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memoir of Barry tainted by great ill-will, selects as an example of this his remark ( on the contracted and beggarly state of the academical library '—a fact, if coarsely ex- pressed — and his out-of -place tale of his serious loss of money, which he is supposed to have misplaced and afterwards dis- covered. ' My house was broken open and robbed of a considerable sum, which I had provided to purchase the lease of a house, where I wished quietly and retired to carry on another work for the public, about which I had been for some time engaged. What aggravated the matter still more was, that I had good reason to be assured that this robbery was not committed by mere thieves, but by some limbs of a mot- ley, shameless combination, some of whom ?assed for my friends, who well knew what was about, and wanted to interrupt and prevent it, by stripping me of the necessary means of carrying it on ; ' and this writer thus sums up Barry's offences : ' His writ- ings, and particularly his lectures, abound with traits of self-consequence and inex- plicable attempts at definitions, interspersed with abusive comments upon those persons who did not pay him that high respect to which he thought himself entitled.' There is no doubt the academicians had selected the wrong man for their professor's chair, nor that they wished to remove him ; ana in 1799 they appointed a committee to enquire into his backslidings, who sum- moned him to appear before them. It is not stated whether he appeared; but on their report a general assembly of the body resolved — * First, to remove mm from the office of professor of painting; and by a second vote, that he be expelled from the Royal Academy.' The interests of the Academy would warrant the conclusion which was come to in the first vote, but on what grounds can the second vote be justly supported? Now all personal irritation has long since passed away, Barry is known only as a great painter ; and all must feel regret that, for defects of temper and manners alone he should have been expelled from a body where, as artists, few were his equals.
Barry was now 58 years of age. He was a solitary man, of an unsocial but far from a morose disposition, and rudely independ- ent, living in the greatest discomfort and neglect, without a servant or even an at- tendant of any kind. His house in Castle Street, Oxford Street, where he lived 20 years and died, was known by its ruinous decayed exterior ; a visitor was rarely ad- mitted, and he became more and more negligent of his person and dress. Yet he was not without means, though his wants were reduced to a very low scale. The Society of Arts, with their gold medal and a present of 200 guineas, Bad given him 26
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the privilege to exhibit the great works he had painted on their walls. This produced him, m 1783 and 1784, 503/. , and altogether 700/., and he then undertook the drudgery of etching and engraving these works to a large size, which, from his way of working, became a labour requiring the exercise of strength as well as slrilL and it is said that he even printed the work himself. He also engraved some of his own designs in aqua- tint, among them 4 Job in liis Distress sur- rounded by his Friends.' The occasional sale of a few copies of these works was an addition to his means, though he ungra- ciously received the nelp of those who procured hhnpurchasers. Age had crept upon him. His singular appearance and mode of life naturally led to the conclusion that he was in necessitous circumstances, and his friends at the Society of Arts recognising his persevering pursuit of art, his love of his profession, and his neglect of mere pecuniary gain, called a meeting in May 1805, and resolved to purchase him an annuity. They raised 1000/. and pur- chased of Sir Robert Peel an annuity of 120/., to which Lord Buchan added 10/., but Barry did not live to receive the first payment.
The circumstances of his death and soli- tary condition are truly painful. He was seized with an attack of pleuritic fever on entering a dining-house which he usually frequented, on February 6, 1806. Unable to speak or move, some cordial was admin- istered^ and he was taken to the door of his house m a coach. It was found impossible to open it. Some mischievous boys had fillea the key-hole with dirt and pebbles ; shivering under the rapid progress of his disease, he was at last taken to the house of a kind friend, who procured him a bed at a neighbour's. He desired to be left, and locked himself in for 48 hours without medical assistance. He could give no account of himself during that time, and was probably delirious. When medical aid was procured it was too late. He lingered till the 22nd, when he died. Son of a Protestant father, he had early in life been converted to Romanism by his mother, and became a stern and bigoted Catholic, and on his death-bed he was attended by a priest of that communion. He was in principle a republican, which he never failed to avow. Sir Robert Peel defrayed the charge of his funeral. Surrounded by his great epic work, still unsurpassed in the English school, his body lay in state at the Society of Arts, and then, followed only by its members and a few friends — yet not one artist— found its merited resting-place in the crypt of St. Paul's, near the coffin of Reynolds.
His literary works have been published, with a copious memoir of him, by Dr.
