In time he took his station among the wealthy and distinguished, no longer hiding himself in a cottage at Deptford.

In 1714 he was appointed master-carver in wood to George the First; indeed, it is something to record, that he held the office of mastercarver in wood to Charles the Second, James the Second, William the Third, and occupied that office under George the First until his own death, which took place at his house in Bow Street, Covent Garden, on the 3d of August, 1721.

There are a few anecdotes of him, which seem to betray some personal vanity. There are one or two portraits of him, in which the finical dress of the times is a little exaggerated, the wig with flowing locks, the cambric ruffles and glittering rings. His portrait by Sir Godfrey Kneller, and another by Smith, are fine, and have furnished copies for engravers.

In the old Harvard Hall at Cambridge, Massachusetts, there were carvings in wood said to be by Grinling Gibbons. The hall has since been modernized, and the carvings are not there. It is to be hoped they are preserved somewhere; marble mantel-pieces would but poorly supply the place of ancient carving of fruits, flowers, and foliage.

CHAPTER XIX.

LOUIS FRANCIS ROUBILLIAC.-MICHAEL RYSPETER SCHEEMAKERS. JOSEPH - THOMAS BANKS.

BRACH.
WILTON.

LOUIS FRANCIS ROUBILLIAC, though he was born at Lyons, in 1695, and studied sculpture under Balthasar of Dresden, is usually considered a British artist, because he came early to England, and was first introduced to notice. by Sir Edward Walpole. His acquaintance with that nobleman arose from the accidental circumstance of his having found Sir Edward's pocketbook, containing bank-notes and valuable papers. The restoration of the pocketbook, though not evidence of any high degree of integrity, the Earl rewarded by recommending him as a sculptor. It is said that he sent him annually a fat buck in commemoration of the circumstance, as Roubilliac refused all pecuniary recompense.

The artist was full of poetic feeling, and had all the liveliness and activity of his nation. One of his most celebrated statues was of Han

del. It excited much emotion; no one looked at it with indifference; it was Handel inspired, and is an exaggerated representation of inspiration, for he contrived to throw it into his very dress. Nollekens, whose opinion is often quoted on British sculpture, pronounced it worth one thousand pounds. This statue was first placed in Vauxhall Gardens, but was afterwards removed. It is a singular fact, that the statue of Handel was one of his first performances, and a monument for the same person, in Westminster Abbey, one of his last.

His monument of Mrs. Nightingale, in Westminster Abbey, has many beauties, though the figure of Death brandishing a dart, which he aims at the lady, and which her husband is endeavoring to avert, is one wholly repugnant to good taste. When will the time come when Death shall cease to be represented by skeletons, and the fatal dart, or seizure of the bony hand? Would it not be wiser and the effect more moral, if there must be an allegory, to represent this perpetual visitor, with whom every human being must once become intimate, under an agreeable form? Why not, as some poet describes death, like a benignant angel opening the gates of heaven to the weary pilgrim?

The heathen imagination was indeed natu

rally filled with such images. Death was the keen mower, the fierce humbler, the grim king. His symbols were bones and ashes, and the ghastly grin of the fleshless skull. But to the Christian imagination he is one of the messengers of a benignant God; death is a putting off of robes; it is the striking of a tent; it is the raising of the spirit on wings; it is the passage of the soul to greener shores; it is the entrance into sacred courts. So should the genius appear in marble as a kind directing and sustaining angel, according to the fancy of the sculptor; a powerful form, if he will, but benignant.

The fashion and taste for allegory seem to be passing away. The personification of virtues, however, will always boast a high ancestry as long as Westminster Abbey remains filled with her sepulchral monuments. And we of the New World cannot easily give up the goddess of Victory crowning our military heroes; or Fame, with puffedout cheeks, proclaiming their exploits; but these figures are mostly confined to gala banners and tavern signs.

Roubilliac was often seized with some sudden idea, perhaps at the dinner-table; then every thing was forgotten, he dropped his knife and fork, and fell back in his chair in a sort of ecstasy.

He took Nature for a model wherever he found her; any form or feature which struck his fancy he immediately marked as a study, and was so eccentric and so impulsive as often to forget relative circumstances and situations. He was known to exclaim, when in company with a lady who had a beautiful ear, "Ah, madam! I must have your ear"; and a ludicrous circumstance is told of his seizing an antiquated prim maiden by the wrist, and exclaiming, "Madam, your hand must be mine! I must have it!"

Amusing anecdotes are related of his eccentricity. He one night offered a bed to a friend, conducted him to his chamber, wished him good night, and was about retiring. His guest as he approached the bed shrieked with terror: "Roubilliac! come back! What is the meaning of this?" There lay a corpse.

"Oh!" exclaimed Roubilliac, "it is my poor negro house-maid, Mary. She died yesterday, and I forgot they had laid her out here.”

He is one of the few sculptors, and it is fortunate there are but few, who have had no desire to visit Rome. He found, however, it would greatly add to his celebrity to be able to say he had been at Rome, and at the age of fifty he made the journey. When crossing the Alps, he met Reynolds returning from