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torical painter might have had access, to collect mate- || the worst dressed and most incorrectly decorated of rials for his compositions. The paucity of such mat- || any productions, ancient or modern, exhibited on our ters, renders the study of this high department of || metropolitan stages. It is true, that the late Mr. Kempainting still more arduous; for in getting together the ble, (whose classical mind revolted from the barba robes, the armour, the military missiles, and a variety risms which even a Garrick had tolerated) abolislied of other objects, indispensable to the forming of cha- | the bag wig of Brutus, and the gold laced waistcoat of racteristic groups, descriptive of certain features of Macbeth, and combatted the prejudices by which he remote history, the difficulties and expences frequently was surrounded, with the taste, talent, and intrepidity amount to obstacles almost insurmountable.

which distinguished the whole of his brilliant career; For a long series of reigns-indeed from the period | but, from what causes we will not pretend to determine, of the Anglo-Saxons, to the beginning of the seven- | the alterations made in the costume of plays, founded teenth century, there was a vast collection of various | on English history, in particular, while they rendered regal, clerical, and civil costumes, preserved in the I them more picturesque, added but little to their proRoyal Wardrobe, a range of buildings expressly erected || priety, the whole series, King Lear included, being for the purpose, in the City of London, the site of dressed in the habits of the Elizabethan age, the third which gave the existing name to a well known spot || reign after its termination. near Aldermary Church Yard. This treasury of The object of the present publication is to render ancient costumes remained until the accession of King | the dresses and decorations of Shakspeare's plays, if James the First, who having no reverence for such possible, worthy of them. The editor laments that matters, himself disdaining all regal state, gave the the work has not been attempted by abler hands, but national wardrobe to his lord-chamberlain, who sold | having vainly waited for a “consummation so devoutly them as the perquisites of his office. Part of them for to be wished," he has at length volunteered his humble aught we know might have found their way to the || but zealous services, and the specimen laid before the Globe, the Curtain, the Red Bull, or some others of proprietors of Covent Garden Theatre having received the Theatres coeval with Shakspeare, and clothed Master their unqualified approbation, and fixed the determi. Allen, Dick Burbage, and others, who strutted their nation of Mr. Charles Kemble to commence the resor. hour upon the stage.

mation he had long been anxious to introduce in draNone of our painters perhaps were so well versed | matic costume, the first number is now presented to in the costume of our country, as the late venerable | the public, in the respectful hope of obtaining its ap. President of the Roval Academy. The critical zeal || proval and patronage. with which he sought amongst past records at the As the difficulty of the editor's task has been consiTower of London, at the Herald's College, and other derably heightened by the numerous errors existing in repositories of ancient lore, during the period which nearly every work yet published on the subject, its he was engaged upon the series of pictures which he utility will, he trusts, be increased in a corresponding painted for our late sovereign, taken from the History | degree. To the historical painter, this publication is of King Edward the Third, is without example in the earnestly recommended, as not only presenting in itself history of English art. That most interesting compo. the precise costume of the period; but containing such siton, the marriage of King Edward with the fair references to indisputable authorities, that the artist Philippa alone, is sufficient evidence of this fact. The may easily and immediately turn to them for complete good taste of his royal employer, helped to stimulate confirmation, or additional instruction. The price, too, Mr. West to pursue these researches, as his Majesty | will, it is expected, prove another though a minor rewas himself well acquainted with the early customs commendation of the “Dramatic Costume" to the and habits of the country, and took a great interest in public. It now only remains for the editor to announce, the science of heraldry. His Majesty would not tole- || that should his hopes be realized, it is his intention to rate anachronisms in painting—he loved truth in all supply the gaps which Shakspeare's plays may leave in things, and would frequently point out chronological || particular eras, with illustrations of the best dramatic errors in certain pictures in the royal collection. His | productions, ancient or modern, embracing those peMajesty would smile, as he passed The Angel deliver- | riods, and thereby to form a complete chain of authoing Peter from Prison, and direct the spectator's attention || rities for the civil and military costume of every nation, to the muskets and pistols of the sleeping guards, and at every period, as nearly as can be ascertained, from the cards, clubs, spades and diamonds that lay scattered | the earliest ages down to the present century, an atupon the pavement.

tempt to which he has been invited and encouraged by But as costume affects the drama, referring to the one of the first antiquarians in this kingdom, whose title of this little publication, the author says, “It has | advice and assistance he is proud to acknowledge, and long been a subject of regret to the lovers and patrons to whom, as also to many other literary friends and of the theatre, that the greater number of the plays of acquaintances, he here begs leave to offer his most sinShakspeare, the grandest dramatic productions which cere and grateful thanks. this or any other nation can boast, should be decidedly . The figures which are given in this work, are suffi.

ciently well drawn to answer the intended purpose, and garb of the actors; and Garrick, with his advice and by carefully coloured. As a specimen of the descriptions his assistance, began that which Kemble so successfully with which each figure is accompanied, we take the first || followed and improved. that occurs in the second part, which represents King U This work has reached a second part, comprising Henry the Fourth :

the costume of King Henry the Fourth, which is supe

rior to the preceding, and much surpasses the modest KING HENRY IV.-FIRST DRESS.

I pretensions set forth by the author. We are pleased His effigy, in the Chapel of St. Thomas a Becket, Canterbury Cathedral.

with the design of the work, which directly tends to " This character has been generally dressed from the

every purpose it proposes. It is very useful, contains picture in Kensington Palace, and, as far as fashion goes,

much valuable information, and is very cheap. We there is little to complain of; but it is shrewdly suspected, hope, then, as these two parts have been so well rewas not painted till the reign of Henry VII., and, conse ceived by the public, that the author will proceed with quently, that is no authority whatever. I am the more li

| his plan, and that his meritorious efforts may continue inclined to believe this, from the fact, that though the costume is certainly similar, in some respects, to the dress

to meet with the success they deserve. of Henry the Fourth's time, it is perfectly unlike that in which he is represented in the screen of York Cathedral,

Strutt observes, “a crown or some distinguishable mark, was in the • Regimine Principis' of Occleve, (Bod. Lib. Dig

always worn by the kings in battle : so that when Maudlin was set ley, 283), or in any other effigy, or painting of him, which

up to counterfeit King Richard II., he had a crown upon his helI bave met with. It may, however, still be worn by the

met, that the people night be deceived and take him for the King." actor with propriety, for the reason above stated; but, as Antiquities, vol. 2, my object is to present the public with copies of the most authentic speciinens, I have chosen the effigy in Canterbury Cathedral, for the subject of the first plate of this number.

Beauties of the Dulwich Picture Gallery. London: “Henry IV.,' says Camden, was the last of our kings

G. and W. B. Whittaker, 1824. that did bear Seme of flowers de liz, quartered with his lions

The progress which the study of the Fine Arts is of England, as you may note on his seal; and, for his device, used à fox's tail, dependent, following' Lysander's || making in this country, is so rapid and extensive, that advice-if the lion's skin was too short, to piece it out with the wishes of the most sanguine of their admirers are a fox's case !'- Remains, p. 219. Sandford gives him for in the course of being gratified, and the scornful sneers his supporters, a swan and an antelope.-Vide Genealogical

of foreign criticism are utterly put to flight. We take History. The former he had from the De Bobuns ; and it was borne as a badge, by his son Henry, while Prince of

some credit to ourselves for having contributed in no Wales.-Vide Archæologia, vol. 20, notes.

inconsiderable degree to this important result, The

Somerset House Gazette was the first weekly periodi. KING HENRY IV.-SECOND DRESS. 66 The great seal of this monarch is supposed, with much

cal entirely devoted to the Fine Arts of Great Britain, probability, by Sandford, to be that of Richard II., with || and it has been animated by the most unteigned zeal merely a new legend. I have, therefore, represented the || for their interests, and conducted in a spirit of the most King in a suit of gilt armour, (for the formation of which I unremitting perseverance for their advancement. At this am indebted to the monumental brasses of Sir George Felbridge, and Sir Nicholas Dagworth, 1400-1, the best speci- |||

moment the patronage afforded to art in this country, and men of the military costume of this period), with the jupon, || particularly to Painting, exceeds that of any former period. girdle, &c., the former embroidered with the royal arms, The number of public and private galleries is immense, and his bascinet surrounded with a crown, as are those of and they contain some of the choicest specimens of his predecessor, in the French Metrical History, Harleian | Lib. 1319, and of the royal personages figured in the Chro

the ancient masters, and many productions of living nique de St. Denis,-Sloane, Lib. 2433, written at the com- |

British artists, not at all in some walks,) their inferiors. mencement of the fifteenth century.*' In the back ground Amongst these galleries, that of Dulwich College is is a knight holding the royal banner, and displaying on his one of the richest. In Poussins, Murillos, and Cuyps shield and jupon the arms of Sir Walter Blount, the king's

it is the most opulent of any in England. The little standard-bearer; viz. barry nebulee_of six pieces, or and sable."-Vide Lyson's Mugna Brit. Derby.

work before us is intended to form a “ useful and plea

sant companions to the visitor of this noble collection. We must make an observation upon what is herein || It is not meant to be an indispensable guide, nor does said of Garrick. We can inform the writer, that

ll it affect to notice all the pictures in a gallery consisting although Garrick did tolerate these absurdities, yet I of three hundred and fifty. It merely points out the the reformation of the costume of the stage commenced

| beauties of the more remarkable specimens, and dwells under him, and was much advanced during the latter

on the characteristics of each master. As an example period of his management. Hogarth had exposed the

of the mode in which this is done, we give the followburlesque appropriation of the bag wig to ancient heroes, ll ing notice of Cuyp. No.3:and other anachronisms, and had suggested improvements to his friend Garrick, which he adopted. It

No. 3. CUYP.

6 This picture I have always considered as among the was, however, to De Loutherbourg that the stage was

very finest efforts, not only of the artist, but of the art most obligated for the splendour of the scene, not only ll itself in this particular department of it: I do not mean in as to the paintings, but as to the more appropriate the landscape department generally, but in those land

scapes which are scarcely any thing in themselves, but others. I would not lay much stress on this; but does it which derive their chief power of affecting us from the not seem to have been introduced purposely, that we might manner in which they are treated. Many, and indeed, | compare the expression of this third animal with that of most of Claude's landscapes, would convey very pleasing the two others, and see that they are all animal alike, and impressions to us, even if they were depicted by the most that they are all intended to be so ? ordinary skill, and in the most common-place manner. “I conceive this picture to be, in its way, entirely faultBut the landscape before us would be a mere impertinence, Il less, and to have acquired as rare a faculty to produce ittreated by almost any other hand than that of Cuyp. It re- || (as rare, but not as valuable)-as perhaps any thing else in presents a broken foreground, entirely bare of trees, with a l art.". centre group of two men and two cows; another group of Cows and figures in the hall distance on the right; a dark The critical opinions occasionally introduced are in rock rising on the extreme right; a dazzling sun-set in the the main correct, though sometimes a little too obextreme lest; and all the rest retires into a misty distance. The whole is suffused with a rich golden light, and

scurely expressed. The author is fond of analysing steeved in a thin air which seems to be lowiny and flicker. I every thing to lis extremest elements, and his investiing with the heat which has rarefied it. There is a fasci gations sometimes terminate in a conclusion which nation about this picture which is unaccountable on any || is so split up and balanced in its parts as to leave received principles of art, and which is at the same time indescribable. There are no marks of the pencil about it.

nothing conclusive. But these instances are rare, and You cannot tell how it got there, unless it has been breathed the general character of the work is that of utility. there; and you cannot be sure that it will stay before you It is written in a fluent, easy, and well informed style, --that it is not an illusion of the mind-a vision of the

and the author, if not a practitioner, is at least very golden age,-and that, when you take your eyes off it, it will not, when they return again, have disappeared. I

| well acquainted with the principles and history of confess that this picture, and one or two others that I have || painting. seen by the same artist, (one, in particular, at Petworth.) give me a more apt idea of the Golden Age of the poets than all the classical ones expressly intended to typify iteven those of Claude and Poussin ihemselves. The truth

REVIEWS is, Cuyp had more imagination than any other landscapepainter; and he also blended together imagination and absolute reality in a manner which no one else did.”

The Improvisatrice, and other Poems. By L. E. L. LonAnd another :

don: Hurst, Robinson, and Co. 8vo. 1824. No. 322. MURILLO.

For more than a year past we have been in the 66 Spanish Peasant Boys.-This miracle of successful art is l habit of admiring in the columns of one of our most beyond all praise and all price, and may be regarded as one Il of the finest pictures of its kind in existence. The class

| enterprising and best conducted periodicals," the poeitself is not the first; but this is, perhaps, the first in its tical communications of L. E. L. Independent of the class. It represents two Spanish beggar boys;—for such great beauty and sweetness of these productions, we they should probably be called---not Peasant Boys. One

were struck with their variety and number. It must of them is half lying on the ground, looking up at his companion with an intense and yet vacant expression of delight

be a genius more than commonly fertile, which can, in his countenance; while the other is standing munching week after week, pour forth such a ceaseless stream of a great piece of bread, which he can scarcely hold in his exquisite poetry. The present volume contains some mouth, and looking down at him on the ground, as if half more elaborate pieces, and of (if possible) a higher displeased at the cause of the other's pleasure. The merit of these two faces consists in the absolute, the undisguised

order. The Improvisatrice “is an attempt to illustrate and unadorned truth of their expression, and its wonderful that species of inspiration common in Italy, where the force and richness; and also in the curious characteristic- || mind is warmed from earliest childhood by all that is ness of it. By the truth of expression, I mean the fidelity | beautiful in nature, and glorious in art. The character with which the painter has represented what he intended

|| depicted is entirely Italian,-a young female, with all to represent; and by its characteristicness, I mean the adaptation of that expression to the circumstances. The

the loveliness, vivid feeling, and genius of her own persons represented are of that class and condition of life Limpassioned land."— The heroine of the tale tells her

own story, which is full of melancholy interest. lope themselves at all-in which man can scarcely be regarded in any other light than the most sagacious of the

Thus it begins :animal tribe of beings. Accordingly, the expressions of " I am a daughter of that land, these boys respectively,--rich, vivid, and distinct as they

Where the poet's lip and the painter's hand are,-are almost entirely animal. There is nothing in the least degree vulgar about them; for vulgarity is a

Are most divine,-where earth and sky

Are picture both and poetryquality dependent on a certain state of society; and these

I am of Florence. 'Mid the chill have no share in society, and are consequently without any

Or hope and feeling, oh! I still of its results, good or bad. In fact, their wants and feelings

Am proud to think to where I owe are merely animal, and the expressions which these give

My birth, though but the dawn of woe! rise to are correspondent. The delight of the one is that of the happy colt, sporting on its native common; and the

My childhood passed ’mid radiant things, sulkiness of the other is that of the ill-conditioned cub,

Glorious as Hope's imaginings; growling over its food.

Statues but known from shapes of the earth, “ At the feet of the boy who is eating, stands a dog.

By being too lovely for mortal birth; looking up expectantly: and there is nearly as much

Paintings whose colours of life were caught expression in his countenance as there is in either of the

From the fairy tints in the rainbow wrought;

have no share in dor bad. In fact, thons which these ki

Music whose sighs had a spell like those

I loved him, too, as woman lovegThat float on the sea at the evening's close;

Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn : Language so silvery, that every word

Life had no evil destiny Was like the lute's awakening chord;

That, with him, I could not have borne! Skies balf sunshine, and half starlight;

I had been nurst in palaces; Flowers whose lives were a breath of delight;

Yet earth had not a spot so drear, Leaves whose green pomp knew no withering ;

That I should not have thought a home Fountains bright as the skies of our Spring;

In Paradise, had he been near! And songs whose wild and passionate line

How sweet it would have been to dwell, Suited a soul of romance like mine.

Apart from all in some green dell

Of sunny beauty, leaves and flowers;
My power was but a woman's power;

And nestling birds to sing the hours !
Yet, in that great and glorious dower

Our home, beneath some chesnut's shade, Which Genius gives, I had my part :

But of the woven branches made : I poured my full and burning heart

Our vesper hyron, the low lone wail
In song, and on the canvass made

The rose hears from the nightingale;
My dreams of beauty visible;

And waked at morning by the call
I know not which I loved the most-

Of music from a waterfall.
Pencil or lute,-both loved so well.”

But not alone in dreams like this,

Breathed in the very hope of bling, There is an exquisite description of her studies in

I loved: my love had been the same painting, and of two pictures--one of Petrarch and In hushed despair, in open shame. Laura,--the other of Sappho ;-and then comes a burst I would have rather been a slave, of intense love for the old glories and monuments of

In tears, in bondage, by his side,

Than shared in all, if wanting him, her native land. The tale is intermixed with beautiful

This world had power to give beside ! episodes, natural to the scenes, and illustrative of her My heart was withered, -and my heart own impassioned feelings. She falls in love with a

Had ever been the world to me;

And love had been the first fond dream, youth whom she pourtrays in these lines :

Whose life was in reality.
6. His cheek was pale; or toil, or care,

I had sprung from my solitude
Or midnight study, had been there,

Like a young bird upon the wing
Making its young colours dull,

To meet the arrow; so I met
Yet leaving it most beautiful.

My poisoned shaft of suffering.
Raven curls their shadow tbrew,

And as that bird, with drooping crest
Like the twilight's darkening hue,

And broken wing, will seek his nest,
O'er the pure and mountain snow

But seek in vain; so vain I sought
Of his high and haughty brow;

My pleasant home of song and thought.
Lighted by a smile, whose spell

There was one spell upon my brain,
Words are powerless to tell.

Upon my pencil, on my strain;
Such a lip -oh, poured from thence

But one face to my colours came;
Lava floods of eloquence

My chords replied but to one rame-
Would come with fiery energy,

Lorenzo !--all seemed vowed to thee,
Like those words that cannot die.

To passion, and to misery!
Words the Grecian warrior spoke

I had no interest in the things
When the Persian's chain he broke;

That once had been like life, or light;
Or that low and boney tone,

No tale was pleasant to mine ear,
Making woman's heart his own;

No song was sweet, no picture bright.
Such as should be heard at night,

I was wild with my great distress,
In the dim and sweet starlight;

My lone, my utter hopelessness !
Sounds that haunt a beauty's slecp,

I would sit hours by the side
Treasures for her heart to keep.

Of some clear rill, and mark it glide,
Like the pine of summer tall,

Bearing my tears along, till night

Came with dark hours; and soft starlight
Apollo, on his pedestal
In our own gallery, never bent

Watch o'er its shadowy beauty keeping,
More graceful, more magnificent;

Till I grew calm :-then I would take
Ne'er look'd the hero, or the king,

The lute, which had all day been sleeping
More nobly than the youth who now,

Upon a cypress tree, and wake
As if soul-centred in my song,

The echoes of the midnight air

With words that love wrung from despair.".
Was leaning on a galley's prow.
He spoke not when the others spoke,
His heart was all too full for praise ;

His wife dies, and he returns to tell the story of his
But his dark eyes kept fixed on mine,

predestined marriage, and to pour forth the vows of Which sank beneath their burning gaze." his affection for her. But in vain : for her heart had But Lorenzo is betrothed to another, and marries her. I already broken, and she dies also. The rest is here: How the young poetess loved him, and how she suffered,

" There is a lone and stately hall,are told in the following passage :

Its master dwells apart from all.
“ I loved him as young Genius loves,

A wanderer through Italia's land,
When its own wild and radiant heaven

One night a refuge there I found.
Of starry thought burns with the light,

The light’ning flash roll’d o'er the sky,
The love the life, by passion given.

The torrent rain was sweeping round :

pict

brow: 21.!

. She

o one who

These won me entrance. He was young,

To show our harvest to the eyes which were
The castle's lord, but pale like age;

Once all the world to us! Perhaps there are
His brow, as sculpture beautiful

Some who had presaged kindly of our youth.
Was wan as Grief's corroded page.

Feel we not proud their prophecy was sooth?
He had no words, he had no smiles,

But how felt Rosalie ?-The very air
No hopes:-his sole employ to brood

Seemed as it brought reproach! there was no eye
Silently over his sick leart

To look delighted, welcome none was there!
In sorrow and in solitude.

. She felt as feels an outcast wandering by I saw the hall where, day by day,

Where every door is closed! She looked around ;He mused his weary life away ;

She heard some voices' sweet familiar sound. It scarcely seemed a place for woe,

There were some changed, and some remembered things :But rather like a genie's home.

There were girls, whom she left in their first springs, Around were graceful statues ranged,

Now blushed into full beauty. There was one
And pictures shone around the doine.

Whom she loved tenderly in days now gone!
But there was one-a loveliest one!--

She was not dancing gaily with the rest :
One picture brightest of all there!

A rose-cheeked child within her arms was prest;
Oh! never did the painter's dream

And it had twined its small hands in the hair
Shape thing so gloriously fair !

That clustered o'er its mother's brow: as fair
It was a face !-the summer day

As bude in spring. She gave her laughing dove
Is not more radiant in its light!

To one who clasped it with a father's love;
Dark flashing eyes, like the deep stars

And if a painter's eye had sought a scene
Lighting the azure brow of night;

Of love in its most perfect loveliness-
A blush like sunrise o’er the rose;

Of childhood, and of wedded happiness,
A cloud of raven hair, whose shade

He would have painted the sweet Madeline !
Was gweet as evening's, and whose curls

But Rosalie shrank from them, and she strayed
Clustered beneath a laurel braid.

Through a small grove of cypresses, whose shade
She leant upon a harp: one hand

Hung o'er a burying-ground, where the low stone _Wandered, like snow, amid the chords;

And the gray cross recorded those now gone! The lips were opening with such life,

There was a grave just closed. Not one seemed near, You almost heard the silvery words.

To pay the tribute of one long-last tear!
She looked a form of light and life,

How very desolate must that one be,
All soul, all passion, and all fire;

Whose more than grave has not a memory!
A priestess of Apollo's, when

Then Rosalie thought on her mother's age,-
The morning beam falls on her lyre ;

Just such her end would be with her away :
A Sappho, or ere love had turned

No child the last cold death-pang to assuageThe heart to stone where once it burned,

No child by her neglected tomb to pray! But by the picture's side was placed

She asked-and like a hope from Heaven it came!-
A funeral urn, on which was traced

To hear them answer with a stranger's name.
The heart's recorded wretchedness ;-
And on a tablet, hung above,

She reached her mother's cottage; by that gate
Was 'graved one tribute of sad words--

She thought how her once lover wont to wait • LORENZO TO HIS MINSTREL Love.''

To tell her honicd tales !--and then she thought

On all the utter ruin he had wrought! Our extracts will furnish some evidence of the deli

The moon shone brightly, as it used to do

Ere youth, and hope, and love, had been untrue; cacy and sweetness of L. E. L.'s poetry. It is all over But it shone o'er the desolate! The flowers impregnated with touches of the deepest and purest Were dead; the faded jessamine, unbound, feeling, and cannot be read without a lively sympathy

Trailed, like a heavy weed, upon the ground;

And sell the moonlight vainly over trees, in the story, and the most unqualified admiration of the |

Which had not even one rose,-although the breeze, author's genius.

Almost as if in mockery, had brought To this poem, which consists of about 1500 lines, are Sweet tones it from the nightingale had caught! annexed a great many minor pieces, of a different na- || She entered in the cottage. None were there! ture, but all entitled to the highest praise. These lines The hearth was dark,-the walls looked cold and bare ! are from Rosalie, the story of a young and confiding

All-all spoke poverty and suffering !

All-all was changed; and but one only thing female, whose innocence had faded away before the

Kept its old place! Rosalie's mandolin temptations and artifices of a heartless seducer. She | Hung on the wall, where it had ever been. is returning to the home of her infancy :

There was one other room,-and Rosalie
Sought for her mother there. A heavy flame

Gleamed from a dying lamp; a cold air came “ It must be worth a life of toil and care,

Damp from the broken casement. There one lay, Worth those dark chains the wearied one must bear

Like marble seen but by the moonlight ray! Who toils up fortune's steep,-all that can wring

And Rosalie drew near. One withered hand The worn-out bosom with lone-suffering

Was stretched, as it would reach a wretched stand Worth restlessness, oppression, goading fears,

Where some cold water stood! And by the bed
And long-deferred hopes of many years,-

She knelt-and gazed-and saw her mother-dead!"
To reach again that little guiet spot,
So well loved once, and never quite forgot ;

The poetry of L. E. L. is almost entirely of a sad To trace again the steps of infancy,

and mournful character. If it speaks of love that And catch their freshness from their memory!

love is either unhappy in its outset, or melancholy in And it is triumph, sure, when fortune's sun Has shone upon us, and our task is done,

its termination. This is somewhat blameable, for the

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