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 386 now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.” And the good Doctor runs on rather garrulously, it must be owned, ending with—“I think myself a very polite man!”

It was to Mr. Ramsay’s house—No. 67, Harley Street—that Mr. Boswell sent a letter for his friend: “My dear sir,—I am in great pain with an inflamed foot” (why not say plainly “the gout,” Mr. Boswell?) “and obliged to keep my bed, so am prevented from having the pleasure to dine at Mr. Ramsay’s to-day, which is very hard, and my spirits are sadly sunk. Will you be so friendly as to come and sit an hour with me in the evening?”

And it was from Ramsay’s house the kind old man sent his rather stiff reply: “Mr. Johnson laments the absence of Mr. Boswell, and will come to him.”

After dinner the Doctor goes round to the invalid, laid up in General Paoli’s house in South Audley Street, and brings with him Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom it is pleasant to find is a frequent guest at his great rival’s hospitable board.

Ramsay prospers—his reputation increases—he is largely employed, not only in portraiture, but in decorating walls and ceilings. He has a staff of workmen under him. A second time he visits Rome, making a stay of some months; and journeys to Edinburgh, residing there long enough to establish, in 1754, “The Select Society.” He grows wealthy, too. Poor Allan Ramsay senior dies much in debt in 1757; the painter takes upon himself his father’s liabilities, and pensions his unmarried sister, Janet Ramsay, who survived to 1804. He is possessed, it is said, of an independent fortune to the amount of 40,000l.; and this before the accession of King George the Third, and his extraordinary patronage of the painter.

The office of painter to the crown was one of early date. In 1550 Antonio More was painter to Queen Mary. For his portrait of the Queen sent to her intended husband, Philip, he was rewarded with one hundred pounds, a gold chain, and a salary of one hundred pounds a-quarter as court-painter to their majesties. There is some obscurity about the appointments of painters to the king during the reign of George the Second. Jervas was succeeded by Kent, who died in 1748. Shackleton succeeded Kent. Yet it is probable that the king had more than one painter at the same time. For we find Hogarth, who is said to have succeeded his brother-in-law, John Thornhill, the son of Sir James, appointed in 1757, while Mr. Shackleton did not die until 1767, when, as Mr. Cunningham relates the story of the London studios, he died of a broken heart on learning that Ramsay was appointed in his stead. This was certainly about the date of Ramsay’s appointment to be painter to the king. And now there grew to be quite a rage for portraits by Ramsay—there was a run upon him as though he had been a sinking bank. He was compelled to call in the aid of all sorts of people, painting the heads only of his sitters with his own hand; and at last abandoning even much of that superior work to his favourite pupil, Philip Reinagle. So that in many of Ramsay’s pictures there is probably but a very few strokes of Ramsay’s brush. The names of certain of his assistants have been recorded. Mrs. Black, “a lady of less talent than good taste.” Vandyck, a Dutchman, allied more in name than in talent with him of the days of Charles the First. Eikart, a German, clever at draperies. Roth, another German, who aided in the subordinate parts of the work. Vesperis, an Italian, who was employed occasionally to paint fruits and flowers. And Davie Martin, a Scotchman, a favourite draughtsman and helper, and conscientious servant. Mr. Reinagle probably furnished Mr. Cunningham with these particulars. It will be noted that the English artist’s employment of foreign mercenaries was considerable. This must have been either from the fact of such assistance being procurable at a cheaper rate, or that the old notion still prevailed as to the necessity of looking abroad for art-talent.

Ramsay succeeded at court. He was made of more yielding materials than Reynolds; assumed more the airs of a courtier—humoured the king. Perhaps like Sir Pertinax he had a theory upon the successful results of “booing and booing.” He never contradicted; always smiled acquiescence; listened complacently to the most absurd opinions upon art of his royal master. Reynolds was bent upon asserting the dignity of his profession. He did not scruple to conceal his appreciation of the fact that as a painter at any rate he was the sovereign’s superior—he would be, to use a popular phrase, “cock on his own dunghill.” When the painter’s friends spoke on the subject to Johnson, he said stoutly “That the neglect could never prejudice him: but it would reflect eternal disgrace on the king not to have employed Sir Joshua.” But Reynolds received only one royal commission: to paint the king and queen, whole-lengths, for the council-room of the Royal Academy, “two of the finest portraits in the world,” as Northcote declared. The king, who was an early riser, sat at ten in the morning. The entry in Reynolds’s pocket-book is “Friday, May 21 (1779), at 10—the king.” The queen’s name does not occur until December. The king, who was near-sighted, and looked close at a picture, always complained that Reynolds’s paintings were rough and unfinished. But Reynolds heeded not. Be sure Ramsay and West were careful to paint smoothly enough after that. Northcote said that the balance of greatness preponderated on the side of the subject, and the king was annoyed at perceiving it; and disliked extremely the ease and independence of manner of Reynolds—always courteous, yet always unembarrassed—proceeding with his likenesses as though he were copying marble statues. “Do not suppose,” adds his pupil, “that he was ignorant of the value of royal favour. No. Reynolds had a thorough knowledge of the world, he would have gladly possessed it, but the price would have cost him too much.”

The court-painter had soon enough to do, for the king had a habit of presenting portraits of himself and his queen to all his ambassadors and colonial governors. He sat, too, for his coronation portrait, as it was called, in Buckingham Palace. The bland, obsequious, well-informed Ramsay