several of
his simple and expressive airs, reminded the painter of the immortal man
to whom music owes so large a portion of its present importance; for it
was Pergolesi who first introduced in Italy the custom of paying such
strict attention to the sense of the words and to the choice of the
accompaniments.

VERNET'S OPINION OF HIS OWN MERITS.

Though Vernet rose to great distinction, he was never fully appreciated
till long after his decease. At the present day, he is placed in the
first rank of marine painters, not only by his own countrymen, but by
every other nation. He himself pronounced judgment on his own merits,
the justness of which, posterity has sanctioned. The sentence deserves
to be preserved, for it is great. Comparing himself to the great
painters, his rivals, he says, "If you ask me whether I painted skies
better than such and such an artist, I should answer 'no!' or figures
better than any one else, I should also say 'no!' or trees and
landscapes better than others, still I should answer 'no!' or fogs,
water, and vapors better than others, my answer would ever be the same
but though _inferior to each of them in one branch of the art, I surpass
them in all the others_."

CURIOUS LETTER OF VERNET.

The Marquis de Marigny, like his sister, Madame de Pompadour, loved and
protected the arts. It was mainly through his influence that Vernet was
invited to Paris in 1752, and commissioned to paint the sea-ports of
France. No one could have been found better fitted for the ungrateful
task, which, though offering so few resources, required so much
knowledge. Thus imprisoned in official programme, Vernet must have felt
ill at ease, if we may judge from a letter which he wrote to the Marquis
at a subsequent period, with respect to another order. Indeed, the truth
of his remarks were verified in the very series just mentioned, which
are not considered among his happiest productions. The following is the
main part of the letter referred to, dated May 6th, 1765:

"I am not accustomed to make sketches for my pictures. My general
practice is to compose on the canvass of the picture I am about to
execute, and to paint it immediately, while my imagination is still
warm with conception; the size, too, of my canvas tells me at once
what I have to do, and makes me compose accordingly. I am sure, if
I made a sketch beforehand, that I should not only not put in it
what might be in t