made his remarks on each sheet, and frequently gave a true, stubborn,
rugged judgment even on the most celebrated masters, especially on
pictures of animals; for, among these, nothing pleased him but the lions
of Rubens, of Rembrandt, and Potter, and the stags of Kidinger; the
other animals of the latter he declared to be falsely drawn. Even the
most applauded cats of Cornelius Vischer and Wenzel Hollar could not
obtain his approbation. After such picture-reviewing he used to drink
tea with Herr Wagner; and it seemed as if the baked ware presented
therewith was somewhat to his taste. Such evenings were, to a certain
extent, his heaven upon earth; nevertheless, he sometimes replied to
Herr Wagner's invitation with a "could not come--his Busi (puss) was
sick--he must stay with her." Another time he signified "that Busi was
like to have kittens to-day, and so it was impossible to leave her."

Mind seldom drew from Nature; at most he did it with a few strokes. His
conception was so strong, that whatever he had once strictly observed,
stamped itself so firmly in his memory that, on his return home, and
often a considerable time afterwards, he could represent it with entire
fidelity. On such occasions he would look now and then, as it were, into
himself; and when at these moments, he lifted his head, his eyes had
something dreamy in them.

An increasing disorder in the breast had put him past all exertion for
the space of a year; and, on the 17th of November, 1814, a paroxysm of
his malady carried him off, in the 46th year of his age.

_Foreign Review_.

[4] See "Painting Cats," page 190.