The little bundle of letters to Mr. Linnell-too soon, alas! to be exhausted-will best continue to tell the story of Blake's fluctuating health, his sanguine hopes of recovery, and zealous devotion to his beloved task of finishing and engraving the Designs from Dante-task never to be completed by his faltering hands.

DEAR SIR,

25th April, 1827.

I am going on better every day, as I think, both in health and in work. I thank you for the ten pounds which I received from you this day, which shall be put to the best use; as also for the prospect of Mr. Ottley's advantageous acquaintance. I go on without daring to count on futurity, which I cannot do without doubt and fear that ruin activity, and are the greatest hurt to an artist such as I am. As to Ugolino, &c., I never supposed that I should sell them. My wife alone is answerable for their having existed in any finished state. I am too much attached to Dante to think much of anything else. I have proved the six plates, and reduced the fighting devils ready for the copper. I count myself sufficiently paid if I live as I now do, and only fear that I may be unlucky to my friends, and especially that I may be so to you.

I am, sincerely yours,

WILLIAM BLAKE.

The Mr. Ottley, whose 'advantageous acquaintance' as a likely buyer, or recommender of buyers, is here anticipated, must have been the celebrated connoisseur of that day, author of an elaborate History of Engraving, somewhile Keeper,and a very slovenly one,—of the British Museum Prints; a crony of Sir George Beaumont's. The reader of Constable's Life may remember how ill that original artist took Ottley's meddlesome condescension. The conventional, old-world connoisseur little had it in his trivial mind to apprehend the significance of Blake's works,

Mr. Linnell still continued indefatigable in endeavours to obtain buyers for his friend's works, and recommended him to all he thought likely purchasers: Chantrey, who (as we said) declined the Paradise Regained, but took a highly

finished copy of the Songs of Innocence and Experience, at 20/.; Lord Egremont, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Mr. Tatham, and others. They considered it almost giving the money, even when they chose copies of the obviously beautiful Songs. Some of the last drawings executed or, at least, finished by Blake, were two commissioned by Sir Thomas Lawrence,'that admirable judge of art,' as he was then considered, and in a certain fastidious way, was; certainly the enthusiastic accumulator of a princely and matchless collection of drawings by the old masters. Sir Thomas gave fifteen guineas apiece for these designs of Blake's. One was The Wise and Foolish Virgins, the other The Dream of Queen Katherine; both repetitions, though not literal ones, of careful drawings made for Mr. Butts. The Dream of Queen Katherine is among Blake's most highly finished and elaborate water-colour drawings, and one of his most beautiful and imaginative.

During these last years, Blake lavished many finishing touches on his large fresco of the Last Judgment, of which subject we had to mention, twenty years back, two watercolour drawings-one for Blair's Grave, and the other for the Countess of Egremont. The fresco was a very different and much fuller composition than either, containing some thousand figures. It was an especial favourite with the artist and, according to Smith, would have been exhibited at the Academy had Blake lived another year. Nobody could be found to give twenty-five guineas for it then. I have been unable to discover in whose possession this singularly interesting and important work now is, and only know it from hearsay. Smith had seen the picture, and hands down a word or two on its executive peculiarities. The lights of 'this extraordinary performance,' writes he, 'have the ap'pearance of silver and gold; but, upon Mrs. Blake assuring 'me that there was no silver used, I found, upon a closer examination, that a blue wash had been passed over those 'parts of the gilding which receded; and the lights of the 'forward objects, which were also of gold, were heightened

VOL. I.

D D

with a warm colour, to give the appearance of two metals.' Blake, on looking up one day at this fresco, which hung in his front room, candidly exclaimed, as one who was present tells me, I spoiled that-made it darker; it was much finer, 'but a Frenchwoman here (a fellow-lodger) didn't like it.' Ill advised, indeed, to alter colour at a fellow-lodger and Frenchwoman's suggestion! Blake's alterations were seldom improvements.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

LAST DAYS. 1827 [ET 69.]

THE last letter Mr. Linnell received from Blake dates nearly three months after that which closed the previous chapter:

DEAR SIR,

3rd July, 1827.

I thank you for the ten pounds you are so kind as to send me at this time. My journey to Hampstead on Sunday brought on a relapse which has lasted till now. I find I am not so well as I thought; I must not go on in a youthful style. However, I am upon the mending hand to-day, and hope soon to look as I did; for I have been yellow, accompanied by all the old symptoms.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours sincerely,

WILLIAM BLAKE.

He was not to mend; though still, so long as breath lasted, to keep on at his life-long labours of love. This letter was

written but six weeks before his death.

In the previous letter of April 25th, Blake had said of himself, I am too much attached to Dante to think much of 'anything else.' In the course of his lingering illness, he was frequently bolstered up in his bed that he might go on with these drawings. The younger Tatham had commissioned a coloured impression of that grand conception in the Europe, the Ancient of Days, already noticed as a singular favourite with Blake and as one it was always a happiness to him to

copy. Tatham gave three guineas and a half for this specimen; a higher rate of payment than Blake was accustomed to. This being so, of course, Blake finished it to the utmost point, making it as beautiful in colour as already grand in design; patiently working on it till within a few days of his death. After he had frequently touched upon it,' says Tatham, as reported by Smith, and had frequently held it 'at a distance, he threw it from him, and with an air of ' exulting triumph exclaimed, "There! that will do! I cannot 'mend it."}

As he said these words, his glance fell on his loving Kate, no longer young or beautiful, but who had lived with him in these and like humble rooms, in hourly companionship, ever ready helpfulness, and reverent sympathy, for now forty-five years. August, forty-five years ago (back into a past century), they had wedded at Battersea Church, on the other side the river. August, 1827, he lies, in failing strength, in the quiet room looking out over the river, yet but a few yards removed from the roaring Strand: she beside his bed, she alone. He has no other servant, nor nurse, and wants no other. As his eyes rested on the once graceful form, thought of all she had been to him in these years filled the poet-artist's mind. 'Stay!' he cried, 'keep as you are! you have been ever an angel to 'me: I will draw you!' And a portrait was struck off by a hand which approaching death-few days distant now-had not weakened nor benumbed. This drawing has been described to me by Mr. Tatham, who once possessed it, as 'a 'phrenzied sketch of some power; highly interesting, but not 'like.'

Blake still went on designing as of old. One of the very last shillings spent was in sending out for a pencil. For his illness, caused, as was afterwards ascertained, by the mixing of the gall with the blood, was not violent, but a gradual and gentle failure of physical powers, which no wise affected the mind. The speedy end was not foreseen by his friends.

The final leave-taking came he had so often seen in vision;