Frontispiece and illustrations

THE writer of such portions of the following pages as are not occupied by his father's diaries and correspondence, has endeavoured to perform his task with delicacy and care, and hopes to have succeeded in presenting to the friends and lovers of Art, a faithful record of a life devoted, with an enthusiasm worthy of its object, to the attainment of excellence in a pursuit which is admitted, by common consent, to refine no less than to exalt the human heart.

The Journals and Letters of Mr. Collins, which are interwoven with this Memoir, are not presented to the public on account of any literary merit they may be found to possess, but merely as expositions, under his own hand, of his personal and professional character—of the motives by which he was uniformly actuated, in his private and public capacities; and of the reflections which were suggested to his mind by his genius and experience throughout his professional career.

Having blended with the passages of the Memoir to which they refer, such explanations as might otherwise have been looked for in this place, the only duty which remains for the Author to perform, (and a most grateful one it is,) is to return his sincere thanks for the valuable assistance which has been afforded to him in various ways, throughout the progress of his work, by many of his father's friends; among whom he begs to be allowed to mention: the Right Honourable Sir Robert Peel, Bart, (who favoured him further by accepting the dedication of the book); the late Sir Thomas Baring, Bart.; C. R. Leslie, Esq., R.A.; C. L. Eastlake, Esq., R.A.; Joseph Bullar, Esq., M.D.; Mrs. Hunter; Miss F. Clarkson; R. H. Dana, Esq.; Bernard Barton, Esq.; William Richardson, Esq.; Samuel Joseph, Esq.; and E. V. Rippingille, Esq.

Among the more intimate associates of the late Mr. Collins, who have favoured the Author with anecdotes and recollections of their departed friend, are: William Etty, Esq., R.A.; C. R. Leslie, Esq., R.A.; James Stark, Esq.; and George Richmond, Esq.: whilst, by the courtesy of Thomas Uwins, Esq., R.A., he has been enabled to obtain access to his father's works, painted for His Majesty George IV., now in the private apartments of Windsor Castle.

Through the kindness of Messrs. John and James Kirton, in furnishing him with their recollections of Mr. Collins and his family, at a very early period, he has been enabled to present some interesting particulars of his father's life, at a time not included in the sources of biographical information possessed by other friends.

In conclusion, the Author has to express his sense of the benefit he has received from the valuable literary advice of Alaric A. Watts, Esq., during the progress and publication of the work.

MEMOIRS OF THE

LIFE OF WILLIAM COLLINS, R.A.

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Introductory remarks - Mr. Collins's parents - Notices of his father's literary productions, and of "Memoirs of a Picture" especially - Anecdotes of his first attempt to pourtray coast scenery, and of his introduction to George Morland - He adopts the Art as a profession, and commences his studies under his father and Morland - Anecdote of the latter - Letters, etc. - Admission of Mr. Collins to study at the Royal Academy.

To write biography successfully, is to present the truth under its most instructive and agreeable aspect. This undertaking, though in appearance simple, combines among its requirements so much justice in the appreciation of character, and so much discrimination in the selection of examples, that its difficulties have been felt by the greatest as by the humblest intellects that have approached it. A task thus experienced as arduous, by all who have attempted it, must present a double responsibility when the office of biographer is assumed by a son. He is constantly tempted to view as biographical events, occurrences which are only privately important in domestic life; he is perplexed by being called on to delineate a character which it has hitherto been his only ambition to respect; and he is aware throughout the progress of his labours, that where undue partiality is merely suspected in others, it is anticipated from him as an influence naturally inherent in the nature of his undertaking.

Feeling the difficulty and delicacy of the employment on which I am about to venture, and unwilling to attempt a remonstrance, which may be disingenuous, and which must be useless, against any objections of partiality which may meet it when completed, I shall confine myself to communicating my motives for entering on the present work; thereby leading the reader to infer for himself, in what measure my relationship to the subject of this Memoir may be advantageous, instead of asserting from my own convictions, how little it may be prejudicial to the furtherance of my design.

To trace character in a painter through its various processes of formation; to exhibit in the studies by which he is strengthened, in the accidents by which he is directed, in the toils which he suffers, and in the consolations which he derives, what may be termed his adventures in his connection with the world; and further, to display such portions of his professional life, as comprehend his friendly intercourse with his contemporaries, as well as the incidents of his gradual advance towards prosperity, and the powerful influence of rightly-constituted genius in the Art, in exalting and sustaining personal character; are my principal objects, in reference to that part of the present work, which depends more exclusively upon its author, and less upon the journals and letters which are connected with its subject. In thus reviewing my father's career as a painter, it is my hope to produce that which may interest in some degree the lover of Art, and fortify the student, by the example of reputation honestly acquired, and difficulties successfully overcome; while it tends at the same time to convey a just idea of the welcome, steadily, if not always immediately, accorded to true genius in painting; not only by those whose wealth enables them to become its patrons, but also by the general attention of the public at large.

In what measure my opportunities of gathering biographical knowledge from my father's conversation, and from my own observation of his habits and studies, may enable me in writing his life, upon the principles above explained, to produce a narrative, in which what may appear curious and true shall compensate for what may be thought partial and trifling, it is now for the reader to judge. The motives with which I enter upon my task are already communicated. To emulate, in the composition of the following Memoirs, the candour and moral courage which formed conspicuous ingredients in the character that they are to delineate, and to preserve them as free from error and as remote from exaggeration as I may, is all that I can further promise to the reader, to give them that claim to his attention which may at least awaken his curiosity, though it may not procure his applause.

WILLIAM COLLINS was born in Great Titchfield-street, London, on the 18th September, 1788. His father was an Irishman, a native of Wicklow; his mother was a Scottish lady, born in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. He was the second of a family of three children, the eldest of whom, a girl, died a month before his birth; the youngest, a boy, lived to see his brother attain high celebrity in the art, but died several years before him. It was a favourite tradition in the family of the painter, that they were descended from the same stock as the great poet whose name they bore. Of his ancestors I am enabled to mention one — Doctor Samuel Collins — who signalized himself in the seventeenth century by his professional skill, and who has found a place in our Biographical Dictionaries as one of the most remarkable anatomists of his time. The family originally came from Chichester, whence, about the time of the Revolution of 1688, a branch of it emigrated to Ireland, and fought on the side of King William, at the battle of the Boyne; settling definitely in Ireland from that period to the birth of Mr. Collins's father. An imprudent marriage, bringing with it the usual train of domestic privations and disappointments, had so far reduced the pecuniary resources of the family of Mr. Collins's grandfather, that his father found himself, on arriving at manhood, entirely dependent on his own exertions for support — exertions, which were soon rendered doubly important by his subsequent union with a young and portionless wife.

It will be found that I —shall advert at greater length than may appear immediately necessary to some of my readers, to the character and employments of Mr. Collins's father. But the pursuits that he chose for himself, as a man of letters and a dealer in pictures, and the remarkable influence that his knowledge of art and artists had in determining his son in following the career in which he was afterwards destined to become eminent, concur to make him an object of no ordinary importance and interest, at this stage of a work devoted to the curiosities of painting, as well as to the biography of a painter.

His poetical abilities, developed, I believe, at an early age, and his social accomplishments as a man of polished manners and ready wit, soon brought Mr. Collins, sen., into contact with most of the painters and authors of his time. In choosing, therefore, as a dealer in pictures, a pursuit that might swell his precarious profits as a man of letters, the company he frequented may reasonably be imagined to have had no small influence in urging such a selection. But his choice was an unfortunate one; too honourable to descend to the rapacities, and too independent to stoop to the humiliations, attaching to picture-dealing in those days, neither by principles, nor disposition, was he in any way fitted for the uncongenial character he had assumed; and, though he continued throughout his life to force his attention to the pursuit in which he had engaged, he remained to the last a poet in his inward predilections, and a poor man in his outward circumstances.

His "Memoirs of a Picture" — to which I shall presently refer at length — his "Life of George Morland," and his "Poem on the Slave Trade," — illustrated by two of Morland's most successful pictures, subsequently engraved by J. R. Smith — were his principal works; but they brought him more popularity than profit. In those days, when literary genius was yet unemancipated from the fetters of patronage, the numbers of the reading and book-buying public were comparatively small; and the fine old race of genuine garret authors still existed, to fire the ingenuity of rapacious bailiffs, and point the sarcasms of indignant biographers. Articles in the public journals, songs, fugitive pieces, and all the other miscellanies of the literary brain, flowed plentifully from Mr. Collins's pen; gaining for him the reputation of a smart public writer, and procuring for him an immediate, but scanty support. No literary occupations were too various for the thoroughly Irish universality of his capacity. He wrote sermons for a cathedral dignitary, who was possessed of more spiritual grace than intellectual power; and, during the administration of Mr. Wyndham, composed a political pamphlet, to further the views of a friend; which procured that fortunate individual a Government situation of four hundred a year, but left the builder of his fortunes in the same condition of pecuniary embarrassment in which he had produced the pamphlet, and in which, to the last day of his life, he was fated to remain.

But no severity of disappointment and misfortune was powerful enough to sour the temper or depress the disposition of this warm-hearted and honourable man. All the little money he received was cheerfully and instinctively devoted to the pleasures and advantages of his family: and in spite of the embarrassment of his circumstances, he contrived to give his sons, William and Francis, as sound and as liberal an education as could possibly be desired. Surrounded from their earliest infancy by pictures of all ages and subjects, accustomed to hear no conversation so frequently as conversation on Art, thrown daily into the society of artists of all orders, from the penniless and dissipated Morland, to the prosperous and respectable West, nothing was more natural than that the two boys should begin to draw at an early age. In overlooking their ravages among old palettes, their predatory investigations among effete colour-bladders, and their industrious pictorial embellishment of strips of old canvas and scraps of forgotten paper, it was not difficult for the practised eye of the elder Mr. Collins, to discover in William,— who took the lead, on evenings and half-holidays, in all ebullitions of graphic enthusiasm,— some promise of the capacity that was lying dormant in the first rude essays of his childish pencil. Year by year the father watched and treasured up the son's drawings, until the boy's spontaneous intimation of his bias towards the painter's life enabled him to encourage his ambition to begin the serious direction of his studies, and to predict with delight and triumph that he might perhaps live long enough "to see poor Bill an R.A."

Before, however, I proceed to occupy myself with the incidents of Mr. Collins's boyhood, I would offer a few remarks on the principal work which his father produced,— the "Memoirs of a Picture." I have been told that this book enjoyed, in its day, no inconsiderable share of popularity. It is so novel in arrangement, it belongs so completely, both in style and matter, to a school of fiction now abandoned by modern writers, it is so thoroughly devoted to painters and painting, and so amusingly characteristic of the manners and customs of the patrons and picture-dealers of the day, (and I might add, of the hardihood of the author himself, in venturing to expose the secret politics of the pursuit to which he was attached,) that a short analysis of its characters and story, whether it be considered as a family curiosity, a literary antiquity, or an illustration of the condition of the Art and the position of the artists of a bygone age, can hardly be condemned as an intrusion on the purposes, or an obstacle to the progress of the present biography.

The work is contained in three volumes, and comprises a curious combination of the serious purpose of biography with the gay license of fiction. The first and the third volumes are occupied by the history of the picture. The second volume is episodically devoted to a memoir of George Morland, so filled with characteristic anecdotes, told with such genuine Irish raciness of style and good-natured drollery of reflection, that this pleasant biography is by no means improperly placed between the two volumes of fiction by which it is supported on either side.

The story opens with an account of the sudden disappearance from its place in the royal collection of France, of the subject of the memoirs, "an unique and inestimable jewel, painted by the immortal Guido." The perpetrator of this pictorial abduction is an accomplished scamp, named the Chevalier Vanderwigtie, whose adventures before the period of the theft, and whose safe arrival on the frontiers with his prize, advance us considerably through the preparatory divisions of volume the first.

All is not success, however, with the Chevalier. After he and his picture have run several perilous risks, both are finally threatened with ruin by a party of Prussian cavalry, who, utterly ignorant of the existence of Guido, begin paying their devotions at the shrine of his genius by scratching his production (which is painted on copper) on its back with their knives, to ascertain whether any precious metal lurks beneath. Finding themselves disappointed in the search, they resign "the gem" with contempt, but take care to make use of its possessor by enlisting him in a regiment of dragoons. Unseated, like many an honester man, in the course of his martial exercises, by his new Bucephalus, the Chevalier is placed, for the injury thereby contracted, in the hands of a surgeon, who robs him of his divine picture, probably from a natural anxiety to secure his medical fees, and sells it, after all its adventures, to a Dutch picture-dealer at Rotterdam for a hundred guilders.

At this point the narrative, true to its end, leaves the ill-fated Vanderwigtie inconsolable for his loss in the hut of a peasant, to follow the fortunes of the stolen Guido, which has become contaminated for the first time by the touch of a professed dealer.

And now has this charming picture — shamefully stolen by the shameless Vanderwigtie, outrageously lacerated on its sacred back by the knives of illiterate Prussians, treacherously ravished from its unscrupulous possessor by a larcenous Hippocrates, and unworthily sold for a paltry remuneration to a Dutch Maecenas with commercial views — fallen into hands that will treasure it with befitting respect? Alas, our virtuoso of the Dykes is darkly ignorant of the value of the Vanderwigtian jewel! he immures it contemptuously amid the gross materialism of oil, candles, and the miscellaneous and household rubbish of his upper shop. The cheek of the Virgin (who is the subject of the picture) is pressed, perhaps, by an old shoe-brush, and the fleecy clouds supporting her attendant cherubs are deepened to stormy tints by the agency of an unconscious blacking-ball! Does this profanation speedily end? — far from it. Two English dealers purchase "the show-pictures" in the burgomaster's collection, but think not of diving for concealed gems into the dirtiest recesses of his kitchen floor,— the shoe-brush and the blacking-ball remain undisputed masters of the sentiment they profane, and the atmosphere they cloud! But a day of glory is approaching for the insulted Guido: a Flemish artist discovers it, appreciates it, purchases it, carries it home, washes it, wonders over it, worships it! The professors of picture-dealing (ingenuous souls!) see it and depreciate it, but artists and connoisseurs arrive in crowds to honour it. A whole twelvemonth does it remain in the possession of the fortunate artist; who at the expiration of that period suddenly proves himself to be a man of genius by falling into pecuniary difficulties, and is compelled by "dire necessity" to part with the inestimable gem,— of which, however, he takes care to make two copies, reproducing the original exactly, down to the very scratches on its back from the knives of the Prussians. Scarcely has he completed these fraudulent materials for future profit before the story of the original theft of "Guido's matchless offspring" has penetrated throughout the length and breadth of artistic Europe. Among the dealers who now cluster round the Flemish artist are two, commissioned by an English nobleman to buy the Guido. After a scene of hard bargaining, these penetrating gentlemen relieve their professional friend of one of his copies, at an expense of seven hundred and fifty ducats, and start for England with their fancied prize; while the Flemish artist, having palmed off one counterfeit successfully in Holland, departs, like a shrewd man of business, to disembarrass himself of the other mock original in the contrary direction of Spain.

But the copy is destined to no better fortune in its perambulations than the original. The dealers are robbed of the counterfeit Guido, on English ground. In vain, on their arrival in London, do they advertise their loss of their "unique original" — it has passed into the possession of a broken-down dandy, the captain of the robbers; who, in a fit of generosity, has given it to a broken-down painter — a member of his gang — who, desirous of ready money, sells it to a broken-down lady of quality, who is the captain's "chereamie," and who leaving the mock Guido in the care of her servants at her house in London, shortly after purchasing it, starts with the captain on a tour of pleasure on the Continent. The poor painter is generously included in their travelling arrangements; and, to improve him in his art, the party visit the different collections of pictures on their route. While examining one of these, its owner, in consideration of the presence of the painter, volunteers the exhibition of a hidden and priceless gem; and, unlocking a drawer, displays to their astonished eyes the indubitable original Guido, which, under the seal of strict secrecy, he has purchased from the Flemish painter in his season of destitution and distress.

Meanwhile the story returns to the counterfeit picture, which the captain's lovely companion has left in the custody of her servants in London. These faithful retainers, finding their time in their mistress's absence hanging heavily on their hands, determine, like their betters, to employ it in seeing society. The rooms are lighted up; the company invited; the supper is prepared; the cellar is opened. Each courteous footman sits manfully down to his bottle; each skittish Abigail sips enchantingly from her partner's brimming glass. The evening begins with social hilarity, proceeds with easy intoxication, ends with utter drunkenness. On the field of Bacchanalian battle, sleep and snore profoundly the men of the mighty calf and gaudy shoulder-knot. The hours pass, candles burn down, sparks drop unheeded, linen catches light, no one is awake, the house is on fire! Then, "the summoned firemen wake at call;" the house is saved, but the furniture is burnt; and the counterfeit picture, among other valuables, is actually lost. Time wends onward, the lady and her companions return, and prove their patriotism by falling into debt as soon as they touch their native shores. An execution is put into the house, and marauding brokers seize on the domestic spoil. To the share of one of their numbers falls an old butt, filled with stagnant water. The myrmidon of trade's interests, on emptying his prize, discovers a cabinet at the bottom of the butt (thrown there doubtless during the confusion of the fire). He breaks it open, and the mock Guido, radiant and uninjured as ever, meets his astonished gaze. Friends are found to apprise him of its value, and swear to its originality: he endeavours to sell it to the connoisseurs; but failing in that, disposes of it, in desperation, for forty guineas, to a dealer in Leicester-fields.

Two years elapse, and the mock picture, for which all offers are refused, is still in the possession of its last purchaser. The story now reverts to the owner of the real Guido, and to a young artist whom he is employing, who is a son of the dealer in Leicester-fields. As a man of real taste, he recognizes in his patron's picture the original of his father's counterfeit in the shop in London; but his penetration is far from being shared by two illustrious foreign professors of picture-dealing, who are on a visit to the connoisseur's collection. One of these worthies is the celebrated Des-chong-fong, a Chinese mandarin, who presents himself as engaged, with his companion, by the Great Mogul, to strip all Europe of its pictures, to form a collection for the imperial palace. The artist and the patron shrewdly suspect the professors to be fools in judgment and knaves in intention. In order to prove their convictions they represent the real Guido to be a copy, and exalt the fame of the picture in Leicester-fields as the great original of the master. Des-chong-fong and his friend fall helplessly into the snare laid for them; and, after proving by an elaborate criticism that the picture before them is a most arrant and preposterous copy, set off for London, in order to possess themselves — or rather their master, the Great Mogul — of the original gem. After a sharp scene of diplomatic shuffling, they obtain the dealer's counterfeit Guido for six hundred guineas. With this, and other works of art, they open a gallery; and, determining to "break" the whole army of London dealers, commence purchasing; and (oddly enough considering their mission to Europe) selling again, at enormous profits, whatever pictures they can lay their hands upon. Matters proceed smoothly for some time, when they are suddenly threatened with ruin by the loss of their Guido, which is stolen for the second time; — all London is searched to recover it, but in vain. At length, one morning, a Liverpool picture-dealer calls on them with works for sale, one of which is exactly similar to the lost Guido. They tax him with the theft; he vows that the picture was never in England before it came into his hands. Des-Chong-fong and Co. are furious, and refuse to part with it. An action is entered; and all picture-dealing London awaits in horrid expectation the impending result of an appeal to law.

On his side, the Liverpool dealer is fitly furnished with evidence to support his cause. He has bought the picture of a captain in the navy, who, during the war with France, received it as part of his prize-money from the capture of a French lugger — the owner of the contested Guido having been slain in the conflict. On inquiry, this unfortunate virtuoso turns out to be our old friend the Flemish painter, who, not having succeeded in disposing of his second copy of the Guido, has retained it in his possession ever since it was produced. A young lady, with whom the copyist was eloping at the time of his death, still survives, to bear testimony, with the English captain, as to the manner in which the Liverpool dealer became possessed of the second of the counterfeit gems.

But this portentous mass of evidence fails to stagger the immoveable obstinacy of the great Des-chong-fong. He scouts logic and probabilities with all the serenity of a juryman waiting for his dinner, or a politician with a reputation for consistency. The action is to be tried in the face of everybody and everything. Already the gentlemen of the wig hug joyfully their goodly briefs — already the day is fixed, and the last line of the pleadings arranged, when a stranger darkens the Des-chong-fongian doors, and flits discursively among the Des-chong-fongian pictures. No sooner does he discern the disputed Guido than he flouts it with undissembled scorn, and declares it to be but the copy of a wondrous original that is lost. Des-chong-fong and Co. open their mouths to speak, but the words die away upon their quivering lips: the stranger explains it is Vanderwigtie himself!

And now, like one of the Homeric heroes, the enterprizing Chevalier — the old, original Vanderwigtie — narrates his achievements and adventures to the deluded ambassador of the Great Mogul. How he stole the real Guido from the royal collection of France; how he lost it to the Prussian doctor; how he heard of it in the foreign connoisseur's gallery; how that illustrious patron of the Arts has been lately driven from his pictures and his possessions by the Revolution; how his collection has been ravaged by the British troops; and how he himself has been sent to England, by the Elector of Saxony, to recover the lost Guido — which is suspected to have passed into Anglo-Saxon hands — flows overpoweringly from Vanderwigtie's mellifluous lips. Humbled is the crest of Des-chong-fong — he compromises, apologises, pays expenses, and stops the action. "A fig for all copies, where is the divine original!" is now the universal shout. Vanderwigtie has "cried havock and let slip the dogs of" picture-dealing! Des-chong-fong; the dealers of Liverpool and Leicester-fields; the Chevalier himself; all men who have a taste for pictures and a turn for knavery, now spread like a plague of locusts over the length and breadth of the land. But, alas, it is too late! The waters of Lethe have closed over the precious picture — bribery and intimidation, knavery and eloquence, exert themselves in vain — Des-chong-fong and "every beast after his kind," may howl their applications to the empty wind — the labours of the historian of the picture are irretrievably closed — the hero of the Memoirs: the real inestimable Guido, from that day to this, has never been found.

Such is an outline of the story of this amusing book. The Shandean profusion of its digressions and anecdotes I have not ventured to follow, from the fear of appearing to occupy too large a space in this biography with a subject connected only with its earlier passages. In originality and discrimination of character the work I have endeavoured to analyse may be inferior to the novels of Smollett; but in execution I cannot but think it fully their equal — for in some of its reflective and philosophical passages it even approaches the excellence of the great master of British fiction — Fielding, in his lighter and simpler moods. With these observations I now dismiss it — only remarking, that, though intellect is not often hereditary, it has passed, in the instance of Mr. Collins's father, from parent to child; for I cannot accuse myself of a supposition merely fanciful, in imagining that the dry humour and good-natured gaiety of the author of "Memoirs of a Picture," has since been reflected, through another medium, by the painter of "Fetching the Doctor," and "Happy as a King."

In mentioning the habits and customs of his father's household, as a cause, awakening Mr. Collins to a perception of his fitness for the Art, another advantage afforded to his mind at an early period should not have been left unnoticed: this was the uncommon enthusiasm of both his parents for the charms of natural scenery. The rural beauties of their respective birthplaces — Wicklow, and the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, on the side of Lasswade and Rosslyn — were themes of ever-delighting conversation and remembrance to his father and mother. While yet a child he became imbued with the spirit of these descriptions, which, acting upon a mind naturally formed for the appreciation of the beautiful and the pure, became as it were the young student's first alphabet in the Art — preparing the new field for its after cultivation; nursing the infant predilections that Time and Nature were destined to mature, until, in attaining their "local habitation" on the canvas, they became the missionaries of that universal worship which the loveliness of nature was first created to inspire.

Once set forth seriously on his new employments, the boy's enthusiasm for his pursuit began immediately — never afterwards to relax: every moment of his spare time was devoted to the pencil. Year after year passed on, and found him still patiently striving with the gigantic and innumerable difficulties attendant on the study of painting. Whatever natural object he perceived, he endeavoured to imitate upon paper: even a group of old blacking-bottles, picturesquely arranged by his friend Linnell, (then a student like himself) supplied him with a fund of material too precious to be disdained.

Ere, however, I proceed to track the progress of his mind in his youth, an anecdote of his boyish days may not appear too uninteresting to claim a place at this portion of the narrative: his first sight of the sea-coast was at Brighton, whither he was taken by his father. As soon as they gained the beach, the boy took out his little sketch-book, and began instantly to attempt to draw the sea. He made six separate endeavours to trace the forms of the waves as they rolled at his feet, and express the misty uniformity of the distant horizon line: but every fresh effort was equally unsuccessful, and he burst into tears as he closed the book and gave up the attempt in despair. Such was the first study of coast scenery by the painter who was afterwards destined to found his highest claims to original genius and public approbation on his representations of the various beauties of his native shores.

As he proceeded in his youthful employments in the Art, his studies became divided into two branches,— drawing from Nature as frequently as his then limited opportunities would allow, and copying pictures and drawings for the small patrons and picture-dealers of the day. In this latter occupation he soon attained so great a facility as to be able to produce resemblances of his originals, which I have heard described by those who have seen them as unusually remarkable for their fidelity and correctness. To the early habit of readiness of eye and correctness of hand thus engendered, is to be ascribed much of that power of transcribing the most elaborate minutiae of Nature, which, in their smallest details, his original and matured efforts are generally considered to present.

His father's intimacy with the gifted but eccentric George Morland enabled him to obtain that master's advice and assistance in the early superintendence of his son's studies. Mr. Collins's first introduction to the great painter was but too characteristic of poor Morland's dissipated habits. For some days the young student had awaited, with mingled anxiety and awe, his promised interview with a man whom he then regarded with all the admiration of the tyro for the professor: but his expectations remained unfulfilled, the tavern and the sponging-house still held Morland entangled in their toils. At length, one evening, while he was hard at work over a copy, his father entered the room and informed him, with a face of unusual gravity, that Morland was below, but that his introduction to his future master had better be delayed; his impatience, however, to gain a sight of the great man overcame his discretion. He stole softly down stairs, opened the kitchen door, by a sort of instinct, and looked cautiously in. On two old chairs, placed by the smouldering fire, sat, or rather lolled, two men, both sunk in the heavy sleep of intoxication. The only light in the room was a small rush candle, which imperfectly displayed the forms of the visitors. One, in spite of the ravages of dissipation, was still a remarkably handsome man, both in face and figure. The other was of immense stature and strength, coarse, and almost brutal in appearance. The first was George Morland; the second, a celebrated prize-fighter of the day, who was the painter's chosen companion at that particular time. As soon as his astonishment would allow him, Mr. Collins quietly quitted the room, without disturbing the congenial pair. The remembrance of this strange introduction never deserted his memory; it opened to him a new view of those moral debasements which in some instances are but too watchful to clog the steps of genius on its heavenward path.

My father was never himself of opinion, on looking back to his youthful career, that he gained any remarkable advantage in the practical part of his Art from the kind of instruction which Morland was able to convey. He always considered that he was indebted for the most valuable information of his student days, before he entered the Academy, to the higher and more refined taste of his father. Gifted and kindhearted as he undoubtedly was, Morland's miserably irregular habits, and coarse, material mode of life, rendered him poorly available as the instructor of an industrious and enthusiastic boy; and the young disciple reaped little more advantage from his privilege of being present in the room where the master painted, than the opportunity of witnessing the wondrous rapidity and truth of execution that ever waited upon poor Morland's vivid conceptions, and never, to the last hour of his wayward existence, deserted his ready hand.

Among the anecdotes of Morland mentioned in his Biography by Mr. Collins's father, is one that may not be thought unworthy of insertion, as it not only proves the painter to have been possessed of ready social wit, but shows him to have been capable of accomplishing that most difficult of all humorous achievements — a harmless practical joke:

"During our painter's abode in the rules of the Bench, he was in the habit of meeting frequently, where he spent his evenings, a very discreet, reputable man, turned of fifty at least. This personage had frequently assumed the office of censor-general to the company, and his manners, added to a very correct demeanour, induced them to submit with a tolerably obedient grace. George used now and then, however, to 'kick,' as he said, and then the old gentleman was always too hard-mouthed for him. This inequality at length produced an open rupture between the two, and one night our painter, finding the voice of the company rather against him, rose up in a seemingly dreadful passion, and appearing as if nearly choked with rage, muttered out at last, that he knew what would hang the old rascal, notwithstanding all his cant about morality. This assertion, uttered with so much vehemence, very much surprised the company, and seriously alarmed the old man, who called upon George sternly to know what he dared to say against him. The painter answered with a repetition of the offensive words: 'I know what would hang him.' After a very violent altercation, some of the company now taking part with Morland, it was agreed upon all hands, and at the particular request of the old gentleman, that the painter should declare the worst. With great apparent reluctance George at length got up, and addressing the company, said: "I have declared twice that I knew what would hang Mr. ——; and now, gentlemen, since I am called upon before you all, I'll expose it.' He then very deliberately drew from his pocket a piece of lay cord, and handing it across the table, desired Mr. to try the experiment; and if it failed, that would prove him a liar before the whole company, if he dared but to try. The manual and verbal joke was more than the old man was prepared for, and the whole company for the first time (perhaps not very fairly) laughed at his expense."

I am here enabled to lay before the reader some interesting particulars of the painter's boyhood, and of his connection with Morland, which are the result of the early recollections of Mr. John Kirton, (one of the oldest surviving friends of his family,) and which have been kindly communicated by him to assist me, in the present portion of this work:

"We were both of an age," writes Mr. Kirton. "At seven years old we went to Warburton's school, in Little Titchfield-street. He was not very quick, and was often in disgrace for imperfect lessons. Warburton was a clever man, but very severe. * * * His father often took him to pass the day with George Morland, at Somers Town, of which he was very proud. When Morland died, in 1804, we watched his funeral, which took place at St. James's Chapel, Hampstead-road; he was buried exactly in the middle of the small square plat, as you enter the gates, on the left hand. At that time I think it was the only grave in that plat. When all the attendants were gone away, he put his stick into the wet earth as far as it would go, carried it carefully home, and when dry, varnished it. He kept it as long as I knew him, and had much veneration for it.* His father is buried in the same cemetery a little farther down, on the left hand side, close to the path. His father, himself, his brother Frank and I, made long peregrinations in the fields between Highgate and Wilsden. He always had his sketch-book with him, and generally came home well stored. He was then very quick with his pencil. He had great respect for the talents of Morland. When we were by ourselves, more than once we went to the public-house for which Morland had painted the sign to eat bread and cheese and drink porter, merely because he had lived there for some time. The room where he had painted the sign was once, at his request, shown to us by the landlady, at which he was much pleased. Another time we went over ditches and brick-fields, near Somers Town, to look at the yard where Morland used to keep his pigs, rabbits, &c., and where he said Morland had given him lessons: he even pointed out their respective places, and the window where he used to sit. When Frank and myself were in the van, during a walk — he being behind, sketching — and we saw anything we thought would suit him, we called to him to come on, saying, ' Bill, here 's another sketch for Morland.' The first oil-painting he ever did was not a happy subject for a young artist; it was a portrait of himself, dressed in a blue coat and striped yellow waistcoat, a la Morland. I can now well imagine how he must have been vexed, when he showed it to me the first time, and asked if I knew who it was like: it baffled me to guess. However, as he said all our family knew who it was, I was allowed to take it home for their opinion: they were all, like myself, at fault. When he told me it was himself I could not help laughing; it was no more like him than it was like me: this made him very angry, and caused him to give my judgment in the Art a very contemptible name. When I got married our meetings became less frequent; and although we were friendly, and he called several times to see me in Wardour-street, they gradually became fewer in number."

* The deep reverence for genius in the art which induced the painter in his youth to preserve some fragments of the earth in which Morland was buried, as above described, animated him with all its early fervour in the maturity of his career. The same feelings which had moved the boy over Morland's grave, actuated the man, when long afterwards. On the death of Wilkie, he painted a view of the last house that his friend had inhabited, as a memorial of a dwelling sacred to him for the sake of the genius and character of its illustrious owner. Such are Mr. Kirton's recollections of the painter's early apprenticeship to the Art. To those who find pleasure in tracing genius back to its first sources, to its first bursts of enthusiasm, to its first disappointments, this little narrative will not be read without curiosity and interest, and will prepare the mind agreeably to follow those records of the youthful progress of the subject of this Memoir which it is now necessary to resume.

The year 1807 brought with it an important epoch in the painter's life. By this time he had for many years drawn from the best models he could procure, had studied under his father and Morland, and had attained correctness of eye and hand, while assisting, at the same time, in his own support, by copying pictures of good and various schools. He was now to devote himself more usefully and entirely to his own improvement in the Art, by entering as a student at the Royal Academy. His name appears in the catalogue of that Institution for 1807, as a contributor to its exhibition, as well as an attendant on its schools; but as I never heard him refer to the two pictures then sent in, (both views near Millbank) I can only imagine that he had forgotten them, or that he thought them productions too puerile to be deserving of mention to any one. In a letter from his pen, written to answer a demand for some autobiographical notices of his life, to be inserted in a periodical publication, he thus expresses himself with regard to his early education and first successes in the Art.

"My father, William Collins, was considered a man of talent. * * * In the early part of his life he contributed very largely to the Journal published by Woodfall. His taste in, and love for, the Fine Arts, he constantly evinced in his writings and his encouragement of rising merit. From such a source it is not extraordinary that I should derive a partiality for painting. He was my only instructor — indeed his judgment was so matured that the lessons he imprinted upon my mind I hope I shall never forget, * * * In the year 1807, I was admitted a student of the Royal Academy, where I was regular in my attendance on the different schools. In 1809 and 1810, I became honoured with some share of public notice, through the medium of the British Institution. * * * "

In the following letter, written by the painter from a friend's house to his family, and in the kind and cheerful answer which it called forth, will be found some reference to the time of his entry on his new sphere of duties, and employments at the Royal Academy.

"Dorking, July 8th, 1807.

"Dear Father,— I think I shall come home either on Saturday or Monday next; but as it will be probably necessary to pay the carriage on or before my arrival, (you understand me) and having got rid of most of my cash, it follows that, as usual, you must raise if possible a certain sum, not exceeding a one pound note, which I think will come cheaper to me than any smaller amount. I received the colours the same evening you sent them. I am very much obliged to you; as also for the letter. I live here like a prince.* I was at the theatre, Dorking, a few nights since, which most elegantly gratified the senses, that of smelling not even excepted — there being four candles to light us all; two of which, by about nine o'clock, (no doubt frightened at the company) hid themselves in their sockets! There were also four lamps for stage lights, which helped to expose the following audience: — Boxes, six; Pit, sixteen; Gallery, twenty-five!

"I should be glad to know if the Academy is open; and any other information you choose to give, will be very acceptable to yours affectionately,

"W. COLLINS."

* His usual anxiety to deserve the hospitality of his friends prompted him to ornament a summer-house, belonging to the gentleman with whom he was now staying, with imitations of busts, in niches, all round the walls. They remained there until very lately.

"London, 9th July, 1807.

"* * * We were certain our good friends would entertain you in the most hospitable manner, though we could have had no such ambitious hope of your being treated "like a prince." However, I trust my good friend Moore will impart a little of his philosophical indifference respecting the good things of this life to you, before you depart for humble home, lest the contrast between living "like a prince," and being the son of a poor author, may be too much for the lofty notions of your royal highness. Enclosed, for all this, you will find the sum you desired; and, were my funds equal to those of our gracious Monarch — or rather, had I as many pence as he is said to have millions of pounds, be assured you should be infinitely more than welcome to twenty times this paltry sum. You inquire respecting the opening of the Academy, and I can tell you it opened last Monday, notice of which was given to all the students by public advertisement; and I shall be glad if you can, without being pressed to the contrary, come up to town when my friend Moore does — knowing that you can never come in safer, or better company. * * *

"Your affectionate Father,

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

A few days after this, the "son of the poor author" quitted his little paternal studio, and with a beating heart entered the Academic lists that were to prepare him for the Artist's course — then little suspecting that he was destined to add one more to the bright list of modern English painters, who have passed through the schools of the Academy on their way to the gates of Fame.

Summary of the course of study at the Royal Academy - The painter's industry in his duties there - Anecdote of Fuseli - Pictures of 1809 - Letter from Mr. Collins, sen. - Pictures of 1810, 1811, and 1812 - Epigram by James Smith - Correspondence with the late Mr. Howard, R. A. - Death of Mr. Collins, sen. - Extracts from the painter's Journal of 1812 - Pecuniary embarrassments of his family - Pictures of 1813 and 1814 - Election to Associateship in the Royal Academy - Anecdotes respecting picture of "Bird-catchers," communicated by Mr. Stark - Diary of 1814 - Anecdotes of the painter; of Ellison; and of James Smith - Pictures and Diary of 1815 - Tour in that year to Cromer - Letters - Removal of the painter to a larger house in New Cavendish-street - Letter to the late Sir T. Heathcote, bart. - Pictures of 1816 - Extract from Journal - Serious increase of pecuniary difficulties - Determination to set out for Hastings, to make studies for sea-pieces - Kindness of Sir T. Heathcote in making an advance of money - Departure for Hastings.

IN commencing his course of instruction at the Royal Academy, the student sets out by making drawings from the best casts of the finest antique statues. By this first process his taste is formed on the universal and immutable models of the highest excellence in the Art he is to adopt; and he proceeds to the next gradation in his studies, drawing from the living model, with such fixed ideas of symmetry and proportion as preserve him from confusing the faults and excellencies of the animated form, and enable him to appreciate its higher and more important general qualities, as the ulterior object of one main branch of his professional qualifications. While his ideas are thus preserved from the degeneration which the unavoidable imperfections of the models before him might otherwise inspire, the most perfect outward and mechanical correctness of eye and hand is demanded from him, in his representations of the form; while a readiness in rightly interpreting the position, action, and appearance, of muscles and joints, is instilled by the annual delivery of lectures on pictorial anatomy, by the best professors which that class of English medical science can afford. Nor is this all. While he is thus attaining knowledge of Nature, with ease, harmony, and correctness of pencil; from the study of the living model, he is enabled at the same time to learn colour, composition, and light and shade, by the privilege of copying from pictures by the old masters, in the School of Painting. Here his studies (as in the other schools) are superintended directly by the Royal Academicians, who advise, assist, and encourage him, until he is fit for the last ordeal of his student-life — the composition of an original historical picture, from a subject selected by the Institution to which he is attached. For this work, as for all his other labours, medals and copies of lectures on Art, are awarded by the Royal Academy. He is then left to the guidance of his own genius — either to continue his employments in his own land, or, if he has gained the highest gold medal, to be sent, at the expense of the Royal Academy, to study, for three years, among the great collections of Art which the continental nations possess.

In Sculpture and in Architecture, (as completely as, in the instance of the latter Art, its peculiar features will admit) the same gradations are observed, and the same privileges scrupulously offered — painting, sculpture, and architecture furnishing the travelling student, on each occasion of the grand award of prizes, in impartial rotation. Such is a brief summary of the course of study adopted by the Royal Academy of England — an Institution whose palpable and practical excellencies have ever been as sufficient to excuse error and to confute calumny, as to form the mind of genius, and to elevate the position of Art.

Mr. Collins's attention, during his attendance at the Royal Academy, was devoted to all branches of its instructions most necessary to the school of painting, towards which his ambition was now directed — the portrayal of landscape and of domestic life. As a student his conduct was orderly, and his industry untiring. Among his companions he belonged to the unassuming, steadily labouring-class — taking no care to distinguish himself, personally, by the common insignia of the more aspiring spirits among the scholars of Art. He neither cultivated a mustachio, displayed his neck, or trained his hair over his coat-collar into the true Raphael flow. He never sat in judgment on the capacity of his masters, or rushed into rivalry with Michael Angelo, before he was quite able to draw correctly from a plaster cast. But he worked on gladly and carefully, biding his time with patience, and digesting his instructions with care. In 1809 — two years after his entrance within the Academy walls — he gained the silver medal for a drawing from the life.

The gentleman who held the offices of keeper of the Academy and instructor of the students, in those days, was the eccentric and remarkable Fuseli. The fantastic genius and bitter wit of this extraordinary man did not disqualify him for the mechanism of his art, or the dogged patience necessary to teach it aright. His character was, in many respects, a mass of contradictions. He spoke English with an outrageously foreign accent, yet wrote it with an energy and correctness not unworthy of Johnson himself. He lived in carelessness of "the small, sweet courtesies of life," yet possessed, when he chose to employ it, a power of polite sarcasm, before which some of the most polished wits of the day irresistibly trembled. His pictures touched, almost invariably, the limits of the wild and the grotesque, yet he discovered and reprobated the minutest exaggerations of drawing in his pupils' works. By all the students he was respected and beloved; and by none more than by Mr. Collins, who trembled before his criticisms and rejoiced in his approbation as heartily as any of the rest. Among the few instances of his quaint humour that have, I believe, not hitherto appeared in print, is one that I shall venture to subjoin, as — although it does not illustrate his more refined and epigrammatic powers of retort — it is too good, as a trait of character and a curiosity of sarcasm, to be advantageously omitted.

When Sir Anthony Carlisle was Anatomy Professor at the Royal Academy, he was accustomed to illustrate his lectures by the exhibition of the Indian jugglers, or any other of the fashionable athletae of the day, whose muscular systems were well enough developed to claim the students' eyes. This innovation on the dull uniformity of oral teaching, added to the wide and well-earned reputation of the professor himself, drew within the Academy walls crowds of general visitors many of them surgeons of the highest eminence who seriously incommoded the rightful occupants of the lecture-room. One night, when the concourse was more than usually great, Fuseli set out from his apartments in the "keeper's rooms," to mount the great staircase, and join his brethren in the lecturer's waiting-room. The effort was a trying one; every step was crowded with expectant sight-seers, a great majority of whom were doctors of station and celebrity. Through this scientific mass the keeper toiled his weary way, struggling, pushing — advancing, receding,— remonstrating, rebuking; until at length he gained the haven of the lecturer's room, his brows bedewed with moisture, his clothes half torn off his back, his temper fatally ruffled. Under these circumstances, it was not in the nature of Fuseli to consume his own gall: he forced his way up to Sir Anthony Carlisle; and, looking at him indignantly, muttered, as if in soliloquy, (in an accent which the most elaborate distortion of spelling is, alas, incompetent to express) "Parcel of d—d 'potticaries' 'prentices!" Sir Anthony, though the mildest and most polite of men, could not swallow silently this aspersion on the dignity of his professional admirers on the staircase. "Really, Mr. Fuseli," he gently remonstrated, "I have brought no apothecaries' apprentices here!" "I did not say you did," was the prompt retort; "but they are 'potticaries' 'prentices for all that!"

In 1809, Mr. Collins contributed two pictures to the Royal Academy Exhibition, entitled, "Boys with a Bird's Nest," and "A Boy at Breakfast." He had previously exhibited, at the British Institution, in 1808 (having sent thither five small pictures: — A Study from Nature on the Thames; a Scene at Hampstead; a Landscape, called "A Coming Storm;" and two Views at Castlebridge, Surrey); and he now sent in, as his contributions for the following season, the same number of works. They were described in the Catalogue as, "A Green Stall,— a Night Scene," (now in the possession of Mr. Criswick); "A View in Surrey;" "Seashore,— a cloudy Day;" "Morning;" and "Evening,— a View on the Thames." All these pictures, presented under their different aspects the same fundamental characteristics of careful study and anxious finish, still overlaid by the timidity and inexperience of the " 'prentice hand." Some of them were here and there shortly, but kindly noticed, by the critics of the day; and among those sold, the "Boys with a Bird's Nest" was disposed of to Mr. Lister Parker, the painter's first patron, and a generous and discriminating supporter of modern art.

For the next three years little is to be noticed of Mr. Collins's life, beyond the works that he produced; but these will be found of some importance in tracking his progress in his pursuit. Throughout this period he enjoyed the calm uniformity of the student's life; save when his occupations were varied by a sketching excursion in the country, or interrupted by the petty calamities which his father's increasing poverty inevitably inflicted upon the young painter's fireside. The more perseveringly this honourable and patient man struggled for employment and competence, the more resolutely did both appear to hold aloof. The following extract from one of his letters, written during a picture-cleaning tour in the country, will be found worthy of attention. It displays his anxiety to forward the interests of his family in a pleasing light, and alludes, moreover, rather amusingly, to some of the minor characteristics in the composition of the niggard patronage of the day:

"Ford Abbey, 1810.

* * * "The day after my last letter completely changed the scene here. A few moments before four o'clock the 'squire and his suite arrived in state. * * * * I have selected from the wreck of the pictures about sixteen, and have literally slaved at them, that I might be able to set off for home as soon as possible. God only knows how anxiously I have longed to be with you, and the pains I have taken to give satisfaction. Perhaps, as far as I ought to expect, these pains have not been altogether ineffectual. But there has been one great fatality attendant upon most of my exertions, namely, they have been generally made before those who were incompetent to appreciate their value. At all events, I have had some kind of satisfaction in refusing to undertake the recovery of some vilely injured pictures, under a remunerating price. The first intimation I gave of my incapacity to restore, or even line, the pictures, without the aid of my son William, was on last Wednesday. There was a beautiful large landscape by Ostade, the figures by A. Teniers. I pointed out the necessary repairs in the sky, which were wanted to make the picture complete; and of course mentioned Bill as superior to every other artist in that department! The 'squire listened very attentively until I had done, and then inquired what the expense of such repairs might be. I answered, about two or three guineas: ' Oh! d—n the sky! clean it, and stick it up without any repairs then!' * * * * Yours, &c.

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

During the three years already referred to, my father contributed, regularly to the exhibitions of the Royal Academy and to the British Institution. His pictures — for the most part small in size and low in price — generally found purchasers; and though not productive of much positive profit, gained for him what throughout life he ever valued more, the public approval and attention. In 1810, his new pictures exhibited were: — "Cottage Children blowing Bubbles," a simple, rustic scene, sold to Mr. P. H, Rogers and engraved in an "Annual" for 1831; "Boys Bathing;" and, "Children Fishing," sold to the Rev. E. Balme. Although these pictures displayed little of the grasp of conception and vigour of treatment of his matured efforts, they were remarkable for their fidelity to Nature, for their quiet humour, and for the real purpose and thoughtfulness of their unpretending design. In 1811, he advanced in elaboration of subject, exhibiting, "The Young Fifer;" "The Weary Trumpeter; or, Juvenile Mischief," sold to Mr. Mills; "The Tempting Moment," sold to Mr. Leeds, and engraved in the "Forget Me Not" for 1830; and a "Study of a Country Kitchen," now in the possession of Mr. Sheepshanks. The first three of these pictures challenged and received greater attention than any of his former efforts. On "The Young Fifer," which was purchased by the Marquis of Stafford, the following smart epigram was written by James Smith, one of the authors of the admirable "Rejected Addresses:"

"The Fifer when great Stafford bought,
The music was no more the same;
By him to public notice brought,
The Fife is now the Trump of Fame!"

"The Weary Trumpeter," and "The Tempting Moment," were as successful as the "Young Fifer." In the first picture, the trumpeter is represented sleeping uneasily in a cottage chair, while a little urchin, mounted upon another seat, has assumed the soldier's cocked hat, (which threatens to fall over his head and face, like an extinguisher) and is blowing, with distended cheeks and glaring eyes, into the sleeping hero's trumpet, the mouth of which he has mischievously placed within an inch of its possessor's ear. The other picture, "The Tempting Moment," depicts an old apple-woman, lulled in the slumbers of inebriation, and cautiously approached, in contrary directions, by two cunning boys, who are reaching out their hands to levy a peaceful "black mail" upon her unguarded stock in trade. A small print of this picture will be found in the "Forget Me Not" for 1830.

It may be some consolation to those ill-fated votaries of the graphic muse, who, in present, or future exhibitions, groan, or may be destined to groan, under the young artist's inevitable tribulation — a bad place on the Academy walls, to know that one of Mr. Collins's best pictures rested, this year, on that dark Erebus of pictorial indignity — the floor of an exhibition-room. The following correspondence on this subject is a curious exemplification of smarting disappointment on the one hand, and dignified official composure on the other:

"Great Portland-street, 1st May, 1811.

"Sir,— Finding one of my pictures put upon the hearth in the 'Great Room,' where it must inevitably meet with some accident from the people who are continually looking at Mr. Bird's picture, I take the liberty of requesting you will allow me to order a sort of case to be put round the bottom-part of the frame, to protect it (as well as the picture) from the kicks of the crowd.

"Even the degrading situation in which the picture is placed, would not have induced me to trouble you about it, had it been my property; but, as it was painted on commission, I shall be obliged to make good any damage it may sustain.

"I remain, Sir,

"Your obt. humble servant,

"W. COLLINS, jun."

"Royal Academy, May 1st, 1811.

"Sir,— I conceive there will be no objection to your having a narrow wooden border put round the picture you speak of, if you think such a precaution necessary, provided it be done any morning before the opening of the exhibition; and you may show this to the porter, as an authority for bringing in a workman for that purpose.

"I cannot help expressing some surprise that you should consider the situation of your picture degrading, knowing as I do, that the Committee of arrangement thought it complimentary, and, that low as it is, many members of the Academy would have been content to have it.

"I am, Sir,

"Your obedient servant,

"H. HOWARD, Sec.

Mr. Collins had undergone mischances of the same nature before, but this was the last disappointment of the kind that he suffered. In three years more, he was honourably connected with the Royal Academy, and became the friend, as well as the warm admirer of his former official correspondent — one of the most refined and poetical painters whom the English school has produced.

In the year 1812, the prospects of the painter's family showed some symptoms of brightening. His father's transactions as a picture-dealer began to improve in value and importance; and he, himself, had sold some of his later works, at what he then considered an encouragingly remunerating price. Each now ventured to plan more hopeful and ambitious schemes — one talked of enlarging his business; the other of extending his range of subjects. But a heavy and irretrievable affliction was approaching, to crush the new hopes and disperse the humble enjoyments of the artist's home. In this year, the father who had been to him master, critic, companion, and friend; who looked forward with eager impatience, to the time when he should enjoy the triumph of seeing his son widely celebrated and Academically honoured in the profession to which he was attached — in this year, leaving his beloved family destitute, the kind husband and generous father died!

Of the few journals kept by Mr. Collins, the first begins with this melancholy period. If it be objected that, in the extracts I shall make from it, I have exposed feelings too private and domestic to meet the public eye — I would answer, that the history of the heart of a man of genius is of as great importance, and is as much the property of his posterity, as the history of his mind: the emotions are the nurses of the faculties, and the first home is the sanctuary in which they are created and reared.

Journal of 1812

"January 7th. — At home in the morning — at home in the evening — sat up with my dear father till three o'clock — went to bed in my clothes. 8th. — At home in the morning, thought my dear father better, but was anxious for the doctor to come. Sharp called about two; my father shook hands with him and seemed better. Sharp thought he would have been well in a few days. Hyde came, for the second time, about six; when my father seemed to me to be worse, as he did not at all attend to what Hyde said to him. This alarmed me; when I requested he would send for a physician — he did so. Doctor Mayo came at about eight, to whom I stated the principal part of what follows; to which he particularly attended:

"The first symptoms of disease were observed about three weeks before he took to his bed, which were an inclination to be always dozing; frequent vomittings after meals, particularly breakfast; and excessive low spirits. On the 18th December, he was very low, which was caused in a great measure by the want of money, as there was very little in the house. He seemed completely dejected; when Mr. Heathcote* called and paid me £42, in advance, for a picture he had ordered. When I told him of this he seemed greatly relieved, and thanked God; which he never neglected to do. Upon every fortunate occasion, he always said, 'God be praised!' I gave him the cheque; it was of service in discharging some trifles about the neighbourhood * * After Christmas, he kept his bed, and came down on the Friday to my painting-room for a short time. He then did not come down again till Saturday, the 4th January, to see my pictures. He was very weak * * * A few days after Christmas, he was so violently attacked with cramp in his thighs and stomach that he quite alarmed me. I took some flannel and soaked it in hot water, wrung it out, and put it upon the parts affected; which did him so much service that he was never again troubled with a return, and he frequently said I had saved his life * * * I went to Mr. Carpue, and told him his case, and what I had done: he said it was perfectly right * * * I wrote for a friend of his, Mr. Hyde, who was out of town, but came the next day, (7th January) and said he would have him up in a few days. Hyde came the next day, as before stated, as also doctor Mayo, who, after hearing the material part of this statement, said it was a bad case — went up to see him — called to him — got no answer — said he wished to see his tongue, which he could not — felt his pulse — shook his head — and gave me the most severe shock that I ever felt, by telling me that my father might live a few hours, but was certainly a dying man; and that it was useless to give him anything, as it was utterly impossible he could live. I then told him he had been ordered a blister on the back of his neck; and I took him into my room and requested him, as a man of honour, to tell me, if he had been called in sooner, could he have done anything for him? He said that if he had been his own father, and he had known of his complaint from the first moment, he could have prolonged his life for probably one day, but that it was utterly impossible, from the symptoms, that he could have been restored, as his constitution was completely decayed. Hyde then came again; when he wished to give him a spoonful at a time, of brandy-and-water. Doctor Mayo said he might give him anything that he pleased, as it could do him no harm. * * * But it was all in vain; my father never struggled — breathed hard, and groaned. I gave him, about a quarter of an hour before his death, two spoonfuls of port wine, warm — by Hyde's advice. The rattles were in his throat, and he breathed his last!

* Afterwards Sir Thomas Heathcote, bart.

"It was twenty minutes after two, on Thursday morning, when this dear martyr to bodily and mental afflictions left his miserable son and family * * * He was completely insensible — had he been sensible, his only misery would have been to see his family in the anguish the certainty of his death caused them,— for his affection for them was beyond all comparison; and, thank God, it was reciprocal.

"9th. — Sat up the whole of last night and this morning, in the utmost misery, waiting for daylight, with my wretched mother, brother, and Mrs. Sharp. At home all day, lay down in my clothes in the parlour at night * * * 15th. — Went to the burial of my poor dear father, accompanied by my brother, Mr. Moore, Mr. Langdon, Mr. Cartwright, and Mr. Sharp * * * 17th. — Went out for half-an-hour, for the first time since my dear father's death (except the funeral). At home in the evening — my mother very ill: kept my clothes on all night, to attend her. * * * 28th. — Went to the Gallery, to see how my pictures were hung. Never felt so wretched, or less ambitious, although my pictures were most capitally situated. February 1st. — Went with Frank to Mr. Langdon's: from thence to the different offices, for the purpose of renouncing the administration, in favour of Mr. Langdon. Dined with him at Andrews's; and came home at eight o'clock, for the remainder of the evening. 3rd. — Mr. Heathcote called in; and, when I made him acquainted with my melancholy situation, most nobly offered to pay me the remainder of the purchase-money of the picture which I could not think of taking, as the picture was not a quarter finished and then offered me the loan of £50 upon my note of hand. This I also refused; but agreed, if I should be in distress, to write to him for the loan of £20. 4th. — Painted, for the first time since my dear father's death, for about an hour * * * 8th. — Signed a paper with Frank, containing our renunciation of the estate of my dear father; the one we signed before being only sufficient for my mother. * * * 12th. — Received a letter from the Gallery, containing an offer of fifty guineas for my "Trumpeter" — which I accepted. In the evening, Green was kind enough to bring me the money. I think highly of Green's friendship and feeling. * * * 17th. — The sale of the furniture took place; Frank attended, and purchased my dear father's ring, spectacles, and snuff-box. * * * March 1st. — At home in the morning — went to visit my father's grave! 3rd. — The sale of the stock took place to-day; at which the pictures I gave in for the benefit of the creditors, produced £57."

The painter's position was now seriously changed. Nothing remained to him of the humble possessions of his family: the small relics sacred to him for his father's sake — the ring, the spectacles, and the snuff-box — even these, he had been forced to purchase as a stranger, not to retain as a son! Insatiate and impatient creditors, unable to appreciate any sacrifices in their favour that he endeavoured to make, harassed him by their alternate disagreements and demands. His mother, overwhelmed in the first helplessness of grief, was incapable alike of consolation or advice. His brother, with the will, and the ambition, possessed little power and found few opportunities of aiding him in his worst exigences. To his genius his desolate family now looked for support, and to his firmness for direction. They were disappointed in neither.

As the lease had not yet expired, the family still occupied their house in Great Portland-street,— now emptied of all its accustomed furniture and adornments; and, while the elder brother, inspired by necessity,— the Muse not of fable, but of reality; the Muse that has presided over the greatest efforts of the greatest men — began to labour at his Art with increased eagerness and assiduity; the younger made preparations for continuing his father's business, and contributing thereby his share towards the support of their afflicted and widowed parent. So completely was the house now emptied, to afford payment to the last farthing of the debts of necessity contracted by its unfortunate master, that the painter, and his mother and brother, were found by their kind friend, the late Mrs. Hand, taking their scanty evening meal on an old box,— the only substitute for a table which they possessed. From this comfortless situation they were immediately extricated by Mrs. Hand, who presented them with the articles of furniture that they required.

In the year 1812, my father's exhibited pictures were:- "Children playing with Puppies," painted for his generous friend, Sir Thomas Heathcote; and "May-day," sold to the Rev. Sir S. C. Jervoise, Bart. Both these works were considered to display the same steady progression towards excellence as those which had preceded them. Of the latter, a critic of the time thus writes in one of the public journals:

"Mr. Collins has attained to a very high degree of success in this picture. The characters are various and natural, and of all ages. The groups are well distributed, and employed in a combined purpose, so that each severally assists the humour and action of the whole. There is great mellowness and richness in the humour of the several faces, particularly in the countenance of the drunken chimney-sweeper. Upon the whole, this piece has more imagination, and shows greater knowledge of life, than the 'Weary Trumpeter,' by the same artist."

In the course of this year, Mr. Collins produced a picture, the success of which at once eclipsed the more moderate celebrity of all his former works; it was "The Sale of the Pet Lamb," purchased by Mr. Ogden. Composed as it was during the season immediately following his father's death, the simple yet impressive pathos it displayed, was a natural consequence of the temper of his mind at the period of its production. It pleased at once and universally. People ignorant of the simplest arcana of art, gazed on it as attentively and admiringly as the connoisseur who applauded the graces of its treatment, or the artist who appreciated the elaboration of its minutest parts. The sturdy urchin indignantly pushing away the butcher's boy, who reluctantly and good-humouredly presses forward to lead the dumb favourite of the family to the greedy slaughter-house; the girl, tearfully remonstrating with her mother, who, yielding to the iron necessities of want, is receiving from the master butcher the price of the treasured possession that is now forfeited for ever; the child offering to the lamb the last share of her simple breakfast that it can ever enjoy, were incidents which possessed themselves, unresisted, of the feelings of all who beheld them; from the youthful spectators who hated the butcher with all their souls, to the cultivated elders, who calmly admired the truthful ease with which the rustic story was told, or sympathized with the kindly moral which the eloquent picture conveyed. From this work, which was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1813, two engravings were produced; and from fourteen to fifteen thousand impressions of the smaller print alone were dispersed among the many who recollected it with admiration and delight.*

* Vide "Literary Souvenir" for 1836. Art. — "On the Works of William Collins, R.A."

Among other pictures exhibited by the painter this year, the most important were: "The Bird-catcher Outwitted," sold to one of his first and kindest patrons, Mrs. Hand; and "The Burial-place of a Favourite Bird," purchased by Mr. T. C. Higgins. This latter picture aimed at the same pathos of subject as the Pet Lamb; but differed from it in this,— that it did not depend so greatly upon the action and expression of the agents of the story, but was mainly assisted by accessories, drawn from the most poetical qualities in simple and inanimate Nature. The background of this composition is filled by a deep wood, whose sombre array of innumerable leaves seems to stretch softly and darkly into the distance, beyond the reach of the eye. A perfect and melancholy stillness rules over this scene of dusky foliage, and casts a pervading mournfulness to be felt rather than perceived upon the group of children who are standing in the foreground, under the spreading branches of a large tree, engaged in the burial of their favourite bird. One boy is occupied in digging the small, shallow grave; while another stands by his side, with the dead bird wrapped in its little shroud of leaves. Their occupation is watched by a girl who is crying bitterly; and by her companion, who is endeavouring unsuccessfully to assuage her grief. Not devoted — like the sale of the Pet Lamb — to the representation of the stern and real woes of humanity, this picture addresses itself to feelings of a quiet, ideal nature, such as are easily and gracefully aroused by the representation of the most innocent emotions, simply developed, as they exist at the most innocent age.

During the year 1813, the painter continued to lead the studious and retired life to which he had now for some years devoted himself; and, on the tranquil monotony of which new and important events were shortly about to encroach. Whatever time he could spare from his professional occupations was still much absorbed by the attention required by his father's affairs; which, though fast becoming settled by the self-denial of the family, were still in a disordered condition. No inconveniences attendant upon these matters of business interrupted the rigid and ambitious course of study, to which he was now urging himself with increased vigour. He felt that the Academy and the lovers of Art were watching his progress with real interest, and he determined to fulfil the expectations forming of him on all sides. To the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1814, he contributed two pictures:- "Blackberry Gatherers;" and "Bird-Catchers." To the British Institution, he sent, in the same year, "The Town Miss Visiting her Country Relations," purchased by Lady Lucas; and "Fore-noon," a landscape, (sold to Mr. T. C. Higgins.) The last of these pictures is mentioned and criticised in a Diary which I am about to subjoin, and it is consequently unnecessary to describe it here. "The Town Miss Visiting her Country Relations," represented a young lady, dressed in the height of the fashion, sitting by a homely cottage fire; and, to the astonishment of some staring children, refusing, with a high-bred disdain of a very second-hand order, the refreshments which one of her uncouth rustic relatives is respectfully offering her. The "Blackberry-Gatherers," displayed a group of those charming cottage children for which his pencil was already celebrated, standing in a fertile English lane, whose pretty windings are dappled, at bright intervals, by the sunlight shining through the trees above. This picture exhibited throughout the highest finish and truth to Nature, and was purchased by Mrs. Hand. But the work which most remarkably asserted the artist's originality and power of treatment, was the "Bird-catchers." The vigour and novelty of this composition — its clear, airy expanse of morning sky; the group of boys standing upon a high bank, watching for birds, and boldly relieved against the bright, pure, upper atmosphere, proved his mastery over a higher branch of the Art than he had hitherto attempted. This work was purchased by the Marquis of Lansdowne; but the painter derived from his successes of this year a yet greater benefit than exalted patronage, and mounted the first step towards the highest social honours of English Art, by being elected an Associate of the Royal Academy.

I am here enabled to communicate some interesting particulars connected with the production of the picture of "Bird catchers" — kindly communicated to me by Mr. Stark, the accomplished landscape-painter — which, to those unacquainted with the practice of Art, will convey some idea of the intensity of study required (and in my father's case invariably given) for the production of a complete picture; while to those still occupied in surmounting the first difficulties of painting, the following extracts will offer encouragement to increased effort, by the practical example of successful perseverance. Speaking of the progress of the "Bird-catchers," Mr. Stark thus expresses himself:

"I was much impressed with his entire devotedness to the subject — every thought, every energy, was directed to this one object. I remember having attended one of Mr. Fuseli's lectures with him, and on our return home he said he had endeavoured to apply all that he had heard to this picture; and acting on one observation in the lecture, that 'breadth would be easily given, if emptiness could give it,' he determined on introducing more matter into the mass of shadow; and some implements used in the catching of birds were consequently introduced. In order to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the process of bird-catching, he went into the fields (now the Regent's Park,) before sunrise, and paid a man to instruct him in the whole mystery; and I believe, if the arrangement of the nets, cages, and decoy-birds, with the disposition of the figures, lines connected with the nets, and birds attached to the sticks, were to be examined by a Whitechapel bird-catcher, he would pronounce them to be perfectly correct.

"He was unable to proceed with the picture for some days, fancying that he wanted the assistance of Nature in a piece of broken foreground, and whilst this impression remained, he said he should be unable to do more. I went with him to Hampstead Heath; and, although he was not successful in meeting with anything that suited his purpose, he felt that he could then finish the picture; but, while the impression was on his mind that anything could be procured likely to lead to the perfection of the work, he must satisfy himself by making the effort — even if it proved fruitless.

"I have perhaps said more on this picture than you may deem necessary, but it was the first work of the class that I had ever seen, and the only picture, excepting those of my late master, Crome, that I had ever seen in progress. Moreover, I believe it to have been the first picture, of its particular class, ever produced in this country; and this, both in subject and treatment, in a style so peculiarly your late father's, and one which has gained for him so much fame."

The subjoined extracts from Mr. Collins's Diaries of the year 1814, contain several interesting opinions on painting, and show the perfect absence in his character of that spirit of petulant defiance of the opinions of others, which has sometimes conduced to narrow the hearts and debilitate the minds of men of genius, during their inevitable subserviency to the searching examination of criticism and the world. Passages in this Journal, also, remarkably display the leading influence in his intellectual disposition — his incessant anxiety to improve. Throughout life, he set up for himself no other standard in his Art than that of the highest perfection. Every fresh difficulty he conquered, every increase of applause he gained, was less a cause for triumph, than an encouragement to proceed. During the progress of his pictures, the severest criticisms on them ever came from his own lips. He never forgot, to the last day of his practice as a painter, that the inexhaustible requirements of Art still left him a new experiment to try, and a fresh dexterity to acquire:

"January 21st, 1814. — Resolved that I keep a common-place book of Art, as I find the necessity of not depending solely upon my recollection for the many hints I get from the critiques of those who see my pictures; as well as for the purpose of retaining the impressions which I find so easily effaced from the blotting-paper memory which I have inherited from Nature, or derived from inattention.

"Two days since Constable compared a picture to a sum, for it is wrong if you can take away or add a figure to it.

"In my picture of "Bird-catchers," to avoid red, blue, and yellow — to recollect that Callcott advised me to paint some parts of my picture thinly, (leaving the ground) — and that he gave great credit to the man who never reminded you of the palette.

"Why would a newly painted carriage ruin any picture it might be placed in? Because the negative tints are the valuable ones. They are the trumpeters to Rembrandt, Ostade, Ruysdall, Vandervelde, Vandyke, and all the great colourists. Reynolds seems to have felt this; for example, look at his pictures of the ' Duke of Orleans,' 'Sleeping Girl,' 'Sleeping Child,' 'Holy Family,' 'Infant Hercules;' and, in short, all his best pictures. Titian is perhaps the finest example. His picture of 'Venus and Adonis,' has not one positive colour in it. The drapery of Adonis, although to superficial observers a red one, placed by the side of any of our modern painters' red curtains, would sink into nothing — notwithstanding which, it is really as much richer, as the painter was intellectually, compared with any of the present day.

"February 1st. — How much better informed should I be at this moment, if I had written down all the observations I have heard from the painters with whom I have conversed — at least a selection. This should be done as soon after the impression as possible; otherwise, there is danger of making them your own.

"Saturday, 5th. — Received notice from Young, of Lady Lucas having purchased my 'Town Miss.' Went to see Kean, in Shylock, in the evening. He appears to be fully aware of what the public likes in an actor, rather than determined to do what he< thinks right. Does this proceed from modesty, policy, or weakness? His voice is good; his figure too short — he has too much of Cook. The farce ('Rogues All') was justly damned — Elliston did much towards this — he was worse than impudent. Monday 7th. — Went to the Gallery with Deval. Painted in the morning; which I am now sure is the better plan, as I feel too idle to work, upon my return from any walk, except the walk before breakfast. 9th. — Young called to say he had sold my 'Sale of the Pet Lamb,' to W. Ogden, Esq. Fuseli's lecture in the evening — never more delighted than on hearing it.

"From the observations I made, and the hints I received at the British Gallery, on Friday and Saturday, I perceive the following:- A tameness, or want of spirit in the general appearance of my landscape — 'Forenoon' — occasioned, I am afraid, by the want of attention to the general effect — as when close it looks well enough. Too much attention bestowed upon things comparatively easy to paint, as the docks, old trees, &c. a want of connection between the sky and ground, or principal light. Owen observed that the painting was not equal, as the docks were too highly wrought for the distant trees, as well as for those not so far removed from the eye: he thought the foreground too minutely finished. Linnell thought the sunlight affected only the principal light, and that the trunks of the trees in particular had not the sharpness of sunlight. I think him right in insisting upon the necessity of making studies — without much reference to form — of the way in which colours come against each other. The sharpness and colour of the shades, as well as the local colours of objects, may be got in this way. Havell disliked the touchiness of the trees — thought they should be flatter in their masses; and the light, shade, and reflections, attended to. On the masses of leaves the green in some places too much of a pea-colour. My own critique upon the picture is, that I have certainly left all my other works behind in point of negative tint — although the greens are still too positive — that there is a want of opposition, approaching to monotony — and that there are (as Callcott once before told me of a picture I had painted) too many large, unbroken masses.

"I feel the necessity of looking at generals, as I conceive I have only arrived at the power of painting particulars. But, although I am not quite sure which I ought to have done first, yet I am inclined to think that, knowing what I do of particulars, I shall not make my generals too indefinite — and, in addition to this, I know more exactly what I want, as well as more how to value it when I get it.

"Those who never particularise, are apt to build entirely upon their general knowledge (which, after all, is only a slight knowledge of particulars); and those who never look to the generals, are not aware of their consequence. Both are wrong; and each from pure vanity ridicules the other.

"A painter should choose those subjects with which most people associate pleasant circumstances. It is not sufficient that a scene pleases him. As an extreme instance of this; the mere appreciation of the delight he felt at getting up at four o'clock to study Nature, will present itself, whenever he sees a picture painted so well as to indicate that period of the day, when the very same circumstances of a beautifully clear morning, etc., may recall, in the general spectator, only the disagreeable remembrance of being called up to go a journey in a stage-coach — or, to others, the uncomfortable recollection of having been obliged to get up, because they could not sleep. * * * March 2nd. — Rose at half-past seven; walked, for the first time this season, before breakfast. My pictures want a lightness in drawing and touch — objects too much detached — a lightness of hand quite necessary. * * * Heard this evening of Munroe's death — poor fellow, to be snatched away from his parents and the Art, at a time when he could least be spared! I should think he must have been about two-and-twenty. Can it be doubted that his parents will be compensated by Providence for their sufferings? Do not these things happen for the purpose of convincing us that we ought to have something to fly to in our greatest miseries? Can his parents, at this moment, derive any alleviation from anything, but a hope that his better part is not annihilated?

"* * * 12th. — Went to see Kean's 'Hamlet,' and had great reason to think most favourably of it. The nature without vulgarity, or affectation, which he displayed throughout the part, came home to the feelings. His crawling upon the carpet in the play-scene was bad. His kissing Ophelia's hand, his forgetting and recollection of the speech about Pyrrhus, &c., prove him to be a man of genius,— (notwithstanding, I prefer the purity of Kemble.) His walk on the stage is, I think, rather mean; but he improves most rapidly. 21st. — Flaxman's last lecture; his best. More thinking in it. * * * April 5th. — This evening my two pictures were removed to Somerset-house. I think it necessary to get the outline of my figures completely determined, before I venture to paint them. Sometimes, when a part is well coloured and decently painted, I am under the dreadful necessity of erasing it, because it is too small, or too large, or has some other defect in the drawing. The whole figure ought to be completely determined on, at the first, or second sitting; after which the parts may be successfully studied.

"The waving line and graceful playfulness of the joints of children, closely imitated, would immortalise the painter who should persevere in his observations on them — which he may, ad infinitum.

"Sparkle may be obtained without glazing. Linnell's observations, with respect to the warmth of objects, against the cold sky — always opposite the sun — is perfectly correct.

"Proportion of the parts is a quality my pictures have never yet possessed in a proper degree.

"The figures in my pictures do not induce the spectator to think I know what is under the clothing. (Haydon.) I saw a picture, this evening, of a lady, as large as life, where the head was not large enough for a girl of ten years old. Should I have observed this in a work of my own?

* * * April 25th. — Went to Spring-gardens, to see Haydon's picture of "The Judgment of Solomon." In this most extraordinary production, there is everything for which the Venetian school is so justly celebrated; with this difference only, that Haydon has considered other qualities equally necessary. Most men who have arrived at such excellence in colour, have seemed to think they had done enough; but with Haydon it was evidently the signal of his desire to have every greatness of every other school. Hence, he lays siege to the drawing and expression of Nature, which, in this picture, he has certainly carried from, and in the very face of, all his competitors. Of the higher qualities of Art are, certainly, the tone of the whole picture; the delicate variety of colour; the exquisite sentiment in the mother bearing off her children; and the consciousness of Solomon in the efficacy of his demonstration of the real mother. In short, Haydon deserves the praise of every real artist for having proved that it is possible (which, by the way, I never doubted,) to add all the beauties of colour and tone, to the grandeur of the most sublime subject, without diminishing the effect upon the heart. Haydon has done all this; and produced, upon the whole, the most perfect modern picture I ever saw; and that at the age of seven-and-twenty!

"30th. — The Marquis of Lansdowne desires to know the price of my 'Bird-catchers.' I wrote him the terms one hundred guineas (including frame). Sunday morning I received his polite note, agreeing to give me that sum. I do not think I was ever so much gratified by the sale of a picture, as in this instance.

* * * Sentiment in pictures can only be produced by a constant attention to the food given to the painter's mind. A proper dignity and respect for one self is the only shield against the loathsomeness of vulgarity.

"The habit of determining the course of action would prevent a great waste of time. In every ungratified desire, the mind is so worried by the continuance of doubts on both sides, that a complete debility ensues; the consequence of which is an uncertainty in all its speculations. What renders this still more vexing is, that, in general, the things about which it has the greatest doubt, are either above its powers, or beneath its notice. For an instance of the latter: a man orders a coat — he is in doubt about the colour — perhaps, he says, I will wait a few days. During these few days the cursed coat so frequently interrupts his more useful cogitations, that he orders one at last of, most likely, a colour he hates, merely to get rid of the subject. Had he, in the first instance, determined upon it before he set about anything else, his mind would have been in a more clear and proper state to receive other ideas. This would soon become a habit, and he would acquire a power, from necessity, of fixing his attention.

"November 7th. — The election at the Academy, (at which, I afterwards heard, I was chosen an Associate.) Sketched at home in the evening — felt too anxious about my election to do much. 8th. — Received notice from the Secretary of my election. 12th. — To aim greatly at reformation in the leading features of my private character — the little weaknesses that almost escape detection, and which, notwithstanding their pettiness, seem to be the obstructing cause to all dignity of character in an artist, or a man. This improvement is not to be made by ridiculous and hasty resolutions, but by private reflections. The result, and not the means, ought to be seen. 16th. — Received notice to attend the Council of the Royal Academy, on Tuesday 22nd, at nine o'clock in the evening, for the purpose of receiving my diploma, and signing the instrument of institution. 17th. — From the great success I have met with, the eagerness I feel to deserve it, and my struggles against sluggishness, I never was more confused in my intellects than now — dreadful want of confidence — my mind must be weeded — method quite necessary — good habits may be gained by watchfulness — bad habits grow of themselves; good ones require cultivation. * * * December 3rd. — Remarkably dark day. This circumstance combined with the interruptions occasioned by some callers, and my own idleness, produced a great want of exertion on my part. Having taken snuff occasionally, since Tuesday last, and finding it hurtful, I again leave it off. Should I take any more, I will set down my reasons for so doing — bad, or good.

"Suppose the mind (vital principle, director of the body, or whatever else it may be called) obliged to pass through, or make use of certain organs, to the end that it may attain some purpose — suppose these organs in a morbid state, will the operations be sound? Certainly not. No more so than the attempt will be successful of a man who wishes to go a journey on foot and breaks one of his legs by the way. Then, how clearly does the necessity appear of doing as much as is in our power to keep these organs in the most perfect state. What excuse has the man to offer, who suffers them, or occasions them to be, in an unfit condition for the use of the mind?"

Such are the passages in the Diary of 1814, most worthy of attention. Those entries of a purely personal nature which have been inserted here, have not been introduced without a reason. It has been considered that they may contribute to vindicate genius from the conventional accusations of arrogance and irregularity, which are too frequently preferred against it, by demonstrating, in the instance and from the reflections of the subject of this biography, that the eager desire for fame may exist, without the slightest alloy of presumption; and that an ardent devotion to an intellectual pursuit, is not incompatible with the minutest attention to the moral cultivation of the heart, and the social training of the mind.

The painter's circle of friends now began to widen. Men of genius and reputation sought his acquaintance, and found his qualifications for society of no mean order. A plan of reading, various and extensive; an unwearied anxiety to receive and impart information on all subjects, from his Art downwards and upwards; and a fund of anecdote and capacity for humour, not easily exhaustible, fitted him well for the general topics discussed among the circles to which he was now welcomed. Among the gayest of his companions, at this period, were that "joyousest of once embodied spirits" — Elliston, and that inveterate jester and capital writer, James Smith; both of whom found in the artist's company no mean stimulus to conversational exertion; for when the ball of wit was once set going, it was rarely suffered to drop in Mr. Collins's hands. As an humble example of this should the incident not appear too trifling an anecdote may be mentioned, not unworthy, perhaps, to take its place among the laconic curiosities that enliven our jest-books.

Mr. Leslie, R.A., and an artist named Willis, were guests, one evening, at the painter's house; when Willis left his friends rather abruptly in spite of their remonstrances before the usual hour of parting. After he was gone his host sent out for some oysters, and proposed that Willis should be mortified, by being informed of the supper that he had missed through his hasty departure. Accordingly the painter wrote on a large sheet of paper — "After you left us we had oysters;" and sent it, without name or date, or paying postage, (which was then threepence) to Willis. The latter, however, discovered the hand-writing; and, to revenge himself, sent back for answer another letter — not paid of course — and only containing the words:- "Had you?" He was nevertheless mistaken, if he imagined that he had beaten his antagonist in brevity; for, the next day, he received, at the price of threepence again, an answer to the interrogatory, "Had you?" in a letter containing the eloquent monosyllable — "Yes!"

Whether, in these days of intellectual profundity, when books on abstract science decorate ladies' boudoirs, and children lisp geology to the astounded elders of a bygone generation, any appearance in print of such superficialities as puns can hope to be tolerated, is probably doubtful in the extreme. If, however, those light skirmishers in the field of conversation still find favour in the eyes of any readers, who may not yet be occupied in writing books to prove that Moses blunders in his account of the creation of the world, or in clearing up, wholesale, the reputations of all historical bad characters, from Oliver Cromwell and bloody Queen Mary, down to "lions" of later days, the following samples of the quick humour of Elliston and the elder author of "Rejected Addresses," may not be found unworthy to revive, for a moment, in others, the hearty laughter they once raised, in those to whom they were originally addressed.

Mr. Collins and some friends were one night sitting with Elliston in his box at the theatre, when one of the inferior actors attracted their attention by the extreme shabbiness of his costume, and the general poverty of his whole appearance. His stockings, particularly, were in a miserable condition; and the embroidered ornament at the ancle of one — called the "clock" — was positively ragged. Elliston first discerned the latter feature in the costume of his humble brother actor; and, in tragic seriousness of tone, directly drew the painter's attention to it, in the following words: — "Watch his 'clock!' — He got it upon tick!"

Between James Smith and the painter, a good-humoured reciprocation of jests of all sorts was the unfailing accompaniment of most of their meetings. The latter, however, in some instances, gained the advantage of his friend, by calling in the resources of his Art to the aid of his fancy,— as an example of which may be quoted his painting on the boarded floor of his study, while Smith was waiting in the next room, a new pen, lying exactly in the way of any one entering the apartment. As soon as the sketch was finished, the author was shown in, and stopping short at the counterfeit resemblance, with an exclamation at his friend's careless extravagance, endeavoured to pick it up. A few days afterwards, with the recollection of this deception strong in his memory, Smith called again on the painter, and found him working on a picture with unusual languor and want of progress. Anxious to take the first opportunity to return the jest of which he had been the victim, Smith inquired in tones of great interest, how his friend was getting on? The ether replied that he was suffering under so severe a headache as to be almost incapable of working at all. "Ah," said Smith, "I see why you have not got on; you are using a new material to-day,— painting in distemper."

In the year 1815, my father exhibited at the Royal Academy,— "The Reluctant Departure," (sold to Mr. Carpenter;) "Half-holiday Muster," (sold to Lady Lucas;) and "A Harvest Shower," (sold to Mr. Currie.) To the British Institution he contributed in the same season two pictures,— "A Cottage Child at Breakfast," (sold to Sir Richard Hoare;) and "Reapers," a landscape. In "The Reluctant Departure," the incident of a mother taking leave of her child as it lies in the nurse's arms, ere she descends to a boat in the foreground, which a fisherman and his boy are preparing to push off from shore, is treated with singular boldness and simplicity of effect. The drawing and action of the figures, the painting of the water in the foreground, and of the bank rising beyond it, with weeds and broken ground just visible beneath, in shadow, and the depth and harmony of tone thrown over the whole composition, combine to make this picture a fine example of the painter's careful observation of Nature and industrious study of Art. "Half-holiday Muster" will be found described in a letter which will be immediately subjoined. The "Harvest Shower" was suggested on a visit to Windsor, by a beautiful effect, produced during a shower, by the appearance of bright clouds behind falling rain. As soon as he perceived it, although reminded by his companion, Mr. Stark, of an engagement they had the moment before been hastening to fulfil, Mr. Collins produced his sketch-book; and, careless alike of rain and punctuality, made a study of the scene, which he afterwards transferred to canvass, and exhibited as above related. "The Cottage Child at Breakfast," and the "Reapers" are sufficiently indicated by their titles. From the former picture the artist executed a beautiful etching, included among a collection published by Hogarth, during the latter period of his life, under the title of "Painter's Etchings, by W. Collins, R.A."

His papers for this year are principally occupied by rules for conduct and experiments in practical Art. Among the few entries of general interest in them may be extracted the following:

"* * * I must get the sparkle and vigour of objects in the sun; considering the distance at which most pictures are viewed, they ought to be painted very sharp.

"* * * I am now going to the Academy, where for some days I shall be in the company of, and in some measure on a footing with, the greatest painters in the country. To aim at surpassing them all; and, that my mind may never more be prevented from actual employment on this point, to discard all low and useless acquaintance with men, or things, not immediately connected with this aim.

"* * * To study in the country for future figures and groupings, with the accompanying backgrounds, and to make the most accurate painting and drawing studies of anything in itself a subject: sketches of anything I have too many. To be always looking for what constitutes the beauty of natural groups, and why they please in pictures.

"* * * In 1801, I began in the autumn to draw; although previous to this I had made some attempts, yet from this moment they were somewhat regular. Not long after this, I was instructed by a few lessons from T. Smith, to set a palette and begin to paint, which I continued to do with some degree of perseverance until, in 1805, I saw some necessity for drawing the figure. After much difficulty and fretting, I got into the Academy in the summer of 1806, where I passed my most happy moments, regularly attending that instructive and delightful place, the place where I dared to think for myself.

"My great desire for improvement and my acquaintance with those who could benefit me as a painter, was at its height when and whilst I painted the fishing picture,* 'Blowing Bubbles,' and 'Boys Bathing.' This was in 1809 and 1810. The notice taken of the fishing picture also brought me acquainted with some persons, from whom, although I gained a great knowledge of the world, I profited little as a painter,— as the pictures I then painted, although better, had less real study in them, and were produced notwithstanding, instead of by the help of the persons with whom I too frequently associated. * * * I had some heavenly moments when in company with my real and only friends, my pencil and palette. * * * After this I studied as hard as I could, but not as hard as I ought. * * * I have served my apprenticeship (fourteen years exactly.) Having now set up for myself, I must become a master. * * * I purpose to aim more at method and order; and to begin, have determined not to read in the morning, but to paint or draw all day, and to go out when I feel any lassitude. To attain lightness and correctness of drawing. My lights are too equally diffused. I generally want a form in my pictures. By painting three studies, and drawing three nights each week, as well as painting by night, I may improve much. * * * Why should I have one weakness? Why should I be anything short of a fine painter? I will certainly, at any rate, have the consolation of knowing why.

* Entitled "Children Fishing."

"Why I am not so at this moment — or, at least, some of the causes why I am not so, are indolence, (only habitual), and too much of what is termed the good fellow, by good fellows; but by hard-headed and sensible men, downright weakness."

Such evidences as these of the painter's increased longing after fame, and of his uncompromising reprobation in himself of the most venial habits and irregularities, if they caused him to retrograde for a moment in the pursuit of excellence, show that the elevation he was now shortly to acquire in his range of subjects, was already preparing in his mind. Circumstances, immediately to be detailed, suddenly and roughly urged upon him this direction of his studies towards higher and more remarkable progress in the Art. An excursion in which he indulged himself, in the autumn of this year, contributed, in no slight degree, to awaken his mind to the near prospect of the change in his style which was ere long to become necessary. Accompanied by his friend Mr. Stark, he visited Norfolk and its coast; and found himself standing by the after-source of no inconsiderable portion of his future popularity, as, sketch-book in hand, he looked for the first time over the smooth expanse of Cromer Sands.

Before his departure for Norfolk, he ventured on a domestic change of some importance the removal, by the advice of his friends, from the small and inconvenient house in Great Portland-street, to a larger and more eligible abode in New Cavendish-street. His success with the Academy and the world of Art, and the attention due to his interests as a professional man, appeared, to all who knew him, to warrant his incurring the increased expenses attendant on thus ' making a more respectable appearance, as regarded his abode. In a letter to Sir Thomas Heathcote, written in answer to an application from that gentleman for a companion picture to one he already possessed from the painter's hand, Mr. Collins writes hopefully — as the context will show, too hopefully — upon his future prospects.

"11, New Cavendish-street,

"18th July, 1815.

"Dear Sir,— It is not a little extraordinary that I should have a picture by me, precisely answering, in subject, size, etc., your descriptions. The picture was exhibited last month, under the title of 'Half-Holiday Muster,' (being an assemblage of village children, playing at soldiers before a cottage door), and as yours is an interior, I think this a most suitable companion. Should you think proper, I shall feel happy to have it sent for your inspection, which will not be in the least inconvenient to me. The price, including a frame of the right pattern, which I will have made, will be a hundred guineas.

"I thank you much for the hope you express as to my prosperity. I had intended to-morrow to have called in St. James'-square, to inform you that I have taken a very excellent house, in which I have been three days; and, as the situation and appearance are advantageous, I think my prospects are not altogether hopeless; although the artists have, this season, had much reason to complain.

"I remain, etc., etc.,

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

Of his excursion to Norfolk, the following incidents are related by the painter's companion, Mr. Stark:

"In 1815, he paid a visit with me, to my family at Norwich. There is but little in the city, or its immediate vicinity, to interest the painter; and, after two or three weeks' stay, we went to Cromer. An early patron of his was, at that time, residing at Cromer Hall (Mr. Reed), and he frequently dined at his table. But, however pleasurable the hours might have been to him so spent, he always regretted, if the evening chanced to have been sunny, that he had been shut up from the study of Nature under such favourable circumstances, sunlight being his great object. He was much delighted with the simple character of Cromer, and with the general colour and tone of its cliffs. The forms of these were then, as they still are, very monotonous; and some late landslips have not improved their character. Yet the impressions made upon his mind by the scenery of this place, seem to have lasted through life; for I find, so late as 1845, a picture entitled, ' Cromer Sands, Coast of Norfolk,' exhibited at the Royal Academy; and many of the backgrounds to his coast pictures I can trace to sketches made in this locality. He was much amused, on one occasion, by the remark of some fishermen. Having made a careful study of some boats and other objects on the beach, which occupied him the greater part of the day, towards evening, when he was preparing to leave, the sun burst out low in the horizon, producing a very beautiful, although totally different effect, on the same objects; and, with his usual enthusiasm, he immediately set to work again, and had sufficient light to preserve the effect. The fishermen seemed deeply to sympathize with him at this unexpected and additional labour, as they called it; and endeavoured to console him by saying, ' Well, never mind, sir; every business has its troubles.'

"As near as I can remember, we remained at Cromer about two months. He was indefatigable in his pursuits while there; but I have no recollection of his having sketched any figures. His attention appeared to be directed to the beach and cliffs, almost exclusively."

The painter's own studies and impressions in Norfolk, are glanced at in the following letters to his mother and brother:

"Norwich, 1815.

"My dear Mother and Frank,— My reason for sending the last by mail was, that I began my letter too late for the post, and made a parcel of it, thinking it better to send it by that conveyance than keep it from you another day. * * * When you send the parcel, (I stand in great need of the shoes) I wish you to put as a base, two, or three, or four, (or more,) smooth, small panels. I wish to make some studies more finished than I choose to do on millboard. I do not wish them large. * * * I wish you would write often, telling me how you keep your health,— how you like the house,— whether you have found any defects, or 'unpleasantries,' in or out of it: how rich, or how poor, how the situation suits our profession,— and a thousand 'hows,' that would like me well at this distance from you. From the day you receive this, and as far back as you recollect, keep a diary of the weather to compare with one I intend to make. We have had much gloomy weather, and, except eating, drinking, and visiting, I have not done much. However, as I find much to admire, I shall exert myself to bring some of it home.

"With regard to the comfort and pleasantness of my situation in the family I am staying with, I cannot hope to give you an adequate idea of it on paper,— at least on so small a quantity as I find I have left. Suffice it to say, that Mr. Stark, his wife, and sons are so much to my liking, that I feel as if I had been connected with them by some closer tie than the one that at present exists. He is a fine, open-hearted, clear-headed, generous Scot; his wife, born in Norfolk, is in heart, a complete second to him. I cannot tell you how much, and how frequently, they talk of you both, and wish you here. Mrs. Stark has formed a decided friendship for my mother. I hope this is one reason for my fondness for the family; and about 'his ain kinswoman,' old Jamie Stark is continually ' speering.' I have also seen the daughter, who appears to be made of the same material as the rest of the family.

"I have met at this house, and at others in this neighbourhood, some of the most acute and learned men, from whom I have learnt enough to convince me that intelligent men are of more service to each other in a provincial place than in London. The sharpness of the air, or some other quality of this place, certainly tends to give a smartness to the people, surpassing the inhabitants of any locality I ever was in before. This, however, induces more equality, or attempts at it, in the common people, than is strictly consonant with my feelings.

"I will, in conclusion, put it to both your honours, whether or not I deserve a long letter for all this information. I am quite comfortable: how long may I stay? — send for me, if you want me,

"Most affectionately yours,

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

"Cromer, September 18th, 1815.

"My dear Mother,— On this my birthday, I know not how I can be better employed than in writing to you. My reasons for not having done so before were, that I hoped to have had a letter from Mr. H—- , (which has not been the case) and, more particularly, because I had not made up my mind as to the time of quitting Norfolk. My plan, at present, is to leave this place for Norwich on Saturday next; to visit some places which I have not yet seen in that neighbourhood; and, in about a fortnight, to have the pleasure of presenting myself to you in London. I have made some sketches of sea-shore scenery, etc.; but, although I have opened the door of every cottage in the place, I have not yet seen an interior good enough for Mrs. Hand's picture. But I hope, and indeed from the description received of it, feel no doubt that, at a place called Arminghall, I shall get the thing itself.

"Tell Frank, that, although I have no (what is termed) certainty of becoming rich, in the world, yet I never lose hope; and that it is my decided opinion, that if the Almighty was to give us every thing for which we should feel desirous, we should as often find it as necessary to pray to him to take away, as to grant new favours. Whatever happens, as nothing can possibly happen without His permission, must be, and is, good. The thousand cases I could bring forward in proof of this assertion, (I mean cases that I have met with since I saw you last) I shall reserve till our meeting in London. * * *

"Most truly, dear Mother,

"Your affectionate son,

"WILLIAM COLLINS."

To the Exhibition of 1816, the painter contributed, besides two portraits, a picture, called "The Argument at the Spring," and a sea-piece (afterwards engraved) entitled "Shrimp Boys — Cromer." The first work was in his now popular and accustomed style, and represented a young girl standing in the water, and endeavouring to induce a little urchin, ready stripped for the bath, to approach her and submit himself to the process of ablution. The second displayed extraordinary truth to Nature and originality of arrangement, but could hardly be said, though a sea-side view, to be — intellectually — the commencement of the series of coast-scenes, which he was afterwards to produce. It was an evidence, rather, of the dawning of the capability for new efforts in the Art, than of the triumph of the capacity itself. How that capacity became suddenly awakened and called forth, it is now necessary to relate.

Although Mr. Collins's pictures this year were sold — "The Argument at the Spring," being disposed of to Mr. Williams, and the scene at Cromer purchased by Sir Thomas Heathcote, (probably as the companion picture he desired; "Half-Holiday Muster," having been ultimately bought by Lady Lucas) his pecuniary prospects, towards the autumn, became alarmingly altered for the worse. Liberal and discriminating as many of the patrons of Art were in those days, they were few in number. The nation had not yet rallied from the exhausting effects of long and expensive wars; and painting still struggled slowly onward, through the political obstacles and social confusions of the age. The remuneration obtained for works of Art, was often less than half that which is now realised by modern pictures, in these peaceful times of vast and general patronage. Although every succeeding year gained him increased popularity, and although artists and amateurs gave renewed praise and frequent encouragement to every fresh effort of his pencil, Mr. Collins remained, as regarded his pecuniary affairs, in anything but affluent, or even easy circumstances. Passages in his Journal for this year, will be found to indicate his own consciousness of the gradual disorder that was, at this period, fast approaching in his professional resources.

"January 1st, 1816. — Went with Willis to the Elgin Marbles, observed the simple attitudes of some of the figures to be peculiarly adapted to a new style of portrait. Then to Westminster Abbey, where I heard the organ playing, etc., and saw the bad monuments of some modern sculptors. I must write notes in my book before the thing criticised, mentioning the name, etc.; for I have seen most of the objects in this place often enough, but having forgotten them, I lost my time looking at them again, and coming, most likely, to the same conclusion, again to be forgotten, unless I keep a book for the purpose of entering everything I think worthy of remark.

"* * * Some time since I praised, from charitable and opposition motives, a certain picture, certainly much more than it deserved. I was told the other day, by an inferior artist, that he could not much value the opinion of one who had so much deceived him.

"* * * Feeling the thing, and being able to express it, makes the difference between amateur and painter — some persons put their ideas better than others. Has a man who cannot put them so clearly as to be understood, the ideas at all? Can he distinctly see it — could he not describe it, if he did?

"* * * April 13th. — Chatted with a visitor till twelve, when I posted this dreary ledger, on a dreary, black-looking April day, with one sixpence in my pocket, seven hundred pounds in debt, shabby clothes, a fine house, a large stock of my own handyworks, a certainty (as much, at least, a certainty, as anything short of 'a bird in the hand' can be) of about a couple of hundreds, and a determination unshaken — and, please God, not to be shook by anything of becoming a great painter, than which, I know no greater name. Although I have not at this moment a single commission of any kind whatever, I have property considerably more than adequate to discharge the debt above-mentioned — I mean property that would, even in these worst of times, sell for such a sum. Therefore, should my present views prove abortive, I shall not lose my independence — which whilst I have, I want no more.

" * * * July 5th — How comes it that after all my struggles, I am at this moment so poor in purse? Those of my friends able to push me, are not inclined; and those inclined, not able. Now, as it is impossible to rise in the world, without connection — connection I must have. Therefore, I will paint some high personage, for the next Exhibition. (Why not the Princess Charlotte?) For my own comfort, I must paint this, as well as everything else I touch, in a superior style. I have no reason to be dissatisfied with the public judgment on my works, although, from various causes, I am not rewarded agreeably to, or consistent with, their acknowledgment of my deserts. As I have great reason to believe that their approbation of any particular picture (although not the one that I consider the best, at the time) is the criterion, I shall certainly bow to it. In the particular instance of the Cromer scene, I feel now that their selection is marked by judgment: the faults, however, of the 'Spring,' I hope to be able to remedy in my future productions — for which purpose, I will note those objections which have been made by others, and follow them with a critique of my own. * * * "

Hopeful as the painter's anticipations still continued, untiring as were his efforts to extricate himself from his gathering embarrassments, they did not bring with them the success and security that he desired. The autumn was approaching, his exertions were the main support of his family, he had attempted to render them more advantageous by removing to a convenient and well situated dwelling; and now, to his dismay, he found, as the season advanced, that his income grew more and more insufficient to supply even the daily demands — economical though they were — of his new scale of expenditure; and that, unless some sudden change took place in his fortunes, his affairs were threatened — after all his industry, and all his successes — by no less a visitation than absolute ruin.

A calamity so severe and disheartening as this would have overwhelmed a man of inferior mental powers,— it stimulated the subject of this biography, however, to fresh effort, to stronger determination, to more vigorous hope. Gradually and surely, year by year and thought by thought, his old boyish anxiety to draw the sea at Brighton, had been expanding within him into a higher and finer aim; and, as he now looked the hard necessities of his position in the face, as he remembered the approval bestowed on the Cromer sea-piece, and as he saw that he must grasp at wider popularity, or sink at once into penury and failure, his mind opened at once to a knowledge of its resources, and to a discovery of all that it had hitherto left unstudied and unachieved on the English coast. That which, under happier circumstances, might have been a gradual process, became, under the pressing influence of necessity, a sudden operation — a thorough conviction that inexhaustible Nature presented, in the scenery and population of the shores of England, a fund of untried and original material for the capacities of Art. Thus has it ever been with genius. Thus, as the child of chance and the creation of sudden accident, does that mysterious gift vindicate its unearthly origin. The inferior faculties and accomplishments of the mind are under human control, are linked visibly to the chariot of journeying Time; but, genius owns no mastery, bows to no application, lives for no season. In one unregarded moment it springs into being, on the mute, obedient soil of the human mind! To the veriest trifles, the merest chances, is the world indebted for the most eloquent appeals of mortal intellect that have been addressed to it. A boyish frolic, or a momentary want, a heartless insult, or a careless jest, is the Prometheus that steals from its native heaven this hidden fire, this creating spirit that kindles in the poet's verses, and glows in the painter's forms.

Whatever intellectual rank Mr. Collins's sea-pieces may be considered to hold, as original and popular works of Art, it is not to be doubted that from them his highest celebrity as a painter first arose; and it