containing encomiums such as few painters deserve.
"Such are thy pictures, Kneller! such thy skill,
That nature seems obedient to thy will,
Comes out and meets thy pencil in the draught,
Lives there, and wants but words to speak the thought."
KNELLER'S WIT.
The servants of his neighbor, Dr. Radcliffe,
abused the liberty of a private entrance to the
painter's garden, and plucked his flowers. Kneller
sent him word that he must shut the door up;
whereupon the doctor peevishly replied, "Tell him
he may do any thing with it but paint it." "Never
mind what he says," retorted Sir Godfrey; "I can
take anything from him but physic." He once
overheard a low fellow cursing himself. "God
damn you, indeed!" exclaimed the artist in wonder;
"God may damn the Duke of Marlborough, and
perhaps Sir Godfrey Kneller; but do you think he
will ever take the trouble of damning such a scoundrel
as you?" To his tailor, who proposed his son
for a pupil, he said, "Dost thou think, man, I can
make thy son a painter? No, God Almighty only
makes painters." He gave a reason for preferring
portraiture to historical painting, which forms an
admirable bon-mot, for its shrewdness, truthfulness,
and ingenuity. "Painters of history," said he,
"make the dead live, and do not begin to live till
