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298' Anecdotes ofsome Dutch
two suns, Sir Henry who succeeded him, and Francis:Henry his second sen.
Sir Henry Lee dying without male issue, by his wife Anne, eldest daughter of Sir John Cornbury.in Oxfordshire, the title of baronet devolved on his brother Sir Francis-Henry, ■who was, by commahd of the chancellor of the university of Oxford, created master of arts, in Sept. 28, 1-663, king Charles II. with his queen, and their respective courts, being present. He married Elizabeth, daughter and sole heir of Thomau Pope, earl of Downe in Ireland, by whom he had issue two sons, Sir Edward-Henry Lee, who succeeded him in his paternal honours and estate, and Francis-Henry Lee of the Temple, Esq.
Sir Edward-Henry Lee was, in the reign of Charles II. by letters patent, bearing date June 5, 1674, created baron of Spelsbury, in the county of Bucks, and earl of the city of Litchfield. In the reign of James 11. lie was constituted lord-lieutenant and custos rotulorum of the county of Oxford, lord-lieutenant of Woodstock-park, higTi-lleward of the borough of Woodstock, one of the lords of his majesty's bed-chamber, colonel of a regiment of foot, and afterwards colonel of his majesty's first regiment of foot guards. He died July 14, 17 16, at Greenwich, and had issue by his wife, lady Char
axd Flcmisti Painters. British' lotte Fitzroy, (one of the natural' daughters of Charles II. by the duchess of Cleveland) thirteen sons,' and five daughters.
He was succeeded in his title and' estate by his sixth son,George Henry Lee, father of the present earl, borri March iz, 1689, who married Frances, daughter of Sir John Hales of Wooddiurch, in the county of Kent, bart. by whom he had issue three sons and five daughters. His lordship departed this life in Februarys 15, J74Z-3, and was succeeded by his eldest son
George-Henry Lee, the present earl of Litchfield, who married' Diana, only daughter os Sir Thomas Frankland, bart. by whom he has no children. His lordship's titles are, earl of Litchfield, viscount Quareadon.'baron of Spelsbury, and baronet, custos brevium in the court of common-pleas, chancellor of the university of Oxford, &c. &c
Armorial bearings.} Argent, a fesi between three crescents, fable.
Cresi.] In a marquis's coronet or, a demi-stone-colume argent, and on' its capital, a bird's leg eraz'd at the thigh, perch'd, prey'd on by a falcon, all proper.
Motto.'] Fide et Constantid. By fi> delity and perseverance.
Chief Seats.] At Ditchley, in Oxfordshire; and in Bruton Street, London.
Anecdotes of some Dutch and Flemish Painters.
JOhn Stein was born at Leyden 1636, and had for his father a brewer, who, like a man of fense, seconding the disposition to painting, which he observed in hi; son, placed
him successively with three artists eminent in different stiles. Stein, however, with all his success in this fine art, and the reputation to which he soon rose1 by bis'works, thought
thereMag. Amcdot11 asfimt Dutch
there was no living comfortably without other supplies: accordingly,with great joy, and warm expressions of gratitude, he embraced the proposal of his father, of feting him up in a brewhouse at Delft; but, within the twelvemonth, carelessness and intemperance ruined him. Afterwards brewer Stein turned vintner; 'this »as only making bad worse, for the greater part of his wine he himself drank. When his cellar was empty," he used to take down the sign, and. closely fall to painting, and with the money accruing from a few pictures, as they always said well, he laid in a srelh stock of wine, which went the same way as the last.—Did not genius often supply the want of application and study, it could not easily be conceived how a man perpetually in liquor should produce such fine pieces. Incited, the subjects of most of his pictures bear no little affinity with his prevailing disposition, being scenes in tippling houses. But we have also some historical pieces of his, where neither grandeur nor scntunent ace wanting; few painters have belter characterized rheir compositions, a«d given mow life to their figures; his design is very correct, his colouring good, with an 'afy pencil, and a touch full of expression.
Stein, it seems, had an incomparable knack at telling stories, and Francis Meiris had like to have paid for for the delight he took in hearmg him. He had just parted from Stein, after spending a good part of jhe night in drinking and drollery; 't being very dark, he fell into a common-sewer, which the workmen had left open: in this plight, he owed his life to an industrious cobler and bis-wife, who, being at work in a neighbouring stall, heard his groans;
anil Flemish Painters. app
with great difficulty they got him out, and having solaced him with a glass of brandy, put him into a bed well warmed. Meiris did not let this kind office go unrewarded; he shut himself up and laboured assiduously on a small picture, which he carried to his deliverers, telling them that he came from a man whom they had one night drawn from a very disagreeable plunge: and this picture brought them 800 florins. An ingenious mind cannot but admire the delicacy of this liberal artist, who, in making such a considerable present, would not so much as be known. This excellent painter .surpassed Gerrard Doun his master; like him he copied his models with the concave glass, instead of designing them by squares.
Maria Sibylla Merian is highlypraised both by naturalists and painters: her pertinacious resolution to leave the needle for the pencil, brought to her mother's mind, \hzt> when pregnant with her, she had been troubled with a kind of disofder, which was an unusual, hut very active, desire of surveying insects, and til other natural curiosities, and that site had made no small collection of caterpillars, shells, and petrifications, which she used to make her greatest amusement. This is adduced as a farther instance of the impression of a mother's inclination on her children ; but this system seems daily to lose ground. However it be, mademoiselle Merian was a phænomenon, indeed, both in the depth of her studies, and the delicacy of her pencil.
Gerard Lairesse, called the Flemisli Poussin, having but little business at Liege, the place of his birth, received an invitation from a dealer in pictures at Amsterdam. The day after his arrival, a piece of canvas, some Q_q 2 crayons, crayons, and a palette, were brought to him; after standing some time silent and motionless, as a statue, to the great surprize of the company, he drew a fiddle from under his cloak and played some tunes; then hastily taking up a crayon and pencil, he sketched a Jesus in the manger: this done, he fell to fiddling again ; then laying down his crowd, he, within two hours, painted the several heads of the Infant, Mary, Joseph, and of the Ox, and so supremely finished, that he lest the spectators no less charmed with the beauty of his work and easy manner, than astonished at his preparation. From one well-known instance of his surprizing readiness, v.e need not hesitate to believe all the wonders related of it. He lajd a wager, that in one day he would paint Apollo and the IWuses on Parnassus, as big as life, and won.
Account os the Patron, a new Comedy, by Mr. Foote. British
But Lairesse's genius and talents were sullied by a most shameful intemperance, which, in time, deprived him of his sight. In this melancholy condition, all his comfort and resource was to talk of his art. He allowed one day in the week to artists and the curious, and in these conferences he discoursed successively ot all the branches of painting. As an expedient, under his inability of writing, he invented some signs easier than letters, to express Inch ideas which he was afraid of losing ; these he delineated on a large primed cloth, and his son, to whom he had taught the import of these marks, pever failed every day to take them off in common writing. After his decease, these scraps, and his weekly lectures, were digested into two volumes, with plates; the first treats of Design, the second of Painting.
Account es the PAT RON, a new Comejy of three JSls, uritten by Mr. Footc, and now performing at the little 1b eat re in the Hay-market.
arts, but a man of intolerable vanity and ignorance. Bever is a young fellow lately-arrived from Oxford, and recommended by his father to the acquaintance of Sir Thomas, as the prppercst means of initiating him into the republic of letters, an honour of which the young gentleman is supposed to be not a little ambitious. His visits at Sir Thomas's are attended with the loss of his heart, which Juliette, the knight's niece, captivates in a sliort time; but in return she makes him a present of her own, and takes every method she can to give him her hand into the bargain. To effect this hon ever, flie has one considerable difficulty to surmount, her uncle,
Mag. Account of the Patron, a new Comedy, by Mr. Foote.
upon whom her whole dependance wife, and the mayor, ^s, having promised her to Mr. Rust, a celebrated antiquarian.
The conversation between Bever and his friend is interrupted by the appearance cf Sir Peter Pepperpot, a West-Indian of oreat fortune, who is going to feast on a delicious Barbecue, and is rating a couple of negroes by whom he is attended, for neglecting to carry his bottle of Kian.
This gentleman is also a pretended patron of the arts ; but nevertheless seems more solicitous about the preservation of the body than the improvement of the mind, his whole discourse turning upon the excellence of turtle; and the last fleet having brought him five, he tells us, that he disposed of two at Cornhill,- sent a third to Almack's ; and the remaining two being unhealthy, he packed them off to his borough in Yorkshire.—" The last indeed (fays he) I smuggled, for the unconscionable rascal of a stage-driver used to charge me five pounds for the carriage ; but my coachman having occasion to go into the country, he clapped a capuchin upon the turtle, and carried it down for thirty shillings as an inside passenger;—the frolic, however, was near proving fatal, for as Betty the bar-maid at Hatfield, thrust her head into the coach to know what the company chose for breakfast, the turtle snapped her by the nose, and it was with the greatest difficulty they could disengage her." Sir Peter further tells them, that his borough is such a connoisseur in turtle, that it can distinguish the pash from the pee, and leaves them to judge by the consumption how universally it K esteemed.—Six pounds being, acrording to him, the flint of an airman; five the allowance of his 6
and the recorder being indulged without limitation.
Sir Peter has no sooner retired, than Bever and his friend are again interrupted by a quarrel between Dactyl a poet, and Puff a publisher; owing to the latter having refused to purchase a copy of Dactyl, which is all praise and panegyrick.—In this altercation, the poet and publisher mutually recriminate.—The bard puts Puffin mind, that till he took notice of him,—his stop nuas nothing hut a Jhed in Moors elds • his kitchen a fan of charcoal, and his bed under the counter ;—to which the other replies, by threatening to restrain his hand, and declaring he will give no more beef and carrots of a morning.
By Juliette's advice Mr. Bever had flattered Sir Thomas so successfully, that the knight at last professes the greatest friendship imaginable for him, and informs him of what he calls the greatest secret of his life; begging at the fame time Mr. Beyer's assistance, as the strongest mark of attachment and esteem. Sir Thomas had it seems written a play, which was to be acted that night, under the title of Robinson Crusoe, but had transacted every thing with so much secrecy, that nobody suspected him for the author. The manager, however, of Drury-lane, where he says it is to be performed, hearing that every anonymous production was placed to his own account, insisted upon, and obtained a positive promise from Sir Thomas, that he should know the poet's name before the curtain drew up. Sir Thomas's vanity making him rather apprehensive about the success of his piece, he determined to make Mr. Bever pass for the author, that so, if it happened to fail, the
whole g02 Account os the Patron, a i
■whole disgrace should be laid at that ■gentleman's tloor, knowing that if it was well received, nothing would be easier than to whisper the truth, and get the whole reputation- transferred to his own. Urged by this motive, he entreats Mr. Bever would oblige him by an acquiescence, with which our young lover, after a considerable struggle within himself, ■complies. Unhappily for the poor knight, the play is damned before the end of the third act. .Dactyl, Puff, and Rust, whom he had sent to support it, very quickly follow his servants with an account of it^s fate; nor is Bever long after them, but comes back fired with rage and indignation, to make Sir Thomas tike the scandal of the play on himself—In vain our Patron begs, argues, remonstrates, soothes; Bever tells him he should be gibbeted down to all posterity, with the author of Love in a Hollow Tree, and asks -if he imagined any family would receive liim after so public a disgrace; the knight instantly answers he would; upon which Bever directly demands his niece, as a recompence for keeping the secret; and bearing the infamy of the piece. Sir Thomas consents, and joining their hands, fays to Juliette,
Here take hit hand—I ewe him much—I know it,
Jlnd make the mar, although I damn thepvet.
In the second act we have the sol" lowing humorous stroke, which may serve as a specimen of the performance. Rust being asked by Sir Thomas if any thing new had been added to his collection of curiosities, he replies, " Why, I don't know, Sir Thomas; I have both lost and gained in the course of the week.—
■jiv Comedy, hy Mr. Foote. British The urn that held the ashes of Agrippa —
Sir Thomas. "No accident I hope.—
Rje/l. "Has fallen a martyr to ignorance and barbarity ; — for a new housemaid mistaking it for a crack'd chamber-pot, carried it down stairs one morning, and threw it into a cart to a dustman. I have got something, however, to make amends; here it is.—I am no churl, but love to regale my friends with a fight of my treasures; here it is—I believe some of the letters are still to the seen—'Tis a little bit of the famots North Briton that was burned before the 'Change, on Cornhill.— ;But bush,—for as it has not suffered the law, 'tis possible .they may be inclined to seize it out of my hands; and that, you know, would be an irreparable misfortune."
This piece, which is taken from, ,the Connoisseur os Marnmt/el, is the second performance for which our stage has been indebted to that writer. The French author, indeed, in his preface to his Moral Tales, tells us that he has there furnished the poets with sufficient matter for theatrical entertainment, without putting them to the trouble of inventing. Accordingly, we have seen, one of the first geniuses of the age, following him, the beginning of last winter, in a piece which was received with very uncommon, but deserved, applause. Mr. Foote is now treading the fame path, and if we are rightly informed, another gentleman, as yet but little known to the public, is preparing a piece or two from the fame author, which, may be expected next season.