trappings of vanity, than that growing fascination which results from regarding purity, and those bewitching propor$tions which constitute beauty, and makes us idolatrous. "There is a determination in the outline of Vandyck, Titian, and Rembrandt, which leaves no doubt of their capacity to effect whatever nature and truth presented to their contemplation; and yet that contour is so cunningly and masterly wrought, as to be palpable without being coarsely edged with a line, which is too much the fault of Mr. Romney; but the portrait painters among us are dashing and indecisive from ignorance; they copy the worst parts of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, with all his merits, was happy to be slovenly, when it was not possible that he could be perfect. Mr. Hoppner participates in this viciousness of style in a very lamentable degree. "That artist who begins his labour, with colours of a gaudy tendency, may be compared to an indifferent vocal performer, who commences his song in a key too high; and the consequence with both will be, that neither can adequately fulfil the purposes of their undertaking. If I had a young man, of apparent genius, under my tuition, I would carefully hide from his observation the productions of modern artists, and make him study only from the more excellent of the old masters, who scarcely ever used any other than earthly colours, which possess an inherent property, or power to withstand the test of time and the elements. "In the pictures annually exposed to sale, as imported from the Continent, we have, to use the jargon of the dealers, the first thoughts and the second thoughts of eminent men; that is, such primary exertions of the mind, as were hastily committed to canvas, to be surveyed and approved by the artists, at leisure; but our British professors can seldom have their works thus characterised, as in whatever light their productions may be viewed, they are assuredly uninfluenced by sentiment, and innocent of thinking.” ARTISTICAL SCRAPS. To the Editor of the Somerset House Gazette. So I perceive there is a re-publication of the Caricatures of Gillray, on a diminished size, but in another shape, namely that of a book, with descriptions historical, political, and humourous. So far so good, provided the said descriptions be not bad. I have wondered a thousand times, to speak within compass, why this had not been hit upon before, for I guess, as Jonathan would say, that it is almost a day too late for the fair; as many of the localities which gave birth to these graphic waggeries, must now be fished for in the stream that is nearly dis-embogueing itself into the vast sea of oblivion. Hogarth had a host of illustrators. Walpole, Gilpin, Nichols, the Irelands, Samuel and John, though John stands first upon the record, who advertised himself, not Sam. Trusler too, another commentator-but he MORALISED the man.-Vide "Hogarth Moralised." What, if you and I, my moral Editor, were to lay our learned wigs together, and set to work to moralise Gilĺray! What a field for fun. The more serious, the more laughable. That is sure enough! a fool would say;-But no Sir!-I know not a subject more prolific of matter for morality-a theme more meet for moralising! Sir, it is big with events,-mighty in import,, and-to make short work of it, for I hate prosing-as good a case for mouthing bombast as any on record. Were not all the world concerned in the drama' all the Mighty Kings, all the Petty Princes, Buonaparte, Pitt, Burke, Sheridan, and Fox. The age of Pigmies and the age of Giants. And who'd have thought it, Mr. Hardcastle. The mighty mover of this vain glory, for whom the whole world afforded scarcely breathing room, now stretched in eternal silence, within a dark chamber six feet long. Democritus laughed at these sort of strange doings, and why may not you and I. MAN PROPOSETH and GOD DISPOSETH.-Now that I am upon the subject of the ambitious, little, mighty, creature, let me tell you what has happened. Know then, (but I'll be bound you know it already) that four blocks of the choicest marble, provided by the Grand Duke of Tuscany, had been procured by the desire of the still grander Emperor of all the French, to be formed into a magnificent vase, on which was to be carved the mighty victories achieved to his glory. The emperor was vanquished, and died a prisoner to England! These very blocks, so it has pleased the great Dispenser of all things, have been presented to our sovereign by the Grand Duke of Tuscany,-they have arrived, and are now in the hands of a British sculptor, Mr. Westmacott, who is employed by the king, in converting the marble into a vase-But, to be carved with groups, which will commemorate the glory of Great Britain, on the plains of Waterloo ! Gillray's works, however, whether taken up in jest or earnest, afford a special good theme for the pen, Mr. Editor, and I should like to see the thing cleverly done. You have put in print, what I sent you of Humourous Designers. I am not sure whether the last on the list, this said Gill, had not more talent than the whole lively fraternity together, Hogarth only excepted; who be it always borne in mind, was not a caricaturist, although a designer of humour, best, beyond all comparison with others, before or since his day. Hogarth did not exaggerate. There is not a male or female face, in his voluminous designs, but what is true to nature. The glaring eye, the preposterous nose, the blubber cheeks, the lantern jaws, the cod's mouth, the walking straws, and human oddy-doddies of all the successors to this great moral painter, are scaramouch inventions, mere pantomimic art, compared to the superior drama of his pencil. Yet Gillray, however, drew with wonderous spirit, and etched with marvellous freedom, although he was no painter-he was only a caricaturist, a burlesque designer, and viewed in that light, indubitably the greatest genius in the history of the art. How gloriously he designed that series of plates, exposing the atrocities of the leaders of the French Republic. Then, what a magnificent thought, to seat the Heaven-born minister upon the canopy of the Speaker's chair, his feet on the floor of the House of Commons. A mighty political Colossus playing at cup and ball with the world. What could surpass the haughtiness with which he personified Pitt, or the comicality which pervaded the phizzes of those who were opposed to his ministry. No one ever described motion more effectually,-witness, the terrified opposition flying out of the senate house. They out-speed the wind, and run as if the prime minister, with a thousand legions of devils were at their heels. Fox, I swear by all the saints in the calendar, is scudding at the rate of a comet at least, and the others are dragged in his tail. Then, there was the Apotheosis of General Hoche, and twenty others, specimens of sublime bombast, such as no mortal ever dreamed before. But that wicked Apotheosis of old Alderman Boydell, was a blot in the escutcheon of Master Gillray-an act for which he should have done a thousand years of penance. Can it be credited, that this genius could lend himself to a party to libel the " Worthy Alderman, sacrificing the fine arts, at the altar of Plutus?" Him, who did more for the fine arts of his country, the thrice munificent old com mercialist, than all the lords in the land! But who is to hold faith in the honor of a hireling satirist! When Hogarth had completed his whole length likeness of that venerable philanthropist Captain Coram, and presented the picture, said to be his best portrait, to add to the collection of art in the committee-room of that hospital founded at the instance of the Captain, a vagabond scribbler in his Scandalizade, a satire, published in 1749, ridiculed the performance, beginning with, "Lo! old Captain Coram, so round on the face, And a pair of good chaps plump'd up in good case," &c. Weaver Bickerton, who lived in Temple Exchange Passage, Fleet Street, was a noted publisher of humorous prints. He retained some scribblers who used to write verses to his plates, for a hot supper, part of a bowl of punch, and half-a-crown. That entertainment being the stipulated price for an afternoon's work. What roaring doings marked the midnight conversations at Weaver Bickerton's. You have mentioned in some of your lucubrations, Mr. | Forrest, the lawyer, who lived in the Adelphi; he who went on the expedition to Rochester with Hogarth, Scott, the marine painter, Tothall, and others. I have lately discovered what I had in vain endeavoured to find before, that it was this waggish lawyer who wrote the famous Cantata, in which is introduced, "O the Roast Beef of Old England," which accompanied the print of Hogarth's "Gate of Calais." It had been ascribed to Garrick, and I still do venture to think, Master Roscius had a hand in it. This cantata was first published by R. Sayer, in Fleet Street, whose sign was the Golden Buck; and J. Smith, a crony of the painters, who out of respect, set up his sign, The Hogarth's Head. Smith lived in Cheapside. Old John Boydell, when he kept an engraver's shop, lived at the sign of the Unicorn, at the corner of Queen Street, nearly opposite his late residence, now Messrs. Hurst and Robinson's. Boydell was an engraver-a very so-so artist. I have a pair of small prints by him, engraved in the line manner, from pictures by the younger Teniers, and I lately saw a print engraved by him of a View of Wandsworth. He was a lucky wight to take to print selling, and to quit the profession of art-and it was no less fortunate for artists and the arts, that he was so indifferent a performer, for, it was owing to his commercial enterprise that English prints became an important branch of export trade, which raised the consequence of our native school of calcography. So you may perceive, Mr. Editor, that a miserable stick of an artist may have quantum sufficit of talent to make a mighty figure on Change-Or in other words, that he that had not genius enough to make a sixth rate engraver, had wit enough to fill the civic chair! Old Catton the coach painter, had an excellent knack for humourous design. The Margate Packet by him, published about the year 1786, was a very clever composition, and etched with much spirit by himself. Coach painting up to the period of his day, was considered a very reputable profession. The coachmakers used to send their coach and chariot bodies, to these artists, (who had their own spacious lofts,) to be painted. Mr. Charles Catton I remember well-he lived in Gate Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, in very good style, and left his son, who followed the same business, a handsome fortune. Mr. Gwynne too, another respectable coach painter, I recollect residing in Long Acre. He had his own painting lofts, and had acquired some reputation as a painter of marine subjects. The elder Catton, as you doubtless remember, was one of the first Royal Academicians, on the founding of our Royal Academy of Arts. Mr. Robert Dalton, keeper of the pictures to our late sovereign, was apprenticed to a coach, house, and sign painter. These branches of painting formerly uniting in the same concern. Mr. Ralph Kirby, father of Mrs. Trimmer, the author of the book of perspective, and who taught the late king to draw, when Prince of Wales, was of the same profession, handicraft, or calling. So was Thomas Wright, of Liverpool, who painted that sea piece, so beautifully engraved by Wollett. Certain living painters, whom I could name, early in life pursued the same branches of painting, who now make great and distinguished figures in some of the higher departments of modern art. Charles Corbett, at the sign of Addison's Head, in Fleet Street, was one of the convives of the Hogarth club. He published a pamphlet on the Industrious and Idle Apprentice, which masters used to present to their apprentices at their respective halls, on the day of signing their inden tures. TO THE EDITOR OF THE SOMERSET HOUSE GAZETTE. SIR, VERY recently being invited to dine with a retired commercialist, a few miles from town, who has many years indulged in the delightful pursuit of collecting prints. I drove thither some hours earlier than the rest of the party invited, in company with a professional artist, to turn over some of my old friend's portfolios. I was really surprised, and not a little ashamed before I had proceeded far in the collection, to find so many fine specimens of modern engravings of the English school, with most of which I was unacquainted, or at least had only heard them occasionally mentioned, in my intercourse with artists, whose company I have always courted, though from circumstances, I have not frequently mixed in their society of late years. You will not I hope, think my observations impertinent then, after this confession; for although I have been but little among the arts for a long season past, time was, when I was known at all the print sales, and was myself no niggardly collector. I look back with pleasure to former days when old Mr Greenwood used to hold his print auctions by candle-light, and have a perfect recollection of his good humour, and upright dealing. I well remember too, a number of artists and amateurs who constantly attended his room, to purchase etchings of the old masters for themselves and friends. Those sweet landscape scenes by Both, Berghem Swanneveldt, Adrian Vandeveldt, and Waterloo, which are so familiar to you and to many of your readers, were sure to excite competition among the bidders; yet there was so much kindness and good will prevailing among the collectors of this period, that it rarely happened that a lot excited the least dispute. Old Parsons, as he was called, and young Bannister, the celebrated comedians, were both collectors and amateur artists: the latter was considered an excellent judge of prints. Rowlandson the humourous draughtsman, and his friend and patron Mr. Mitchel the banker, of the firm of Hodsols, were also frequenters of this evening rendezvous of artists, amateurs, and connoisseurs. But to return. I was surprised indeed to see the vast accumulation of modern prints, collected by my friendall created since the period I have named, and the far greater part of them by established artists now, many of whom were then not born, and the oldest of the number at most were only boys, whose professional pursuits could not then have been determined on. I could not help observing, with an involuntary sigh, on this occasion, I have seen all of the old school out, and this new school has sprung up and arrived at maturity, even since I became a the press, during the reign of King George the Third, that the President of the Royal Academy fell under the lash of the two most unprincipled satirists of the age, both men of wit, and the least of the two, a man of no mean talent. Mr. West was patronised by our late sovereign. That was the crime of this renowned artist, and Peter Pindar and Anthony Pasquin, traitors at heart, attacked the royal patron, through the painter whom he so graciously patronised. These malicious libellers, supported Sir Joshua Reynolds, it is too evident, less from admiration of his talent, than from the circumstance, that he did not appear to be a favorite with the king. Hence, Sir Joshua was constantly exalted by these critics on painting, at the expence of Mr. West. sidered him to be decidedly the first historical painter, since the times of the old masters. The same question had frequently been uppermost in my thoughts: judge then how pleased I must have been to learn from a landscape painter present, that a series of engravings from his finest pictures of this class has been pro- Sir Joshua however, thought and expressed his opinions jected, and that Mr. George Cooke, of Hackney, the very differently of his great compeer: he held the profesbrother of Mr. Cooke, of Soho Square, is to engrave them.sional talent of Mr. West in the highest esteem, and conI further heard that a line engraving of large dimensions, from the Rotterdam of Mr. Callcott, is already in a very advanced state by the hand of this very eminent engraver. I know not of all the living painters of the English school, one whose works would afford subjects for prints in the line manner, superior to the marine pieces of this very superior artist. I am not prone to provoke comparison with the merits of the living and the dead: yet, as it is still too much the prevailing fashion to praise the talents of those who are gone, at the expence of those who are yet among us, I will offer a remark or two in this strain. I have heard over and over again, amidst the genuine praises bestowed on the work of Mr. Calcott, at the public exhibitions and elsewhere, certain connoisseurs mention Cuyp, with a significant shrug, accompanied by observations which too evidently implied the uneasiness of these illiberal gentry, who sicken at the honours achieved by contemporary genius of our own school of art. Now, Sir, I will venture to aver, that neither Cuyp, nor Vandevelde, nor Backhuysen, nor any master of the Dutch or Flemish school, ever produced marine compositions combining so many pictorial qualities, with that truth and perfection which are manifest in the works of this English artist. I have seen almost all the finest specimens of these renowned masters. I have ever felt and admired the atmospheric beauty and transparency of Cuyp: the pure daylight and exquisite execution of Vandevelde; and I equally admire the rich compositions and picturesque character of Backhuysen, but yet, I have seen none of their works so completely wrought up to the true scale of pictorial feeling as certain of the superb marine compositions by our countryman and contemporary Callcott. As subjects for engravings, they outstrip all comparison by innumerable degrees, with any marine pieces by the old masters; and a set of prints, worthy of his pictures, would be considered an invaluable addition to the portfolio of the true connoisseur in every region of the globe. D. TO THE But even if Sir Joshua had not thought highly of Mr. West's talents, or had chosen, thinking well of them, to have suppressed his opinion; even then, there are those equally competent to judge upon the subject, who would have maintained their own sentiments, and have proclaimed Mr. West the best painter, in his department, of the age, and in some essential points, equal to those of former times. In Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine for August, is an article entitled, "NORTH AMERICA, Peculiarities, State of Fine Arts, Painting," in which is an account of North American artists, obviously written by some one who has no partial feelings for the memory of Mr. West. I flatter myself to be free from prejudice in estimating the merits of every man of talent, whatever department of the art he may have practised, and with this feeling cannot assent to the aspersions therein bestowed upon the fame of this venerable painter. The writer says "He (Mr. West) had great power; and a reputation much greater than he deserved. His fame will not encrease! it will diminish," following, with observations that cut down his well-earned reputation to that level becoming only an ordinary painter. It is a great misfortune for the professors of painting, that so many among the professors of literature, who can write so admirably upon most subjects, will write so presumptuously upon certain matters which they do not sufficiently understand. And it is a like misfortune for the public, that they can be persuaded by the artful assortment of language, the satire, or the abuse of the pens of these witty writers, to surrender their own judgment, so entirely to their guid ance. I will not ascribe these deficiencies to the writer of these articles: on the contrary, much of the criticism is sound and just. But I am not ignorant of the certain fact, that many who write with great elegance of diction, and with a flow of scientific terms upon the fine arts, and painting in particular, who publicly criticise with a boldness which the best judges of these matters would shrink from, who yet, will privately assure you that they know little or nothing EDITOR OF THE SOMERSET HOUSE GAZETTE. || of art. I WOULD fain discover, but know not with certainty how to set about it, why it has been the fashion to make, as it should seem, every allowance for the defects in the paintings of the first President of our Royal Academy of Arts, and none for those of the painter, who succeeded to that chair which he had filled? Why the memory of Sir Joshua Reynolds, is to be ever acquiring an accession of fame, and that of Mr. West's is to be everlastingly curtailed of the honours that are equally due to his posthumous renown? It may be numbered amongst the greatest atrocities of Mr. West is herein very unjustly censured, as I think you will perceive. The remarks on Mr. Leslie's "Sancho before the Duchess," may be tame enough, but I cannot perceive any symptoms of tameness in the picture. And as for Stewart, he is over-rated in about the same ratio that Mr. West is depreciated. It is the curse of painting, sculpture, and architecture, that the self-elected critics on these arts, are such bigots to their rules, that they cannot issue sterling, unadulterated praise: it must be alloyed with some censure to impose upon the world their superior knowledge of the subject which they criticise. NORTH AMERICAN ARTISTS. IN painting, the Americans have made a surprising proficiency; surprising, not only by comparison with what they have done in every other department of arts; but surprising, (if we consider their numbers, infancy, and want of encouragement,) when compared with what we ourselves have done, or any other people, during the same period. But then, the most celebrated of these American printers have been educated in this country; and some of them have been born here. The following are the names of those who have been, at one time or another, known in Great Britain or France, with a brief criticism on each: COPLEY, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. He was an American by birth; a capital portrait painter, for the time; and, if I may judge by a small but very good picture, in the Blue Coat School here, which I am told was painted by him, endowed with a decided and vigorous talent for historical composition. WEST, HISTORICAL PAINTER, AND LATE PRESIDENT OF examination. When Mr. Galt, in his "Life of West," had the courage to say, no matter on what authority, that the first essay of Master Benjamin was in painting the portrait of a child asleep, and smiling; and that he succeeded in making a likeness, he did more to injure the substantial, fair reputation of Mr. West, than his bitterest enemy (if Mr. West ever had an enemy) could have done. TRUMBULL, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. Mr. Trumbull is an American. He studied, however, and pursued his profession for a long time, in this country. He is now President of the New York Academy; and is the person whom Congress have employed to paint a series of pictures connected with certain events of the American Revolution, at (if I recollect rightly) nine thousand dollars a-piece, (about two thousand pounds.) Three of these are completed; and, unless I except the first (prints of which are now in this country,) called the "Signing of the Declaration," and which is only a respectable picture, they are among the greatest and most unaccountable failures of the age. The President may not be superannuated, but these pictures are. In fact, not to disguise the matter at all, one out of the three is contemptible; one tolerable; the other nothing extraordinary; and valuable only as a collection of tolerably well-arranged portraits. It is a great pity; every lover of the art must grieve to see the first efforts of a young country so unhappily misdirected. There were several painters in America, who would have made a magnificent affair of that which is handled like a tapestryweaver by Mr. Trumbull. Yet Mr. Trumbull was a man of considerable power. His well-known" Sortie of Gibraltar," the original sketch of which has lately been exhibited at the Suffolk-street Ex An American by birth; studied at Rome, and in London. He had great power; and a reputation much greater than he deserved. His fame will not increase, it will diminish. His composition is, generally speaking, confused-difficult of comprehension-and compounded, about in equal proportions, of the sublime and ordinary. He was prone to exaggeration; a slave to classical shapes; and greatly addicted to repetition. His capital pictures are often defi-hibition, was a very fine picture; but worth, it is true, cient in drawing; and yet, extraordinary as it may appear, his drawings are generally fine, and, in some cases, wonder ful. His execution seldom equalled his conception. The first hurried, bold, hazardous drawing of his thought, was generally the best; in its progress, through every successive stage of improvement, there was a continual falling off from the original character, in the most material parts-so that what it gained in finish, it lost in grandeur; and what it gained in parts, it lost in the whole. Compare his drawing of "Death upon the Pale Horse," with his painting of the same subject. The first was exhibited in France many years ago; and was the astonishment of everybody. The latter, I should be sorry to see exhibited anywhere. The drawing is worth a hundred of the painting. The group under the feet of the Pale Horse, and that of the lion and the horse at the left, are all that is worth preserving in the latter. The rest is feeble-common-place, or absolutely wretched. The fore-legs of the Pale Horse, like the fore-legs of almost every other horse that Mr. West ever painted, are too short. The character and position of the head, though altered from the drawing, are altered for the worse. The introduction of another figure, so important as the " Gospel," (I believe that is the one,) is injudicious; and the group at the extreme left, representing animal courage in a young man, is an unparalleled falling off from the original drawing. And so with several other pictures by this extraordinary man. The drawing of Christ Healing the Sick," is worth all the painted copies together-including that purchased by the Academy, and that in America. By the way, it is not very judicious to exhibit such pictures, as are exhibited in the gallery of Mr. West,-for his first essays in the art. It is not judicious-because nobody can believe that they are what they are called; and because there are others much worse in existence, (and shewn, too, in Philadelphia, America,) which were much more, probably, among the first of his essays. These things always do harm. Great pretension is quite sure to provoke severe everything else that he has ever done. His portraits are no great things. They are bold and strong, but all of a family-all alike. And so are his historical pictures. His "Battle of Lexington" is partly stolen; his "Death of ations; and I remember one of his pictures," the SurMontgomery," and "Sortie of Gibraltar," are only varirender of Cornwallis," where a whole rank of infantry are so exceedingly alike, that you would suppose them to have been born at the same time, of the same parents. REMBRANDT PEALE, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. Mr. Peale is an American. He studied and pursued the business of portrait painting in France. There are several painters in America of this name and family, but Mr. R. Peale is altogether superior to the others. One of his portraits attracted a good deal of admiration some years ago, at Paris; and another (of Mr. Mathews, the comedian) was exhibited lately in London. I have never seen it, but am told that it was a masterly thing. His portraits are beautifully painted, but rather cold, formal, and, until very lately, wanting in fleshiness. He has changed his manner, however of late, and is now a very fine portrait painter. His essays in historical painting are numerous, and quite wonderful, when we consider the disadvantages under which he must have laboured in America; with no models, no academy figures, no fellow-labourers, to consult; nobody even to mould a hand for him in plaster, and few to hold one, long enough for him to copy it, of flesh and blood. His" Court of Death," it is probable, will pay a visit here. It is a very large picture, and has parts of extraordinary power. ALSTON, HISTORICAL PAINTER. Mr. Alston is an American; studied in London-at Rome; and is undoubtedly at the head of the historical department in America. He is well understood, and very highly appreciated, in this country, and should lose no time in returning to it. His "Jacob's Vision" has established his reputation; but he owes to this country a debt which he will never repay if he remain at home. We have claims upon him here, for "He is, as it were, a child of us;" and his countrymen will never give him that opportunity which we would, if he were here. Mr. Alston's faculties are a very uncommon union of the bold and beautiful; and yet, there is a sort of artificial heat in some of his doings, much as if it were latent, elaborated with great care, and much difficulty; not that sort of inward fervour which flashes into spontaneous combustion, whenever it is excited or exasperated. MOKSE, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. Mr. Morse is an American; studied in the Academy, in some degree, under Mr. West. His model of the dying Hercules obtained the medal here. His portraits are powerful, free, and distinguished by masterly handling. He has done but little in history. SULLY, PORTRAIT AND HISTORY. Mr. Sully, who is the "Sir Thomas Lawrence" of America, is an Englishman, born, I believe, in London. His father, when Master Sully was about five, went over to America with his whole family. Many years after, the son returned, and continued in London for a considerable time, pursuing the study of his art, and copying some fine old pictures for his friends in America. That over, he returned, and, after years of great assiduity, has become, without any question, one of the most beautiful portrait painters in the world. His general style is like that of Sir Thomas Lawrence, by whom he has profited greatly; in fact, his composition, sentiment and manner, are so much of the same character, now and then, that were it not for the touch, some of his portraits could not be distinguished from those of Sir Thomas. He is remarkably happy in his women. They have not so much of that elegant foppery which characterises most of Sir Thomas Lawrence's females, but then, they are not heroic, and, perhaps, not quite so attractive, or, if as attractive, for that were a hard question to settle, there is not that exquisite flattery in his pencil that we see in the pencil of Sir Thomas Lawrence, which, while it preserves the likeness, will make a heroine, or an intellectual woman, of anything; and yet there is flattery enough in the pencil of Mr. Sully to satisfy any reasonable creature. Nobody can feel more a-tonishment or pleasure than I do at the address and rower of Sir Thomas Lawrence, in transforming the most absolute, and, I should think, sometimes the most unmanageable corporeal beings, into spiritualities; but, I confess, at the same time, that I cannot bear to meet any of his originals, after I have been looking at their pictures by him. My emotion, whenever I do, is unqualified astonishment, astonishment, first, at the likeness; and astonishment, secondly, that there should be a likeness between things that are so unlike when compared. How he contrives it I cannot imagine. I have seen a picture of his, indicating a fine, bold, poetical temperament; a handsome and expressive countenance, a frame above the middle size, and, altogether, a princely fellow. I have met the original! whom I had never seen before; been struck instantaneously by the resemblance, and yet the original was a paltry, diminutive, sordid-looking chap, with no more soul in his face than, nay, nor half so much as I have seen in a fine Irish potatoe. By the way-a remark occurs to me here, which may explain this phenomenon. A stranger will see a resemblance where a friend would not. The more intimate one is with any object, the less easily satisfied will one be with a drawing of it. Any body may see a resemblance in a caricature, an outline, or a profile, while he who is familiar with the original, will see nothing in the same caricature, profile, or ouline, but a want of resemblance. This would seem to know the picture immediately, perhaps, or the original, explain a common occurrence in portrait painting. Strangers (having seen the picture) wherever they may happen to encounter it; mere acquaintances burst into continual exclamation at the sight of it, while the intimate friends of the original are dissatisfied, exactly in proportion to partiality of affection, or friendship; the multitude, perthat intimacy. Painters attribute this to the foolish haps, to affectation, blindness, or want of judgment. "What!" they say, "when we, who are strangers, know the portrait at a glance, how is it possible that it cannot be a likeness!" They do not know that, because they are strangers, they cannot perceive the ten thousand deficiencies, or the innumerable delicacies of hue and expression, which go to make up a likeness to the eyes of love or veneration. The world see only the whole; the intimate friends love to look at the parts, at the miniature. It must be for the world, then, that a man has painted, if his pictures are such startling resemblances, that while we are ready to cry out with pleasure at the likeness, we are ready to cry out yet louder with astonishment, if we see the originals, that there should be any likeness. SONNET. I have beheld the summer cloud flash o'er, On Heaven's veil'd radiance in the shadowy brook; But ne'er on sea or shore, mead, stream, or sky, INVITATION TO KENSINGTON GARDENS. By the Hon. R. Spencer. No storm to-day, no lightning's glare, Warm as the virgin's breath who sings Fair as those days of infancy, So fair, when nearly ended, With all her snow-drop purity, Youth's primrose sweets are blended. |