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 thought of, but nobody knows. Hence it is my view to wrap myself in retirement, and pursue these plans, as I begin to feel I cannot bear trouble of any kind.’ To Hayley he wrote: ‘I have ideas of them all, and I may say sketches; but, alas! I cannot give time for a year or two; and if my name was mentioned I should hear nothing but abuse, and that I cannot bear. Fear has always been my enemy; my nerves are too weak for supporting anything in public.’ The unhealthy susceptibility so manifest here foreshadowed the mental disease that was creeping upon him. Occupied by these grandiose visions, he determined to leave the house in Cavendish Square, which he declared to be too small for his purposes, and to build one of a suitable size. When John Romney came to London in 1796, he found his father intent on all sorts of extravagant plans: busy on drawings of his new dwelling, and negotiating with Sir James Graham for a piece of land on the Edgware Road on which to begin operations. It was with difficulty that his son induced him to give up an undertaking far beyond his means, and to content himself with the purchase of a house on Holly Bush Hill, Hampstead; it is now the Hampstead Constitutional Club. The lease of the house in Cavendish Square was made over to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Martin Archer Shee, and Romney began to alter and add to his new home. On the site of the stables he put up a gallery for pictures and sculpture, and enclosed half of the garden under a timber arcade for a riding-house. These costly freaks were a severe strain on his income, and caused great annoyance to his son, who ascribed them mainly to Hayley's influence. Change of scene and the autumn visit to Eartham seem to have somewhat revived Romney's energies. While at Eartham he painted the portrait group of himself and Hayley, with the two youths, Tom Hayley and William Meyer, son of the miniaturist. In October 1796 he made expeditions to Stonehenge and Wilton House with the Hayleys. He moved to Hampstead in 1797, but even there he found it difficult to accommodate the pictures and studies in every stage of incompleteness which had accumulated about him. They overflowed the house and lined the damp walls of the new arcade, where many were stolen and others destroyed by exposure to the weather. Flaxman, writing of a visit to the painter, says it grieved him ‘to see so noble a collection in a state so confused, so mangled.’

In the summer of 1798 Romney's malady gained ground. A tour in the north with his son failed to shake off his settled despondency. He returned to London complaining of failing sight, of dizziness, and of a numbness in his hands which made him unable to guide his brush. In his broken and melancholy condition his thoughts turned to the wife of his youth. Without speaking of his intention to any one, he set out for Kendal. Mary Romney, true to the attitude she had always maintained, received him not only without reproaches, but with the most sympathetic kindness, and nursed him devotedly during the remaining two years of his life. His son acted as his secretary and companion, and for a time his mind remained tolerably clear. Lady Hamilton returned to England in 1800, and Hayley wrote to his friend, describing an interview with her, and her affectionate inquiries for the old painter, to which Romney replied as follows: ‘The pleasure I should receive from the sight of the amiable Lady Hamilton would be as salutary as great, yet I fear, except I should enjoy more health and better spirits, I shall never be able to see London again. I feel every day greater need of care and attention, and here I experience them in the highest degree.’ To one last pleasure he looked forward eagerly, the return of his brother James, a colonel in the East India Company's service, whose start in life had been due to the painter's generosity. When, however, they met, Romney could make no sign of recognition. He gradually sank into a state of helpless imbecility, and died at Kendal on 15 Nov. 1802. He was buried in the churchyard of his native Dalton. The monument his son wished to raise to his memory in the parish church was excluded by the lay rector, and was afterwards put up in the church at Kendal. It bears this inscription: ‘To the memory of George Romney, Esquire, the celebrated painter, who died at Kendal, the 15 November, 1802, in the 68th year of his age, and was interred at Dalton, the place of his birth. So long as Genius and Talent shall be respected his fame will live.’

Weak and morbid as his character must in some respects have been, Romney had many amiable and endearing qualities. The retired life he led was singularly blameless. He was generous to his relatives and to struggling artists, and showed no rancour in those rivalries imposed upon him by success. His son declares he was never betrayed into bitter or ungenerous speech about any brother artist. Keenly alive to what he believed to be the persistent hostility of Reynolds, he shrank from, rather than resented, his great rival's dislike. With this one exception he seems to have had no enemies, and his friendships were warm and