o could
paint nothing but a red lion; and accordingly he advised every
inn-keeper and alehouse-keeper in the neighbouring village, who applied
to him, to have the sign of the Red Lion. This did very well for a
considerable time, and the painter practised so successfully that not a
hamlet or town, for ten miles round, that had not its red lion; until at
length a new-comer, who, like Daniel of old, thought there were quite as
many lions round him as were wanted, suggested to the artist that he
should like to have a swan for the sign of his small concern. In vain
the painter protested, Boniface was resolute. 'Well,' said the rural
Apelles, 'if you will have a swan you must, but you may rely upon it
when it is finished, it will be so like a red lion, you would not know
the difference.' So Turner, if he were to paint a blackbird, it would be
so like a canary when it was finished, you would not know one from the
other.

"Among other sights, I was induced to go and visit the 'Fleas,' last
Saturday. Never was there such an imposition; instead of being
harnessed, they were tied by the hind legs, and the combatants, poor
wretches! were pinched by the tails in tweezers, and of course moved
their legs in their agony. Well, thought I, as I went out, I have been
in Spain, and Portugal, and Italy, and have passed many a restless
night, but hang me if ever I was so flea bitten in my life as I have
been to day; and I thought of my shilling and the old proverb.

"There is a picture of Lord Mulgrave in the Somerset House exhibition,
very like, painted by Briggs. The best portrait there, is Pickersgill's
Lord Hill; as a likeness, it is identity; and I admire it the more, from
the total absence of what the painters call accessories. It is simple,
and though honourably decorated, is unadorned by what is considered
'groscape' drapery; and yet Mr. Pickersgill was at one time an
unqualified admirer of cloaks; every hawbuck of a fellow who sat to him,
was wrapped up in a cloak: this he has conquered, and we rejoice at it.
The portrait of Lady Coote is a good picture; it is a pity that her
ladyship had not sat a few years earlier; but that is no affair of the
painter. A picture of Lady Londonderry, in the costume of Queen
Elizabeth, by a Frenchman is amazingly like. There is a story about this
dress which only proves the advantages of making experiments before any
grand display. The petticoat of the Virgin Queen, as personated by her
ladyship,