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fifty guineas payable by your real bankers to "bearer for
self."
Take your choice; it is quite immaterial to me!'
"Upon my honour, sir,' said the traveller, with some
surprise struggling to his features, your coolness and self-
possession are quite admirable. I see you know the world.'
"Your lordship flatters me!' returned Lovett, bowing.
< How do you decide?'

"Why, is it possible to write drafts without ink, pen, or paper?'

Lovett drew back, and while he was searching in his pockets for writing implements, which he always carried about him, the traveller seized the opportunity, and suddenly snatching a pistol from the pocket of the carriage, levelled it full at the head of the robber. The traveller was an excellent and practised shot-he was almost within arm's-length of his intended victim-his pistols were the envy of all his Irish friends. He pulled the trigger-the powder flashed in the pan, and the highwayman, not even changing countenance, drew forth a small ink-bottle, and placing a steel pen in it, handed it to the nobleman, saying, with incomparable sang froid, Would you like, my lord, to try the other pistol? if so, oblige me by a quick aim, as you must see the necessity of dispatch. If not, here is the back of a letter, on which you can write the draft.'

"The traveller was not a man apt to become embarrassed in any thing save his circumstances; but he certainly felt a little discomposed and confused as he took the paper, and uttering some broken words, wrote the cheque. The highwayman glanced over it, saw it was writ according to form, and then, with a bow of cool respect, returned the watch, and shut the door of the carriage.

"Meanwhile the servant had been shivering in front, boxed up in that solitary convenience, termed, not euphoniously, a dickey. Him the robber now briefly accosted. "What have you got about you belonging to your mas

ter?'

666

Only his pills, your honour! which I forgot to put

in the'

"Pills!-throw them down to me!' The valet tremblingly extracted from his side-pocket a little box, which he threw down, and Lovett caught it in his hand.

"He opened the box, counted the pills"One, two,-four,-twelve-Aha!' the carriage-door.

"Are these your pills, my lord?"

He re-opened

low. You rob your master-so do we-let each keep what he has got.'

"Long Ned and Tomlinson then backing their horses, the carriage was freed; and away started the post-boys, at a pace which seemed to show less regard for life than the robbers themselves had evinced."-Vol. I. p. 280-7.

Our second extract describes a scene which took place at Lord Mauleverer's country seat, near Bath, between that nobleman and Paul Clifford, who, in order to see Lucy Brandon, had intruded himself, uninvited, into his Lordship's grounds on a gala day. Mauleverer was aware that Clifford was his rival, and had reason to believe that he had been more successful than himself in securing Lucy's affections. This inspired him with additional bitterness of feeling towards the unknown adventurer. The accidental rencontre of these two persons is spiritedly told, and in the style of a gentleman, not of a mere author:

"But Clifford, hurrying rapidly through the trees, made his way towards the nearest gate which led from Lord Mauleverer's domain; when he reached it, a crowd of the more elderly guests occupied the entrance, and one of these. was a lady of such distinction, that Mauleverer, despite of his aversion from any superfluous exposure to the night air, had obliged himself to conduct her to her carriage. He was in a very ill humour with this constrained politeness, espe cially as the carriage was very slow in relieving him of his charge, when he saw, by the lamp-light, Clifford passing near him, and winning his way to the gate. Quite forgetting his worldly prudence, which should have made him averse to scenes with any one, especially with a flying enemy, and a man with whom, if he believed aright, little, glory was to be gained in conquest, much less in contest; and only remembering Clifford's rivalship, and his own hatred towards him for the presumption, Mauleverer, uttering a hurried apology to the lady in his arm, stepped forward, and, opposing Clifford's progress, said, with a bow of tranquil insult, Pardon me, sir, but is it at my invitation, or that of one of my servants, that you have honoured me with your company this day?'

"Clifford's thoughts at the time of this interruption were of that nature before which all petty misfortunes shrink inte nothing; if, therefore, he started for a moment at the Earl's address, he betrayed no embarrassment in reply, but, bow

"The wondering peer, who had begun to re-settle himself in the corner of his carriage, answered that theying with an air of respect, and taking no notice of the affront,

were.'

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implied in Mauleverer's speech, he answered

"Your lordship has only to deign a glance at my dress, to see that I have not intruded myself on your grounds with the intention of claiming your hospitality. The fact is, and I trust to your lordship's courtesy to admit the excuse, that I leave this neighbourhood to-morrow, and for some length of time. A person whom I was very anxious to see before I left, was one of your lordship's guests; I heard this, and knew that I should have no other opportunity of meeting the person in question before my departure; and I must now throw myself on the well-known politeness of Lord Mauleverer, to pardon a freedom originating in a business very much approaching to a necessity.'

"Lord Mauleverer's address to Clifford had congregated an immediate crowd of eager and expectant listeners; but so quietly respectful and really gentlemanlike were Clifford's air and tone in excusing himself, that the whole throng were smitten with a sudden disappointment.

"Hear him!' said the robber, appealing to his comrades, who roared with laughter. What, my lord, would you rebel against your doctor?-Fie, fie! be persuaded.' "And with a soothing gesture he stretched the pill-box towards the recoiling nose of the traveller. But, though a man who could as well as any one make the best of a bad condition, the traveller was especially careful of his health, and so obstinate was he where that was concerned, that he would rather have submitted to the effectual operation of a bullet, than incurred the chance operation of an extra pill. He therefore, with great indignation, as the box was still "Lord Mauleverer himself, surprised by the temper and extended towards him, snatched it from the hand of the deportment of the unbidden guest, was at a loss for one robber, and, flinging it across the road, said with dignity-moment; and Clifford was about to take advantage of that "Do your worst, rascals! But if you leave me alive, moment, and glide away, when Mauleverer, with a second you shall repent the outrage you have offered to one of his bow, more civil than the former one, said majesty's household!' Then, as if becoming sensible of the ridicule of affecting too much in his present situation, he added in an altered tone: And now, for God's sake, shut the door! and if you must kill somebody, there's my servant on the box-he's paid for it.'

"This speech made the robbers laugh more than ever; and Lovett, who liked a joke even better than a purse, immediately closed the carriage-door, saying

"Adieu! my lord; and let me give you a piece of advice: whenever you get out at a country inn, and stay half an hour while your horses are changing, take your pistols with you, or you may chance to have the charge drawn.' "With this admonition the robber withdrew; and seeing that the valet held out to him a long green purse, he said, gently shaking his head,

"Rogues should not prey on each other, my good fel

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"I cannot but be happy, sir, that my poor place has afforded you any convenience; but, if I am not very impertinent, will you allow me to enquire the name of my guest with whom you required a meeting?'

"My lord,' said Clifford, drawing himself up, and speaking gravely and sternly, though still with a certain deference-'I need not point out to your lordship's good sense and good feeling, that your very question implies a doubt, and, consequently, an affront, and that the tone of it is not such as to justify a concession on my part, which the farther explanation you require would imply!'

"Few spoken sarcasms could be so bitter as that silent one which Mauleverer could command by a smile; and, with this complimentary expression on his thin lips and raised brow, the Earl answered-Sir, I honour the skill testified by your reply; it must be the result of a profound experi

ence in these affairs. I wish you, sir, a very good night; and the next time you favour me with a visit, I am quite sure that your motives for so indulging me will be no less creditable to you than at present.' "With these words, Mauleverer turned to rejoin his fair charge. But Clifford was a man who had seen, in a short time, a great deal of the world, and knew tolerably well the theories of society, if not the practice of its minutiæ; moreover, he was of an acute and resolute temper, and these properties of mind, natural and acquired, told him that he was now in a situation in which it had become more necessary to defy than to conciliate. Instead, therefore, of retiring, he walked deliberately up to Mauleverer, and said, "My lord, I shall leave it to the judgment of your guests to decide whether you have acted the part of a nobleman and a gentleman in thus, in your domains, insulting one who has given you such explanation of his trespass as would fully excuse him in the eyes of all considerate or courteous persons. I shall also leave it to them to decide whether the tone of your enquiry allowed me to give you any further apology. But I shall take it upon myself, my lord, to demand from you an immediate explanation of your last speech.'

"Insolent!' cried Mauleverer, colouring with indignation, and almost, for the first time in his life, losing absolute command over his temper: Do you bandy words with me? -begone, or I shall order my servants to thrust you forth.' "Begone, sir,-begone!' cried several voices, in echo to Mauleverer, from those persons who deemed it now high time to take part with the powerful. "Clifford stood his ground, gazing around with a look of angry and defying contempt, which, joined to his athletic frame, his dark and fierce eye, and a heavy riding whip, which, as if mechanically, he half raised, effectually kept the murmurers from proceeding to violence.

"Poor pretender to breeding and to sense!' said he, disdainfully turning to Mauleverer, with one touch of this whip I could shame you for ever, or compel you to descend from the level of your rank to that of mine, and the action would be but a mild return to your language. But I love rather to teach you than correct. According to my creed, my lord, he conquers most in good breeding, who forbears the most-scorn enables me to forbear!- Adieu !'

"With this Clifford turned on his heel, and strode away. A murmur, approaching to a groan, from the younger or sillier part of the parasites-the mature and the sensible have no extra emotion to throw away-followed him as he disappeared."-Vol. ii. pp. 255-61.

mance of real life far exceeds in interest the most vivid and gorgeous conceptions of fiction. A youth of the noblest external figure, and the most enthusiastic imagination, ripening in the business of the state, and in arms by sea and land, into a philosopher of the very highest class, and this advance made on the lofty vantage ground of a court, in the eye of the world, with all the imposing accompaniments of earthly grandeur, and rendered still more conspicuous by the extremes of kingly favour and hatred-these form objects of contemplation at once engrossing and dazzling.

Mrs Thomson has executed her task in a just and generous spirit. She does not shun the avowal of the imperfections which cling even to the actions of a Raleigh; but she proves, not by empty declamation, but by the whole tenor of her narrative, that these (to use no very new comparison) were but as the spots on the sun, and that his character being based upon the noblest principles, the tenor of his life was pure and elevated. It is next to impossible that a man who takes an active share in public business can avoid coming into situations, which, to the superficial observer, perhaps even to those who search more deeply, must seem to compromise him. He is obliged to work with instruments, and must not ask from the underlings of a court all that he has taught himself. He must bear with their aberrations, and must defend himself with the same weapons which are employed against him. While it is a proof of a perverted moral sense to see nothing wrong in this, it is, on the other hand, the proof of an essentially low and worthless mind, to lose sight, in consequence, of the general high strain of moral character in the life in which these occasional errors occur. Of any tendency to such a fashion of appreciating character, we are happy to say, we discern not the least trace in the author of the volume before us. She "extenuates nothing, nor sets down aught in malice." She confesses the weaknesses of Raleigh; but she loves to dwell on his bravery and enterprise, on his enthusiasm for science and literature, his elevated patriotism, bis high religious feeling, his equitable and tolerant appreciation of the character and opinions of others, his exemplary conduct as a citizen, a husband, and a father. In illustration of all these points, she has collected an immense quantity of interesting facts, for which we refer our readers to her work, confident of their thanks for so doing.

An appendix contains two interesting memoirs (scientific and historical) on the potato, and on tobacco, by Dr A. T. Thomson, whose name is too well known in the

We may mention, before concluding, that although the time in which the scene of this novel is laid is supposed to be some eighty years back, it is, nevertheless, impossible to discover this fact in any way, except by taking the author's word for it, so little pains have been exhibited to give aught of the air of a previous century to the dramatis persona. We may also mention, that a good number of pieces of rhyme are interspersed, nearly all of which are very bad. Mr Bulwer has not raised himself in our opinion by this work; but we still think him entitled to keep his place among the popular novelists of the day, and are not quite sure but that he may yet establish him- The Edinburgh Review, or Critical Journal. No. CI. self considerably above most of them.

Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, with some Account of the period in which he lived. By Mrs A. T. Thomson, author of the " Memoirs of Henry the Eighth." I volume 8vo. Pp. 496. London. Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green. 1830.

THIS is a most amusing and instructive book. It places Raleigh before us as he lived; and, although the nature of the work precludes any thing like a regular and systematic history of the period, the light thrown by the fair author upon her hero glances not unfrequently on the objects which surround him, bringing out many peculiarities and characters of the time in bold relief. The only faults we can find are, an occasional incorrectness in the style, and a degree of vagueness, or want of precision, in some parts of the narrative. With the exception of these slight imperfections, we can conscientiously recommend this volume as a work of sterling merit.

The life of Raleigh is a narrative, in which the ro

scientific world to need our praise; and some important letters, now printed for the first time, from the collection in the State Paper Office.

April 1830. Edinburgh. Adam Black.

THE more we study the different periodicals of the day, the more are we convinced that the Edinburgh Literary Journal is, all things considered, the best. Were we to say this merely for the sake of puffing ourselves, the motive would be contemptible; but we are as much

above vanity as we are beyond the reach of envy. We

have a calm and modest confidence in our own worth, backed, as we are, by all the talent of the country, which enables us to sit upon our critical throne, like Andes, "giant of the western wave," and seeing the shoal of authorlings and small fry of reviewers far in the depths below, we stretch out our majestic rod, and benevolently “bob for whale." It is well known that Scotland has just three literary periodicals, all of which are very dear to her, and they may be likened unto the three Graces, -the Edinburgh Review being Aglaia, Blackwood's Magazine, Thalia, and the Literary Journal, Euphrosyne. But Euphrosyne is the fairest of the three sisters, and whilst she is blessed with immortal youth, sorry are we to say that the mark of the crow's foot is beginning to be

visible under the eyes of the two others. Euphrosyne, on the contrary, dances like a sunbeam through the land, blinking bonnily into many a breakfast parlour, and carrying light and happiness into all the distant villages and secluded country mansions. The poet blesses her gentle smile, the philosopher loves her sedater counsels; age puts on his spectacles, and gazes after her in admiration, and youth springs up at her approach, and rushes forth to meet and welcome her. Lazily travels Aglaia, and only once in the three months does she gladden her votaries with a sight of her stately person ;-she may command respect, perhaps, but Euphrosyne is both respected and loved.

To drop the metaphor, but still to show the superiority of the Literary Journal, we think it right to mention, that all the subjects connected with British literature, discussed in the present Number of the Edinburgh Review, have already been treated of in the Literary Journal, | weeks or months ago. There is, in the first place, a review of the "Memoirs of his own Life and Times," by Sir James Turner, a book which was published for the Bannatyne Club in 1829, and of which we gave an admirable account a long while since. It was nothing but lost time to go over the ground again. Then there is a review of Godwin's Cloudesley, which we noticed shortly, but pithily, and of which the Edinburgh reviewer has spoken more prosily, but pretty sensibly. Then there is a review of Robert Montgomery's Poems, not half so good as our own which appeared about two months back, and which, seeing that the Edinburgh Review has exactly followed in our footsteps and those of other sensible critics, rather looks like beheading a dead man, and is, at all events, breaking a butterfly on the wheel, or lifting a huge mattock to kill a spider. Poor Bobby Montgomery, with his pretty face and nice Poem about Satan, never expected to be pounded to dust in this fashion. Lastly, there is a review of Gleig's Life of Sir Thomas Munro, in which our thunder is again used, and an abstract of the book, not quite so able as the one which we presented, is imposed upon the reader. The other articles we have little or nothing to do with. The first, upon the disputed question relative to the operation of breaking the enemy's line in a sea-fight, is a long and dry piece of reading upon a point of evidence. There is also a scholastic article on the Public Schools of England,-a tolerably learned one on the recent Progress of Astronomical Science, a technical, but clever, one on Scottish Juridical Reforms,-two most unreadable ones on the Public Registry of England and the Coal Trade,-a paper, terribly full of figures, upon Finance and the Budget, and a pretty good essay on the Anglo- French Drama. Such is the Edinburgh Review, No. 101. Reader! consider these things, and own that thou hast cause to thank the gods that thou art a subscriber to the Literary Journal.

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Tales of the Colonies. By John Howison, author of "Sketches of Upper Canada," &c. In two volumes. 8vo. Pp. 342, 365. London. Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley. 1830.

THOSE regions of the world, with which we are as yet but imperfectly acquainted, the two Americas-Australia--and the numerous islands which gem the Pacific, afford ample materials for that sketchy style of literature so popular at the present day. The magnificent phenomena of nature in districts where the productive powers of a tropical climate bid obstinate defiance to our feeble and isolated attempts to stamp the seal of our dominion upon their wild and luxuriant development, are fitted to tinge, with the most glorious hues, the passionate imaginings of the poet; while the perpetually-recurring contrast between savage and civilized life, the excitement of an incessant struggle with wants, inconveniencies, and dangers, and the feelings of self-dependence thereby

awakened, give to the scene an interest, not so severely beautiful as the mythological childhood of old Greece, nor so romantic as that awakened by the chivalric ages, yet full of excitement of its own peculiar kind.

Mr Howison has, as it were, skimmed the cream of this rich banquet. His tales, though brief, and slightly constructed, are elegantly told, and full of interest.

The first story, entitled "The Island," is a narrative of the adventures of Austin Deller, a young seaman, who, having learned from an old buccanier the site of a treasure once hid by him and his associates in a small island off the coast of Mexico, proceeds thither in search of it, and, after undergoing a variety of crossgrained accidents, succeeds in carrying off not only the greater part of the treasure, but a young, rich, and fascinating Spanish widow into the bargain. The second story, "Sablegrove," is a tale of our West Indian Islands,—a tale of fierce passions and dark crime. "One False Step" is the history of a young gentleman transported to Botany Bay for forgery, giving an account of his struggles to raise himself again into the respect of society, and of the fate which coldly and relentlessly defeats all his efforts. "The Colambolo," the concluding tale, has its scene laid in Brazil, in the gold country, but is decidedly the poorest of the series. On the whole, Mr Howison displays excellent descriptive powers; and a searching spirit, which knows how to trace the secret windings and motives of the human breast. He also possesses a pleasing fancy and great acuteness, regulated by good taste. The defects of his book are the consequences of the author having chosen for his theme adventures in countries with which he was acquainted only by means of transient visits, making it impossible for him fully to extract the marrow of their social arrangements and domestic economy.

Levi and Sarah; or the Jewish Lovers. A Polish Tale, by Julius Ursinus Niemcewicz. Translated from the German Edition; with a Preface and Notes by the Editor. London. John Murray. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 346.

THIS is one of that numerous class of works, half-didactic, half-amusing, in which the author's desire to be edifying is continually interfering with his efforts to be interesting. We wish we could persuade the world in general, and authors in particular, that a work of fiction is one thing, and a sermon or a moral essay another. "That a good novel is as good as a sermon," we do conscientiously believe, in nineteen cases out of twenty; but it operates after a different fashion. The latter goes straightforwardly to work ;-its object is to instruct-to make a man understand his duty. The end and aim of the work of fiction, on the contrary, is to amuse-to amuse, and nothing else. At the same time, it has been so ordained by a wise Providence, that we cannot play even with our intellect, but we must be benefited by it. The stirring up of our stagnant feelings, the refinement and elevation of our taste, occasioned by the perusal of good works of fiction, has a healthy effect upon our moral character, because it leads us for a moment from the remembrance of the dull cares and duties of life, only to send us back to them with a more generous and buoyant spirit. But air and exercise, though beneficial to the physical frame, are of little advantage to the hypochondriac, who indulges in these luxuries, not because he enjoys them, but solely because he believes them conducive to health. He avails himself of them with fear and trembling, and his draught is soured by reflection upon the probable consequences. It is for a similar reason that not even the talents of a Godwin have ever been able to reconcile us to the didactic novel. And it is for this reason that we wish Julius, of the unpronounceable name, had divided his work into two-one-half of which would have contained an interesting story-and the other a grave

pamphlet on the best mode of ameliorating the condition of the Jews.

The scene of this tale is laid in Poland, the European country in which the Jews exist in the greatest numbers, and possess the greatest political weight. Moses, the father of Sarah, is a Jew of the right leaven-absorbed in his mercantile speculations,-deep read in the Cabala, and firmly persuaded that it is the right and duty of a Jew to cheat all Christians. Levi is a young Jewish reformer-one who, having enjoyed a good education, wishes to bring back his nation from the mystic ravings of the Gemara to the pure morality of their first lawgiver. Intimate in the family of Moses, he has assumed the office of tutor to Sarah-her father acquiescing because it saves him expense and he has instilled into her mind his own pure principles. The story commences with a rupture between Moses and Levi, on the important question, whether it be the moral duty of a Jew to cheat Christians. The former, indignant at the heterodox purity of the latter, resolves to break off all connexion with him, and remove

his daughter from the contamination of novel heresies, by carrying her from Warsaw to a frontier town, which, at the same time, affords peculiar facilities for smuggling transactions. The subsequent plot hinges upon the attempts of Moses to alienate his daughter's affections from Levi, and fix them upon Jankeil, a deformed object, and more than half insane from continually poring over the recondite mysteries of the Cabala. The two lovers, after undergoing a decent portion of persecution, are at length happily united by the protecting interference of Count Zenezyn. The characters of many of the Jews are spiritedly and distinctly drawn. The gibbering madman Jankeil is looked up to by his wretched and bigoted countrymen as an inspired prophet; the two old usurers, Hirsch and Moses,-the venerable Abraham, and the stout Chaim, play upon and contrast with each other in a spirited manner. Were it not for the continual recurrence of long sermons and political diatribes, we should have enjoyed the perusal of the book a good deal. Whether the extracts from the Talmud be correctly given we know not; but we can vouch, from our own experience, that the picture the volume contains of Jewish society is accurate. For this reason, we recommend the perusal of it to the Jewish emancipators, to members of the Society for the Conversion of the Jews,-to Millennarians, -to Wolfe, to Irving,-and to all the quacks and pseudo prophets of the day, not excluding the innocents who have been bit by them.

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The Family Cabinet Atlas, Part I. London. E. Bull. 1830.

EVERY literary undertaking seems now to be in a faWe have family Bibles, family Shakspeares, mily way. family Massingers, family Libraries, family Cyclopædias, every thing, in short, except a family of children, and these are perhaps coming for aught we know to the con. trary. The Family Cabinet Atlas, which is to be published in monthly parts, will form, when completed, a volume of the same size as works of the Family Library description, and will be an excellent companion to them. Each part is to contain eight plates, either plain or coloured, engraved on steel; and though these are necessarily of a very small size, yet, judging by the specimen before us, they will be very beautifully and distinctly executed, and will afford facilities of reference not to be found in maps of a larger kind.

Leigh's Guide to the Lakes of Westmorland, Cumberland, and Lancashire. London. Samuel Leigh, 1830.

THIS is a neat portable guide-book to the loveliest scenery in England, and at the present season will be particularly acceptable to many a Tourist. The publisher's name is a sufficient guarantee for its accuracy and completeness, for in this department of literature, Samuel Leigh has no rival.

Extract of a Letter respecting the Wreck of the Lady
Holland East Indiaman, from the Rev. Alex. Duff,
one of the passengers in that ship, addressed to Dr
Inglis. Edinburgh. Waugh and Innes. 1830.

THIS pamphlet contains some interesting particulars of the total shipwreck of the Lady Holland, East Indiaman, off Dassen Island, on the 13th of last February. Fortunately no lives were lost, and Mr Alex. Duff seems to have been duly and becomingly impressed with a sense of gratitude for his preservation.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

FINE ARTS.

NINTH EXHIBITION OF MODERN PICTURES AT THE
GALLERY OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTION.

MR THOMSON OF DUDDINGSTONE-THE LATE JOHN ALEX.
SCHETKY.

THERE are about twenty good pictures, and a dozen good busts, in this Exhibition. The long room is, according to the expression which would be used, in the technical language of the diabolical part of our establishment, scatter

The Villa and Cottage Florist Directory. By James Main, A.L.S. London. Whittaker and Co. 1830. "FLORICULTURE," says Mr Main, "has become the study and amusement of all ranks." And really we do not know a more pleasant, or a more innocent occupation. If we might speak paradoxically, we should say that it is an occupation which brings man's thoughts to the groundingly filled up; and in the octagon, we have a single circle of only to raise them far above it. "Turbulent emotions," says our author, "can hardly disturb the mind which is intent on rearing tender seedlings; the very expectations of success alleviate, if they cannot remove, the cares and crosses of life, and while such employment, as amusement only, refines the mind, it adds not a little to the real enjoyment of rational existence." The object of this excellent little work has been to condense the whole system of professional floriculture into a concise compendium, which embraces every thing essential to the subject; and when we learn that it has been the result of fifty years' experience, and that Mr Main has been the fellow-student of such eminent florists as Maddock, Hogg, and Sweet, we can have no hesitation in recommending it to the notice of our readers. As the volume also contains directions for the propagation of all the tender exotic flowering plants, it will be found of great service to those who possess rare and valuable collections.

busts, half-a-dozen water-colour drawings, and the red drapery on the walls, now somewhat tarnished by dust and age. This is not a sufficient collection to justify the pompous title of an "Exhibition of Modern Pictures." Where the fault originally lies which prevents more pictures from being forthcoming-with the artists or with the patrons→ is to us a matter of perfect indifference. The artists may have coquetted unjustifiably with the directors, and, through pique, have kept their exhibition too long open; or, on the other hand, the directors may have been withheld, by silly notions respecting their own dignity, from coming to a right understanding with the artists;-these are matters of private concern, in which it is absurd to think that the public can take any interest. The public wants a good exhibition, and if provided therewith, will not enquire too narrowly how it is got up; if disappointed, it will not be appeased, nor allow its attention to be diverted from a just ground of complaint, by the mutual recrimi

nations of the parties whose duty and interest it is to cater heaven, and those are the rescued father and his daughters, to its taste. In one respect, the fault lies undeniably at who hurry on beside that piece of water. The magnifithe door of the directors;-if they could not muster paint-cent little picture, entitled "Twilight," (37,) deserves ings sufficient to furnish out a full exhibition, they should likewise to be classed along with these. Of a less elevahave waited till they had collected their complement. ted character, yet masterly in their kind, are,-“ DunAmong the paintings, there are two small pictures by keld" (45,) “ Glendyfas” (53,) and "View in Arran" (2.) W. Simson-one of them (a cabinet portrait of The first is characterised by placid beauty, the second by Scrope, Esq.) a perfect gem-but neither of them exhi- tremendous power in the representation of the waterfall, biting his full powers: a study of heads, and a mag- and the last by an indescribable breezy freshness. "Dunnificent full-length portrait of a lady, by Lauder,—a donald Castle” (33) is warm and rich; and while look rapidly-rising artist, of whose merits we have lately spo-ing at the " Bass Rock," with its green glassy sea around ken in considerable detail: some excellent portraits by Francis Grant, who is on the eve of making artists of longer standing look to their laurels: some pleasing pictures by Dyce: a correct and agreeable likeness of Captain Trotter in a Highland costume, by our old friend W. Thomson: and some pieces of very considerable promise by three young artists-Crabb, Townsend, and Crawford. But the chief interest of the Exhibition rests upon nine landscapes by the Rev. J. Thomson of Duddingstone, and three by the late lamented John Alexander Schetky. As we never particularly affect the damnatory style, we will not follow up this catalogue of what is really good in the Exhibition by seeking its frailties to disclose;" but, after simply asking Mr Stewart Watson who the "Gentleman in a Highland dress" is, whose "fulllength portrait" we observe he offers for sale ?—we shall rather proceed to canvass the merits of the two artists whose works we have singled out as the most interesting in the Exhibition.

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it, and the sea-mews skimming its surface, or hovering high poised in air, the refreshing coolness of ocean seems to creep over our cheek. The "View from Arro quhar" (114) is painted in a style peculiar to itself, and is no whit behind its companions in excellence. In all these pictures, we trace the great charm of Mr Thomson's works-the scope they afford for deep and reiterated study. They are not superficial beauties, where he who runs may read; they are the fruit of profound labour, and an intimate acquaintance with them is requisite to a complete appreciation of their excellence.

Mr SCHETKY's pictures are full of originality and animation-there is a fervour in their conception, which be speaks the painter to have been a man of true genius. Their interest is enhanced by the melancholy association of the premature death of the artist, in the midst of a brilliant professional career, and possessed of the love of all who knew him. The late John Alexander Schetky was born at Edinburgh, in March 1785. He became re

The Rev. Mr THOMSON is undoubtedly the most scientific, and, at the same time, the most poetical, land-markable, at an early period of life, for habits of enthu scape painter we possess. He is not one who paints mere siastic study. His chief amusements, even while a boy, portraits of landscapes; he selects those forms and effects were reading, and observing and attempting to transfer in nature which have an inherent beauty in themselves; to paper the beauties of natural scenery. Care was taken and he has feelings which breathe into the creations of to foster his infant propensities; he received a liberal his pencil an overpowering soul-which give, we had al- education at the High School and University of Edinmost said, a moral character to his rocks, and streams, and burgh; and he was early sent to the Trustees' Academy, trees. Mr Thomson has studied profoundly his great where he cultivated the art of drawing under Mr John predecessors in art; he has learned something from each Graham, and in the society of Wilkie and Allan. In of them, and yet he is essentially and decidedly original. 1804, he obtained his diploma of surgeon, and was shortly He is original, because he takes from them, not their afterwards attached to the 3d Dragoon Guards, in which forms, their tones, or their arrangements, but the abstract regiment he continued until 1812. In that year he reprinciples upon which they proceeded. He goes to work ceived the appointment of surgeon to the Portuguese forces, in the same way with nature. He takes the elements under Marshal Lord Beresford; and continued to act as she offers him-individual forms of hill and tree-inasses brigade surgeon of the seventh division, under Lord Dalof light and shade—and colours; but his combinations housie, till the peace in 1814. He passed the next five are his own. The world we see upon his canvass is like years of his life in Edinburgh, dividing his time between the world around us, but not the same; it is a kindred professional pursuits and the cultivation of the art of creation emanating from the artist's plastic mind. His painting, to which he was so devotedly attached. landscapes are to those we usually see, as the men and 1819, he was gazetted to full pay, and employed at the women of Shakspeare are to those we meet with in every-General Hospital at Fort Pitt, Chatham; whence he was day life; we recognise in them a kindred nature, but we never meet with their individual counterparts. the moral feelings which Mr Thomson knows so well how to impress upon his landscapes, we need only remind our readers of the "Martyrs' Tomb."

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transferred to superintend the Asylum fitted up at Fort Clarence for the reception of naval and military persons labouring under mental affections. In 1823, he was promoted to the rank of Deputy-inspector of Hospitals, for service on the coast of Africa. At first he enjoyed such Mr Thomson's pictures in the present Exhibition are a state of health as excited hopes that he would be able characterised by great and diversified excellence. His to withstand the insidious effects of an African climate; large picture, Evening" (31,) is marked by that deep but in the end of August, 1824, while on a voyage from clearness, by that diffusion of light among deep con- Sierra Leone to Cape Coast Castle, he was attacked by trasting shadows, which constitute the charm of the time the fever of the country, and died a few days after the from which it takes its name. The reading figure in vessel reached its destination. It is not our business to the foreground completes the impressive and hushing cha- dilate at present on Schetky's professional talents, or on racter of the scene. The subordinate beauties of the pic- that disinterested warmth of heart which endeared him ture, the deep, dark colours of the earth and upper sky, to all his friends-it is as an artist that we now speak of -the long line of glorious light on the horizon,-the him. And we rejoice that we have it in our power to pleasing forms of the different objects introduced, are call to our assistance the words of one much better entiat once beautiful in themselves, and harmoniously ar- tled to the ear of the public, on such a topic, than ourranged. His "Landscape" (106) is similar in the cha- selves. In a biographical sketch of Schetky, inserted by racter of its colouring and high poetical feeling. It is Dr Maclagan, his companion at school, and his friend impossible in words to convey any idea of the grandeur through life, in one of the Medical Journals of the day, of the objects selected for representation, and of their ar- and of which a few copies were printed apart for private rangement. That smoke in the background rises from circulation among the friends of the deceased, we find the cities whose sins have called down the vengeance of recorded an opinion of Schetky's merits as a painter by a

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