ing, even at the moment he was most successful. A gaping mouth, a closing lid, a languid look, or an impatient hem! threw him into utter confusion, and deprived him of all presence of mind, of all power of concealing his mortification. When he perceived that some witty sally had fallen lifeless, that some epigrammatic point had escaped the notice of his auditors, he was wont to exclaim to his particular friends, when the strangers were departed, What folly, to lose my time and talent in reading before these beasts of burden, who feel nothing, and have no intellect beyond what is necessary to understand the street-ballads of the blind-band! Such is the power which an insatiable love of glory may hold, even over the most elevated intellect !"

This latter part is extremely characteristic of the lofty and impatient spirit, which, while it could not resist the cravings of its appetite for the applause even of the vulgar, could scarcely bear the conscious selfabasement of seeking it. We happen to know, of a distinguished English improvvisatore of the present day, that if nineteen of his brilliant efforts meet with their merited success, and the twentieth fails, the mortification and even the dismay arising from the latter are not a tenth part compensated for by all the applause called forth by the former.

Nothing can be better, or better told, than the following anecdote, in illustration of Salvator's mode of treating his rich and princely customers: "Heaven help the individual (says one of his contemporary biographers, Baldinucci), who attempted to haggle with him!"

"A Roman prince, more notorious for his pretensions to virtù, than his liberality to artists, sauntering one day in Salvator's gallery in the Via Babbuina, paused before one of his landscapes, and after a long contemplation of its merits, exclaimed, Salvator mio, 1 am strangely tempted to purchase this picture; tell me at once the lowest price?'-Two hundred scudi,' re

་

plied Salvator, carelessly. Two hundred scudi! Ohime! that is a price!

the

we'll talk of it another time.'-The Illustrissimo took his leave; but, bent upon having the picture, he shortly returned, and again enquired lowest price. Three hundred scudi,' was the sullen reply. Corpo di Bacco cried the astonished prince; mi burla, vostra signoria !-You are joking. I see I must e'en wait upon your better humour; and so addio, Signor Rosa.'-The next day brought back the prince to the painter's gallery; who on entering saluted Salvator with a jocose air, and added, Well, Signor Amico, how goes the market to-day? have prices risen or fallen?'-' Four hundred scudi is the price to-day,' replied Salvator, with affected calmness; when, suddenly giving way to his natural impetuosity, and no longer stifling his indignation, he burst forth,The fact is, your Excellency would not now obtain the picture from me at any price; and yet so little value do I put upon its merits, that I deem it worthy of no better fate than this,' and snatching the pannel on which it was painted from the wall, he flung it to the ground, and with his foot broke it into an hundred pieces."

The following is no less amusing and characteristic:

"Between the prince (Don Mario Ghigi) and Salvator, there seems to have existed much personal intimacy; and the prince's fondness for the painter's conversation was such that, during a long illness, he induced Salvator to bring his easel to his bed-side, and to work in his chamber at some small piece he was then painting for the Prince. It happened that while Rosa was sketching and chatting by the prince's couch, one of the most fashionable physicians of Rome entered the apartment. He appears to have been one of those professional coxcombs, whose pretensions, founded on unmerited vogue, throw a ridicule upon the gravest calling. After some trite

This is one of the very few instances recorded of Salvator having worked in the presence of a second person.

remarks upon the art, the doctor, either to flatter Salvator, or in imitation of the physician of the Cardinal Colonna, who asked for one of Raphael's finest pictures as a fee for saving the Cardinal's life, requested Don Mario to give him a picture of Salvator as a remuneration for his attendance. The prince willingly agreed to the proposal; and the doctor, debating on the subject he should choose, turned to Salvator, and begged that he would not lay pencil to canvass until he, the Signor Dottore, should find leisure to dictate to him il pensiero e concetto della sua pittura-the idea and conceit of his picture. Salvator bowed a modest acquiescence, and went on with his sketch. The doctor, having gone the round of his professional questions with his wonted pomposity, rose to write his prescription; when, as he sat before the table, with upturned eyes, and pen suspended over paper, Salvator on tiptoe approached him, and drawing the pen gently through his fingers, with one of his old Coviello gesticulations in his character of the mountebank, he said, Fermati, dottor mio! Stop, doctor, you must not lay pen to paper till I have leisure to dictate the idea and conceit of the prescription I may think proper for the malady of his Excellency.'-Diavolo!' cried the amazed physician, 'you dictate a prescription! why I am the prince's physician, not you.'And I, caro,' said Salvator, am a painter, and not you. I leave it to the prince whether I could not prove myself a better physician than you a painter, and write a better prescription than you paint a picture.""

We now pass rapidly over those seven or eight brilliant but not eventful years of his life above referred to, which intervened between 1639, when he first appeared before the world as a satirist and improvvisatore, and 1647, when that extraordinary revolutionary movement broke out at Naples, under the sole direction of Masaniello, the poor fisherman of Amalfi. It is true the contemporary biographers of Salvator do not mention his connexion with this most remarkable person. But there might have been various reasons for this. Neither does by far the most interesting account we have hitherto seen of that revolution, written by one who calls himself "an eye-witness," allude to the fact; which, from the tone in which that account is written, the author of it would unquestionably have done, had it been known to him. But still, the circumstances under which Salvator is said to have joined the inhabitants of his native place, who had risen in arms against the oppressions of their foreign rulers, are so "probable to thinking"-so strictly in keeping with the character and habits of the bold and indignant hater of every species of bondage, and the ardent and enthusiastic lover of freedom and his country-that we see no reason to doubt the traditional and circumstantial evidence (for we are not aware of there being any other) on which the fact rests. And, under the circumstances, we scarcely see how any other kind of evidence would be likely to exist; for the revolutionary movement in question lasted but a few days, during which there was no call whatever on Salvator to take an active and conspicuous part in the matter. And as a collateral evidence that he was present in Naples at the time, and came into immediate contact with the illustrious "captain of the people," it is certain that more than one portrait of Masaniello is extant from the pencil of our artist; though the poor fisherman of Amalfi was entirely unknown till the commencement of the movement, and was dead in ten days after it broke out. At all events, though we could have wished that Lady Morgan, if she is able, had taken the trouble to establish the fact in question, on less controvertible evidence than she has done, yet we are as willing as she can be to put faith in the story.

Immediately on the death of Masaniello all hope of further successes to the cause of liberty ceased; for the movement of the people, universal as it was, had been evidently caused entirely by his influence over them, and not in any degree by their own innate energies. Salvator, therefore, had the prudence to return to Rome. But he had not either the power or the will to resume his usual pursuits there. And Lady Morgan, with much appearance of reason, attributes one of his finest and most characteristic poems, "La Babilonia," to about this period.

Besides this poem, Salvator certainly about this time produced two satirical pictures, which caused him so much persecution, and even personal danger, (in consequence of his daring to send them for public exhibition in the Pantheon) that he was compelled for a while to quit Rome, and fly to Florence under the protection of the brother of the then reigning Grand Duke of Tuscany. Here he was received in the most distinguished manner; his works were purchased at enormous prices; and his house became the favourite resort of all that was brilliant in rank and talent in Florentine society. All this, however, though his spirits had at first rallied, so as to enable him to enter into and enjoy it, he very soon became weary of; especially as he was purchasing it at the expense of a nominal servitude to the Grand Duke and his family. He shortly afterwards, therefore, accepted an invitation from his friends, Counts Ugo and Giulio Maffei, to visit their palace at Volterra, and thus broke those "gilded chains of a court" which he had always so hated, and which he never again consented to wear even for a moment. Here, at Volterra, he devoted a great portion of his time to the collection and arrangement of his poetryoccasionally, however, painting some of his best pictures; till at length, feeling the restraint and misery of the exile state in which he was now living, he determined once more to visit Rome at all risks, and, if possible, finally establish himself there for the rest of his life: for he had, about this time, formed a connexion which made a permanent home not only necessary but delightful to him. Accordingly, about the year 1652 he again entered Rome, to the delight of his friends, and the 'discomfiture of his enemies, who were either too few or too weak to dare molest him; and there fixed himself for life, in a manner and under auspices that must have satisfied his utmost wishes-ambitious as they were. As this period ends the striking changes and events in Salvator's life, we shall now at once follow him to his death-bed-premising, however, that the intermediate period, which we are passing over, will be found to teem with highly interesting detail. We shall therefore close with this account of his

latest moments.

"While life was still fluttering at the heart of Salvator, the officiating priest of the day arrived, bearing with him the holy apparatus of the last mysterious ceremony of the church. The shoulders of Salvator were laid bare, and anointed with the consecrated oil; some prayed fervently, others wept, and all even still hoped; but the taper which the Doctor Catanni held to the lips of Salvator, while the viaticum was administered, burned brightly and steadily! Life's last sigh had transpired, as religion performed her last rite."

To the second volume of the Life are appended a considerable number of interesting letters of Salvator; and upon the whole, we consider

"The Life and Times of Salvator Rosa," to be the best and most entertaining work that has hitherto been received from Lady Morgan's pen. It evinces all that enthusiastic warmth of feeling, and that eloquent sincerity of expression which characterise her other works; and all that boldness and freedom of opinion which have called forth such ridiculously unmerited censure on her writings generally. And at the same time, while it is nearly without those hasty oversights that might occasionally be detected in her style,-it is, above all, nearly free from those unguarded and unnecessary blows at mere vulgar prejudice and ignorance, which, while they laid her open to the attacks of her interested enemies, were peculiarly calculated to render those attacks available against her reputation, because, when artfully collected together, and placed in battle array, they were peculiarly galling to the weakness and self-love of those among her readers who were beyond the influence of the better parts of her writings.

Finally, and with more immediate reference to the subject of Lady Morgan's present work, she has unquestionably done an acceptable service to the cause of truth, by rescuing the character of a distinguished genius from those blots and imputations which the premeditated falsehood of his enemies had cast upon it, and which the culpable weakness of his friends had permitted to remain; and which imputations the idle tongue of tradition is always pretty sure to multiply and bruit abroad to the world, while it generally permits their opposites to shift for themselves. We think Lady Morgan has successfully shewn that the moral character of Salvator Rosa was not only unexceptionable, but even exemplary-considering the state of society during the times in which he lived.

BRITISH GALLERIES OF ART.-NO. X.

Mr. Mathews's Theatrical Gallery.

I HAD intended to confine these papers to the notice of galleries comprising works by what are called (truly, par excellence) the Old Masters; and not to have meddled with the Moderns, simply because But when I they are moderns, if there had been no other reason. made this determination, it was accompanied by a secret reservation in favour of the one gallery named above; partly, perhaps, on account of its being quite unique in its kind; but chiefly, I believe, from the nature of its subject, and the delightful associations we almost all of us connect with any objects which recall that subject to our memory in all its first youth and newness.

We will, then, take our way through the dreary defile of Gray's Inn Lane, and emerging, beyond Pancras, on the pleasant fields on this side Kentish Town, will pass through that once favourite suburb, and ascending half way the steep hill beyond it, we shall find ourselves at the end of a narrow lane which abuts on the high road. Turning up this lane, we shall presently reach, on the left, the gate of a high inclosing wall; and, unintroduced as we are, we will nevertheless venture to ring, and ask leave to enter*.

For fear of misleading any one, I should state that I have no authority whatever for hinting that this Gallery is open to the view of strangers; but I have reason to believe that a proper application would at all times obtain admission to it.

On entering the Gallery within, which is a detached building erected for the purpose, we find ourselves in the midst of an assemblage unique in its kind-an audience of actors-all looking_down upon us from their several stations, as if listening to hear what we may have to say of them,-for no ears are like an actor's, when any thing in the shape of criticism is going forward. And to whom shall we first address our attention? To whom, but to him-that immortal boy -who looks upon us benignantly, as he did in his lifetime, and smiles us back into boyhood once more? To whom, but to him, the solemn murmurs of whose lovelorn voice come back to us even now as we gaze upon his effigy, and lull us into a listless oblivion of all things but itself, and the accents it was wont to utter ?-This is one of the very few pictures by the artist (Opie) in which he has shewn himself capable of being as gentle, graceful, and bland, as he usually was forcible and spirited. The character is young Norval; the picture is the size of life; and the lovely boy is represented advancing down towards the spectator as he did in the days of his glory, and pronouncing in a voice never to be forgotten, "My name is Norval."

But I hear some "good-natured friend" whispering in my ear that I am making a sad blunder in supposing Mr. Henry West Betty to be "no more ;" and he assures me that, if I look sharp, I may chance to meet him some fine morning, pacing the pavé of Piccadilly, under the form of a portly gentleman in a frogged coat, flame-coloured vest, and whiskers to match. I thank him for his information; but it is he who is mistaken, not I. I was speaking of " the Young Roscius;" and will he tell me that he is still in being? He might as well contend that, at this present writing, I am but thirteen years of age. And in fact, if he can but prove to me the latter, I have no objection to take the former upon trust. But till then I must insist that the young Roscius died the very day on which Mister Betty was born. Here, however, in Mr. Mathews's gallery, and by the art-magic of Opie's pencil, he does live still; and for this alone, if for nothing else, it would be worth describing. Let me add, before quitting this delightful picture of him, that the young Roscius was the only actor who ever knew exactly when to quit the stage. By quitting it at the proper moment, he has left an impression, on the minds of those who saw him with eyes of youth," somewhat similar to that produced by the death of little children. None know what it is to possess a young child for ever, but those who have lost a child when it was such.

In the multiplicity of interesting works that attract our attention on turning from the above, I scarcely know where to direct it first. Let us begin with the dramatic scenes. On the left of the gallery, about the centre, hangs a picture of this class by Zoffanij, which is truly exquisite, merely as a work of art; but when regarded as including the portraits of two most accomplished artists in their way, it becomes doubly valuable. It represents King and Mrs. Baddely, in the characters of Lord Ogleby and Fanny. The engraving from this picture assigns the moment to that passage in the celebrated equivoque, where the gentle-hearted and polished old nobleman exclaims-" Oh thou amiable creature! command my heart, for it is vanquished!" Nothing can possibly be more rich, and at the same time more truly refined, than the expression of King in this scene. It is evident that the rest of the picture is purposely kept in subservience to this part of it,-