SIR WILLIAM JONES. No. 128. GEORGE COLMAN. From a Picture by Zoffany, in the possession of the Publisher. 101 GEORGE COLMAN the elder, (father of the living dramatist of that name,) was not, as far as we can recollect, a writer of much original verse. His introduction here, however, is partly upon that ground, and partly upon the strength of his comedies, which are well known, and generally and deservedly admired. He seems to have had small delicate features, and much precision about the mouth; but withal to have possessed a quick observing eye, and to have looked as complete a gentleman as we remember to have seen painted in any modern portrait. His " Jealous Wife" is a lively entertaining play, and his "Clandestine Marriage" contains one of the best characters of which comedy (certainly modern comedy) can boast. No. 129. SIR WILLIAM JONES. From a Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in the possession of Lady Jones. SIR WILLIAM JONES, the acute and elegant orientalist, was the original, as the reader will perceive, of as elegant a picture. He has the look of a patient and sensible inquirer, and he was so. He was an excellent man, learned, indefatigable, acute. He walked like Spring into the dryest and most barren regions of learning, and scattered flowers wheresoever he trod. As a poet, however, he cannot be considered as taking a high stand: his mind was too inuch engrossed by other things; yet his song to the "Damsels of Cardigan" is pretty, and his well known translation from Hafiz is replete with grace. "Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight, And bid these arms thy neck infold; 102 SAMUEL BISHOP. That rosy cheek, that lily hand, 'Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, And bid thy pensive heart be glad, No. 130. SAMUEL BISHOP. From a Drawing by Dance, in the possession of Miss Bishop. THE character of BISHOP's countenance is not very intellectual, and there is a timid, and almost mean expression about the mouth. He looks but little qualified to insist upon the discipline necessary to be observed at Merchant Tailor's school, or to wield the weapons of Dr. Busby. But, we suppose, he did both occasionally, besides writing his epigrams, and composing verses to his wife,― "To Mrs. Bishop." Of this lady he sings sometimes more like the tea-kettle than the nightingale : "With that first ring I married youth, If in a kiss-delicious treat! This is very uxorious. * These verses were sent to Mrs. Bishop with a knife. ROBERT BURNS. No. 131. ROBERT BURNS. From a Drawing by Nasmyth, in the possession of Mrs. Burns. 103 THIS portrait does not do justice to the countenance of the celebrated Scottish poet; but it is the only one, we believe, that is in existence. BURNS,-who grew up like a daisy-or rather like a sapling on a mountain side, upon whom the dews of poetry fell early, and the light of the dawn descended,-was altogether an extraordinary writer. He was really a pastoral poet; not like Virgil, who sang of the husbandman's arts from the marble halls of Augustus Cæsar, but following his plough in the Scottish valleys, or wandering by the brawling rivulets which he afterwards immortalized in song. We are not inclined here to touch upon his infirmities, if he had any; but to record our sense of his merits. He was the first writer of verse of whom Scotland could very largely boast: and, indeed, he was a fresh, original, vigorous writer, -not comparable, certainly, as a lofty poet, to several of our English spirits, but, after his own fashion, delightful and matchless. His humour, which however English readers in general cannot be supposed to appreciate, was perfect in its way; his familiar epistles yield to none since Ben Jonson wrote; and his songs are unsurpassed, except by Shakspeare. Burns was overflowing with sensibility, irritable, kind-hearted, and undaunted; and we see evidences of this in almost every page of his poetry. He has been accused of boasting, and of imprudence. But as no man ever possessed the faculty of Burns without perfectly knowing it, so the promulgation of this knowledge must be accounted indiscretion, rather than vanity; and as to his general imprudence, it is, unfortunately, scarcely to be expected that the poet, who spreads his thoughts into the regions of imagination, should at the same time square his conduct by the severe rules of reason. The one is too much at variance with the other. There may, however, be two opinions on this subject. In regard to his powers, there can be but one. He was a true, unaffected, and what we may call natural poet that is to say, he was not nourished like a sickly plant, by melancholy musing, nor raised prematurely to renown, in the hot bed of court favor; but he sprang up in his native valley, while the winds and the rain fell freely on him. He was born "in the eye" of nature, and grew up and flourished like the forest oak. He was fresh, vigorous, and beautiful, but like the oak was cut down in his prime, that the people who had neglected him when living might shed tears upon his grave, and deify him as the first spirit of their land, and raise an unnecessary column to his fame. We do not like this posthumous gratitude. It is suspicious and idle to adore the dull ashes of a poet, when we might wreathe his living forehead with bays, and encircle him with our smiles, and shut out the ghastly face of poverty from his home. Burns was certainly deficient in imagination, but there is often a deep sentiment in his verse, which in some measure makes us amends for the other quality. What a delightful song is that "To Jessy" "Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And those two exquisite lines (in the same song) "'Tis sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside―Jessy." are the very romance of sentiment. These last resemble a passage written by Cotton, (the friend of Walton,) which Burns in all probability never saw. The writer is speaking of his " Love," "For whom more glory 'tis to die Scorned and neglected, than enjoy And the second stanza of Burns's song, addressed to ‹‹ Mary Morison," is the perfection of the lover's melancholy, and tuneful as the widowed nightingale's lamenting. JOSEPH WARTON. No. 132. WILLIAM MASON. 105 From a Picture by Doughty, in the Collection of the Earl of Harcourt. MASON, the editor of Gray, and author of "Elfrida," and " Caractacus," &c. has an unpleasant physiognomy. It is sleek, illtempered, important, and has the look of a solemn coxcomb. What resemblance his character bears to his countenance, the readers of his biography must determine. While he lived, he shone like the satellite of Gray, whose favor and friendship he courted. He is the person, we believe, who proposed passing through Oxford by night, from a needless apprehension, lest the students should take the horses from his carriage, and draw him through that learned place in triumph. He should have known better; for he upon whom the Muse shines,— "non equus impiger Curru ducet Achaico Victorem, neque res *** Deliis Ornatum foliis ducem, Ostendet Capitolio:" or did he doubt-we rather think he did not-the favor in which he stood with Apollo and the sisters? No. 133. JOSEPH WARTON. From the Monument by Flaxman, in Winchester Cathedral. JOSEPH WARTON, brother of the historian, is best known by his Essay on Pope. He wrote some verse, however, though not of great merit or pretension. He has, in this print, a quiet pleasing look, and seems as though he had forgotten himself to marble. The book which is open before him, and the name of Homer over his head, betray the schoolmaster, perhaps, as much as the poet. |