, of jealousy or doubt: both were as fully impressed with the necessity, as they were happy in the privilege, of a connection too rare among the members of their profession — the free communication between painters — of their thoughts, their hopes, and their undertakings in the Art. Each was more the enthusiast of the other’s genius than of his own — rejoicing equally in each other’s triumphs, and submitting equally to each other’s criticisms.

Of the painter’s household, at this period, one who was then, as afterwards, ever among the most welcome of his guests, and who still survives for the advantage of modern Art, Mr. Leslie, R.A., thus writes, in a communication with which he has favoured me on the subject of his departed friend:

“Very many of the pleasantest evenings of that period of my life” (1816 and 1817) “were spent at your father’s house, in New Cavendish-street, looking over his beautiful sketches and valuable collection of prints. The recollection of your uncle Francis — whom you, I should think, can hardly remember — is associated with those evenings. He was a most agreeable man, and had a fund of quiet humour — he had also great information on all matters connected with the Art, and an excellent judgment. Your father’s house was therefore to me like a school — but a school of the most pleasant kind.”

The group that, in those days, often assembled in my father’s painting-room, as they sat in judgment on his projected pictures, would have formed no unworthy subject for a picture in themselves. The calm serious features of Wilkie, as he silently and thoughtfully contemplated the work of his friend, contrasted by the merry countenance and animated gestures of Francis Collins, as he hinted a joke, or hazarded a criticism — the appearance on the scene of Mrs. Collins, a remarkably dignified and handsome woman, contemplating with all a mother’s affectionate admiration the progress of her son’s labours; and the position of the painter himself, as he sat at his easel, now adding and altering, and now watching the approbation of Wilkie’s attentive eye — these, surrounded by the quaint furniture of the little studio — the heap of variously-tinted canvasses here; the articles of fisherman’s clothing and models of fishermen’s boats there; the finished studies, hung confusedly on the walls; and the painter’s implements, scattered over the tables; in one place the green bough ravaged from Hampstead fields, as a study for foliage; in another the toppling “lay figure,” displaying, above, the counterfeit resemblance of the female form, and (“Desinat in piscem mulier formosa supreme”) clothed at its lower extremities with a fisherman’s apron and boots — might have formed, altogether, a representation of an interior, not unworthy to rank, in point of interest, with many of those which have been already submitted, successfully, on canvass to the public eye.

While I am occupied in mentioning the companions of the artist’s home, I must not omit to notice one who was ever as ready to offer his small aid and humble obedience as were any of his superiors, to confer the benefit of their penetrating advice — I refer to Mr. Collins’s dog “Prinny” (Prince). This docile and affectionate animal had been trained by his master to sit in any attitude which the introduction of a dog in his pictures (a frequent occurrence) might happen to demand. So strict was “Prinny’s” sense of duty, that he never ventured to move from his set position, until his master’s signal gave him permission to approach his chair, when he was generally rewarded with a lump of sugar, placed, not between his teeth, but on his nose, where he continued to balance it, until he was desired to throw it into the air and catch it in his mouth — a feat which he very seldom failed to perform. On one occasion, his extraordinary integrity in the performance of his duties was thus pleasantly exemplified:- My father had placed him on the backs of two chairs his fore legs on the rails of one, and his hind legs on the rails of the other — and, in this rather arduous position, had painted from him for a considerable time, when a friend was announced as waiting for him in another apartment. Particularly desirous of seeing this visitor immediately, the painter hurried from the room, entirely forgetting to tell “Prinny” to get down; and remained in conversation with his friend for full half an hour. On returning to his study, the first object that greeted him was poor “Prinny,” standing on his “bad eminence” exactly in the position in which he had been left, trembling with fatigue, and occasionally venting his anguish and distress in a low, piteous moan, but not moving a limb, or venturing even to turn his head. Not having received the usual signal, he had never once attempted to get down, but had remained disconsolate in his position “sitting” hard, with nobody to paint him, during the long half-hour that had delayed his master’s return.

Out of the mass of his new designs, Mr. Collins selected two, which, when completed, were exhibited with other pictures in his usual style, at the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1817. They were entitled, “Fishermen coming Ashore before Sunrise,” and “Sunrise.” To the latter picture, a melancholy interest attaches itself. As it was the first, so it was among the last of the great sea-pieces he ever painted; a repetition of it, having been produced by him at the Exhibition of 1846, the year in which his employments in the Art ceased for the public eye for ever!

In “Fishermen coming Ashore before Sunrise,” the left corner of the sky is tinged by a mild, dawning light, which rises over a bank of misty vapour, and touches the wild, sharp edges of a large cloud, stretching across the heaven towards the light. Above this, still lingers the deep, purple, transparent atmosphere of the departing night, studded, in one or two places with the glimmer of a fading star. Beneath, the fresh, buoyant sea, dances onward to the foreground, garnished here and there fantastically with the rising light. In front, a single fishing-boat — (whose large sail, flapping lazily against the mast, rises grandly against the lighter part of the sky) — is stranded in shallow water. Around, and on it, stand the burly fishermen, hauling in their nets over the wet sand. In the distance is seen a town, faintly discernible on the cliffs that rise on the right hand of the picture; while, on the horizon, appears the sail of another boat, approaching the beach. The tone of colour in this elabourate work is dark, yet transparent representing a sort of brightening obscurity, and suggests at every point the mysterious morning stillness which reigns over the scene. The picture was purchased by the late Mrs. Hand.

Of “Sunrise,” I am enabled to provide a graphic and masterly criticism, extracted from Mr. Carey’s “Descriptive Catalogue of the Gallery of Sir J. F. Leicester, Bart;” (afterwards Lord de Tabley) in whose collection the picture was placed.

“Two fisher-boys are here, on the shore, at low water. One is kneeling in a front view, with a turbot in his hand, and his fish-basket beside him. He is looking up, in conversation with his companion, who stands beside him with his back towards the spectator. The latter has his prawn-nets suspended upon an implement like a short boathook, over his shoulder; and has also a small basket, slung at his back. The reflections of the rising sun are expressed with great richness on the face of the kneeling boy; and the warm light, with a vigorous glow, on the other. These figures are transcripts from Nature, painted with that admirable truth which stamps a superior value on the works of this artist. They occupy the right side of the rocky beach, and a large dog, of the Newfoundland breed, stands behind the prawn-fisher in the centre of the foreground. A buoy and chain, left aground by the tide, are the only objects in the left corner. A thin flow of water is visible in some parts of the strand; and, in the middle ground, a pier extends into the sea. A boat-builder’s yard is behind it, with vessels lying dry — a horse and figures are seen near them — and a small house stands on the side of a high and sheltering hill, above. From the termination of this hill, the sea forms the extreme distance, and extends the whole length across the view. The sun has just risen a little above the horizon, and its brightness is reflected on the waves immediately behind the kneeling fisher-boy, with wonderful truth, brilliancy, and force of local colouring. The golden light is opposed to the deep blue of the ocean, with a lustre and vivacity to which no language can do justice.

“On the extreme sea, some dark sails are discernible against the bright light — on the same line the white sails of some fishing smacks, distinguished by remote distance, glitter in the sun, and help to soften the effect by spreading the light in these parts upon the water. The dark sails of a fishing vessel, which is much nearer the shore, rise above the horizon, take away from the formality of its line, give a picturesque effect to the angle formed by the boy, and contribute to unite the shadows of the sea and sky. The ruddy light is diffused upon the flickering clouds, upon the water, upon the distant hill, the sands, and the figures, with a variety and gradation of tint, a living glow and lustre, which place this admirable transcript of nature, as a standard of excellence, among the very finest productions of its class. As the spectator views this fascinating picture, the cool serenity of a clear summer morning, in all its aerial loveliness, sheds a sweet and tranquil influence on his mind.”

“The Kitten Deceived” — a little incident of rustic life (painted for Sir T. Heathcote) pourtraying a group of cottage children astonishing their favourite kitten by exhibiting to it its resemblance in a looking-glass; with two other works, (portraits,) in one of which three children are represented playing at cards, in a garden, were the other productions of the painter, exhibited at the Royal Academy this year. The specimens of portraiture were painted in pursuance of the purpose he had expressed, in his letter to Sir Thomas Heathcote, of increasing his means of subsistence by the practice of that branch of the Art. Fortunately, however, a few years more worked such a change for the better in his circumstances that he was, from that time, spared all further necessity of quitting his own chosen studies to paint portraits, except when previously disposed to do so from his own inclinations.

At the British Institution the painter’s new contributions were:- “The Young Cottager’s First Purchase,” (sold to Mr. Danby,) and “Preparing for a Voyage,” (sold to Mr. Ludlow.) Both works were treated with the same truth and simplicity as their predecessors in a similar style.

Of all these pictures, those which attracted, and deserved to attract, the most attention, were the two sea-pieces. They presented to the public eye, in their genuine novelty of subject and treatment, the most welcome of all sights, — the appearance of thorough originality; and were at once admired and understood. The Art which connected the figures with the landscape, making each of equal importance, combining each into wholeness and singleness of effect, and yet gifting each with a separate importance and charm, was immediately acknowledged. Individual criticism found in them few latent excellencies, that general observation had left undiscovered and unapproved. They were works that attained a superior quality in all intellectual efforts — whether in poetry, painting, or music — that of levelling themselves, in expression, to the general capacity, while, in conception, they rose beyond it.

In the reception of these pictures by the public, Mr. Collins found some reason to hope that he should, ere long, accomplish his own extrication from his embarrassments — a process which he felt must be necessarily gradual, but which he now began to anticipate might be as inevitably sure. Elated by these reflections — more sanguine than any that had occupied his mind for some time past — he permitted himself, this year, the relaxation of a journey to Paris, in company with Mr. Leslie, and Washington Allston, the celebrated American historical painter.

It is a peculiar quality in the mental composition of those enthusiastically devoted to an intellectual aim, that they make — often unconsciously — their very pleasures and relaxations minister to the continued study of their pursuit. This was remarkably the case in the instance of the subject of this biography. In sickness and in pleasure, as in health and occupation, he was incessantly garnering up some fresh collection of material for his Art. Thus, in his journey to Paris, not satisfied with the acquisitions which, in the mere conversation of the two great painters who accompanied him, he was sure to obtain, he contrived in the short space of a month, and in the midst of the gaieties and amusements of the French capital, to make several copies of the great works in the Louvre, and to gain matter for two pictures of French subjects, and French localities, which he painted on his return to England. Of this short expedition, no notices beyond a few travelling memoranda, have been found in his Journal for 1817; which, however, during a later period of the year, when he was again occupied in London by his regular studies, presents some remarks on Art worthy of insertion, which are expressed as follows:

“ * The foundation of the connoisseur’s preference for the Dutch masters is exceedingly slender; it is the painter who in reality enjoys and admires their works; whose reputation (which induces the connoisseur to purchase them) is derived from the painter’s appreciation of their technical merits. Most of the Dutch pictures are composed of subjects gross, vulgar, and filthy; and where this is not the case with the subjects, the characters introduced are such as degrade the human species below the level of the brute creation. As a proof of the correctness of this statement, let any one put the employments of most of the figures into words, and see whether the description would be tolerated in any decent company. And further, is the selection of scenery in these works remarkable (or is it not the reverse) for any of those features which delight either in Nature or Poetry?

“If the low and beastly characters pourtrayed by the Dutch painters were introduced by way of contrast, or for some moral purpose, as in Hogarth’s works, there might be some excuse; but in their hands, even children have the faces of squalid old men and women: yet, notwithstanding these objections to them, they are most profoundly skilled in the great technical beauties and difficulties of the Art, and are accordingly highly valued by the artist. As these merits, however, can only be tested by the enlightened and initiated, persons who belong to neither class must buy the Dutch pictures, for purposes unconnected with a legitimate admiration of painting.

“ * Daylight scenes are usually painted by inferior artists, with shadows resembling, because they are only painted at home, such as are never found but in rooms peculiarly lighted — these rooms being, moreover, seldom seen by any but painters. Hence, to those who are not accustomed to see groups of ploughmen, cattle, etc., etc., within doors, these pictures — though they know not how to express it — fail in producing the desired effect. For, although general spectators may not be so far acquainted with the minutiae of Nature as to be able to talk about them, the general characteristics are nevertheless strongly impressed on their feelings. This may be perceived, when pictures painted with a real knowledge of the peculiarities of daylight come before them; then, they instinctively declare their satisfaction by some such expression as, ‘There I can breathe!’

“How frequently do we find views of interiors, of stables and cottages, not really differing in atmosphere, from pictures of midday and sunrise effects in the open air, where the glimpses of cloud and landscape without, visible through doors and windows, appear so dexterously lowered, as to form a delicious artificial half tint to a head placed in the middle of a room. If painters are too indolent to court Nature ad infinitum, their works should be described somewhat thus:- ‘No. 1. Cottages and Cattle’ in a painting-room! No. 2. ‘A Thunderstorm’ — raised in the artist’s study!

“ * The reason why most of the late attempts made in this country have done so little for the Art, seems to have arisen, not from a want of inclination to further the interests of the modern school, (except in one notorious instance) but from the difficulties which naturally attend an undertaking, which is now exposed to the danger of over-patronage on the one side, and of under-patronage — or as it has been said, the stimulus of the fear of starvation — on the other. It would be a wise plan to make ‘places’ on purpose for great talent in Art they are found a stimulus abounding with advantage in most other professions. Without the high rewards attendant upon brilliant individual success, what great lawyers and divines might we not have lost?

“Since the great demand for Art has been satiated with the works of the old masters, what encouragement has the modern painter now to hope for, beyond those honours which the Academy offers, unless he becomes a portrait painter? It is, by the way, a strong argument in favour of the excitement produced by hopes of great pecuniary profit, that in portrait painting, notwithstanding the disadvantage of the most unpicturesque dresses, the English school has attained to a decided superiority over that of any other country.

“ * Difficulties overcome in any art or science, may give reputation of skill, on some occasions, where no really useful or agreeable object is attained. Amongst scientific men, artists and poets, who have little intercourse with the world at large, these technical triumphs are too much valued. What may be termed a legitimate and praiseworthy aim, is where success produces great general advantage or gratification. In my own branch of the Art, for instance, an undulating bank, made up of a great variety of grasses, wild flowers, docks, &c., &c., which, when represented with genuine taste and genius, is one of the most beautiful and attractive objects that can occupy the foreground of a picture, becomes in the hands of a man who can only paint it with considerable mechanical intricacy and skill, an ineffective, and sometimes even a disagreeable object.

“ * A sketchy picture is easily done, because one is accustomed to overlook in it a hundred violations of truth, which are insisted upon in a finished picture. In making sketches, the very violation of the laws of Nature is a proof of ‘spirit,’ as it is called.”

Notwithstanding all his successes of the past year, it was with feelings of bitter despondency that the painter proceeded with his works for the Exhibition of 1818, for he had the mortification to perceive, as time advanced, that the demands made on him, moderate though they were, still exceeded the resources of his purse, and that a second crisis in his affairs, as painful and peremptory as that from which the kindness of Sir Thomas Heathcote had formerly extricated him, was fast approaching. The times had indeed slightly altered for the better; but it is a convincing proof of the continued poverty of the general patronage of that day, as compared with this, that the sea-piece “Sunrise,” universally as it had been praised by all classes of the public, by critics and connoisseurs alike, had remained upon the artist’s hands since the Exhibition of 1817, and was not sold till the March of the following year. An extract from Mr. Collins’s Journal will convey some idea of the state of his mind under this fresh check on his most darling hopes; this unexpected defeat of the hard economies and applauded pictorial efforts of a whole year:

“January 20th, 1818. — From this day until Monday 26th, a series of miserable feelings and disappointments. Pecuniary difficulties, debilitating idleness, waging war upon me; dreading what, to my poor and finite capacity, appear insurmountable embarrassments. Notwithstanding my conviction that my troubles are real, and their number great, yet I feel that my desultory habits are adding to the list, (which is voluntarily and criminally incapacitating me for the performance of my numerous duties,) and that my prayers for power cannot be from the heart, when the talents I already possess are suffered to lie idle until their whole strength shall be exerted against me; as the sweetest water becomes, under the same circumstances, first stagnant and then poisonous. Fearing consequences, which God of his infinite mercy avert, I once more implore his assistance.”

His was not, however, a disposition to sink helplessly under such bitter and unjust self-upbraidings as these. His devotion to his Art upheld him now, under the crushing pressure of misfortune, as faithfully as it did long afterwards under the darker evils of debility and pain. From the time when he had first aided him, Sir Thomas Heathcote had never ceased to make constant inquiries, in person and by letter, after his well-being and success; and to this gentleman, after having tried in vain every effort to extricate himself, self-aided, from his difficulties, he once more addressed himself, applying, as a last resource, for the loan of a hundred pounds.

Most men in the position of Sir Thomas Heathcote would have hesitated at granting this fresh application; but, discriminating as he was generous, that gentleman had formed, from long and intimate observation of Mr. Collins, a true estimate of his character and genius. He saw that the painter’s integrity of intention and energy of purpose fitted him remarkably to urge his intellectual qualities through all obstacles to ultimate competence and success; and once more, though he had made a general rule against lending money on any consideration, he complied with my father’s request.

It may be imagined that, in mentioning these circumstances, and in publishing the letters on this subject inserted in a former part of the present work, I have dwelt somewhat too much at length upon matters generally held by the world to be of too delicate and private a nature for the public eye. But transactions such as those between Sir Thomas Heathcote and Mr. Collins, reflect too much credit upon human nature, and display too remarkable an example of graceful generosity on one side and manly integrity on the other, to be hidden at the promptings of morbid delicacy from the world. Let it be remembered by the wealthy, that for want of such timely kindness and confidence as are here exhibited, many a man of genius has lived for disappointment, or perished from neglect; and, by the suspicious or the cynical let it be equally remarked, that in this instance liberality was neither wasted nor outraged, that those pictures paid for in advance were completed first, and that the loan contracted unwillingly was gladly and scrupulously repaid.

To the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1818 my father contributed “The Departure of the Diligence from Rouen,” and a new sea-piece, called, “A Scene on the Coast of Norfolk.” At the British Institution his new productions were entitled “The Bird’s Nest,” and “A Scene on the Boulevard, Paris.” These pictures, gaining for him more exalted patronage than he had hitherto enjoyed, marked the commencement of a new era in his fortunes. From this year, his pecuniary difficulties gradually ceased; and he laid the foundation of an after competence, alike honourable to his own efforts and to the encouragement and appreciation of them by others.

The “Scene on the Coast of Norfolk,” a sea-piece full of the finest qualities of the painter’s works of this description, is to be noticed first among these pictures, both from its own intrinsic merits, and from the fortunate destiny that it achieved. At the annual dinner given by the Academy to the patrons of modern art, Sir George Beaumont, (to whom my father had been lately introduced) intimated to him that the late Earl of Liverpool had become the purchaser of his sea-piece. He had barely time to express his acknowledgments to Sir George ere they were joined by the late Lord Farnborough, (then Sir Charles Long,) who informed them that the Prince Regent had been so delighted with the picture at the private view of the day before, that he desired to possess it. Mr. Collins replied that he had just sold his work to Lord Liverpool, and that under such embarrassing circumstances, he knew not how to act. Observing that the matter might, he thought, be easily settled, Sir Charles Long introduced the painter to Lord Liverpool, who expressed his willingness to resign his purchase to his royal competitor, and gave Mr. Collins a commission to paint him another sea-piece for the next Exhibition. The picture was accordingly delivered to the prince, and is now in the Royal Collection at Windsor Castle. The honest, uncompromising study of Nature, the high finish, the softness and purity of tone, united with power and brilliancy of effect, apparent in all parts of this work, combine to make it in every way worthy of the high approval that it gained. Nothing can be more simple than the scene it depicts: the level beach, in fine perspective, running into the middle of the picture from the foreground; two boys with fish and a fisherman’s hut at the right hand; the sea at left; the sky above, charged with a mass of light, airy cloud, from behind which the sunlight is breaking in faint misty rays, are all the materials of the composition; but they are presented with such consummate truth and skill as to give to the picture that genuine appearance of originality and nature which in all works of art is the best guarantee of their value, as possessions which are always welcome to the eye, and never too familiar to the mind.

My father’s introduction to Lord Liverpool was productive of advantages to him, which he ever remembered with gratitude and delight. At Fife House and Coombe Wood he was a constant guest. On all occasions his interests were forwarded and his pleasures consulted by Lord Liverpool, with a kindness and condescension, which the more important political occupations of that upright and amiable nobleman could never suspend. At no period of his intercourse with the world was the painter’s time spent more delightfully and improvingly than in the cultivated society that he met under Lord Liverpool’s roof. There, he was first introduced to the present possessor of some of his finest pictures — Sir Robert Peel; and there, in the beautiful scenery around Walmer Castle — then a country seat belonging to his noble host he found materials for many of the most successful of his works. One of the last acts of Lord Liverpool’s life was as characteristic of his affectionate regard for Mr. Collins as any that had preceded it. During an interval of ease in the illness that produced his dissolution, he desired that the painter might be sent for to visit him, at Coombe Wood. As he was proceeding towards the drawing-room to welcome his visitor, he suddenly stopped, and, sighing heavily, exclaimed: “No, I cannot see him — I feel it would be too much!” Mr. Collins never beheld him again. He returned to his room, and soon afterwards died.

The painter’s second picture at the Royal Academy Exhibition — ”The departure of the Diligence from Rouen” — was well calculated to display the versatility of his genius. As the sea-piece was all repose, so this work was all action. The one was full of freshness — atmosphere — day; the other — representing the departure of the clumsy vehicle, on a dark night, surrounded by a bustling and varied crowd, and illuminated only by the wild light of a single lamp, swung over the middle of the old French street — displayed precisely opposite characteristics, in every feature of the subject which it portrayed. This picture (one of the results of my father’s tour to Paris) was purchased by Sir George Beaumont. The “Scene on the Boulevards,” (drawn from the same sources, and exhibited at the British Institution) was bought by the Duke of Newcastle, who invited the artist to Clumber, the same year, to sketch the scenery and paint the portraits of his sons. The fourth work, “The Bird’s Nest,” (also sent to the British Institution) was sold to the Countess de Grey.

The report that Mr. Collins’s “Coast Scene” had fallen under Royal protection soon circulated, and aided the effect of the merits of the work itself so powerfully, that commissions began to flow in upon him with unaccustomed prodigality. It was necessary, however, before he proceeded to execute them, that he should repair to Clumber, in compliance with the Duke of Newcastle’s invitation. Of his journey to that place, and of his studies, thoughts, and resolutions in the earlier part of the year, the following account is furnished in his Diary.

Journal of 1818.

“March 20th. — I received the Holy Sacrament at Fitzroy Chapel to-day; (Good Friday,) and in pursuance of certain hopes to amend my life, I commence this Journal for the purpose of examining how my time and talents, in this my thirtieth year, are employed. After having done all I can towards the attainment of any temporal object, should I not accomplish it, it is useless to lament the failure. I must never mistake the means for the end, must study hard, and for understanding must implore Almighty mercy. I believe that I must answer for every idle, vain, and unprofitable word that I utter; how absolutely necessary it is then, that I should use those means already in my power to attain the blessing of mental watchfulness. I know no cause so adequate to the entire frustration of the acquisition of this faculty, as indolence, which I believe to be of the will first, and then of the body; where, when it has once taken hold, it is cancerous. God of his infinite mercy grant that I may escape its fatal grasp! and become pure and holy through the merits of Jesus Christ — in the hope of whose assistance, I trust for the power to act consistently with hopes and fears drawn from an entire belief in his holy mission.

“23rd. — Went with Sir George Beaumont to visit Sir Thomas Lawrence — painted on the ‘Departure of the Diligence.’ Sir John Leicester called; and in consequence of a conversation with him, I offered the picture of the ‘Diligence’ to Sir George Beaumont; who desired to have it on Saturday last, but to whom I could not promise it then, as I conceived it to be in some measure engaged by Sir John Leicester; in which I now believe I had misapprehended him. Sir George and Lady Beaumont called, to thank me for .my note offering the picture to Sir George. Allston dined and stayed the evening with me.

“27th. — Only at work by half-past eleven, although I have but eight whole days to finish my pictures for Somerset-house; but, in addition to this loss of time, I begin to suspect that by doing disagreeable things to please others, we may come to doing bad things to please ourselves. Certainly there was nothing that used to be more disagreeable to me than inhaling the smoke of tobacco, and yet I now find myself inclined to take a cigar, as much for the purpose of gratifying my own indolence, I suppose, as from a companionable feeling. This habit of smoking begets an inclination, and in fact a necessity, to allay the heat and dryness of the throat; and, as one smokes in the evening, liquor is always at hand; in addition to which, although I have given up snuff, yet the use of cigars and spirituous drinks would of course beget an inclination for their former companion: seeing all this, I hope I shall be resolute enough to resist the slavery of attachment to what it is best that I should hate. * April 7th. — Finished the ‘Departure of the Diligence,’ and the ‘Scene on the Coast of Norfolk,’ and took them to the Royal Academy at five o’clock. * May 1st. — Overlooking and planning new subjects till two o’clock: at the private view of the Exhibition afterwards — the Prince Regent there. Dined at Wilkie’s. 2nd. — At the dinner at the Royal Academy, where Lord Liverpool purchased my picture of a ‘ Scene on the Coast of Norfolk,’ at a hundred and fifty guineas. A few minutes afterwards, Sir Charles Long told me that the Prince Regent desired to have the picture: Lord Liverpool afterwards expressed his willingness to give up his purchase to the Prince. 5th. — With Jackson, who called to say that the price settled by Sir George Beaumont, Mr. West, and himself, for the ‘ Departure of the Diligence,’ was two hundred guineas. 6th. — Drowsy all day, from having taken spirits and water, to prevent catching cold after getting wet: the chance of a cold better than the remedy for it. 8th. — Called upon the Duke of Newcastle, who engaged me to paint a view of his country seat, Clumber Park, Notts; for which purpose I agreed to visit that place, soon after three weeks from this day. Afterwards saw Sir George Beaumont, in St. James’s-street, who declared himself satisfied with the price Mr. West had put upon my picture of the ‘Departure of the Diligence.’ * 4th June. — Mr. Danby bought, for forty-five guineas, ‘The Young Cottager’s First Purchase.’ Walked — and at Allston’s late. 5th. — Mr. Danby called; and the result of our conversation is so highly pleasing to my mind, that I am most happy in having made his acquaintance. * June 11th. — Arose at about five o’clock: left the Saracen’s Head, for Clumber, the seat of the Duke of Newcastle, at about a quarter before seven. Dreadfully hot day; six inside; three of whom, vulgar, common women, were certainly the most troublesome passengers I ever met with. One of them was particularly deaf; asking questions, and never remembering, even when she heard them, the answers she received. Unfortunately, this old lady had a very bad cold; or, what is every whit as disagreeable, had a trick of expectorating from the window. I thought I never beheld a more annoying physiognomy than Nature and her mind had conspired to furnish her with. It so happened that a very well-bred Irish gentleman, about fifty, one who had been a great traveller, and had evidently been in good society — really a sharp, witty, and gentlemanlike person — sat opposite this dame; and it is entirely beyond my powers of description to give an idea of his half-suppressed curses upon each of her gettings up to the window. Although I derived considerable information from this gentleman, my four-and-twenty hours’ ride, with the disagreeable dozings I had by way of sleep, had so completely — with the foregoing accompaniments — exhausted my nerves, that I never recollect to have experienced a more grateful sensation than my arrival, rather before six o’clock, at Tuxford, occasioned me. At this place I went to bed for a couple of hours, by which I was so much refreshed as to be enabled to proceed to Clumber; for which place I left Tuxford at about eleven, and arrived there before two. The remainder of the day, (Friday the 12th) was devoted to exploring the beauties of this delightful seat. Saturday 13th. — During this day I made sketches in watercolours, and further explored the grounds, accompanied by the Duke. Sunday 14th. — Heard service in the Duke’s chapel, where Mr. Mann preached a very excellent practical sermon. His Grace, the Duchess and family, with a numerous retinue of servants and persons in the Duke’s employ, were the auditory. The remainder of the day spent in the park. * Monday 15th. — Began, in oil, a sketch of the house looking towards the bridge. Tuesday 16th. — Worked on the above sketch: stormy evening — lightning. * Saturday 20th. — Began a portrait of Lord Lincoln. In the evening began a southwest view of Clumber Park. * Monday 30th. — Painted a northwest view of Clumber, and finished Lord Lincoln’s portrait. * July 9th. — Made studies for portraits of Lords Charles and Thomas Pelham Clinton. Very fine day; evening cloudy and without a breath of wind — a warm, calm scene. 10th. — Began the portraits of Lord Thomas Pelham Clinton, and Lord Charles. From Friday 17th to Tuesday 28th employed upon the portraits of the twins, and a sketch in oil at the old engine-house; and on that day (28th) left Clumber for Nottingham.”

After quitting Clumber, Mr. Collins proceeded to visit Sir George Beaumont at the Cumberland Lakes. Here he was introduced to Wordsworth and Southey, and enjoyed the advantage of visiting in their company, as well as in that of his accomplished host, many of the most exquisite features of the surrounding scenery. He often mentioned, as an instance of Southey’s remarkable facility in composition, his having been shown into the study of that fertile and valuable writer, while he was engaged over a MS, Before, however, the painter could make his apologies for the intrusion, Southey started up, threw down his pen in the middle of a sentence, and, taking his hat, gaily proposed a pedestrian excursion for the morning. They went out, extending their walk to some distance, and talked over no inconsiderable variety of miscellaneous topics. On their return, Mr. Collins again entered Southey’s study, (for the purpose, I believe, of consulting some book in the library) when, to his astonishment, he saw his friend sit down again immediately at the writing table, and conclude the imperfect passage in his MS. as coolly and easily as if no interruption had happened in the interval to distract his mind for a moment from its literary task.

Notices of the above tour, and of one that followed it, with Sir Francis and Lady Chantrey, to Edinburgh, where he visited for the first time the lovely scenery of his mother’s birthplace, are thus scattered among Mr. Collins’s papers:

“August 22nd, 1818. — Left Manchester for Kendal, where I arrived at about 8 P.M. Beautiful day — stayed there till Monday 24th, at five, when 1 started for Keswick. Went to Sir George Beaumont’s, where I spent the remainder of the day. 25th. — Rode with Sir George, to Borrowdale and Buttermere, where we dined; returned by Newlands — saw a man descend with a sledge of skates from Howester Crag: he appeared so small, from the height of the place, that I frequently lost sight of him during his descent. Occasional showers — fine effects: charmed with the place. 26th. — Rainy morning; painted from Sir George’s window. 27th. — Showery day, walked about with Sir George; went to see Southey. 28th. — Made a sketch, for Sara Coleridge’s portrait. 29th. — Painted all day upon the portrait of Sara Coleridge: a drenching day, hardly ceasing to rain from ten o’clock till bedtime. Mr. Coleridge dined with Sir George. 30th. — At Keswick Church, walked afterwards to Lodore waterfall — fine day, with a few slight showers. 31st. — A very fine day: at Ormthwaite and Applethwaite — sketching all day. September 1st. — From six o’clock, A.M., till night, hardly ceased raining a minute worse than Saturday: painted till three, on Miss Coleridge’s portrait. 2nd. — Painted, from my window, Grisdale Pike — showery all day. Lord Lowther and Mr. Wordsworth at dinner. In the evening at Mr. Southey’s — lightning in the evening. 3rd. — Showery day: painted, from the barn at Browtop, a view of Borrowdale. * 15th. — Started after breakfast from Keswick, with Mr. and Mrs. Chantrey, for Edinburgh: slept at Langholme — rainy. 16th. — Started early, and breakfasted at Hawick; from whence went to Melrose Abbey, and afterwards to Edinburgh, where we arrived at ten P.M. * 20th. — Went to hear Doctor Alison in the morning; and, in the afternoon, Doctor Brunton: excellent discourses from both. 21st. — Sketching at Leith with Mr. and Mrs. Chantrey — driven home by the rain. 22nd. — Breakfasted at Rosslyn; walked from thence to Lasswade, by the river side: beautiful day. 23rd. — Walked about in the morning; got wet through, in the evening, upon Arthur’s Seat. 24th. — Saw Queen Mary’s apartments at Holyrood-house; dined at Raeburn’s. 25th. — Sketched the Castle, and left Edinburgh at two P.M., for Keswick. * 28th. — Left Keswick, with Sir George and Lady Beaumont, for Ulswater: dined and slept at Mr. Marshall’s. 30th. — Left Mr. Marshall’s for Patterdale; dined and sketched there: after dinner set out for Wordsworth’s. * October 3rd. — Took leave of these excellent people: walked to Ambleside with Wordsworth and his wife — sketched the mill there. * 5th. — Rainy morning; Wordsworth read to me: walked out before dinner — took my farewell of the Lakes; and, at ten, arrived at Kendal.”

Among all the pleasant acquaintances made during this tour, none was recollected with greater pleasure, or improved with more assiduity by the painter, than that procured for him by his introduction to the late Mr. Marshall of Leeds. While in the North, and ever afterwards, he continued to receive from that gentleman, and all the members of his family, the most unvaried kindness and attention. Many of his finest pictures are now in their possession; and many others owe their first conception to the sketches, which his visits to their mansion at Ullswater enabled him to make, amid the rarest natural beauties of the Cumberland Lakes.

It is not always that a painter finds a sketching tour productive, beyond his Art, of general intellectual benefit. This fortunate privilege was, however, enjoyed by my father throughout his excursion, of this year, to the North. Although but lately introduced to Sir George Beaumont, his acquaintance with that cultivated and amiable man speedily expanded into friendship. To sketch in his company, and in that of Wordsworth — to hear from the mouths of each the antiquarian and poetical associations connected with the scenes which the pencil portrayed, proved an addition of no slight value to the painter’s professional studies; for it fortified him in the possession of the most important of the minor ingredients of success in the Art general information. It opened to his leisure hours new sources of literary studies; and by a natural consequence, roused in his mind new trains of pictorial thought. It is to the absence of habits of reading of frequent intercourse with the intellects of others, in a sister pursuit, that the inaptitude to originality — the perverse reiteration, by some modern artists, of subjects discovered and exhausted by their predecessors, is to be considered in no small degree to be due. The originality of the conception is more thoroughly dependent on the novelty of the subject, than is generally imagined. A new passage in history may mould a new form of composition, and a fresh description of Nature lead to a fresh choice of scenery, more frequently and more readily than the artist may always suppose.

During the tour to the Lakes — as indeed in all other country excursions — the number of sketches made by the painter excited the surprise of all who beheld them. No obstacles of unfavourable weather, incomplete materials, intrusive spectators, or personal discomfort, ever induced him to resign the privilege of transcribing whatever objects in Nature might happen to delight his eye. His talent in forcing a large amount of labour into a small space of time, and in making the lightest and hastiest touches produce an effect of completeness and finish, insured success to his industry, and advantage to his enthusiasm. To all his works of this description an extrinsic value is attached, through his invariable practice of never placing a touch upon his sketches after he had quitted the scene they were intended to represent. What they were at the time of their original production, that they invariably remained, when stored in his portfolio, or hung round the walls of his painting-room.

On my father’s return from his visit to the Lakes, his collections of drawings did not, through the carelessness of the people attached to the different conveyances, reach London with him. They were at first supposed to be lost, but were subsequently recovered. Lady Beaumont wrote to him in London upon the subject of this misfortune, and began her communication by goodnaturedly rallying him upon his notorious disinclination to letter-writing. The answer she received, was as follows:

“To LADY BEAUMONT.

“New Cavendish-street,

“November 1st, 1818.

“Madam, — That a most indescribable helplessness overcomes me, when I am under the necessity of writing, I readily admit; but, that I am not dead to the stimulus of a letter from your ladyship, this immediate reply will, I trust, furnish an adequate proof and the paper I sent to Coleorton, many days since, carries with it an assurance of unartistlike punctuality, which argues at least a desire to be a man of business.

“The recovery of my sketches, after having been separated from them for nearly a week, was a sensation amply repaying me for the three hundred miles I travelled, in a state little short of frenzy; for, notwithstanding I endeavoured to bring myself to a belief that they were not worth lamenting, still I saw them in the light of the most useful things I had ever done. The picture I have begun from these studies is somewhat advanced; and I have the very great advantage of occasionally painting upon it Sir John’s Gallery.*

* This was a new commission, to which reference will be shortly made.

“I dined with Wilkie, about a week since. He is entirely recovered; and I feel the highest gratification in saying, that all that his picture of the Scotch Wedding promised in its unfinished state has been most essentially realized and I know not how I could say more in its praise. The depth of the tone and richness of colour are equal to Ostade. Of the characters, refined feeling, and exquisite humour, you have already a complete idea.

“I have also seen the head Jackson has painted of Mr. Smith. Of the likeness I know nothing, but do not hesitate to say that the clearness, colour, and spirit of the execution, surpass most of his other attempts.

“With my best regards to Sir George — to whom, and to your ladyship, I shall always consider myself indebted for some of the happiest moments of my life,

“I am, with great respect,

“Your Ladyship’s obliged and obedient servant,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

Among others, to whom my father was largely indebted, at this period, for some of his most important mental acquisitions, may be mentioned the names of Washington Allston, the American painter; and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the poet. The first of these gifted men, is principally known in England, as the painter of the noble historical pictures:- “Uriel in the Sun” — ”The dead Man restored, by touching the Bones of Elijah” — ”Jacob’s Dream” — and others of equal merit and importance; but, he possessed poetical and literary abilities of no common order as well. To a profound and reflective intellect, he united an almost feminine delicacy of taste and tenderness of heart, which gave a peculiar charm to his conversation, and an unusual eloquence to his opinions. It was on his second visit to England, from his native country, that he became acquainted with Mr. Collins, who soon found himself united to him by the warmest friendship; and who owed to his short personal intercourse with this valued companion, not only much delightful communication on the Art, but the explanation of many religious difficulties under which his mind then laboured, and the firm settlement of those religious principles, which were afterwards so apparent in every action of his life. After a stay of some years in England, (during which, the merit of his exhibited works procured his election as an Associate, by the Royal Academy; and would, had he remained longer, have insured his election as an Academician,) Mr. Allston departed for America — never, as it afterwards proved, to leave it again. During the years of his after life, he continued to enrich the collections of his native land with some of the most admirable productions of his genius; and, when in the year 1843, he died, so widely had the influences of his gentle and admirable character extended, and so intimately had they connected themselves with the beauties of his works, that his death was mourned by all — even by those among his countrymen, who had only known him by fame — as a calamity, in which the ranks of virtue suffered as great a loss as the interests of Art.

In a future part of this work will be inserted a letter by Mr. Collins, written on the occasion of his friend’s death, and containing a just and interesting review of his character and genius. In the mean time, the following letters exchanged soon after Mr. Allston’s return to America, will testify that though both the painters were indolent correspondents neither was forgetful, in absence, of the common dues of friendship and esteem.

“To MR. ALLSTON, A.R.A.,

“London, November 4th, 1818.

“Dear Allston — From my very heart’s core do I congratulate you upon your election, as an Associate of the Royal Academy; a circumstance as honourable to that body as to yourself, and of which I received the gratifying intelligence yesterday. I immediately sent to Leslie, who came over, out of breath; and the news I had to communicate to him has, I believe, kept him, to a certain degree, in the same state ever since. Had you been here! — but you will come.

“And now to the fulfilment of your commission, to send all the news I can: to which end, I shall give you a succession of such events as may serve to remind you of ties you have in this country. The letter you sent me at Sir George Beaumont’s, came during dinner; and I, of course, made Sir George and her ladyship acquainted with that part of it relating to themselves; if I have any knowledge of the human heart, what the two said of you was direct from that spot. May all the success we that day wished you, attend your steps!

“With the scenery of the North I am charmed; and, considering the time necessarily occupied in travelling, I have not been altogether idle. Your hints about Coleridge, I did not fail attending to. With his wife I am pleased; and his elegant daughter, Sara, I have made a painting of. She is a most interesting creature, about fifteen years of age, and the parties we occasionally form with these good people, Southey, Hartley, Coleridge, etc., I shall not soon forget.

“From Keswick I went with Chantrey to Scotland — and had this part of the world nothing but Edinburgh, it would be well worth boasting of.

“After spending ten days at Edinburgh, I returned to Sir George’s; and, with himself and Lady Beaumont, visited Ullswater and Ambleside — where we stayed some days with Wordsworth, with whom I am very much delighted; and in some of our rambles, when he could have no motive but that of gratifying his own love of truth, he left me perfectly persuaded that, among all your friends and admirers, you had not a more disinterested one than himself. The kind regards I am desired by Wordsworth, his wife, Southey and Hartley, to send to you, are testimonies of a friendship by no means common; and, therefore, will have their true weight with you. My excellent friend Leslie was, of course, faithfully at his post for nearly two months; and a more complete Major Domo I could not desire. Frank has not yet returned from Northamptonshire — Willis is in France — Stark has just returned from Norwich, and I am attempting a mountainous subject, upon a large scale; the commission I was to undertake when I last saw you. My uncle has accepted a Chaplaincy at Cape Coast Castle, four degrees north of the line; which, although a lucrative appointment, is yet, from the nature of the climate, one of considerable risk — of course we are in great agitation about him.

“Having now, at the least possible expense of style, told you so much, I have only to assure you of the warm wishes and hopes of all your friends, and (as you already know) of how much I am — my dear Allston, Yours, ever,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

“P.S. My mother has been unwell; but has now recovered — she desires her best regards. I shall expect a letter from you; and I beg to remind you, that this is a sample of the quantity of blank paper I am desirous of.* Come home, and take your seat at the Lectures — have you no esprit de corps.

* The whole of this postscript is written on the outer page of the original, leaving little more than room enough for the superscription.

“I presented your poems to Lady Beaumont, who had never seen them; and I had the very high gratification to hear them spoken of in terms of considerable approbation, not only by her ladyship, but by Southey and Wordsworth. Southey said that, whatever defects some of them might have, he had no hesitation in saying that they could not have proceeded from any but a poetic mind; in which sentiment he was most cordially supported by Wordsworth, who was present at the time. Fare thee well God bless you! How did you find your mother, relations, and friends? Have you numerous commissions? Write soon — Sir George Beaumont and Wordsworth propose writing to you.”

Although a little advanced in date, Mr. Allston’s reply to the foregoing letter will be inserted in this place, in compliance with a rule which will be observed throughout the present work that of making a correspondence as complete as possible by appending to letters the answers received.

“To MR. COLLINS, A.R.A.

“Boston, 16th April, 1819. “Dear Collins, I send you a thousand thanks for your kind letter. It should have been answered before; but you, who so well know my procrastinating spirit will easily forgive the delay, especially when I assure you that I have written you at least twenty letters in my head, whilst I have been smoking my usual evening cigar. The only way I can account for not putting them on paper is, that they invariably ended in a reverie on past times, which, carrying me back to London, placed us opposite to each other by the fireside, with your good mother, and Frank, and Leslie between: where we have generally had so much to talk about, that, when I at last thought of leaving you, in order to write, the warning hand of my watch would silently point to the hour of bed.

“I need not say how highly gratified I was at my election. Indeed, I was most agreeably surprised; for though I am generally sanguine, yet in this instance I had not suffered myself to calculate on success. It was, therefore, doubly welcome. To my countrymen here, who value highly all foreign honours, it seems to have given almost as much pleasure as if it had been bestowed on the country: it must, therefore, be no small aid to my professional interests. But, were it wholly useless, I should yet ever value it, as connecting me on more friendly terms with so many men of genius. If you know the members to whose good opinion I am indebted for my election, I beg you will present them my acknowledgments.

“I am pleased to find there is nothing like a French taste in Boston. A portrait by Gerard has lately been sent here, and still hangs in quiet on the walls, with no raptures to disturb it. There are few painters here, and none of eminence, except Stuart, who certainly paints an admirable portrait. There are some clever ones, however, I hear, in Philadelphia. Fisher, who was lately here, is a very promising young man; and would, I think, make a great landscape painter, if he could study in England.

“Your account of our friends at Keswick was read, as you may well suppose, with no small interest. I longed to have been with you; and, if it is lawful to be proud of praise from the wise and good, I may well be so of the esteem of such as Sir George and Lady Beaumont, Wordsworth and Southey. Perhaps it may be gratifying to Mr. Wordsworth to know that he has a great many warm admirers on this side of the Atlantic, in spite of the sneers of the Edinburgh Review, which, with the Quarterly, is reprinted and as much read here as in England. There is still taste enough amongst us to appreciate his merits. I was also pleased to find the same independence with respect to Coleridge and Southey, who are both read here and admired. You tell me to ‘come back.’ Alas, I fear it cannot be soon, if ever! Mr. Howard, in his letter to me, wishes to know when I shall return to England. I do not think there is any probability of my returning for many years, if ever. The engagements I have already entered into here will employ me for several years; and I have others in prospect that will probably follow them, which will occupy me as many more. Yet, should it be my lot never to revisit England, I still hope to preserve my claim, as one of the British School, by occasionally sending my pictures to London for exhibition — a claim I should be most unwilling to forego; my first studies having been commenced at the Royal Academy, and the greater part of my professional life passed in England, and among English Artists. At any rate, I may have the satisfaction of founding an English school here; and I may well stickle for it when I think of the other schools in Europe. If I ever write on the subject, I shall let them know here how much the Art owes to Sir Joshua Reynolds. By-the-by, could you procure me a copy (from Sir G. Beaumont) of the inscription for a monument to Sir Joshua, written by Wordsworth?

“Tell Chantrey that I made my report, and showed his letter to the Committee of Directors for the statue of Washington in this town; and they were highly gratified to learn that he had engaged to execute it. The Academy of New York talk of forming a Gallery of the works of some old masters, and the works of the principal living artists in England, when they shall have funds for the purpose, which I hope the State will grant.

“I did not forget to celebrate your and Mr. William Ward’s birthday on board ship, and Stark’s after I landed. The captain, whose father-in-law is a wine-merchant, lugged out some choice old Madeira on the occasion. I shall never forget the last evening we spent together. God bless you and yours! Remember me affectionately to your excellent mother and brother, and to Leslie and Collard, to whom I shall write very soon. I beg also to be particularly remembered to Mr. James Ward, and to Mr. Thompson, who treated me, when I last saw him, with a cordiality I shall not soon forget. Above all, present my best respects to Sir George and Lady Beaumont.

“Adieu, dear Collins, and believe me,

“Ever your friend,

“WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

“P.S. — In my next I will give you some account of what I have been and am doing; at present my paper will only allow me to say, that I have received a commission to paint a large picture for the Hospital of this town — the subject left to me.”

Of the second of my father’s remarkable friends, Coleridge, little need be said to an English reader. To state that from the day of his first introduction to that powerful and original poet, the painter omitted few opportunities of profiting by his extraordinary conversational powers, and that he found as many attractions in the personal character as in the poetic genius of the author of “The Ancient Mariner “ would be merely to give him credit for a natural attention to his own pleasure and advantage, and an ordinary susceptibility to the pleasures of intercourse with an amiable and superior man. In subjoining the two following letters, it is therefore only necessary to remark, by way of explanation, that the portrait of the poet’s daughter, referred to in both, is identical with the picture mentioned in Mr. Collins’s Diary, and also in his letter to Allston.

“To W. COLLINS, ESQ., A.R.A.

“Highgate, 1818.

“Dear Sir, — Do me the favour of accepting the inclosed tickets.* I flatter myself that the first course will prove far more generally interesting and even entertaining, than the title is, in the present state of men’s minds, calculated to make believed; if this cause should not preclude the trial, by preventing even a tolerable number of auditors. The misfortune is, that, with few friends in any rank or line of life, I have almost none in that class whose patronage would be most important to me as a lecturer.

* Tickets of admission to Mr. Coleridge’s first course of Lectures were enclosed in the above letter.

“Your exquisite picture of Sara Coleridge (which, from my recollecting it under the supposed impossibility of its being so intended — as Mr. Leslie had never seen her — I must suppose to be no less valuable as a portrait) has quite haunted my eye ever since. Taken as a mere fancy piece, it is long since I have met with a work of Art that has so much delighted me. If I described it as the union of simplicity with refinement, I should still be dissatisfied with the description — for refinement seems to express an after act, a something superinduced. Natural fineness would be more appropriate. Your landscape, too, is as exquisite in its correspondence with the figure as it is delightful to the eye, in itself.

“My friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gillman, desire their kind remembrances to you, and I remain, dear Sir, with sincere respect,

“Your obliged,

“S. T. COLERIDGE.”

“To S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ.

“Dec. 6th, 1818.

“Dear Sir, — For some months past I have indulged the hope of visiting Highgate. I should have done so immediately on my return from the north, had I not waited for Leslie’s arrival in town, by whom I had resolved to send the picture of your amiable daughter. Coming at an unprejudiced opinion respecting the resemblance, I feel much flattered by your approbation of it.

“That I have, since that period, failed to deliver to you the kind regards I was charged with from our friends at Keswick and Ambleside must be attributed to the shortness of the days, and to somewhat of a disposition to procrastinate. I trust, however, I shall ere long have the pleasure of your conversation. For the tickets of admission to your lectures I send my sincere thanks. Would I could bring such an audience as you deserve, and that for their own sakes. With my best regards to Mr. and Mrs. Gillman,

“I am, dear Sir, with great respect and esteem,

“Yours faithfully,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

In adding to the above correspondence the subjoined letter from Coleridge, I am aware that (though it is apparently not directly connected with this Memoir) the patient and dignified sentiments, and the eloquent outbreak of warm and tender feelings, suffering under the chilling visitation of undeserved neglect which it exhibits, would of themselves make it of sufficient interest to demand insertion here; but this remarkable communication has a certain positive claim to introduction into the present work, inasmuch as the recommendation conveyed in it to the study of Herbert’s Poems, which my father immediately followed, was the first cause of the conception, some years afterwards, of one of his most admired works, the picture of “Sunday Morning.”

“To W. COLLINS, ESQ., A.R.A.

“Highgate, Dec. 1818.

“My dear Sir, — I at once comply with, and thank you for, your request to have some prospectuses. God knows I have so few friends, that it would be unpardonable in me not to feel proportionably grateful towards those few who think the time not wasted in which they interest themselves in my behalf.

— There is an old Latin adage, — ’Vis videri pauper, et pauper es,’ Poor you profess yourself to be, and poor therefore you are, and will remain. The prosperous feel only with the prosperous, and if you subtract from the whole sum of their feeling for all the gratifications of vanity, and all their calculations of lending to the Lord, both of which are best answered by conferring the superfluity of their superfluities on advertised and advertisable distress — or on such as are known to be in all respects their inferiors — you will have, I fear, but a scanty remainder. All this is too true; but then, what is that man to do whom no distress can bribe to swindle or deceive; who cannot reply as Theophilus Gibber did to his father Colley Gibber, (who, seeing him in a rich suit of clothes whispered to him as he passed, ‘THE’! THE’! I pity thee!’) ‘Pity me! pity my tailor.’

“Spite of the decided approbation which my plan of delivering lectures has received from several judicious and highly respectable individuals, it is still too histrionic, too much like a retail dealer in instruction and pastime, not to be depressing. If the duty of living were not far more awful to my conscience than life itself is agreeable to my feelings, I should sink under it. But, getting nothing by my publications, which I have not the power of making estimable by the public without loss of self-estimation, what can I do? The few who have won the present age, while they have secured the praise of posterity, — as, Sir Walter Scott, Mr. Southey, Lord Byron, etc., have been in happier circumstances. And lecturing is the only means by which I can enable myself to go on at all with the great philosophical work to which the best and most genial hours of the last twenty years of my life have been devoted. Poetry is out of the question. The attempt would only hurry me into that sphere of acute feelings, from which abstruse research, the mother of self-oblivion, presents an asylum. Yet sometimes, spite of myself, I cannot help bursting out into the affecting exclamation of our Spenser, (his ‘wine’ and ‘ivy garland’ interpreted as competence and joyous circumstances,)

‘Thou kenn’st not, Percy, how the rhyme should rage!

Oh if my temples were bedewed with wine,

And girt with garlands of wild ivy-twine,

How, I could rear the Muse on stately stage!

And teach her tread aloft in buskin fine,

With queen’d Bellona in her equipage

But ah, my courage cools ere it be warm! * ‘

“But God’s will be done. To feel the full force of the Christian religion, it is perhaps necessary, for many tempers, that they should first be made to feel, experimentally, the hollowness of human friendship, the presumptuous emptiness of human hopes. I find more substantial comfort, now, in pious George Herbert’s ‘Temple,’ which I used to read to amuse myself with his quaintness in short, only to laugh at than in all the poetry, since the poems of Milton. If you have not read Herbert, I can recommend the book to you confidently. The poem entitled ‘The Flower,’ is especially affecting; and, to me, such a phrase as, ‘and relish versing,’ expresses a sincerity, a reality, which I would unwillingly exchange for the more dignified, ‘and once more love the Muse,’ &c. And so, with many other of Herbert’s homely phrases.

“We are all anxious to hear from, and of, our excellent transatlantic friend.* I need not repeat that your company, with or without our friend Leslie, will gratify

“Your sincere,

“S. T. COLERIDGE.”

* Mr. Allston.

During his tour to the North, one of the painter’s objects was to collect materials for a picture he had been desired to paint by the late Sir J. F. Leicester — afterwards Lord de Tabley — to whose liberality and enthusiasm, as a patron of modern Art, too much praise cannot be accorded. On my father’s return to London, his first employment was to commence the execution of this commission to which slight reference has been already made in a note at a former page. The work was to be of the same size as one by Wilson, to which it was to hang as a pendent in Sir John’s Gallery. The compliment to his powers and reputation, implied in this honourable comparison, was deeply felt by Mr. Collins, who laboured on his subject — a landscape with figures — with even more than his usual care and industry, in order to deserve the flattering confidence that had been reposed in his abilities. When his work had made some progress towards completion, Sir John Leicester forwarded his first opinion of it to the painter, in the following letter.

To W. COLLINS, ESQ., A.R.A.

December 6th, 1818.

“Dear Sir, — With the warmest wish for your advancement as an ornament of the British School, and hoping by my frankness, in the present instance, to conduce to your reputation and promote your best interests, I avail myself of my view of the picture yesterday, in its present state, to express my apprehensions that the class of subject which you have selected, although so congenial to your taste and general style, will not enable you to display your genius against so formidable a pendent as the Wilson, to as much advantage as I think you could, on a subject of fewer parts, and more simplicity and breadth in the masses. What strikes me as the feature most likely to operate against you in the comparison is, that his picture has but few objects, and those are largely treated, and the grandeur of his colouring consists in its sobriety and harmony. The landscape which would form a fit companion for his must partake of this magnificent character without servility or imitation.

“I offer these plain thoughts to your better judgment as an artist, with a reliance on your candid allowance. I am confident that your wish is to meet the public favourably, and to give me satisfaction; and you may assure yourself that my most earnest desire is to see your genius fully displayed and fully appreciated. I know you would be concerned were I to suppress what I think, on an occasion where my openness may be for your benefit; and I therefore leave it to your own choice, either to proceed and finish the picture for me, and send it, if you please, to the Exhibition at Somerset House, as it might not fulfil all our expectations opposed to the Wilson in my Gallery; or, as you have ten weeks yet, if you will, (having a compensation for what you have done on the present picture,) begin another with fewer parts and more simplicity, you will no doubt have it finished in time.

“The sketch which I saw and admired yesterday will, I think, with your powers, place you on a much higher ground of competition with Wilson. *

“I remain, dear sir,

“Yours truly,

“J. F. LEICESTER.”

To this somewhat perplexing communication for the artist, Mr. Collins thus replied:

“Dec. 16th, 1818.

“Sir, — I know no event of my professional life attended with so unpleasant a result as the one upon which you have written to me this day.

“With the most gentlemanlike regard for my feelings as a man, and a solicitude for my reputation as an artist, you have thrown me into a situation from which I must confess my utter inability to extricate myself, — each of your proposals being so entirely impracticable. That a picture unfit to hang with a Wilson should yet have nothing to fear upon a comparison with the works of living artists at Somerset House, (notwithstanding the very high estimation I feel of Wilson’s powers) is a reflection upon the painters of this day to which I can never subscribe.

“Respecting the other proposal. — When I take the liberty to assure you that my present picture engrossed my thoughts during the whole of my tour in the north; that the principal sketches I made there were done with a reference to this work; that I have already been actually engaged upon it for nearly two months; and that I have also put aside many considerable and lucrative commissions, which it would be highly imprudent longer to neglect, solely for the purpose of availing myself of an opportunity of painting upon a larger scale, I trust you will see the futility of my attempting to complete another picture, either by February, or for some time to come.

“I remain, Sir,

“Your most obedient servant,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

Further correspondence and explanations upon this subject ensued, before Sir John Leicester found reason to change his opinion. Ultimately, however — as might be conjectured from the candour, delicacy, and liberality, displayed by the patron, and from the firmness and courtesy preserved by the painter, throughout the correspondence of which the above was the commencement — the picture was placed in the position in the Gallery originally intended for it. The scene of this production (which was never exhibited) is laid in Cumberland. The middle distance is occupied by a mill, peculiar to that country — the stream from which winds smoothly onward, until it dashes out, into the foreground, over rocks, stones and brambles, that intercept it, to the left hand, in its course. To the right, some villagers approach the spectator down a mountain path, overshaded by a large tree. Around the mill, and partly behind it, the summer foliage waves in thick and various clusters; while beside and beyond it, the open country — lake, plain, and river — stretches smoothly and shadily onward to the far mountains that close the distant view. The sky is at one point charged with showery vapour, at another varied by light, large clouds — tinged at their tips with a soft, mellow light, and floating lazily on the brighter atmosphere whose transparency they partly veil. The tone of colour pervading this picture was pure, deep and harmonious — it was considered by all who saw it to be one of the painter’s most elabourate and successful works.

To the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1819, my father contributed two pictures:- “Portraits of Lords Charles and Thomas Pelham Clinton,” painted for the Duke of Newcastle, and a new sea-piece, painted for the Earl of Liverpool, entitled “Fishermen on the Look Out.” This picture is beautifully engraved by Phelps. It displays, throughout, that bold and successful simplicity, which at once strikes the eye as natural and true. On an eminence in the foreground of the picture, stands a fisherman, with his back to the spectator, looking through his telescope towards the distant horizon. By his side a lad reclines on the ground; and, at his feet sits a dog, looking up inquiringly into his master’s face. The beach stretches beyond, through the rest of the picture, with its native accompaniments of distant figures, and fishing boats, while still further, smooth and brilliant beneath the morning sun, lies the peaceful ocean on which the fisherman’s attention is fixed. In solemn, true, and vigorous “chiaroscuro” and in the poetical composition of the sky — in that power of presenting original and faithful combinations of atmosphere and cloud, for which, in Wilkie’s opinion, his friend stood unmatched among his contemporaries — this picture surpasses all its predecessors. The pure harmony of the sky seems to shed an influence of Elysian repose over the rest of the scene, the sentiment of which is at once aided and reflected by the still, contemplative attitudes of the figures, and the deep shadows that appear to steal, at intervals, over the expanse of the distant beach.

As it is a remarkable fact that Mr. Collins’s pictures, from the earliest dates, are still in as perfect a state of preservation, as regards colour and surface, as on the day when they were first painted, an extract from his Diary of 1819, mentioning incidentally a few of the mechanical aids to painting which he then adopted, may not be uninteresting — at least to such readers as happen to be intimately connected with the Arts:

“10th February, 1819. Lost my election at the Academy by one vote; Hilton chosen. Sent home, after having made considerable alterations, the large landscape to Sir John’s Gallery, with a letter containing my sentiments upon this most unhappy commission. 23rd. — Took up my new subject — ’Fishermen on the Look Out,’ which I had previously painted upon during one morning. ‘The Harvest Shower’ has been purchased by Mr. Currie at one hundred guineas. ‘Fishermen on the Look Out,’ is painted entirely in copal, thinned with turpentine, without wax. From 23rd February, to 5th April, painted upon ‘Fishermen on the Look Out;’ I believe in all about thirteen days; also upon the picture of the ‘Twin Sons’ of the Duke of Newcastle, about ten — a few days in October, and many at Clumber. April 5th. — Began the portraits of Master Cecil and Miss Fanny Boothby. 12th. — Began a ‘three-quarter’ of the ‘Fisherman’s Return’ (in linseed oil, boiled with copal varnish — copal varnish in the colours, as a dryer), upon an unprimed cloth.* 13th and 14th. — Finished Mrs. Gurney’s portrait. 15th. — Began a copy of Lord Radstock’s Rembrandt, and a river scene for Mrs. Hand, in copal varnish. 16th. — Went to Coombe Wood to finish the heads in Lady Liverpool’s picture of the ‘Boothby Children.’ 18th. — Returned from Coombe Wood. 19th. — Began a portrait of the Duchess of Newcastle — the face in copalled oil, the other parts in copal varnish. Engaged as above, until 20th May, at which time I had painted about six days, or rather, times, upon the Boothby Children, and about sixteen ditto, on the portrait of the Duchess of Newcastle — painting at the Academy, viewing Galleries, and sundry idle days making the balance, ‘Fishermen on the Look Out’ when at the Academy, I rubbed over with copalled oil, which I wiped as nearly off as I could. 8th, 9th, 10th, 18th, and 19th. — Making alterations upon the never-to-be-done-with picture at Sir John’s. Sketch of Boothby Children, begun 29th March. 1st April. — Varnished the whole thickly in copal and finished it in the same.”

* It may perhaps be necessary to inform the unprofessional reader, that a “three quarter” is a term indicating the size of a particular canvass, and an “unprimed cloth,” a canvass, the surface of which is unprepared with the usual preliminary covering of white paint and size.

In the autumn of this year, Mr. Collins explored, for the first time, the scenery — coast and inland — of Devonshire. That he found in this tour many materials for extending his Art and increasing his variety of subjects, will be perceived in the list of his works yet to be enumerated. His progress and impressions, during his journey, will be found hastily indicated in the following extracts from his letters:

“To MRS. COLLINS.

“Dartmouth, 26th Aug., 1819.

“My dear Mother, — As it is probable I shall stay with Mr. Holdsworth long enough to receive a letter from you, I take the opportunity afforded me of sending a few lines. I am most comfortably situated here, close to the sea, in the house of a sincere and unaffected English gentleman, through whose knowledge of the scenery of this neighbourhood, I am enabled to see much more of the place than under other circumstances I could have expected. Brockedon is with us. I am writing with the sun shining on the sea before me, and this must be an excuse for not sending you a long letter.”

“Plymouth, Sept. 19th, 1819.

“ * I left Dartmouth and Widdicombe, Mr. Holdsworth’s houses, about a week ago; and I purpose leaving this place for Birham, Sir W. Elford’s, where I yesterday paid a visit, and where I shall remain a few days, and then proceed to Totness, Teignmouth, Sidmouth, and that neighbourhood, from whence I go to Frome. * I have just returned from Plympton, the birthplace of the immortal Sir Joshua Reynolds, and of which town he was mayor. I have made a sketch of the town and church, from a field at a little distance, and I prize it much on this great man’s account.”

“Frome, 3rd Oct., 1819.

“ * Since I wrote to you last I have visited some of the vale scenery of Devon, which is exceedingly beautiful. From Plymouth I went to the river Dart, which I had great pleasure in tracing for many miles on foot. I then proceeded to Torquay, Babbicombe, Teignmouth, Dawlish, and Sidmouth, where I finished my coast tour, and arrived, after sundry bufferings, on Friday evening, at Mr. Shephards’s, since which time I have been delightfully engaged in visiting the beautiful scenes with which this neighbourhood appears to abound; and although it is somewhat inferior to Devon, it is very excellent of its class.

“The weather, during my tour, has been exceedingly favourable, and, although showery at present, is still rich in the produce of picturesque light and shadow. * And now for ‘the rub;’ — I am worth, in the current coin of the realm, four of our smallest but one medallions! I shall therefore come upon my London bankers for two five-pound notes, the first halves of which I trust you will see the propriety of sending by return of post. * It is too late now to write a longer and better letter, so you must take this with all its faults, as you must the writer, knowing, however, how much he is your affectionate son,

“W. COLLINS.”

In the February of the next year, 1820, having, as will have been perceived by his Diary, lost his election in 1819 by one vote only, the painter gained the reward of much labour, and the compensation for many anxieties, by being chosen a Royal Academician.

Few elections were ever made more completely to the satisfaction of the profession and the public than this. Mr. Collins had now, for a series of years, exhibited works which had stood amongst the foremost attractions of the Academy walls. He had displayed in his choice, treatment, and variety of subject, a genius and originality which had won for him not only the hearty approval of patrons and friends, but of the public at large. Viewed under any circumstances, the honour which he had just received was his undoubted due; and it was not more gladly conferred than gratefully and delightedly acknowledged. To a man whose powers, hopes, and efforts were bound up in his profession, whose darling object was to assist his brethren in raising it to its highest dignity and noblest possible position; whose enthusiasm for his arduous calling lived through all the privations of his early years, and all the bodily suffering that darkened his closing life, this testimony from his fellow-painters of their appreciation of his genius and their approval of his efforts, produced no transitory satisfaction, and was hailed as no common honour. But it had yet a tenderer and a deeper interest than lay in its promise of wider reputation, and its incentive to higher ambition. It brought with it the recollection of the old boyish studio in Portland-street, of the hard labour and crushing failures of those early days of imperfect skill, of the gay prediction of future Academic honours, and the cheerful confidence that he should live to witness them himself, with which his father had then cheered him through all obstacles, and of the bereavement which now, when the honours had really arrived, now, when the “poor author’s” favourite daydream had brightened at last into reality and truth, made that father absent from the family board, and voiceless for ever among the rejoicings of the domestic circle!