The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1853-07-05 00:00:00

'l;.takesoff their bonne't's

are few persons at
, who did not kr

11 imbue

WOODBURN, of Si

,and able and Willlllg
knowledge of a good picture was unques-
ias his acquaintance with all the old masters ;
•iost obscure of whom he could distinguish as easily as
;oast artistical amongst us can tell an Etty from a
instable. I have made use of the above abominable
cord " speculate," abominable, certainly, in combination
with art. Mr. Woonnunic bought and sold. I remem-
ber him laying out a fortune on the matchless—but by
the pitiful government of the day, disregarded—collection
of the late Sir THOMAS LAWRENCg•••II9 i 9 never called

.r of art

I. RS W,

the la'e Sir THOMAS, na more than the editor of " Punch"
is Mistered or 'Squired. Mr. WOODBURN had vast num-
bers of the original designs, sketches, thoughts for pic-
tures, &c., done most of them in bistre, of nearly all the
great works of the greatest masters. Each bit was worth
more than a hundred times its weight in gold, as study for
our boy-artists. Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE, with an eye to
the beautiful, knew what he was about ; he was the
painter of portraits, and plenty of them he had to paint ;
he died poor, though making a mint of money. Oh, he
gambled of course, did they not say, the funeral
scarcely over. Elegant Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE, you
never lost a groschen ; beyond a hand of cards—not over-
clean, thumb-daubs of ultramarine on some of them ;
with SARAH SIDDONS, the President of the Royal Academy
played not : how, then, could he be so poor? enquired
certain mercenary men. They soon found out. Sir
THOMAS bought everything good in art he could lay his
hands upon : he paid for them all ; hence he had so little
at his banker's. Poor• Sir THOMAS ! He thought the
nation would purchase his selections. Sir THOMAS
LAWRENCE was very soft; I saw him weep the last time
lie delivered the biennial prizes to the Academy students;
he thought it would be the last time hg ever would meet
them again; soft, indeed, to think that SPRING RICE,
and rubbish of that sort, would sanction the purchase of
such inestimable stores for the nation. SAM WOODBURN

bought them, and sold them with advantage. Old
SAMUEL bad in his collection. besides, many things not
so good, but as veritable. I condescended, in these
dithyrambic epistles, to notice a purchase the other day
of a picture " for the nation ;" I stated that the purchase,
or picture, was done in bad treacle : never mind, it will
be hung some of these days in the National Gallery.
That purchase was a shame, but that shame is outshamed
by the Purchase from SAMUEL WOODBURN'S collection,
of an old, worn-out, bolstered up, daubed and redaubed
daub, botched in canvass-unending, cracked, and
otherwise disgraceful Gioryione. The picture is not
worth a " damn." Yes it is. Be it known to our non-
oriental readers, that the apparently bad word last quoted
is an Indian coin of the smallest value —less than a cowrie.
If the government had purchased sone of the sketches
referred to, they would have been worth looking at and
studying. I have mentioned SPRING RICE—Lord MONT-
EAGLE that is. When England had him for CHANCEL-
LOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, his patronage of the fine arts
was of a very inexpensive kind. He turned everything to
account. The marble slab he found in one of the Go-
vernment stone-yards, of NELSON, with his right hand
presenting HARDY with his sword, was a capital go.
Great soul, (NELSON.) had lost his right arm at Tene-
riffe long before his death. The sculptor had made a
mistake—an anachronism—and SPRING RICE did not

find it out, and made a brag of prese►►ting it to the Royal
Academy, because the bug-bole is built in Trafalgar-
square. The nation, however, has got the Giorgione,
another piece of patchwork, to add to our collection of
the old masters. Mr. UWINS, I think, gave five hun-
dred guineas for it a day or two ago. lam certain there's
not three pawnbrokers in London would advance five
hundred farthings on it.
Without at all affecting to be deep read in Ministerial
secrets, I am in a position to inform you, that Russia and
Turkey occupied the consideration of a fully-attended
Cabinet Council, on Saturday last, the best part of seven
mortal hours. Such a circumstance has not occurred for
the last thirty years in Downing-street. The fact is,
things are coming to a head ; that fearful man, NicuoLAs,
with all Europe against him, is determined to go on ; and,
though war at the outset was not his intention, events
superinduced, seem inevitably to lead to hostilities ; and
before the publication of your paper, it would disappoint
no one at the clubs to hear a telegraphic communication
to the above effect. Meantime, as far as events have re-
sulted, intelligence remains in stain quo, for there is not
a particle of truth in the rumour flying about, both at the
clubs. and the Opera House, on Saturday night, that
Baron BRuNow, the Russian Minister at the Court of
St. James's, had received instructions to limit his inter-
views with Lord ABERDEEN to official ones. BauNow,
I need hardly state, is a remarkably social man; fond of
English society ; is out much, and is exceedingly popular
in our aristocratic circles,—dining frequently
.with PAL-
MERSTON and ABERDEEN, for no other purpose than the
praiseworthy one of dining. PALMERSTON had barely
time on Saturday to cab it to Carlton-terrace, so walked
across the park to dress, and eat Plover's eggs—they
are still to be had—at the Thatched House, with the
Harrovians. The Opera House was crowded with
the whole heap in the evening, and NICHOLAS was only
wanted to complete a picture of cosmopolitan peace and
good will. I feel certain, had he been there, he would
have taken a sniff of brandy, and let Turkey alone.
BauNow has been sending his dog-hocked messengers to
St. Petersburg more frequently than usual. His mes-
sengers beat ours all to nothing. Give the beggars a flask
of brandy, and a bag of roubles, or an equivalent—off
they cut. and run without sleep to the end of the jour-
ney. Some of our own QUEEN'S messengers will go as
long out of bed, but it is towards the " sweet south."
HuDsoN, who went to Rome for PEEL, surprised every-
body by his rapidity. But the travelling of government
messengers is bagatelle, compared to what it was ; and I
suspect they do not take a friend in the caleche with them
now as heretofore,—a double blessing,—safe company and
good pay.

The res gest& of Parliament have prevented, perhaps, a
fuller and more frequent notice of literary men and lite-
rary works than I ought to have bestowed. Literature of
some sort or other we have always with us ; happily not
so Parliament. Hence an excuse. Tom TAYLOR'S life
of HAYDON, the painter, has just made its appearance.
Poor HAYDON ! I knew him well. Many a time arid oft
we sat on chairs placed next to each other at the elegant
repasts of an eminent sculptor, so that I had opportuni-
ties enow of enjoying the painter's sallies of learned wit
and ascerbity. We first felt into each other's arms (►ite-
rally) and good graces at the private view of his Napoleon
missing, familiar to everybody from the engraving. As
most commonly was the case with HAYDON, the days
selected for the private views of nearly all his great
pictures were wet. NAPOLEON'S was not an exception
to the rule. About five o'clock in the afternoon I toddled
up a long darkish and heavy-smelling passage in a house
in Bond-street, wondering where the artist could gain a
gleam of decent light. Without let or hindrance, I found
myself, ticket in hand—no porter even to take it—in the
centre of a room on the ground floor, with a dome light.
I thought aloud—" Well, the artist, at all events,
has succeeded in getting a capital light"—l said
to myself as I looked around, not a living being to be
seen ;by artifice—cunning disposition of calico—a nice,
tempered light from above streamed on the picture; my
exclamation had been heard, on turning round I startled
at finding the artist at my elbow. He had a sort of
" DioNysirs' ear," made by draping off a small angle of
the room, where the vain artist stood, on the sly, listening
to every remark. I blest my stars that I had said nothing
worse. HAYDON was a grand illustration of a sometimes
disputed fact,—that intense vanity and undisputed talent
are compatible and co-existent. I believe his beautiful
widow and children are doing pretty well. The late Dr.
MAGINN, it is said, consoled his wife, on his death-bed,
that she would get on better without him ; does the re-
mark apply to Mrs. HAYDON ? She, like RUBENS' mis-
tress—of the golden hair and hooked nose,—was his pet
copy in all pictures where female beauty was required.
The truth is coming out bit by bit about the Royal
Academy. Mr. HURLSTONE, the English MURILLO, gave
some splendid (unpublished) evidence last week before the
parliamentary committee, and told them to their teeth
what every rational man, with an educated eye in his
head will admit, that it is not the situation of the National
Gallery that is to be found fault with—that the pictures
are less injured by smoke than they would be by damp
air out at Kensington. I believe that the authorities will
be compelled to submit the building to an operation in
architecture performed with the greatest effect on Stafford
House, the mansion of the Duke of SUTHERLAND. For
its dimensions, it was foolishly low ; without disturbing
the first and second floors, the noble duke capped it with
a third. Now do this with the Academy or National
Gallery, and it may remain on " the finest site in Europe,"
as Sir ROBERT PEEL said. In hot days, especially holi-
day ones, the fine picures—those which charm the
masses—HocaaTn's series, for example—always get
crusted by dust and human breath—thus, the dust impal-
pable is tumbling about, and the visitors eager to catch
HOGARTH'S minute touches lean forward, their breaths
fall humidly on the surface of the painting, and the dust
combines. The authorities, some time since, seeing the
beautiful HOGARTAS become clouded, fancied the " co-
lours were fading." Not so ; a little soap and water,
and a silk handkerchief afterwards, made them all right.

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THE ICE TRADE: A CHALLENGE.