This great painter, justly esteemed the Head of the Spanish school, was born at Seville in 1594. He pursued almost every branch of painting, except the marine, and excelled almost equally in all.--Philip IV. conferred on him extraordinary honors, appointed him his principal painter, and ordained that none but the modern Apelles should paint his likeness. When Rubens visited Madrid in 1627, to discharge the duties of his embassy, he formed an intimate and lasting friendship with Velasquez, which continued through life. “There is something in the history of this painter,” says Mrs. Jameson, “which fills the imagination like a gorgeous romance. In the very sound of his name, _Don Diego Rodriguez Velasquez de Silva_--there is something mouth-filling and magnificent. When we read of his fine chivalrous qualities, his noble birth, his riches, his palaces, his orders of knighthood, and what is most rare, the warm, real, steady friendship of a king, and added to this a long life, crowned with genius, felicity, and fame, it seems almost beyond the lot of humanity. I know of nothing to be compared with it but the history of Rubens, his friend and cotemporary, whom he resembled in character and fortune, and in that union of rare talents with practical good sense which ensures success in life.” For a full life of this painter, see Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects. VELASQUEZ HONORED BY THE KING OF SPAIN. Philip IV. relaxed the rigor of Spanish etiquette in favor of Velasquez, as Charles V. had done with Titian. He had his studio in the royal palace, and the King kept a private key, by means of which he had access to it whenever he pleased. Almost every day Philip used to visit the artist, and would sit and watch him while at work. When Velasquez produced his celebrated picture of the Infanta Margarita surrounded by her maids of honor, with a portrait of himself, standing near at his easel, the King conferred upon him a very unusual honor. After the picture had been greatly admired, Philip remarked, “There is one thing wanting,” and taking the palette and pencils, he drew in with his own hand upon the breast of Velasquez’s portrait, the much coveted Cross of Santiago! The nobles resented this profanation of a decoration hitherto only given to high birth; but all difficulties were removed by a _papal dispensation and a grant of Hidalguia_. Velasquez’s portraits baffle description or praise--they produce complete illusion, and must be seen to be known. He depicted the _minds_ of men; they live, breathe, and seem about to walk out of their frames. The freshness, individuality, and identity of every person are quite startling; nor can we doubt the anecdote related of Philip IV., who, mistaking for the original the portrait of Admiral Pareja in a dark corner of Velasquez’s room, exclaimed, as he had been ordered to sea, “What! still here? Did I not send thee off? How is it that thou art not gone?” But seeing the figure