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In short, notwithstanding the aversion of his father, the minister, to the "sinful" profession of painting, Wilkie's strong propensity was not to be thwarted, and he became an artist, working his way manfully up the steep of difficulty.
A frightful oath from the baron somewhat hastened M. Wilkie's exit. He went out into the hall, and holding the door open, in a way that would enable him to close it at the shortest notice, he shouted back, so as to be heard by all the servants: "Yes; I will have satisfaction. I will not stand such treatment.
Beside, one doesn't like to fill folk's meawths, iv one is ill off." It was now a little past noon, and we spent a few minutes looking through the Catholic schoolhouse, in Trinity Ward a spacious brick building. The scholars were away at dinner. My friend is master of the school. His assistant offered to go with us to one or two Irish families in a close wynd, hard by, called Wilkie's Court.
Wilkie's 'Village Politicians' was the sensation of the Exhibition of 1806, and brought him two important commissions one from Lord Mulgrave for the 'Blind Fiddler, and the other from Sir George Beaumont for the 'Rent-Day. It was now considered that Wilkie's fortune was made, his fame secure, and if his two chief friends Haydon and Jackson could not help regarding him with some natural feelings of envy, it is evident that his early success encouraged them, and stimulated them to increased effort.
I must be at Vincennes for the races. I'm interested in a horse. So, you understand " M. Fortunat was secretly amused by M. Wilkie's nonchalance. "The young fellow won't be in so much of a hurry when he learns my business," he thought. And he replied aloud: "I can explain what brings me in a few words, monsieur." "Proceed, then."
Galt's novels have an identity," added Byron, "that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures." As a woman, I felt proud of the homage he paid to the genius of Mrs. Hemans, and as a passionate admirer of her poetry, I felt flattered, at finding that Lord Byron fully sympathized with my admiration.
Several bottles were standing upon the table, only half empty, and one of M. Wilkie's friends called his attention to this fact, but he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "You must take me for a fool," he said, contemptuously. "A man doesn't drink stale wine when he has the prospect of such an inheritance as is coming to me." "Wilkie!" interrupted M. de Coralth, quickly; "Wilkie!"
Wilkie's Saturday Night is ably engraved by J. Mitchell; and Tyre, by S. Lacy, from a picture by T. Creswick contended for our choice with Verona, which we have adopted.
M. Wilkie's face turned from white to purple at least three times in ten seconds; and it was in a strangely altered voice that he replied: "Ah! that's good very good excellent!" He tried his best to laugh, but he was completely overcome; and, in fact, he had cherished so many extravagant hopes that nothing seemed impossible to him.
By M. Wilkie's excited gestures, by the glitter in his eyes, it might have been supposed that this wonderful good fortune was too much for him, and that he was going mad. "I knew that I belonged to a noble family," he began. "The Count de Chalusse my uncle! I shall have a coronet on the corner of my visiting cards." But with a gesture M. de Coralth silenced him.
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