502 OUR WOOD ENGRAVERS. 



to the academy, and privately traced the tiger upon some sheets of 

 tissue paper,, which I took with me for the purpose." 



Nothing can be imagined more opposed in style to his great pre- 

 ceptor's works, than those of Northcote ; they are deficient in the 

 charms of colour, feeble in drawing, and, though free from any 

 glaring defects of character or composition, they fail to arouse the 

 imagination, or to create any lasting effect on the mind. At a period 

 when West's pictures excited enthusiastic admiration, it was quite 

 natural for such a man as Northcote to obtain a considerable share of 

 patronage; but at the present day, the best of his pictures would fail 

 to gain a painter admission to the academy. He left nothing behind 

 him of value but money, and a large portion of this could scarcely be 

 called his own, for he never deserved a twentieth part of the price he 

 obtained. In the whole range of his works, it would be difficult to 

 place one's finger upon any thing good and say, "This is Northcote's." 

 No, no! Scissars was the man. It is clear that, pictorially, he would 

 not only covet, but steal his neighbour's ox, or his ass, or any thing 

 that was his. He was made up of envy, hatred, malice, and self-con- 

 ceit ; he was feared, but neither admired nor beloved. People who 

 had been betrayed into praising him, or purchasing his pictures, kept 

 him up for their own sakes ; those whom he had taken in, helped 

 him to take in others, and thus the humbug went on. Meanwhile, 

 his sister contributed not a little to his self-complacency ; in every 

 position, right or wrong, she supported and corroborated him by the 

 simple agency of echo. If he cried fe Trash !" on looking at a work of 

 art, she, without looking at it, would also cry " Trash !" but in a more 

 shrill and decided tone. On hearing that Hay don, whom he hated, 

 was painting "The triumphal entry into Jerusalem," Northcote, with 

 bitter vehemence exclaimed, te He paint our Saviour ! Oh Christ !" 

 The sister came in with the tea-kettle at this crisis, and mechanically 

 taking her cue, screamed out a tributary " Oh, Christ !" with pecu- 

 liar emphasis. 



The fables in his second series would be of no value, did they not 

 serve as pegs for the support of Harvey's pictures. The morality in- 

 culcated, is either trite or exceptionable : it is Northcote's morality, 

 of which he gave us so admirable a specimen in the 88th fable in the 

 first series. In this laudable production, a philosopher buys a gown 

 made of the skins of lynxes, and lined with those of lambs ; but turns 

 the former, which are of great value, next his body, so that the inno- 

 cent lambs' wool alone is visible. In his application of the fable, our 

 wily old hypocrite applauds the stratagem, and winds up with de- 

 claring that " it will do us most service, if we shew the lamb outside, 

 and keep the lynx hid from sight, AND FOR oun OWN ADVANTAGE 



ALONE. J. N." 



In the getting up of the present volume, no expense appears to 

 have been spared ; it blushes beneath the weight of its honours. 

 The designs are by Harvey ; the engravings by the elite of the 

 engravers (with some exceptions) ; the paper-maker is Dickinson ; the 

 printer Whittingham ; and the publisher Murray ! Such a supera- 

 bundance of felicity could only have been obtained at a vast outlay. 

 Northcote it appears when close men err, they err egregiously left 



