he would have been a happy man. But Barry was not of this cast of mind, he loved the applause of the crowd, and aiming at the brightest conceptions of beauty and of grace, matching his mind and hand against the grandest of those mighty princes of art who had lived in the ages when the gift of genius was richer than the birth-right of a principality, when fancy was more powerful in securing interest with the great than the gold of the king or the sword of the warrior; and as the untaught, unused, tasteless public turned from Barry's pictures silently or disparagingly, he snarled at the success, and at the practices of his brother artists, who were more wise in their appreciation of that which brought patrons to their studios, even whilst condemning the taste of their supporters. Reynolds was the chief painter of the day; every man whose influence in the world. of fashion, or in the world of literature could advance his pretensions, or could back his quarrel, was his friend. Johnson, and Garrick, and Goldsmith, and Beauclerk, and Burke, were his constant guests, and yet with one so powerful as this, Barry could contend bitterly and fiercely. Living alone; absorbed in the practice of his art; dreaming of what his position might be could he but restore the grand style of painting which his heart so worshipped; fancying in his lonely hours that some Egeria whispered of fame, and in the dim vista of some far-off future pointed to a wreath more splendid than that of Michael Angelo, or more brilliant than that of Rubens, he looked with contempt upon Reynolds's productions, and sneered at him as "a man who painted faces." Barry was not ungrateful, but his pride in his art blinded him to his own interests, and even to the dictates of friendship. Doctor Brocklesby, who was his sincere admirer, perceived that the line of conduct which he pursued, must eventually injure both his fame and his chances of advancement; he knew that portrait painting was the most lucrative branch of art to which Barry could in that age apply himself, and seeing the painter's unwillingness to devote himself to the more money-making pursuit of his profession, he induced Burke to sit to Barry for his portrait. But although Burke readily and good-naturedly consented, the painter would see some slight in the manner of his attendance at the sittings. Burke frequently went to Barry's house, and though he always found him at home, he was too much engaged to devote himself to the portrait of his best friend, and most illustrious sitter, stating that it was impossible for him to take a sitting without a previous notice of twentyfour hours. After many calls, Burke grew weary of dangling in the studio of the man whom he had served, and accordingly wrote to him, stating that he had offered to sit at the request of Doctor Brocklesby, and had called at the hours he thought most suitable to Barry's convenience, and most adapted to his own leisure. To this letter Barry sent the following characteristic reply : "Sir-It is some time since I have found it necessary to train myself in such dispositions and habits of mind as were in my judg. ment best calculated to carry me with quiet and ease through a situation every way encompassed with thorns and difficulties: and I did flatter myself with the hopes of being able by this time to meet any attack upon my quiet with a proportionable degree of patience and serenity of mind. But I have been mistaken: for your letter has vexed me, it has exceedingly vexed me. There are passages in it which, perhaps, you can explain, and which I wish you would; indeed, the whole cast and ironical air of it seemed to be meant as anbut I am not (I thank God for it) in any misfortune, and if I was, it is with difficulty I can bring myself to believe that you would be inclined to add anything to the weight of it; and yet you tell me that, knowing you had no title to flatter yourself with the vanity of being painted by so eminent an artist as I am,' you mention my being particularly knowing in the value and duties of friendship,' and you talk of 'your very sincere, though unlearned homage to my great talents and acquirements.'-What am I to understand from all this? If it is the language of contempt and anger, why it is so, and how comes it of all people in the world to be addressed to me? Surely there must be something in your mind; what is it? I should be glad to know it in its full extent, and permit me to say that I ought not to be left in ignorance of any matter that is likely to make a breach between us. As to Dr. Brocklesby's picture, it is a miserable subject to be made the ground of a quarrel with me. I will paint it, as I always was earnestly inclined to do, when I can get a sitting upon the terms that are granted to all other painters; I only begged the notice of a day before-hand, and you well know that much more is required by others, and from the very nature of the thing, it must be evident that this business cannot be carried on without it. If this should not be found convenient, I am sorry for it; but there is no reason of complaint on any side, as I am resolved not to spoil what I have done. I am, Sir, with great respect, July 11, 1774.” JAMES BARRY. In answer to this piece of folly Burke wrote as follows : own. “Sir—I have been honored with a letter from you, written in a style which, from most of my acquaintances, I should have thought a little singular. In return to an apology of mine for an unseasonable intrusion, couched in language the most respectful I could employ, you tell me that I attack you, and endeavour to make a quarrel with you. You will judge of the propriety of this matter, and of this mode of expression. When I took the liberty of offering myself to sit for my picture on Saturday last, I could not possibly mean to offend you. When you declined the offer in the manner in which you declined offers of the same kind several times before, I confess I felt that such importunity on my part, and on such a subject, must make me look rather little in the eyes of others, as it certainly did in my The desire of being painted is one of the modes in which vanity sometimes displays itself. I am, however, mistaken, if it be one of the fashions of that weakness in me. I thought it necessary, on being dismissed by you so often, to make you at length some apology for the frequent trouble I had given you. I assured you that my desire of sitting solely arose from my wish to comply with the polite and friendly request of Doctor Brocklesby. I thought I should be the more readily excused on that account by you, who, as you are a man informed much more than is common, must know, that some attention to the wishes of our friend even in trifles, is an essential among the duties of friendship: I had too much value for Doctor Brocklesby's to neglect him even in this trivial article. Such was my apology. You find fault with it, and I should certainly ask your pardon, if I were sensible that it did or could convey anything offensive. When I speak in high terms of your merit and your skill in your art, you are pleased to treat my commendation as irony. How justly the warm (though unlearned and ineffectual) testimony I have borne to that merit and that skill upon all occasions, calls for such a reflexion, I must submit to your own equity upon a sober consideration. Those who have heard me speak upon that subject have not imagined my tone to be ironical; whatever other blame it may have merited. I have always thought and I always spoke of you as a man of uncommon genius, and I am sorry that my expression of this sentiment has not had the good fortune to meet with your approbation. In future, however, I hope you will at least think more favorably of my sincerity; for if my commendation and my censure have not that quality, I am conscious they have nothing else to recommend them. In the latter part of your letter you refuse to paint the picture except upon certain terms. These terms, you tell me, are granted to all other painters. They who are of importance enough to grant terms to gentlemen of your profession, may enter into a discussion of their reality or their reasonableness. But I never thought my portrait a business of consequence. It was the shame of appearing to think so by my importunity that gave you the trouble of my apology. But that I may not seem to sin without excuse, because with knowledge, I must answer to your charging me, that I well know that much more is required by others,' that you think far too highly of my us. knowledge in this particular. I know no such thing by any experience of my own. I have been painted in my life five times; twice in little and three times in large. The late Mr. Spencer, and the late Mr. Sisson painted the miniatures. Mr. Worlidge and Sir Joshua Reynolds painted the rest. I assure you, upon my honor, I never gave any of these gentlemen any regular previous notice whatsoever. They condescended to live with me without ceremony; and they painted me, when my friends desired it, at such times as I casually went to admire their performances, and, just as it mutually suited A picture of me is now painting for Mr. Thrale by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and in this manner, and this only. I will not presume to say, that the condescension of some men forms a rule for others. I know that extraordinary civility cannot be claimed as a matter of strict justice. In that view, probably, you may be right. It is not for me to dispute with you. I have ever looked up with reverence to merit of all kinds; and have learned to yield submission even to the caprices of men of great parts. I shall certainly obey your commands; and send you a regular notice whenever I am able. I have done so at times; but having been, with great mortification to myself, obliged once or twice to disappoint you, and having been as often disappointed by your engagements, it was to prevent this, that I have offered you (I may freely say) every leisure hour that I have had sure and in my own possession, for near two years past. I think a person possessed of the indulgent weakness of a friend, would have given credit to the irregularity of the calls of my little occupations, on my assuring him so frequently of the fact. There are expressions your letter of so very extraordinary a nature, with regard to your being free from any misfortune, that I think it better to pass them over in silence. I do not mean to quarrel with you, Mr. Barry; I do not quarrel with my friends. You say a picture is a miserable subject for it; and you say right. But if any one should have a difference with a painter, some conduct relative to a picture is as probable a matter for it as any other. Your demanding an explanation of a letter, which was itself an explanation, has given you the trouble of this long letter. I am always ready to give an account of my conduct. I am sorry the former account I gave you should have offended. If this should not be more successful let the business end there. I could only repeat again my admiration of your talents, my wishes for your success, my sorrow for any misfortune that should befal you, and my shame, if ever so trifling a thing as a business of mine should break in upon any order you have established in an employment to which your parts give a high degree of importance. I am, with the greatest truth and respect, Sir, in Your most obedient And most humble servant, EDMUND BURKE." This letter, so kind and so considerate, convinced Barry of the error into which he had fallen, and the portrait was painted, close in resemblance, able and artistic in execution. Continuing still to adhere to his old design of reviving the great school of historic painting, he next produced Mercury Inventing the Lyre, and Narcissus Admiring Himself in the Water. Whilst engaged upon the former work, Burke said to him, "What are you now painting ?" Oh! but this little slight thing," said Barry, pointing to the picture," it is young Mercury inventing the Lyre. The God, you know, found a tortoise-shell at break of day on the sea-shore, and fashioned it into a fine instrument of music." "I know the story," replied Burke, "such were the fruits of early rising-he is an industrious deity and an example to man. I will give you a companion to it: Narcissus wasting time looking at himself in the fountain, an image of idleness and vanity." The Narcissus was painted upon this hint, but is lost to the world; Mercury is still considered one of Barry's best productions, the god stands upon the shore with the tortoise-shell in his hand; he strikes one of the fibres still remaining extended across it, and bending to catch the sound, which his own fingers have awakened, he designs the Lyre; Cupid, who had stolen behind, at the same moment forming the like conception, presents him with another chord-his own bowstring. In the year 1775 Barry published his Inquiry into the Real and Imaginary Obstructions to the Progress of Art in England, one of the most able essays which had to that period appeared upon the subject of painting in these kingdoms. Its origin, like that of most of Barry's writings, was wounded pride and disappointed ambition. From the time when Barry had gazed upon the wonders and the glories of Sistine Chapel, he had longed with all the ardor of his soul for some happy opportunity of transmitting a noble record of his genius and of his ability to the future. In the year 1773 the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's had agreed to leave the ornamenting of their Cathedral to the Royal Academy, to which body they had also committed the power of selecting such painters as they should think qualified to execute historical pictures of a size from fifteen to twenty feet high. It was also intended to erect some monuments within the church-one, in particular, to Pope was mentioned, and the sculptor was to be paid by subscription, and by a benefit from Drury-lane Theatre: Barry, it should be observed, was the person who proposed this plan to the Academy some short time after he had been admitted an Associate. He writes :-"I had long set my heart upon it, as the only means for establish |