Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 331, May, 1843

"The second son of the Shamkhál, Abdoul Moússelin. Next after you, he has, from his high blood, the best right, of all our mountaineers, to Seltanetta's hand."

"Next to me—after me!" exclaimed the passionate Bek, boiling with anger: "Am I, then, buried? Is then my memory vanished among my friends?"

"Neither the memory, nor friendship itself is dead in my heart; but be just, Ammalát; as just as I am frank. Forget that you are the judge of your own cause, and decide what we are to do. You will not abandon the Russians, and I cannot make peace with them."

"Do but wish—do but speak the word, and all will be forgotten, all will be forgiven you. This I will answer for with my head, and with the honour of Verkhóffsky, who has more than once promised me his mediation. For your own good, for the welfare of Avár, for your daughter's happiness, for my bliss, I implore you, yield to peace, and all will be forgotten—all that once belonged to you will be restored."

"How boldly you answer, rash youth, for another's pardon, for another's life! Are you sure of your own life, your own liberty?"

"Who should desire my poor life? To whom should be dear the liberty which I do not prize myself?"

"To whom? Think you that the pillow does not move under the Shamkhál's head, when the thought rises in his brain, that you, the true heir of the Shamkhalát of Tarki, are in favour with the Russian Government?"

"I never reckoned on its friendship, nor feared its enmity."

"Fear it not, but do not despise it. Do you know that an express, sent from Tarki to Yermóloff, arrived a moment too late, to request him to show no mercy, but to execute you as a traitor? The Shamkhál was before ready to betray you with a kiss, if he could; but now, that you have sent back his blind daughter to him, he no longer conceals his hate."

"Who will dare to touch me, under Verkhóffsky's protection?"

"Hark ye, Ammalát; I will tell you a fable:—A sheep went into a kitchen to escape the wolves, and rejoiced in his luck, flattered by the caresses of the cooks. At the end of three days he was in the pot. Ammalát, this is your story. 'Tis time to open your eyes. The man whom you considered your first friend has been the first to betray you. You are surrounded, entangled by treachery. My chief motive in meeting you was my desire to warn you. When Seltanetta was asked in marriage, I was given to understand from the Shamkhál, that through him I could more readily make my peace with the Russians, than through the powerless Ammalát—that you would soon be removed in some way or other, and that there was nothing to be feared from your rivalry. I suspected still more, and learned more than I suspected. To-day I stopped the Shamkhál's noúker, to whom the negotiations with Verkhóffsky were entrusted, and extracted from him, by torture, that the Shamkhál offers a thousand ducats to get rid of you. Verkhóffsky hesitates, and wishes only to send you to Siberia for ever. The affair is not yet decided; but to-morrow the detachment retires to their quarters, and they have resolved to meet at your house in Bouináki, to bargain about your blood. They will forge denunciations and charges—they will poison you at your own table, and cover you with chains of iron, promising you mountains of gold." It was painful to see Ammalát during this dreadful speech. Every word, like red-hot iron, plunged into his heart; all within him that was noble, grand, or consoling, took fire at once, and turned into ashes. Every thing in which he had so long and so trustingly confided, fell to pieces, and shrivelled up in the flame of indignation. Several times he tried to speak, but the words died away in a sickly gasp; and at last the wild beast which Verkhóffsky had tamed, which Ammalát had lulled to sleep, burst from his chain: a flood of curses and menaces poured from the lips of the furious Bek. "Revenge, revenge!" he cried, "merciless revenge, and woe to the hypocrites!"

"This is the first word worthy of you," said the Khan, concealing the joy of success; "long enough have you crept like a serpent, laying your head under the feet of the Russians! 'Tis time to soar like an eagle to the clouds; to look down from on high upon the enemy who cannot reach you with their arrows. Repay treachery with treachery, death with death!"

"Then death and ruin be to the Shamkhál, the robber of my liberty; and ruin be to Abdoul Moússelin, who dared to stretch forth his hand to my treasure!"

"The Shamkhál? His son—his family? Are they worthy of your first exploits? They are all but little loved by the Tarkovétzes; and if we attack the Shamkhál, they will give up his whole family with their own hands. No, Ammalát, you must aim your first blow next to you; you must destroy your chief enemy; you must kill Verkhóffsky."

"Verkhóffsky!" exclaimed Ammalát, stepping back.... "Yes!.... he is my enemy; but he was my friend. He saved me from a shameful death.

"And has now sold you to a shameful life!.... A noble friend! And then you have yourself saved him from the tusks of the wild-boar—a death worthy of a swine-eater! The first debt is paid, the second remains due: for the destiny which he is so deceitfully preparing for you"....

"I feel ... this ought to be ... but what will good men say? What will my conscience say?"

"It is for a man to tremble before old women's tales, and before a whimpering child—conscience—when honour and revenge are at stake? I see Ammalát, that without me you will decide nothing; you will not even decide to marry Seltanetta. Listen to me. Would you be a son-in-law worthy of me, the first condition is Verkhóffsky's death. His head shall be a marriage-gift for your bride, whom you love, and who loves you. Not revenge only, but the plainest reasoning requires the death of the Colonel. Without him, all Daghestán will remain several days without a chief, and stupefied with horror. In this interval, we come flying upon the Russians who are dispersed in their quarters. I mount with twenty thousand Avarétzes and Akoushétzes: and we fall from the mountains like a cloud of snow upon Tarki. Then Ammalát, Shamkhál of Daghestán, will embrace me as his friend, as his father-in-law. These are my plans, this is your destiny. Choose which you please; either an eternal banishment, or a daring blow, which promises you power and happiness; but know, that next time we shall meet either as kinsmen, or as irreconcilable foes!"

The Khan disappeared. Long stood Ammalát, agitated, devoured by new and terrible feelings. At length Samit reminded him that it was time to return to the camp. Ignorant himself how and where he had found his way to the shore, he followed his mysterious guide, found his horse, and without answering a word to the thousand questions of Saphir Ali, rode up to his tent. There, all the tortures of the soul's hell awaited him. Heavy is the first night of sorrow, but still more terrible the first bloody thoughts of crime.

REYNOLDS'S DISCOURSES. CONCLUSION

We omit any notice of the other written works of Sir Joshua—his "Journey to Flanders and Holland," his Notes to Mason's verse translation of Du Fresnoy's Latin poem, "Art of Painting," and his contributions to the "Idler." The former is chiefly a notice of pictures, and of value to those who may visit the galleries where most of them may be found; and in some degree his remarks will attach a value to those dispersed; the best part of the "Journey," perhaps, is his critical discrimination of the style and genius of Rubens. The marrow of his Notes to Du Fresnoy's poem, and indeed of his papers in the "Idler," has been transferred to his Discourses, which, as they terminate his literary labours, contain all that he considered important in a discussion on taste and art. The notes to Du Fresnoy may, however, be consulted by the practical painter with advantage, as here and there some technical directions may be found, which, if of doubtful utility in practice, will at least demand thought and reasoning upon this not unimportant part of the art. To doubt is to reflect; judgment results, and from this, as a sure source, genius creates. There are likewise some memoranda useful to artists to be read in Northcote's "Life." The influence of these Discourses upon art in this country has been much less than might have been expected from so able an exposition of its principles. They breathe throughout an admiration of what is great, give a high aim to the student, and point to the path he should pursue to attain it: while it must be acknowledged our artists as a body have wandered in another direction. The Discourses speak to cultivated minds only. They will scarcely be available to those who have habituated their minds to lower views of art, and have, by a fascinating practice, acquired an inordinate love for its minor beauties. It is true their tendency is to teach, to cultivate: but in art there is too often as much to unlearn as to learn, and the unlearning is the more irksome task; prejudice, self-gratulation, have removed the humility which is the first step in the ladder of advancement. With the public at large, the Discourses have done more; and rather by the reflection from that improvement in the public taste, than from any direct appeal to artists, our exhibitions have gained somewhat in refinement. And if there is, perhaps, less vigour now, than in the time of Sir Joshua, Wilson, and Gainsborough, those fathers of the English School, we are less seldom disgusted with the coarseness, both of subject and manner, that prevailed in some of their contemporaries and immediate successors. In no branch of art is this improvement more shown than in scenes of familiar life—which meant, indeed "Low Life." Vulgarity has given place to a more "elegant familiar." This has necessarily brought into play a nicer attention to mechanical excellence, and indeed to all the minor beauties of the art. We almost fear too much has been done this way, because it has been too exclusively pursued, and led astray the public taste to rest satisfied with, and unadvisedly to require, the less important perfections. From that great style which it may be said it was the sole object of the Discourses to recommend, we are further off than ever. Even in portrait, there is far less of the historical, than Sir Joshua himself introduced into that department—an adoption which he has so ably defended by his arguments. But nothing can be more unlike the true historical, as defined in the precepts of art, than the modern representation of national (in that sense, historical) events. The precepts of the President have been unread or disregarded by the patronized historical painters of our day. It would seem to be thought a greater achievement to identify on canvass the millinery that is worn, than the characters of the wearers, silk stockings, and satins, and faces, are all of the same common aim of similitude; arrangement, attitude, and peculiarly inanimate expression, display of finery, with the actual robes, as generally announced in the advertisement, render such pictures counterparts, or perhaps inferior counterfeits to Mrs Jarley's wax-work. And, like the wax-work, they are paraded from town to town, to show the people how much the tailor and mantua-maker have to do in state affairs; and that the greatest of empires is governed by very ordinary-looking personages. Even the Venetian painters, called by way of distinction the "Ornamental School," deemed it necessary to avoid prettinesses and pettinesses, and by consummate skill in artistical arrangement in composition, in chiaro-scuro and colour, to give a certain greatness to the representations of their national events. There is not, whatever other faults they may have, this of poverty, in the public pictures of Venice; they are at least of a magnificent ambition: they are far removed from the littleness of a show. We are utterly gone out of the way of the first principles of art in our national historical pictures. Yet was the great historical the whole subject of the Discourses—it was to be the only worthy aim of the student. If the advice and precepts of Sir Joshua Reynolds have, then, been so entirely disregarded, it may be asked what benefit he has conferred upon the world by his Discourses. We answer, great. He has shown what should be the aim of art, and has therefore raised it in the estimation of the cultivated. His works are part of our standard literature; they are in the hands of readers, of scholars; they materially help in the formation of a taste by which literature is to be judged and relished. Even those who never acquire any very competent knowledge of, or love for pictures, do acquire a respect for art, connect it with classical poetry—the highest poetry, with Homer, with the Greek drama, with all they have read of the venerated works of Phidias, Praxiteles, and Apelles; and having no too nice discrimination, are credulous of, or anticipate by remembering what has been done and valued—the honour of the profession. We assert that, by bringing the precepts of art within the pale of our accepted literature, Sir Joshua Reynolds has given to art a better position. Would that there were no counteracting circumstances which still keep it from reaching its proper rank! Some there are, which materially degrade it, amongst which is the attempt to force patronage; the whole system of Art Unions, and of Schools of Design, the "in formâ pauperis" petitioning and advertising, and the rearing innumerable artists, ill-educated in all but drawing, and mere degrading still, the binding art, as it were, apprenticed to manufacture in such Schools of Design; connecting, in more than idea, the drawer of patterns with the painter of pictures. Hence has arisen, and must necessarily arise, an inundation of mediocrity, the aim of the painter being to reach some low-prize mark, an unnatural competition, inferior minds brought into the profession, a sort of painting-made-easy school, and pictures, like other articles of manufacture, cheap and bad. We should say decidedly, that the best consideration for art, and the best patronage too, that we would give to it, would be to establish it in our universities of Cambridge and Oxford. In those venerated places to found professorships, that a more sure love and more sure taste for it may be imbedded with every other good and classical love and taste in the early minds of the youth of England's pride, of future patrons; and where painters themselves may graduate, and associate with all noble and cultivated minds, and be as much honoured in their profession as any in those usually called "learned." But to return to Sir Joshua. He conferred upon his profession not more benefit by his writings and paintings, than by his manners and conduct. To say that they were irreproachable would be to say little—they were such as to render him an object of love and respect. He adorned a society at that time remarkable for men of wit and wisdom. He knew that refinement was necessary for his profession, and he studiously cultivated it—so studiously, that he brought a portion of his own into that society from which he had gathered much. He abhorred what was low in thought, in manners, and in art. And thus he tutored his genius, which was great rather from the cultivation of his judgment, by incessantly exercising his good sense upon the task before him, than from any innate very vigorous power. He thought prudence the best guide of life, and his mind was not of an eccentric daring, to rush heedlessly beyond the bounds of discretion. And this was no small proof of his good sense; when the prejudice of the age in which he lived was prone to consider eccentricity as a mark of genius; and genius itself, inconsistently with the very term of a silly admiration, an inspiration, that necessarily brought with it carelessness and profligacy. By his polished manners, his manly virtues, and his prudential views, which mainly formed his taste, and enabled him to disseminate taste, Sir Joshua rescued art from this degrading prejudice, which, while it flattered vanity and excused vice, made the objects of the flattery contemptible and inexcusable. If genius be a gift, it is one that passes through the mind, and takes its colour; the love of all that is pure, and good, and great, can alone invest genius with that habit of thought which, applied to practice, makes the perfect painter. Castiglione considered painting the proper acquirement of the perfect gentleman—Sir Joshua Reynolds thought that to be in mind and manners the "gentlemen," was as necessary to perfect the painter. The friend of Johnson and Burke, and of all persons of that brilliant age, distinguished by abilities and worth, was no common man. In raising himself, he was ever mindful to raise the art to which he had devoted himself, in general estimation.

We have noticed a charge against the writer of the Discourses, that he did not pursue that great style which he so earnestly recommended. Besides that this is not quite true—for he unquestionably did adopt so much of the great manner as his subjects would, generally speaking, allow—there was a sufficient reason for the tone he adopted, that it was one useful and honourable, and none can deny that it was suited to his genius. He was doubtless conscious of his own peculiar powers, and contemplated the degree of excellence which he attained. He felt that he could advance that department of his profession, and surely no unpardonable prudential views led him to the adoption of it. It was the one, perhaps, best suited to his abilities; and there is nothing in his works which might lead us to suspect that he would have succeeded so well in any other. The characteristic of his mind was a nice observation. It was not in its native strength creative. We doubt if Sir Joshua Reynolds ever attempted a perfectly original creation—if he ever designed without having some imitation in view. We mean not to say, that in the process he did not take slight advantages of accidents, and, if the expression may be used, by a second sort of creation, make his work in the end perfectly his own. But we should suppose that his first conceptions for his pictures, (of course, we speak principally of those not strictly portraits,) came to him through his admiration of some of the great originals, which he had so deeply studied. In almost every work by his hand, there is strongly marked his good sense—almost a prudent forbearance. He ever seemed too cautious not to dare beyond his tried strength, more especially in designing a subject of several figures. His true genius as alone conspicuous in those where much of the portrait was admissible; and such was his "Tragic Muse," a strictly historical picture: was it equally discernible in his "Nativity" for the window in New College Chapel? We think not. There is nothing in his "Nativity" that has not been better done by others; yet, as a whole, it is good; and if the subject demands a more creative power, and a higher daring than was habitual to him, we are yet charmed with the good sense throughout; and while we look, are indisposed to criticise. We have already remarked how much Sir Joshua was indebted to a picture by Domenichino for the "Tragic Muse." Every one knows that he borrowed the "Nativity" from the "Notte" of Correggio, and perhaps in detail from other and inferior masters. His "Ugolino" was a portrait, or a study, in the commencement; it owes its excellence to its retaining this character in its completion. If we were to point to failures, in single figures, (historical,) we should mention his "Puck" and his "Infant Hercules." The latter we only know from the print. Here he certainly had an opportunity of displaying the great style of Michael Angelo; it was beyond his daring; the Hercules is a sturdy child, and that is all, we see not the ex pede Herculem. We can imagine the colouring, especially of the serpents and back-ground, to have been impressive. The picture is in the possession of the Emperor of Russia. The "Puck" is a somewhat mischievous boy—too substantially, perhaps heavily, given for the fanciful creation. The mushroom on which he is perched is unfortunate in shape and colour; it is too near the semblance of a bullock's heart. His "Cardinal Beaufort," powerful in expression, has been, we think, captiously reprehended for the introduction of the demon. The mind's eye has the privilege of poetry to imagine the presence; the personation is therefore legitimate to the sister art. The National Gallery is not fortunate enough to possess any important picture of the master in the historical style. The portraits there are good. There was, we have been given to understand, an opportunity of purchasing for the National Gallery the portrait of himself, which Sir Joshua presented to his native town of Plympton as his substitute, having been elected mayor of the town—an honour that was according to the expectation of the electors thus repaid. The Municipal Reform brought into office in the town of Plympton, as elsewhere, a set of men who neither valued art nor the fame of their eminent townsman. Men who would convert the very mace of office into cash, could not be expected to keep a portrait; so it was sold by auction, and for a mere trifle. It was offered to the nation; and by those whose business it was to cater for the nation, pronounced a copy. The history of its sale did not accompany the picture; when that was known, as it is said, a very large sum was offered, and refused. It is but justice to the committee to remind them of the fact, that Sir Joshua himself, as he tells us, very minutely examined a picture which he pronounced to be his own, and which was nevertheless a copy. Unquestionably his genius was for portrait; it suited his strictly observant character; and he had this great requisite for a portrait-painter, having great sense himself, he was able to make his heads intellectual. His female portraits are extremely lovely; he knew well how to represent intellect, enthusiasm, and feeling. These qualities he possessed himself. We have observed, in the commencement of these remarks upon the Discourses, that painters do not usually paint beyond themselves, either power or feeling—beyond their own grasp and sentiments; it was the habitual good sense and refinement of moral feeling that made Sir Joshua Reynolds so admirable a portrait-painter. He has been, and we doubt not justly, celebrated as a colourist. Unfortunately, we are not now so capable of judging, excepting in a few instances, of this his excellence. Some few years ago, his pictures, to a considerable amount in number, were exhibited at the British Institution. We are forced to confess that they generally looked too brown—many of them dingy, many loaded with colour, that, when put on, was probably rich and transparent: we concluded that they had changed. Though Sir Joshua, as Northcote in his very amusing Memoirs of the President assures us, would not allow those under him to try experiments, and carefully locked up his own, that he might more effectually discourage the attempt—considering that, in students, it was beginning at the wrong end—yet was he himself a great experimentalist. He frequently used wax and varnish; the decomposition of the latter (mastic) would sufficiently account for the appearance those pictures wore. We see others that have very much faded; some that are said to be faded may rather have been injured by cleaners; the colouring when put on with much varnish not bearing the process of cleaning, may have been removed, and left only the dead and crude work. It has been remarked, that his pictures have more especially suffered under the hands of restorers. It must be very difficult for a portrait-painter, much employed, and called upon to paint a portrait, where short time and few sittings are the conditions, to paint a lasting work. He is obliged to hasten the drying of the paint, or to use injurious substances, which answer the purpose only for a short present. Sir Joshua, too, was tempted to use orpiment largely in some pictures, which has sadly changed. An instance may be seen in the "Holy Family" in our National Gallery—the colour of the flesh of the St John is ruined from this cause. It is, however, one of his worst pictures, and could not have been originally designed for a "holy family." The Mater is quite a youthful peasant girl: we should not regret it if it were totally gone. Were Sir Joshua living, and could he see it in its present state, he would be sure to paint over it, and possibly convert it into another subject. We do not doubt, however, that Sir Joshua deserved the reputation he obtained as a colourist in his day. We attribute the brown, the horny asphaltum look they have, to change. It is unquestionably exceedingly mortifying to see, while the specimens of the Venetian and Flemish colourists are at this day so pure and fresh, though painted centuries before our schools, our comparatively recent productions so obscured and otherwise injured. Tingry, excellent authority, the Genevan chemical professor, laments the practice of the English painters of mixing varnish with their colours, which, he says, shows that they prefer a temporary brilliancy to lasting beauty; for that it is impossible, that with this practice, pictures should either retain their brilliancy or even be kept from decay. We do not remember to have seen a single historical picture of Sir Joshua's that has not suffered; happily there are yet many of his portraits fresh, vigorous, and beautiful in colouring. It should seem, that he thought it worth while to speculate upon those of least value to his reputation.

Portrait-painting, at the commencement of Sir Joshua's career, was certainly in a very low condition. A general receipt for face-making, with the greatest facility seemed to have been current throughout the country. Attitudes and looks were according to a pattern; and, accordingly, there was so great a family resemblance, however unconnected the sitters, that it might seem to have been intended to promote a brotherly and sisterly bond of union among all the descendants of Adam. Portrait-painting, which had in this country been so good, was in fact, with here and there an exception, and generally an exception not duly estimated, in a degraded state: the art in this respect, as in others, had become vulgarized. From this universal family-likeness recipe, Reynolds came suddenly, and at once successfully, before the world, with individual nature, and variety of character, and portraits that had the merit of being pictures as well as portraits. He led to a complete revolution in this department, so that if he had rivals—and he certainly had one in Gainsborough—they were of his own making. The change is mostly perceptible in female portraits. They assumed grace and beauty. Our grandmothers and great-grandmothers were strangely vilified in their unpleasing likenesses. The somewhat loose satin evening-dress, with the shepherdess's crook, was absurd enough; and no very great improvement upon the earlier taste of complimenting portraits with the personation of the heathen deities. The poetical pastoral, however, very soon descended to the real pastoral; and, as if to make people what they were not was considered enough of the historical of portrait, even this took. We suspect Gainsborough was the first to sin in this degradation line, by no means the better one for being the furthest from the divinities. He had painted some rustic figures very admirably, and made such subjects a fashion; but why they should ever be so, we could never understand; or why royalty should not be represented as royalty, gentry as gentry; to represent them otherwise, appears as absurd as if our Landseer should attempt a greyhound in the character of a Newfoundland dog. A picture of Gainsborough's was exhibited, a year or two ago, in the British Institution, Pall-Mall, which we were astonished to hear was most highly valued; for it was a weak, washy, dauby, ill-coloured performance, and the design as bad as well could be. It was a scene before a cottage-door, with the children of George the Third as peasant children, in village dirt and mire. The picture had no merit to recommend it; if we remember rightly, it had been painted over, or in some way obscured, and unfortunately brought to light. Although Sir Joshua Reynolds generally introduced a new grace into his portraits, and mostly so without deviating from the character as he found it, dispensing indeed with the old affectation, we fear he cannot altogether be acquitted from the charge of deviating from the true propriety of portrait. Ladies as Miranda, as Hebe, and even as Thais, no very moral compliment, are examples—some there are of the lower pastoral. Mrs Macklin and her daughter were represented at a spinning-wheel, and Miss Potts as a gleaner. There is one of somewhat higher pretensions, but equally a deviation from propriety, in his portraits of the Honourable Mistresses Townshend, Beresford, and Gardiner. They are decorating the statue of Hymen; the grace of one figure is too theatrical, the others have but little. The one kneeling on the ground, and collecting the flowers, is, in one respect, disagreeable—the light of the sky, too much of the same hue and tone as the face, is but little separated from it—in fact, only by the dark hair; while all below the face and bosom is a too heavy dark mass. Portrait-painters are very apt to fail whenever they colour their back-grounds to the heads of a warm and light sky-colour; the force of the complexion is very apt to be lost, and the portrait is sure to lose its importance. The "General on Horseback," in our National Gallery, (Ligonier,) a fine picture, is in no small degree hurt by the absence of a little greyer tone in the part of the sky about the head. By far the best portraits by Sir Joshua—and, fortunately, they are the greater part—are those in real character. His very genius was for unaffected simplicity; attitudinizing recipes could never have been adopted by him with satisfaction to himself. Some of his slight, more sketchy portraits, as yet unexperimented upon by his powerful, frequently rather too powerful, colouring, his deep browns and yellows, are unrivalled. Such is his Kitty Fisher, not long since exhibited in the British Gallery, Pall-Mall. There the character is not overpowered by the effect.

Gainsborough was the only painter of his day that could, with any pretension, vie with Sir Joshua Reynolds in portrait. In some respects they had similar excellences. Both were alike, by natural taste, averse to affectation, and both were colourists. As a colourist, Gainsborough, as his pictures are now, may be even preferred to Reynolds. They seem to have been painted off more at once, and have therefore a greater freshness; his flesh tints are truly surprising, most true to life. He probably painted with a more simple palette. The pains and labour which Sir Joshua bestowed, and which were perhaps very surprising when his pictures were fresh from the easel, have lost much of their virtue. The great difference between these great cotemporaries lay in their power of character. Gainsborough was as true as could be to nature, where the character was not of the very highest order. Plain, downright common sense he would hit off wonderfully, as in his portrait of Ralphe Schomberg—a picture, we are sorry to find, removed from the National Gallery. The world's every-day men were for his pencil. He did not so much excel in women. The bent of Sir Joshua's mind was to elevate, to dignify, to intellectualize. Enthusiasm, sentiment, purity, and all the varied poetry of feminine beauty, received their kindred hues and most exquisite expression under his hand. Whatever was dignified in man, or lovely in woman, was portrayed with its appropriate grace and strength. Sir Joshua was, in fact, himself the higher character; ever endeavouring to improve and cultivate his own mind, to raise it by a dignified aim in his art and in his life, and gathering the beauty of sentiment to himself from its best source—the practice of social and every amiable charity—he was sure to transfer to the canvass something characteristic of himself. Gainsborough was, in his way, a gentle enthusiast, altogether of an humbler ambition. Even in his landscapes, he showed that he saw little in nature but what the vulgar see; he had little idea that what is commonly seen are the materials of a better creation. Gainsborough was unrivalled in his portraiture of common truth, Reynolds in poetical truth. Gainsborough spoke in character in one of his letters, wherein he said, that he "was well read in the volume of nature, and that was learning sufficient for him." It is said that he was proud—perhaps his pride was shown in this remark—but it was not a pride allied with greatness. The pride of Reynolds was quite of another stamp; it did not disagree with his soundest judgment; his estimate of himself was more true, and it showed itself in modesty. That such men should meet and associate but little, is not surprising. That Reynolds withdrew in "cold and carefully meted out courtesy," is not surprising, though the expressions quoted are written to disparage Reynolds. The man of fixed purpose may appear cold when he does not assimilate with the man of caprice, (as was Gainsborough,) in whose company there is nothing to call forth a congeniality, a sympathy; and it is probable that Gainsborough felt as little disposed as Sir Joshua, to preserve, or even to seek, an intimacy. Their final parting at the deathbed of Gainsborough was most honourable to them both; and the merit of seeking it was entirely Gainsborough's. It is singular that any facts should be so perverted, as to justify an insinuation that Reynolds, whose whole life exhibited the continued acts of a kind heart, was a cautious and cold calculator. Good sense has ever a reserve of manner, the result of a habit of thinking—and in one of a high aim, it is apt to acquire almost a stateliness; but even such stateliness is not inconsistent with modesty and with feeling; it is, in fact, the carriage of the mind, seen in the manner and the person. We make these remarks under a disgust produced by the singularly illiberal Life of Reynolds by Allan Cunningham; we think we should not err in saying, that it is maliciously written. We were reading this Life, and made many indignant remarks as we read, when the death of the author was announced in the newspapers. We had determined, as far as our power might extend, to rescue the name and fame of Reynolds from the mischief which so popular a writer as Allan Cunningham was likely to inflict. Death has its sanctity, and we hesitated; indeed, in regret for the loss of a man of talent, we felt for a time little disposed to think of the ill he may have done; nor was, on mature consideration, the regret less, that he could not, by our means, be called to review his own work—his "Lives of the British Painters"—in a more candid spirit than that in which they appear to have been written. It is to be lamented that he did not revise it. Its illiberality and untruth render it very unfit for a "Family Library," for which it was composed. Yet it must be confessed, that such regret was rather one of momentary feeling, than accompanied with any thing like conviction, or even hope, that our endeavour would have been successful. There was no one better acquainted with the life of one of the painters in his work than ourselves. His Life, too, was written in a most illiberal spirit, though purposely in praise of the artist. But it was as untrue as it was illiberal. In a paper in Blackwood, some years ago, we noticed some of the errors and mistatements. This, we happen to know, was seen by the author of the "Lives;" for we were, in consequence, applied to upon the subject; and there being an intention expressed to bring out a new edition, we were invited to correct what was wrong. We did not hesitate, and wrote some two or three letters for the purpose, and entertained but little doubt of their having been favourably received, and that they would be used, until we were surprised by a communication, that the author "was much obliged, but was perfectly satisfied with his own account." That is, that he was much obliged for an endeavour to mislead him by falsehood. For both accounts could not be true. There were, then, but small grounds to hope that Allan Cunningham would have so revised his work, as to have done justice to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Besides, after all, "respect for the dead" moves both ways. The question is between the recently dead and the long since dead. In the literary world, and in the world of art, both yet live; and the author of the Life has this advantage, that thousands read the "Family Library," whilst but few, comparatively speaking, make themselves acquainted with Sir Joshua Reynolds and his works. We revere this founder of our English school, and feel it due to the art we love, to condemn the ungenerous and sarcastic spirit of The Life, by Allan Cunningham. And if the dead could have any interest in and guidance of things on earth, we can imagine no work that would be more pleasing to them, than the removal of even the slightest evils they may have inflicted; thus making restitution for them. It is very evident throughout the "Lives," that the author has a prejudice against, an absolute dislike to, Sir Joshua Reynolds. We stay not to account for it. There are men of some opinions who, whether from pride, or other feeling, have an antipathy to courtly manners, and what is called higher society: jealous and suspicious lest they should not owe, and seen to owe, every thing to themselves, there is a constant and irritable desire to set aside, with a feigned, oftener than a real, contempt, the influence and the homage the world pays to superiority of rank, station, and education. They would wish to have nothing above themselves. How far such may have been the case with the writer of the "Lives," we know not, totally unacquainted as we have ever been, but by his writings. In them there appears very strongly marked this vulgar feeling. He has stepped out of his way in other lives, such as those of Wilson and Gainsborough, to attack Sir Joshua by surmises and insinuations of meanness, blurring the fair character of his best acts. The generous doings of the President were too notorious not to be admitted, but generally a sinister or selfish motive is insinuated. His courtesy was unpleasing, while extreme coarseness met with a ready apologist. In the several Lives of Sir Joshua Reynolds, there does not appear the slightest ground upon which to found a charge of meanness of character: it is inconceivable how such should have ever been insinuated, while Northcote's "Life" of him was in existence, and Northcote must have known him well. He was most liberal in expenditure, as became his station, and the dignity which he was ambitiously desirous of conferring upon the art over which he presided. To artists and others in their distresses he was most generous: numerous, indeed, are the recorded instances; those unrecorded may be infinitely more numerous, for generosity was with him a habit. In the teeth of Mr Cunningham's insinuations we will extract from Northcote some passages upon this point. "At that time, indeed, Johnson was under many pecuniary obligations, as well as literary ones, to Sir Joshua, whose generous kindness would never permit his friends to ask a pecuniary favour, his purse and heart being always open." That his heart as well as his purse was open, the following anecdote more than indicates. We are tempted to give it unaltered, as we find it in the words of Northcote:—

"Sir Joshua, as his usual custom, looked over the daily morning paper at his breakfast time; and on one of those perusals, whilst reading an account of the Old Bailey sessions, to his great astonishment, saw that a prisoner had been tried and condemned to death for a robbery committed on the person of one of his own servants, a negro, who had been with him for some time. He immediately rung the bell for the servants, in order to make his enquiries, and was soon convinced of the truth of the matter related in the newspaper. This black man had lived in his service as footman for several years, and has been portrayed in several pictures, particularly in one of the Marquis of Granby, where he holds the horse of that general. Sir Joshua reprimanded this black servant for his conduct, and especially for not having informed him of this curious adventure; when the man said he had concealed it only to avoid the blame he should have incurred had he told it. He then related the following circumstances of the business, saying, that Mrs Anna Williams (the old blind lady lived at the house of Dr Johnson) had some time previous dined at Sir Joshua's with Miss Reynolds; that in the evening she went home to Bolt Court, Fleet Street, in a hackney coach, and that he had been sent to attend her to her house. On his return he had met with companions who had detained him till so late an hour, that when he came to Sir Joshua's house, he found the doors were shut, and all the servants gone to rest. In this dilemma he wandered in the street till he came to a watch-house, in which he took shelter for the remainder of the night, among the variety of miserable companions to be found in such places; and amidst this assembly of the wretched, the black man fell sound asleep, when a poor thief, who had been taken into custody by the constable of the night, perceiving, as the man slept, that he had a watch and money in his pocket, (which was seen on his thigh,) watched his opportunity and stole the watch, and with a penknife cut through the pocket, and so possessed himself of the money. When the black awaked from his nap, he soon discovered what had been done, to his cost, and immediately gave the alarm, and a strict search was made through the company; when the various articles which the black had lost were found in the possession of the unfortunate wretch who had stolen them. He was accordingly secured, and next morning carried before the justice, and committed to take his trial at the Old Bailey, (the black being bound over to prosecute,) and, as we have seen, was at his trial cast and condemned to death. Sir Joshua, much affected by this recital, immediately sent his principal servant, Ralph Kirkly, to make all enquiries into the state of the criminal, and, if necessary, to relieve his wants in whatever way could be done. When Kirkly came to the prison he was soon admitted to the cell of the prisoner, where he beheld the most wretched spectacle that imagination can conceive—a poor forlorn criminal, without a friend on earth who could relieve or assist him, and reduced almost to a skeleton by famine and filth, waiting till the dreadful morning should arrive when he was to be made an end of by a violent death. Sir Joshua now ordered fresh clothing to be sent to him, and also that the black servant should carry him every day a sufficient supply of food from his own table; and at that time Mr E. Burke being very luckily in office, he applied to him, and by their joint interest they got his sentence changed to transportation; when, after being furnished with all necessaries, he was sent out of the kingdom."—P. 119.

"In this year Sir Joshua raised his price to fifty guineas for a head size, which he continued during the remainder of his life. His rapidly accumulating fortune was not, however, for his own sole enjoyment; he still felt the luxury of doing good, and had many objects of bounty pointed out to him by his friend Johnson, who, in one of his letters, in this year, to Mrs Piozzi, enquires 'will the master give me any thing for my poor neighbours? I have had from Sir Joshua and Mr Strahan.'"—P. 264.

"Sir Joshua, indeed, seems to have been applied to by his friends on all occasions; and by none oftener than by Dr Johnson, particularly for charitable purposes. Of this there is an instance, in a note of Johnson's preserved in his Life, too honourable to him to be here omitted.

'To Sir Joshua Reynolds.

'Dear Sir—It was not before yesterday that I received your splendid benefaction. To a hand so liberal in distributing, I hope nobody will envy the power of acquiring.—I am, dear sir, your obliged and most humble servant,

    'SAM. JOHNSON.'
    'June 23, 1781.'"—P. 278.

The following anecdote is delightful:—

"Whilst at Antwerp, Sir Joshua had taken particular notice of a young man of the name of De Gree, who had exhibited some considerable talents as a painter: his father was a tailor; and he himself had been intended for some clerical office, but, as it is said by a late writer, having formed a different opinion of his religion than was intended, from the books put into his hand by an Abbé who was his patron, it was discovered that he would not do for a priest, and the Abbé, therefore, articled him to Gerrards of Antwerp. Sir Joshua received him, on his arrival in England, with much kindness, and even recommended him most strongly to pursue his profession in the metropolis; but De Gree was unwilling to consent to this, as he had been previously engaged by Mrs Latouche to proceed to Ireland. Even here Sir Joshua's friendly attentions did not cease, for he actually made the poor artist a present of fifty guineas to fit him for his Hibernian excursion; the whole of which, however, the careful son sent over to Antwerp for the use of his aged parents."—P. 284.

"It is also recorded, as an instance of his prizing extraordinary merit, that when Gainsborough asked him but sixty guineas for his celebrated Girl and Pigs, yet being conscious in his own mind that it was worth more, he liberally paid him down one hundred guineas for the picture. I also find it mentioned on record, that a painter of considerable merit, having unfortunately made an injudicious matrimonial choice, was along with that and its consequences as well as an increasing family, in a few years reduced so very low, that he could not venture out without danger of being arrested—a circumstance which, in a great measure, put it out of his power to dispose of his pictures to advantage. Sir Joshua having accidentally heard of his situation, immediately hurried to his residence to enquire into the truth of it, when the unfortunate man told him all the melancholy particulars of his lot, adding, that forty pounds would enable him to compound with his creditors. After some further conversation, Sir Joshua took his leave, telling the distressed man he would do something for him; and when he was bidding him adieu at the door, he took him by the hand, and after squeezing it in a friendly way hurried off with that kind of triumph in his heart the exalted of human kind only know by experience whilst the astonished artist found that he had left in his hand a bank-note for one hundred pounds."

Of such traits of benevolence certainly many other instances may be recorded, but I shall only mention two; "the one is the purchasing a picture of Zoffani, who was without a patron, and selling it to the Earl of Carlisle for twenty guineas above the price given for it; and he sent the advanced price immediately to Zoffani, saying 'he thought he had sold the picture at first below its real value.'"

The other is—"the clergyman who succeeded Sir Joshua's father as master of the grammar-school at Plympton, at his decease left a widow, who, after the death of her husband, opened a boarding school for the education of young ladies. The governess who taught in this school had but few friends in situations to enable them to do her much service, and her sole dependence was on her small stipend from the school: hence she was unable to make a sufficiently reputable appearance in apparel at their accustomed little balls. The daughter of the schoolmistress, her only child, and at that time a very young girl, felt for the poor governess, and the pitiable insufficiency in the article of finery; but being unable to help her from her own resources, devised within herself a means by which it might be done otherwise. Having heard of the great fame of Sir Joshua Reynolds, his character for generosity, and charity, and recollecting that he had formerly belonged to the Plympton school, she, without mentioning a syllable to any of her companions, addressed a letter to Sir Joshua, whom she had never even seen, in which she represented to him the forlorn state of the poor governess's wardrobe, and begged the gift of a silk gown for her. Very shortly after, they received a box containing silks of different patterns, sufficient for two dresses, to the infinite astonishment of the simple governess, who was totally unable to account for this piece of good fortune, as the compassionate girl was afraid to let her know the means she had taken in order to procure the welcome present."—P. 307.

Mr Duyes, the artist, says—"malice has charged him with avarice, probably from his not having been prodigal, like too many of his profession; his offer to me proves the contrary. At the time that I made the drawings of the King at St Paul's after his illness, Reynolds complimented me handsomely on seeing them, and afterwards observed, that the labour bestowed must have been such, that I could not be remunerated from selling them; but if I would publish them myself, he would lend me the money necessary, and engage to get me a handsome subscription among the nobility."—P. 35l.

We will here mention an anecdote which we believe has never been published; we heard it from our excellent friend, and enthusiastic admirer of all that taste, good sense, and good feeling should admire and love, in art or out of it—now far advanced in years, and, like Sir Joshua, blind, but full of enjoyment and conversation fresh as ever upon art, for he remembers and hears, beloved by all who know him, G. Cumberland, Esq., author of "Outlines," &c. &c. He it was who recommended Collins, the miniature-painter, to Sir Joshua. Now poor Collins was one of the most nervous of men, morbidly distrustful of himself and his powers. Our friend showed us a portrait of Collins, painted by himself, the very picture of most sensitive nervousness. Well—Collins waited upon Sir Joshua, who gave him a picture to copy for him in miniature. Collins took it, and trembled, and looked all diffidence as he examined Sir Joshua's original. However, he took it home with him, and after some time came to Cumberland in great agitation, expressing a conviction that he never could copy it, that he had destroyed three attempts, and this, said he, is the best I can do, and I will destroy it. This Cumberland would not allow, and took possession of it, and an admirable performance it is. Soon another was done, and Collins took it to Sir Joshua, with many timid expressions and apologies for his inability, that he feared displeasure for having undertaken a work above him. Sir Joshua looked at it, declared it to be, as it was, a most excellent copy, and gave him more to do in the same way—telling him to go to his scrutoire, open a drawer, and he would find some guineas, and to take out twenty to pay himself. "Twenty guineas!" said Collins, "I should not have thought of receiving more than three!" This kindness and liberality set up poor Collins with a better stock of self-confidence, and he made his way to celebrity in his line, and to fortune.

Is it in human nature, that the man of whom such anecdotes are told, and truly told, could be guilty of a mean unworthy action? Perhaps the reader will be curious to see how the writer of the "British Painters," who, from the recent date of his publication, must have known all these incidents, excepting the last, has converted some of them, by insinuating sarcasm, into charges that blurr their virtue. We should say that he has omitted, where he could omit—where he could not, he is compelled to contradict himself; for it is impossible that the insinuations, and the facts, and occasional acknowledgments, should be together true of one and the same man. We shall offer some specimens of this illiberal style:—A neighbour of Reynolds's first advised him to settle in London. His success there made him remember this friendly advice—(the neighbour's name was Cranch.) We quote now from Cunningham. "The timely counsel of his neighbour Cranch would have long afterwards been rewarded with the present of a silver cup, had not accident interfered. 'Death,' says Northcote, 'prevented this act of gratitude. I have seen the cup at Sir Joshua's table.' The painter had the honour of the intention and the use of the cup—a twofold advantage, of which he was not insensible."—Lives of British Painters, Vol. i, p. 220.—"Of lounging visitors he had great abhorrence, and, as he reckoned up the fruits of his labours, 'Those idle people,' said this disciple of the grand historical school of Raphael and Angelo—'those idle people do not consider that my time is worth five guineas an hour.' This calculation incidentally informs us, that it was Reynolds's practice, in the height of his reputation and success, to paint a portrait in four hours."—P. 251. In this Life, he could depreciate art, (in a manner we are persuaded he could not feel,) because it lowered the estimation of the painter whom he disliked. "One of the biographers of Reynolds imputes the reflections contained in the conclusion of this letter, 'to that envy, which perhaps even Johnson felt, when comparing his own annual gains with those of his more fortunate friend.' They are rather to be attributed to the sense and taste of Johnson, who could not but feel the utter worthlessness of the far greater part of the productions with which the walls of the Exhibition-room were covered. Artists are very willing to claim for their profession and its productions rather more than the world seems disposed to concede. It is very natural that this should be so; but it is also natural, that man of Johnson's taste should be conscious of the dignity of his own pursuits, and agree with the vast majority of mankind in ranking a Homer, a Virgil, a Milton, or a Shakspeare, immeasurably above all the artists that ever painted or carved. Johnson, in a conversation with Boswell, defined painting to be an art which could illustrate, but could not inform."—P. 255. Does he so speak of this art in any other Life; and is not this view false and ill-natured? Were not Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Piombo, epic poets?

"Johnson was a frequent and a welcome guest. Though the sage was not seldom sarcastic and overbearing, he was endured and caressed, because he poured out the riches of his conversation more lavishly than Reynolds did his wines." He was compelled, a sentence or two after, to add, "It was honourable to that distinguished artist, that he perceived the worth of such men, and felt the honour which their society shed upon him; but it stopped not here, he often aided them with his purse, nor insisted upon repayment."—P. 258. We have marked "insisted"—it implies repayment was expected, if not enforced; and it might have been said, that a mutual "honour" was conferred. Speaking of Northcote's and Malone's account of Sir Joshua's "social and well-furnished table," he adds, "these accounts, however, in as far as regards the splendour of the entertainments, must be received with some abatement. The eye of a youthful pupil was a little blinded by enthusiasm. That of Malone was rendered friendly, by many acts of hospitality, and a handsome legacy; while literary men and artists, who came to speak of books and paintings, cared little for the most part about the delicacy of the entertainment, provided it were wholesome." Here he quotes at length, no very good-natured account of the dinners given by Courteney.—P. 273. Even his sister, poor Miss Reynolds, whom Johnson loved and respected, must have her share of the writer's sarcasm. "Miss Reynolds seems to have been as indifferent about the good order of her domestics, and the appearance of her dishes at table, as her brother was about the distribution of his wine and venison. Plenty was the splendour, and freedom was the elegance, which Malone and Boswell found in the entertainments of the artist."—P. 275. If Reynolds was sparing of his wine, the word "plenty" was most inappropriate. Even the remark of Dunning, Lord Ashburton, is perverted from its evident meaning, and as explained by Northcote, and the perversion casts a slur upon Sir Joshua's guests; yet is it well known who they were. "Well, Sir Joshua," he said, "and who have you got to dine with you to-day?—the last time I dined in your house, the company was of such a sort, that by ——, I believe all the rest of the world enjoyed peace for that afternoon."—P. 276. This is a gross idea, and unworthy a gentle mind. "By an opinion so critically sagacious, and an apology for portrait-painting, which appeals so effectually to the kindly side of human nature, Johnson repaid a hundred dinners."—P. 276. The liberality to De Gree is shortly told.—P. 298. "I have said that the President was frugal in his communications respecting the sources from whence he drew his own practice—he forgets his caution in one of these notes."—P. 303. We must couple this with some previous remarks; it is well known that Sir Joshua, as Northcote tells us, carefully locked up his experiments, and for more reasons than one: first, he was dissatisfied, as these were but experiments; secondly, he considered experimenting would draw away pupils from the rudiments of the art. Surely nothing but illiberal dislike would have perverted the plain meaning of the act. "The secret of Sir Joshua's own preparations was carefully kept—he permitted not even the most favoured of his pupils to acquire the knowledge of his colours—he had all securely locked, and allowed no one to enter where these treasures were deposited. What was the use of all this secrecy? Those who stole the mystery of his colours, could not use it, unless they stole his skill and talent also. A man who, like Reynolds, chooses to take upon himself the double office of public and private instructor of students in painting, ought not surely to retain a secret in the art, which he considers of real value."—P. 287. He was, in fact, too honest to mislead; and that he did not think the right discovery made, the author must have known; for Northcote says—"when I was a student at the Royal Academy, I was accidentally repeating to Sir Joshua the instructions on colouring I had heard there given by an eminent painter, who then attended as visitor. Sir Joshua replied, that this painter was undoubtedly a very sensible man, but by no means a good colourist; adding, that there was not a man then on earth who had the least notion of colouring. 'We all of us,' said he, 'have it equally to seek for and find out—as, at present, it is totally lost to the art.'"—"In his economy he was close and saving; while he poured out his wines and spread out his tables to the titled or the learned, he stinted his domestics to the commonest fare, and rewarded their faithfulness by very moderate wages. One of his servants, who survived till lately, described him as a master who exacted obedience in trifles—was prudent in the matter of pins—a saver of bits of thread—a man hard and parsimonious, who never thought he had enough of labour out of his dependents, and always suspected that he overpaid them. To this may be added the public opinion, which pictured him close, cautious, and sordid. On the other side, we have the open testimony of Burke, Malone, Boswell, and Johnson, who all represent him as generous, open-hearted, and humane. The servants and the friends both spoke, we doubt not, according to their own experience of the man. Privations in early life rendered strict economy necessary; and in spite of many acts of kindness, his mind, on the whole, failed to expand with his fortune. He continued the same system of saving when he was master of sixty thousand pounds, as when he owned but sixpence. He loved reputation dearly, and it would have been well for his fame, if, over and above leaving legacies to such friends as Burke and Malone, he had opened his heart to humbler people. A little would have gone a long way—a kindly word and a guinea prudently given."—P. 319. Opened his heart to humbler people! was the author of this libel upon a generous character, ignorant of his charity to humbler people, which Johnson certified? Why did he not narrate the robbery of the black servant, and his kindness to the humblest and the most wretched? What was fifty guineas to poor De Gree? Who were the humbler people to whom he denied his bounty? And is the fair fame, the honest reputation—the honourable reputation, we should say—of such a man as Sir Joshua Reynolds—such as he has been proved to be—such as not only such men as Burke and Johnson knew him, but such as his pupil and inmate Northcote knew him—to be vilified by a low-minded biography, the dirty ingredients of which are raked up from lying mouths, or, at least, incapable of judging of such a character—from the lips of servants, whose idle tales of masters who discard them, it is the common usage of the decent, not to say well-bred world, to pay no attention to—not to listen to—and whom none hear but the vulgar-curious, or the slanderous? But if a servant's evidence must be taken, the fact of the exhibition of Sir Joshua's works for his servant Kirkly should have been enough—to say nothing here of his black servant. But the story of Kirkly is mentioned—and how mentioned? To rake up a malevolent or a thoughtless squib of the day, to make it appear that Sir Joshua shared in the gains of an exhibition ostensibly given to his servant. The joke is noticed by Northcote, and the exhibition, thus:—"The private exhibition of 1791, in the Haymarket, has been already mentioned, and some notice taken of it by a wicked wit, who, at the time, wished to insinuate that Sir Joshua was a partaker in the profits. But this was not the truth; neither do I believe there were any profits to share. However, these lines from Hudibras were inserted in a morning paper, together with some observations on the exhibition of pictures collected by the knight—

'A squire he had whose name was Ralph
Who in the adventure went his half,'

thus gaily making a sacrifice of truth to a joke." It is very evident that this was a mere newspaper squib, and suggested by the "knight and his squire Ralph;" but Cunningham so gives it as "the opinion of many," and with rather more than a suspicion of its truth. "Sir Joshua made an exhibition of them in the Haymarket, for the advantage of his faithful servant Ralph Kirkly; but our painter's well-known love of gain excited public suspicion; he was considered by many as a partaker in the profits, and reproached by the application of two lines from Hudibras."—P. 117. But this report from a servant is evidently no servant's report at all, as far as the words go: they are redolent throughout of the peculiar satire of the author of the "Lives," who so loves point and antithesis, who tells us Sir Joshua "poured" out his wines, (the distribution of which he had otherwise spoken of,) that the stint to the servants may have its fullest opposition. And again, as to the humbler, does he not contradict himself? He prefaces the fact that Sir Joshua gave a hundred guineas to Gainsborough, who asked sixty, for his "Girl and Pigs," thus—"Reynolds was commonly humane and tolerant; he could indeed afford, both in fame and purse, to commend and aid the timid and needy."—P. 304. This is qualifying vilely a generous action, while it contradicts his assertion of being sparing of "a kindly word and a guinea." Nor are the occasional criticisms on passages in the "Discourses" in a better spirit, nor are they exempt from a vulgar taste as to views of art; their sole object is, apparently, to depreciate Reynolds; and though a selection of individual sentences might be picked out, as in defence, of an entirely laudatory character, they are contradicted by others, and especially by the sarcastic tone of the Life, taken as a whole. But it is not only in the Life of Reynolds that this attempt is made to depreciate him. In his "Lives" of Wilson and Gainsborough, he steps out of his way to throw his abominable sarcasm upon Reynolds. One of many passages in Wilson's Life says, "It is reported that Reynolds relaxed his hostility at last, and, becoming generous when it was too late, obtained an order from a nobleman for two landscapes at a proper price." So he insinuates an unworthy hypocrisy, while lauding the bluntness of Wilson. "Such was the blunt honesty of his (Wilson's) nature, that, when drawings were shown him which he disliked, he disdained, or was unable to give a courtly answer, and made many of the students his enemies. Reynolds had the sagacity to escape from such difficulties, by looking at the drawings and saying 'Pretty, pretty,' which vanity invariably explained into a compliment."—P. 207. After having thus spoken shamefully of Sir Joshua Reynolds in the body of his work, he reiterates all in a note, confirming all as his not hasty but deliberate opinion, having "now again gone over the narrative very carefully, and found it impossible, without violating the truth, to make any alteration of importance as to its facts;" and though he has omitted so much which might have been given to the honour of Reynolds, he is "unconscious of having omitted any enquiry likely to lead him aright."—P. 320. He may have made the enquiry without using the information—a practice not inconsistent in such a biographer. For instance, when he assumes, that in the portrait of Beattie, the figures of Scepticism, Sophistry, and Infidelity, represent Hume, Voltaire, and Gibbon; remarking, that they have survived the "insult of Reynolds." An enquiry from Northcote ought to have led him to conclude otherwise, for Northcote, who had the best means of knowing, says, "Because one of those figures was a lean figure, (alluding to the subordinate ones introduced,) and the other a fat one, people of lively imaginations pleased themselves with finding in them the portraits of Voltaire and Hume. But Sir Joshua, I have reason to believe, had no such thought when he painted those figures." We have done with this disgusting Life. We would preserve to art and the virtue-loving part of mankind the great integrity of the character of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Documents and testimonies are sufficient to establish as much entire worth as falls to the lot and adornment of the best; and to bring this conviction, that, for the justice, candour, liberality, kindness, and generosity, which he showed in his dealings with all, even his professional rivals, if he had not had the extraordinary merit of being the greatest British painter, he deserved, and will deserve, the respect of mankind; and to have had his many and great virtues recorded in a far other manner than in that among the "Lives of the British Painters." His pictures may have faded, and may decay; but his precepts will still live, and tend to the establishment and continuance of art built upon the soundest principles; and the virtues of the man will ever give a grace to the profession which he adorned, and, for the benefit of art, contribute mainly to his own fame.

"Nihil enim est opere aut manu factum, quod aliquando non conficiat et consumat Vetustas; at vero hæc tua justitia et lenitas animi florescet quotidie magis, ita ut quantum operibus tuis dinturnitas detrahet, tantum afferet laudibus."

"He had," says Burke, "from the beginning of his malady, a distinct view of his dissolution; and he contemplated it with that entire composure, which nothing but the innocence, integrity, and usefulness of his life, and an unaffected submission to the will of Providence, could bestow."

LEAP-YEAR.—A TALE

CHAPTER I

In the summer of 1838, in the pleasant little county of Huntingdon, and under the shade of some noble elms which form the pride of Lipscombe Park, two young men might have been seen reclining. The thick, and towering, and far-spreading branches under which they lay, effectually protected them from a July sun, which threw its scorching brilliancy over the whole landscape before them. They seemed to enjoy to the full that delightful retired openness which an English park affords, and that easy effortless communion which only old companionship can give. They were, in fact, fellow collegians. The one, Reginald Darcy by name, was a ward of Mr Sherwood, the wealthy proprietor of Lipscombe Park; the other, his friend, Charles Griffith, was passing a few days with him in this agreeable retreat. They had spent the greater part of the morning strolling through the park, making short journeys from one clump of trees to another, and traversing just so much of the open sunny space which lay exposed to all the "bright severity of noon," as gave fresh value to the shade, and renewed the luxury of repose.

"Only observe," said Darcy, breaking silence, after a long pause, and without any apparent link of connexion between their last topic of conversation and the sage reflection he was about to launch—"only observe," and, as he raised himself upon his elbow, something very like a sigh escaped from him, "how complete, in our modern system of life, is the ascendency of woman over us! Every art is hers—is devoted to her service. Poetry, music, painting, sculpture—all seem to have no theme but woman. It is her loveliness, her power over us, that is paraded and chanted on every side. Poets have been always mad on the beauty of woman, but never so mad as now; we must not only submit to be sense-enthralled, the very innermost spirit of a man is to be deliberately resigned to the tyranny of a smooth brow and a soft eye. Music, which grows rampant with passion, speaks in all its tones of woman: as long as the strain lasts we are in a frenzy of love, though it is not very clear with whom, and happily the delirium ends the moment the strings of the violin have ceased to vibrate. What subject has the painter worth a rush but the beauty of woman? We gaze for ever on the charming face which smiles on us from his canvass; we may gaze with perfect license—that veil which has just been lifted to the brow, it will never be dropt again—but we do not gaze with perfect impunity; we turn from the lovely shadow with knees how prone to bend! And as to the sculptor, on condition that he hold to the pure colourless marble, is he not permitted to reveal the sacred charms of Venus herself? Every art is hers. Go to the theatre, and whether it be tragedy, or comedy, or opera, or dance, the attraction of woman is the very life of all that is transacted there. Shut yourself up at home with the poem or the novel, and lo! to love, and to be loved, by one fair creature, is all that the world has to dignify with the name of happiness. It is too much. The heart aches and sickens with an unclaimed affection, kindled to no purpose. Every where the eye, the ear, the imagination, is provoked, bewildered, haunted by the magic of this universal syren.

"And what is worse," continued our profound philosopher—and here he rose from his elbow, and supported himself at arm's length from the ground, one hand resting on the turf, the other at liberty, if required, for oratorical action—"what is worse, this place which woman occupies in art is but a fair reflection of that which she fills in real life. Just heavens! what a perpetual wonder it is, this living, breathing beauty! Throw all your metaphors to the winds—your poetic raptures—your ideals—your romance of position and of circumstance: look at a fair, amiable, cultivated woman, as you meet her in the actual, commonplace scenes of life: she is literally, prosaically speaking, the last consummate result of the creative power of nature, and the gathered refinements of centuries of human civilization. The world can show nothing comparable to that light, graceful figure of the girl just blooming into perfect womanhood. Imagination cannot go beyond it. There is all the marvel, if you think of it, in that slight figure, as she treads across the carpet of a modern drawing-room, that has ever been expressed in, or given origin to, the nymphs, goddesses, and angels that the fancy of man has teemed with. I declare that a pious heathen would as soon insult the august statue of Minerva herself, as would any civilized being treat that slender form with the least show of rudeness and indignity. A Chartist, indeed, or a Leveller, would do it; but it would pain him—he would be a martyr to his principles. Verily we are slaves to the fair miracle!"

"Well," said his companion, who had all this time been leisurely pulling to pieces some wild flowers he had gathered in the course of the morning's ramble, "what does it all end in? What, at last, but the old story—love and a marriage?"