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Flaxman assured him that we were all agreeably disappointed in our evening's entertainment. "Mr. Bovyer was especially charmed with Medoline's appreciation of his favorite composer. He asked permission to call on her to-day." He gave me a keen glance, saying: "I hope you did not grow too enthusiastic. One need not hang out a placard to prove we can comprehend the intricate and profound." Mrs.
Flaxman told me he had asked for me each time that I was there, but he did not say anything to me. "It would do you good to come to our meeting some Sunday, just to see Mr. Bowen's face," Mrs. Blake remarked to me one day, some time after the tailor and women folk had completed very satisfactorily their work. "I would like to go for other reasons than that.
But all this part of her story was so excited and incoherent that I could make nothing of it. Nor does it matter very much to the subject the real subject we are discussing." Flaxman, who was standing in front of the speaker, intently listening, made no immediate reply. His eyes half absently considered the man before him.
A copy by Reynolds of the Chandos portrait of Shakespeare, with seven other pictures, was knocked down for ten shillings only, the father of John Flaxman being the purchaser. Reynolds had painted the picture as a present to his friend, Mr. Roubiliac. It afterwards became the property of Mr. Edmond Malone.
If we went to make improvements, we would only spoil a bit of God's sweetest handiwork." "Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a tremendous compliment! Mr. Winthrop would read you another lecture, if he heard you say that." "Some day we may need to lecture him," she said with a smile, and then went into her own room, leaving me a trifle perplexed over her meaning. When we joined Mr.
But if Catherine would not go, Elsmere was not left on this critical occasion without auditors from his own immediate circle. On the evening of Good Friday Flaxman had found his way to Bedford Square, and, as Catherine was out, was shown into Elsmere's study. 'I have come, he announced, 'to try and persuade you and Mrs. Elsmere to go down with me to Greenlaws to-morrow.
At twenty-five, when he was still 'Citizen Flaxman' to his college friends, and in the first fervours of a poetic defiance of prejudice and convention, he had married a gamekeeper's pretty daughter. She had died with her child died, almost, poor thing! of happiness and excitement of the over-greatness of Heaven's boon to her.
Town was deserted; the partridges at Greenlaws clamoured to be shot; the head-keeper wrote letters which would have melted the heart of a stone. Flaxman replied recklessly that any decent fellow in the neighbourhood was welcome to shoot his birds a reply which almost brought upon him the resignation of the outraged keeper by return of post.
Uncle Walter was called on for a story, and he gave one of his best, with a witch of a tongue, that fairly reversed the wheels of time, and trundled them back to the wild, wild forest again, and tumbled them out amid screaming panthers, and howling wolves. Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman sang a merry song, in a merry nasal tune.
The students were unquestionably his friends; those of the year 1807 presented him with a silver vase, designed by one whom he loved Flaxman the sculptor; and he received it very graciously. Ten years after, he was presented with the diploma of the first class in the Academy of St. Luke at Rome.
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