vigor――in fact, such as ladies paint for amusement; and they might have passed with credit in an amateur exhibition. Such was the man before whom the star of Reynolds, for a moment, paled, ere it shone fully and inextinguishably forth. This unequal competitor had his little day; and then, deserted by those who had mistakenly supported his pretensions, he sank into the obscurity for which nature had intended him, and retreated to the Continent. Reynolds was a thorough Englishman. In other lands he had, with all his outward coldness, shed tears on hearing the ancient ballad tunes of his country played in the theatre; and his heart must now have swelled with no small pride at the reflection that it was the first time a native of England had been victorious in such a contest. The aspirations which, for years, he had fondly cherished, were now to be gratified; and he could rejoice in the thought that future generations would gaze with wonder on his paintings, and hold his name in veneration. To pursue his career with befitting dignity, he took an advantageous house in Great Newport Street, where he lived for eight years. The grace and felicity of his former efforts brought him abundant employment; his rooms were filled with noble ladies and famous men; and his popularity rapidly grew and increased. He was a diligent observer and student of life and manners, had amassed a large store of general information, and could appreciate the taste and capacity of his sitters sufficiently to speak the appropriate word to each. He ever seized on the happiest attitude, and thus transferred to his canvas the most fascinating glance of the beauty, the liveliest expression of the wit, and the most thoughtful look of the judge or statesman. His confidence in his own powers strengthened with experience; and every new effort was hailed with encouraging applause. On the occasion of a visit to his native county, Reynolds accidentally laid his hand on Johnson’s “Life of Savage;” and standing by the fire, he leant his arm against the mantle-piece, opened the book, and began to look through it. Gradually he became so completely absorbed with the contents, that he continued in this position till he had perused the volume; and then found his arm quite benumbed, his heart almost enchanted, and his curiosity raised to be acquainted with the author. This satisfaction was not long denied him. They met at the house of the daughters of Admiral Cotterell, and Reynolds was as much delighted with the conversation of his great contemporary as he had formerly been interested in his pages. Moreover, he had the good fortune to make a remark which won, with irresistible effect, on the heart of the sage. The ladies were mournfully deploring the death of a friend to whom they were under many obligations; “You have, however, the comfort,” suggested Reynolds, with grave politeness, “of being relieved from the burden of gratitude.”