The Worcester spy. [volume] (Worcester, Mass.) 1898-1904, 1899-01-29
BURNE-JONES.
A Friends Interesting Rem
iniscences.
ORION the London alobe.)

IL is now close on TO tlfty years ago
| that Jones and I, for he was not Burne
then, used to sit side by side on the
same form of welI-polished oak, pol
ished to high degree by the trousers
erations, in that hall of learning known
as King Edwards school, Birmingham.
Jones, 1t must be confessed, was not
over brilliant or diligent in his lessons,
and used to be glad of my help, which
though nearly three years his junior, /
was occasionally able to afford, prob
ably from having better preparation
! than he had. Jones was always an art
list. / remember how one morning he
brought into school q box of colored
crayons, which he had bought some
where, and under the shadow of the
half-open desk executed the most Won
derfu1ly striking landscapes with them.
| Orange sunsets forming a background
to dark green groves of frs were,
recollect, a favorite subject of his.
A maiden in violet coat, with an as
pect of lemon sky, was also a common
4 picture. These were done with the
object of conveying to us, who, | fear,
cared very little about the matter, the
first rudimentary ideas of contrast But
none of us believed in Jones. Very
libelv because, at that time, he hardly
believed in himself. His home life
was antagonistio to his artistic predi-
| lections. He was intended to become,
via Exeter College, Oxford which he
entered in 1858, clergyman of the
Established church. l do not sup
pose for one moment that our respect
ed headmaster. the Rev u. II. Clifford.
d. D., who, ! am glad to state, is still
/ living, after having been the archdea-
con Of London for many years ever
suspected that in Jones he beheld the
future artist Of the Laus Veneris, the
Briar Rose" sequence, the Golden
! Stair" and the literally hundred other
/ pictures that have made his name fa-
nous.
Then Burne-Jones went away to Ok
ford, and I saw him no more till 1851.
| had returned to England and was in
London on leave after three years
commission in the Mediterranean, and
had been to see an old schoolfellow, a
gallant admiraps son, who was prac-
/ t1cfng as a solicitor in the neighbour
hood of the British Museum, when, in
the course Of conversation, he happened
to mention Jones name, and told me
| that he was near naighbor of his and
gave me his address. | found him in
his studio, hard at work, with charm
q year before, in attendance. She was
the sister of another old schoolfellow
of ours, young Macdonald by name
who was one of the cleverest and
brightest boys in the school, Had there
been a plebiseite to decide which boy
would become famous and win a bar
onetcy by his talents, he would I'M
doubtedly have been chosen Yet how
little school life occasionally tells us.
Macdonald on In
slty.
1 ] do not remember why, but I fancy
lack of means stood in his way, for his
father was a Nonconfornist minister;
at any rate, he emigrated to the Unit
ed States, went into business, and died
there at comparatively early age.
Jones studio was like most others A
models, while on the easel, with Jones
laboring away at it, stood part Of the
/ oil painting that first made him fam
GUS the triptych Of "The annunciation
and nativity" for st. Paurs Church,
| Brighton. ] stayed and talked with
him for more than an hour, and when
| left promised that our renascent ao-
quaintance should not be allowed to
drop. Words idle words!
4 IL was not till the middle of July, 1891,
almost thirty years to a day from the
time l had seen Burne- Jones last, that
l saw him again. / had often read
4 criticisms of Burne-Jones' style, and
had occasionally seen some OF his work,
but l never dreamed that this Burne-
Jones could be my old schoolfellow.
4 You see, he was not known by his
third Christian name then. Happening,
I however, to look into Men of the
Time" one day, | saw the truth 7 at
once wrote to him, explaining who
was, and apologizing for my thirty
naIl-
dial note in reply, asking me to lunch
con on the following Sunday, when he
said he would have no visitors, and we
could have long talk / accordingly
went to the grange, West Kensing-
! ton, which found to be a most delight
full old house, absolutely unique in be-
ing so close to town and having such
large grounds attached to 1t. He had
lived there, he told me, more than 20
years, and his lease was nearly up, and
he was much afraid that he should not
be able to get a renewal, for the land
and the site oe the house were almost
Invaluable for building purposes.
] However, he occupied the house till hts
death, in 1897, SO suppose some arrange
ment was made with his landlord There
was nobody at home but his wife; she
was looking wonderfully young and pref
/ ty. His two children, his son and daugh-
! ter, We're elsewhere. After luncheon he
asked me to go into his studio and smoke.
And what q studio II was! Hung all
around with the most splendid works Of
art, all bespoken and most of them paid
! for, they were for the greater part Just
\ waiting for the final touches of the mas
ter ere they went off to adorn the walls
4 OF their new owners. Here we sat and
talked till late in the afternoon. Or,
rather / sat. while he was ever busy on
some new design with charcoal point,
for Sunday made no difference to him
1 He told me how he came to add the Burne
to his name. II was simply as a matter
lof convenience TO distinguish him from
the numerous other Joneses that were
commonly fitting about the studios
have said that Sunday made no differ
ence to him, but he was by no means an
/ irreligious man. Perhaps / should say he
was rather man Of great conscientious
ness than religion. We talked about his
/ son and daughter, about his garden
about anything rather than his art, TN
the time came for us to part. and then he
INVITED me to come again and bring my
wife only giving him notice, but | never
did. never saw him again.