<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>WORD PORTRAITS<br/> OF<br/> FAMOUS WRITERS</h1>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="titlepage">
<p class="ph1">WORD PORTRAITS</p>
<p>OF</p>
<p class="ph2">FAMOUS WRITERS</p>
<p><small>EDITED BY</small><br/>
MABEL E. WOTTON</p>
<p><small>‘What manner of man is he?’</small><br/>
<span class="indent"><small><i>Twelfth Night</i></small></span></p>
<p>LONDON<br/>
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON<br/>
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen<br/>
1887</p>
</div>
<p class="center"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter"><ANTIMG src="images/i-005f.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">INTRODUCTION</h2></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> world has always been fond of
personal details respecting men who have
been celebrated.” These were the words of
Lord Beaconsfield, and with them he prefixed
his description of the personal appearance of
Isaac D’Israeli; but we hardly need the
dictum of our greatest statesman to convince
ourselves that at all events every honest
literature-lover takes a very real interest in
the individuality of those men whose names
are perpetually on his lips. It is not enough
for such a one merely to make himself
familiar with their writings. It does not
suffice for him that the <i>Essays of Elia</i>, for
instance, can be got by heart, but he feels that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</SPAN></span>
he must also be able to linger in the playground
at Christ’s with the “lame-footed
boy,” and in after years pace the Temple
gardens with the gentle-faced scholar, before
he can properly be said to have made Lamb’s
thoughts his own. At the best it is but a
very incomplete notion that most of us
possess as to the actual personality of even
the most prominent of our British writers.
The almost womanly beauty of Sidney, and
the keen eyes and razor face of Pope, would,
perhaps, be recognised as easily as the well-known
form of Dr. Johnson; but taking them
<i>en masse</i> even a widely-read man might be
forgiven if, from amongst the scraps of hearsay
and curtly-recorded impressions on which
at rare intervals he may alight, he cannot
very readily conjure up the ghosts of the
very men whose books he has studied, and to
whose haunts he has been an eager pilgrim.</p>
<p>Such a power the following pages have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</SPAN></span>
attempted to supply. They contain an
account of the face, figure, dress, voice, and
manner of our best-known writers ranging
from Geoffrey Chaucer to Mrs. Henry Wood,—drawn
in all cases when it is possible by
their contemporaries, and when through lack
of material this endeavour has failed, the task
of portrait-painting has devolved either on
other writers who owed their inspiration to
the offices of a mutual friend, or on those
whose literary ability and untiring research
have qualified them for the task. Infinite
toil has not always been rewarded, and it
would be easy to supply at least half a dozen
names whose absence is to be regretted.
Beaumont and Fletcher are as much read as
Thomas Otway, and William Wotton has
perhaps as much right of entrance as his
famous opponent Richard Bentley, but as a
small child pointed out when the book was first
proposed: “<i>You can’t find what isn’t there.</i>”<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</SPAN></span>
And the worth of the book naturally consists
in keeping to the lines already indicated.</p>
<p>An asterisk placed under the given
reference means that the writer of that
particular portrait (who is not necessarily the
writer of that particular book) did not
actually see his subject, but that he is describing
a picture, or else that he is building
up one from substantiated evidence. Sometimes,
as in the case of Suckling, this distinction
leads to the same book supplying two
portraits, only one of which is at first hand.</p>
<p>When a date is placed at the foot of a
description, it refers to the appearance presented
at that time, and not to the period
when the words were penned.</p>
<p>British writers only are named, and
amongst them there is of course no living
author.</p>
<p>Chaucer’s birth-date has been given as
<i>About</i> 1340, for the traditional year of 1328<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</SPAN></span>
is based on little more than the inscription on
his tomb, which was not placed there until the
middle of the sixteenth century, while according
to his own deposition as witness, his
birth could not have taken place until about
twelve years later.</p>
<p>In only one other instance has there been
a departure from recognised precedent, and
that is in the case of Thomas de Quincey.
In defiance of almost every compiler and
present-day writer, I have entered the
name in the Q’s and spelt it as here written.
The reason for this is threefold: First, he
himself invariably spelt his name with a
small d. Second, Hood, Wordsworth, and
Lamb, and, I believe, all his other contemporaries
did the same. Third, de Quincey
himself was so determined about the matter
that he actually dropped the prefix altogether
for some little time, and was known as Mr.
Quincey. “His name I write with a small d<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</SPAN></span>
in the de, as he wrote it himself. He would
not have wished it indexed among the D’s,
but the Q’s,” wrote the Rev. Francis Jacox,
who was one of his Lasswade friends, and in
spite of his recent and skilful biographers, it
must be conceded that after all the little man
had the greatest right to his own name.</p>
<p>I am glad to take this opportunity of
thanking those who have helped me, and who
will not let me speak my thanks direct. It
is a pleasant thought that while working
amongst the literary men of the past, I have
received nothing but kindness from those of
to-day. First and foremost to Mr. George
Augustus Sala, to whom I am infinitely indebted;
also to Mrs. Huntingford, Mrs. and
Mr. Frederick Chapman, Mr. Henry M.
Trollope, Dr. W. F. Fitz-Patrick, and Mr.
S. C. Hall: to all these, as well as to my
own personal friends, I offer my hearty and
sincere thanks.</p>
<p class="right">M. E. W.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Joseph Addison</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_1">1</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Harrison Ainsworth</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_4">4</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jane Austen</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_7">7</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Francis, Lord Bacon</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_10">10</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_12">12</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Benjamin, Lord Beaconsfield</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_15">15</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jeremy Bentham</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_17">17</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Richard Bentley</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_20">20</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">James Boswell</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_21">21</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charlotte Brontë</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_24">24</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henry, Lord Brougham</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_27">27</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_34">34</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Bunyan</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_36">36</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edmund Burke</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_39">39</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Robert Burns</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_42">42</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Butler</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_47">47</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">George, Lord Byron</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_47">47</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Campbell</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_51">51</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Carlyle</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_55">55</SPAN><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Chatterton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_58">58</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Geoffrey Chaucer</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_61">61</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Philip, Lord Chesterfield</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_63">63</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Cobbett</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_66">66</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hartley Coleridge</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_70">70</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_74">74</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Collins</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_77">77</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Cowper</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_79">79</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">George Crabbe</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_81">81</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Daniel De Foe</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_83">83</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_86">86</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Isaac D’Israeli</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_91">91</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Dryden</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_94">94</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mary Anne Evans</span> (<span class="smcap">George Eliot</span>)</td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_98">98</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henry Fielding</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_102">102</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Gay</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_105">105</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edward Gibbon</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_107">107</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Godwin</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_110">110</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Oliver Goldsmith</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_112">112</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">David Gray</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_114">114</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Gray</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_116">116</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henry Hallam</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_118">118</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Hazlitt</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_120">120</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Felicia Hemans</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_125">125</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">James Hogg</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_128">128</SPAN><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Hood</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_130">130</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Theodore Hook</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_134">134</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">David Hume</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_136">136</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Leigh Hunt</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_139">139</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Inchbald</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_143">143</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Francis, Lord Jeffrey</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_144">144</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Douglas Jerrold</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_147">147</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Johnson</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_150">150</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ben Jonson</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_152">152</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Keats</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_155">155</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Keble</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_158">158</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_164">164</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Lamb</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_168">168</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Letitia Elizabeth Landon</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_172">172</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Walter Savage Landor</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_174">174</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Lever</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_177">177</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Matthew Gregory Lewis</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_179">179</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Gibson Lockhart</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_180">180</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Richard Lovelace</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_181">181</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edward, Lord Lytton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_183">183</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Babington Macaulay</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_187">187</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Maginn</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_190">190</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Francis Mahony</span> (<span class="smcap">Father Prout</span>)</td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_195">195</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Frederick Marryat</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_199">199</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Harriet Martineau</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_202">202</SPAN><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Frederick Denison Maurice</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_205">205</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Milton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_207">207</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mary Russell Mitford</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_211">211</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lady Mary Wortley Montagu</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_215">215</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Moore</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_217">217</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hannah More</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_220">220</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Thomas More</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_224">224</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Caroline Norton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_227">227</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas Otway</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_231">231</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Pepys</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_232">232</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Alexander Pope</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_234">234</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bryan Waller Procter</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_236">236</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thomas de Quincey</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_238">238</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ann Radcliffe</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_243">243</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Walter Raleigh</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_244">244</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Reade</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_248">248</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Richardson</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_251">251</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Samuel Rogers</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_254">254</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_256">256</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Richard Savage</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_262">262</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Walter Scott</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_264">264</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Shakespeare</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_267">267</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_275">275</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Percy Bysshe Shelley</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_277">277</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Richard Brinsley Sheridan</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_282">282</SPAN><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Philip Sidney</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_284">284</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Horace Smith</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_286">286</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sydney Smith</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_287">287</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Tobias Smollett</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_289">289</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Robert Southey</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_290">290</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edmund Spenser</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_293">293</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Arthur Penrhyn Stanley</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_296">296</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Richard Steele</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_299">299</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Laurence Sterne</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_302">302</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir John Suckling</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_304">304</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jonathan Swift</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_305">305</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Makepeace Thackeray</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_308">308</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">James Thomson</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_311">311</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Anthony Trollope</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_313">313</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edmund Waller</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_317">317</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Horace Walpole</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_319">319</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Izaac Walton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_323">323</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Wilson</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_324">324</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ellen Wood</span> (<span class="smcap">Mrs. Henry Wood</span>)</td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_330">330</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Wordsworth</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_332">332</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sir Henry Wotton</span></td><td align="right"><SPAN href="#Page_335">335</SPAN></td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">JOSEPH ADDISON<br/> <small>1672-1719</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Temple Bar</i>,<br/>
1874.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Of</span> his personal appearance we have at least
two portraits by good hands. Before us are
three carefully-engraved portraits
of him, but there is a great dissimilarity
between the three except in the
wig. Sir Godfrey Kneller painted one of
these portraits, which is entirely unlike the
two others; let us, however, give Sir Godfrey
the credit of the best picture, and judge
Addison’s appearance from that. The wig
almost prevents our judging the shape of the
head, yet it seems very high behind. The
forehead is very lofty, the sort of forehead
which is called ‘commanding’ by those
people who do not know that some of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</SPAN></span>
least decided men in the world have had
high foreheads. The eyebrows are delicately
‘pencilled,’ yet show a vast deal of vigour
and expression; they are what his old Latin
friends, who knew so well the power of expression
in the eyebrow, would have called
‘supercilious,’ and yet the nasal end of the
supercilium is only slightly raised, and it
droops pleasantly at the temporal end, so
that there is nothing Satanic or ill-natured
about it. The eyebrow of Addison, according
to Kneller, seems to say, ‘You are a greater
fool than you think yourself to be, but I
would die sooner than tell you so.’ The eye,
which is generally supposed to convey so
much expression, but which very often does
not, is very much like the eyes of other
amiable and talented people. The nose is
long, as becomes an orthodox Whig; quite
as long, we should say, as the nose of any
member of Peel’s famous long-nosed ministry,
and quite as delicately chiselled. The mouth
is very tender and beautiful, firm, yet with a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</SPAN></span>
delicate curve upwards at each end of the
upper lip, suggestive of a good joke, and of a
calm waiting to hear if any man is going to
beat it. Below the mouth there follows of
course the nearly inevitable double chin of
the eighteenth century, with a deep incision
in the centre of the jaw-bone, which shows
through the flesh like a dimple. On the
whole a singularly handsome and pleasant
face, wanting the wonderful form which one
sees in the faces of Shakespeare, Prior, Congreve,
Castlereagh, Byron, or Napoleon, but
still extremely fine of its own.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s<br/>
<i>Lives of the<br/>
Poets</i>.</div>
<p>“Of his habits, or external manners, nothing
is so often mentioned as that timorous or
sullen taciturnity, which his friends
called modesty by too mild a name.
Steele mentions, with great tenderness,
‘that remarkable bashfulness, which is a
cloak that hides and muffles merit;’ and tells
us ‘that his abilities were covered only by
modesty, which doubles the beauties which
are seen, and gives credit and esteem to all<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</SPAN></span>
that are concealed.’ Chesterfield affirms that
‘Addison was the most timorous and awkward
man that he ever saw.’ And Addison,
speaking of his own deficiency in conversation,
used to say of himself that, with respect
to intellectual wealth, ‘he could draw bills for
a thousand pounds though he had not a
guinea in his pocket.’... ‘Addison’s conversation,’
says Pope, ‘had something in it
more charming than I have found in any
other man. But this was only when familiar;
before strangers, or, perhaps, a single stranger,
he preserved his dignity by a stiff silence.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HARRISON AINSWORTH<br/> <small>1805-1882</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of a<br/>
Long Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I saw</span> little of him in later days, but when I
saw him in 1826, not long after he married
the daughter of Ebers of New Bond Street,
and ‘condescended’ for a brief time to be a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</SPAN></span>
publisher, he was a remarkably handsome
young man—tall, graceful in deportment,
and in all ways a pleasant person
to look upon and talk to. He
was, perhaps, as thorough a gentleman
as his native city of Manchester ever
sent forth.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p>“Harrison Ainsworth was certainly a
handsome man, but it was very much of the
barber’s-block type of beauty, with
wavy scented hair, smiling lips, and
pink and white complexion. As a young
man he was gorgeous in the <i>outré</i> dress of
the dandy of ’36, and, in common with those
other famous dandies, d’Orsay, young Benjamin
Disraeli, and Tom Duncombe, wore
multitudinous waistcoats, over which dangled
a long gold chain, numberless rings, and a
black satin stock. In old age he was very
patriarchal-looking. His gray hair was
swept up and back from a peculiarly high
broad forehead; his moustache, beard, and
whiskers were short, straight, and silky, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</SPAN></span>
the mouth was entirely hidden. His eyes
were large and oval, and rather <i>flat</i> in form,—less
expressive altogether than one would
have expected in the head of so graphic a
writer. The eyebrows were somewhat overhanging,
and the nose was straight and
flexible. Up to the day of his death he was
always a well-dressed man, but in a far more
sober fashion than in his youth.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Ainsworth’s<br/>
<i>Rookwood</i>.</div>
<p>“What have we to add to what we have
here ventured to record, which the engraving
which accompanies this memoir will
not more happily embody? (<i>This
refers to a portrait by Maclise which appeared
in</i> The Mirror.) Should that fail to do justice
to his face—to its regularity and delicacy of
feature, its manly glow of health, and the
cordial nature which lightens it up—we
must refer the dissatisfied beholder to Mr.
Pickersgill’s masterly full-length portrait exhibited
last year, in which the author of <i>The
Miser’s Daughter</i> may be seen, not as some
pale, worn, pining scholar,—some fagging,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</SPAN></span>
half-exhausted, periodical romancer,—but, as
an English gentleman of goodly stature and
well-set limb, with a fine head on his shoulders,
and a heart to match. If to this we add a
word, it must be to observe, that, though the
temper of our popular author may be marked
by impatience on some occasions, it has never
been upon any occasion marked by a want of
generosity, whether in conferring benefits or
atoning for errors. His friends regard him
as a man with as few failings, blended with
fine qualities, as most people, and his enemies
know nothing at all about him.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JANE AUSTEN<br/> <small>1775-1817</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Tytler’s <i>Jane<br/>
Austen and<br/>
her Works</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> person Jane Austen seems to have borne
considerable resemblance to her two favourite
heroines, Elizabeth Bennet and Emma
Woodhouse. Jane, too, was tall and slender,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</SPAN></span>
a brunette, with a rich colour,—altogether
‘the picture of health’ which Emma
Woodhouse was said to be. In
minor points, Jane Austen had a
well-formed though somewhat small
nose and mouth, round as well as rosy
cheeks, bright hazel eyes, and brown hair
falling in natural curls about her face.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh’s <i>Memoir<br/>
of Jane Austen</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“As my memoir has now reached the
period when I saw a great deal of my aunt,
and was old enough to understand
something of her value, I
will here attempt a description of her person,
mind, and habits. In person she was very
attractive; her figure was rather tall and
slender, her step light and firm, and her
whole appearance expressive of health and
animation. In complexion she was a clear
brunette, with a rich colour; she had full
round cheeks, with mouth and nose small
and well-formed, bright hazel eyes, and
brown hair forming natural curls close round
her face. If not so regularly handsome as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</SPAN></span>
her sister, yet her countenance had a peculiar
charm of its own to the eyes of most beholders.
At the time of which I am now
writing, she never was seen, either morning
or evening, without a cap; I believe that
she and her sister were generally thought to
have taken to the garb of middle age earlier
than their years or their looks required; and
that, though remarkably neat in their dress,
as in all their ways, they were scarcely
sufficiently regardful of the fashionable, or
the becoming.”—1809.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Austen’s <i>Sense<br/>
and Sensibility</i>.</div>
<p>“Of personal attractions she possessed a
considerable share; her stature rather exceeded
the middle height; her
carriage and deportment were
quiet, but graceful; her features were separately
good; their assemblage produced an
unrivalled expression of that cheerfulness,
sensibility, and benevolence which were her
real characteristics; her complexion was of
the finest texture—it might with truth be
said that her eloquent blood spoke through<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</SPAN></span>
her modest cheek; her voice was sweet; she
delivered herself with fluency and precision;
indeed, she was formed for elegant and
rational society, excelling in conversation as
much as in composition.... The affectation
of candour is not uncommon, but she had no
affectation.... She never uttered either a
hasty, a silly, or a severe expression. In
short, her temper was as polished as her wit;
and no one could be often in her company
without feeling a strong desire of obtaining
her friendship, and cherishing a desire of
having obtained it.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">FRANCIS, LORD BACON<br/> <small>1560-1-1626</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Montague’s<br/>
<i>Life of Bacon</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<div class="sidenote">Evelyn<br/>
on Medals.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was of a middle stature, and well proportioned;
his features were handsome and
expressive, and his countenance, until it was
injured by politics and worldly warfare, singularly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</SPAN></span>
placid. There is a portrait of him
when he was only eighteen now extant, on
which the artist has recorded his
despair of doing justice to his subject,
by the inscription,—‘Si tabula daretur
digna, animum mallem.’ His portraits differ
beyond what may be considered a fair allowance
for the varying skill of the artist, or the
natural changes which time wrought upon his
person; but none of them contradict
the description given by one who
knew him well, ‘That he had a spacious forehead
and piercing eye, looking upward as a
soul in sublime contemplation, a countenance
worthy of one who was to set free captive
philosophy.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s<br/>
<i>Lives of<br/>
Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<div class="sidenote">Campbell’s<br/>
<i>Lives of the<br/>
Lord<br/>
Chancellors</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“He had a delicate, lively hazel
eie; Dr. Harvey told me it was like
the eie of a viper.”</p>
<p>“All accounts represent him as a delightful
companion, adapting himself to company
of every degree, calling, and humour,—not
engrossing the conversation,—trying to get<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</SPAN></span>
all to talk in turn on the subject they best
understood, and not disdaining to light his own
candle at the lamp of any other....
Little remains except to give some
account of his person. He was of
a middling stature; his limbs well-formed
though not robust; his forehead high,
spacious and open; his eye lively and penetrating;
there were deep lines of thinking in
his face, his smile was both intellectual and
benevolent; the marks of age were prematurely
impressed upon him; in advanced
life his whole appearance was venerably
pleasing, so that a stranger was insensibly
drawn to love before knowing how much
reason there was to admire him.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOANNA BAILLIE<br/> <small>1762-1851</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Crabb<br/>
Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“We</span> met Miss Joanna Baillie, and accompanied
her home. She is small in figure, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</SPAN></span>
her gait is mean and shuffling, but her
manners are those of a well-bred woman.
She has none of the unpleasant airs
too common to literary ladies. Her
conversation is sensible. She possesses apparently
considerable information, is prompt
without being forward, and has a fixed
judgment of her own, without any disposition
to force it on others. Wordsworth said of
her with warmth, ‘If I had to present any one
to a foreigner as a model of an English
gentlewoman, it would be Joanna Baillie.’”—1812.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“Of the party I can recall but one; that
one, however, is a memory,—<span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie</span>.
I remember her as singularly impressive
in look and manner, with
the ‘queenly’ air we associate with
ideas of high birth and lofty rank. Her face
was long, narrow, dark, and solemn, and her
speech deliberate and considerate, the very
antipodes of ‘chatter.’ Tall in person,
and habited according to the ‘mode’ of an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</SPAN></span>
olden time, her picture, as it is now present
to me, is that of a very venerable dame,
dressed in coif and kirtle, stepping out, as
it were, from a frame in which she had
been placed by the painter Vandyke.”—1825-26.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sara<br/>
Coleridge’s<br/>
<i>Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“I saw Mrs. Joanna Baillie before dinner.
She wore a delicate lavender satin bonnet;
and Mrs. J. says she is fond
of dress, and knows what every
one has on. Her taste is certainly
exquisite in dress though (strange to say) not,
in my opinion, in poetry. I more than
ever admired the harmony of expression
and tint, the silver hair and silvery-gray
eye, the pale skin, and the look which
speaks of a mind that has had much
communing with high imagination, though
such intercourse is only perceptible now
by the absence of everything which that
lofty spirit would not set his seal upon.”—1834.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">BENJAMIN, LORD BEACONSFIELD<br/> <small>1804-1881</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Jeaffreson’s<br/>
<i>Novels and<br/>
Novelists</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> ringlets of silken black hair, his
flashing eyes, his effeminate and lisping voice,
his dress-coat of black velvet lined
with white satin, his white kid
gloves with his wrist surrounded
by a long hanging fringe of black silk, and
his ivory cane, of which the handle, inlaid
with gold, was relieved by more black silk in
the shape of a tassel.... Such was the perfumed
boy-exquisite who forced his way into
the salons of peeresses.”—1829.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Mill’s<br/>
<i>Beaconsfield</i>.</div>
<p>“In the front seat on the Conservative side
of the House, may be observed a man who,
if his hat be off, which it generally
is, is sure to arrest one’s attention,
and we need scarcely to be told after having
once seen him that he is the leader of that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</SPAN></span>
great party. He is not old, just turned fifty we
may suppose, but he bears his age well, whatever
it may be. His face, which was once
handsome, is now ‘sicklied o’er with the pale
cast of thought.’ The head is long, and the
forehead massive and finished. The eye is
restless, but full of fire; the hair black and
curly. Nature has evidently taken some
pains to finish the exterior.”—about 1855.</p>
<div class="sidenote">J. H. du Vivier,<br/>
<i>Portraits comparés<br/>
des hommes<br/>
d’état</i>.</div>
<p>“Certes, le premier aspect de Mr. Gladstone
... réponds à l’idée qu’on peut se faire
d’un chef doué d’un élan irrésistible,
mieuxque l’attitude maladive
de lord Beaconsfield, ses traits
mous, son regard flétri et comme perdu dans
l’abstraction ou dans une réverie hantée par
la désillusion et la lassitude.... Chez
le plus faible ... on devine bientôt que si le
fourreau est usé par la lame, c’est à raison de
la dévorante activité de celle-ci.... La tête
s’incline avec mélancholie, la bouche a pris
l’habitude des contractions douleureuses; mais
que de patience invincible dans cette attitude!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</SPAN></span>
quelle fécondité, quelle soudaineté d’inspirations
marquées sur ces lèvres que plisse le
rictus de l’ironie!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JEREMY BENTHAM<br/> <small>1748-1832</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Sir John<br/>
Bowring’s<br/>
<i>Autobiographical<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> the very centre of the group of persons
who originated the <i>Westminster Review</i> stands
the grand figure of Jeremy
Bentham. Though closely resembling
Franklin, his face expresses
a profounder wisdom and a more
marked benevolence than the bust of the
American printer. Mingled with a serene
contemplative cast, there is something of
playful humour in the countenance. The
high forehead is wrinkled, but is without
sternness, and is contemplative but complacent.
The neatly-combed long white
hair hangs over the neck, but moves at<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</SPAN></span>
every breath. <i>Simplex munditiis</i> best describes
his garments. When he walks there
is a restless activity in his gait, as if his
thoughts were, ‘Let me walk fast, for there
is work to do, and the walking is but to fit
me the better for the work.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sir John Bowring’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Bentham</i>.</div>
<p>“The striking resemblance between the
persons of Franklin and Bentham has been
often noticed. Of the two, perhaps,
the expression of Bentham’s
countenance was the
more benign. Each remarkable for profound
sagacity, Bentham was scarcely less so for
a perpetual playfulness of manner and of
expression. Few men were so sportive,
so amusing, as Bentham,—none ever tempered
more delightfully his wisdom with
his wit.... Bentham’s dress was peculiar
out of doors. He ordinarily wore a narrow-rimmed
straw hat, from under which his
long white hair fell on his shoulders, or was
blown about by the winds. He had a plain
brown coat, cut in the Quaker style; light-brown<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</SPAN></span>
cassimere breeches, over whose knees
outside he usually exhibited a pair of white
worsted stockings; list shoes he almost
invariably used; and his hands were generally
covered with merino-lined leather gloves.
His neck was bare; he never went out
without his stick ‘dapple,’ for a companion.
He walked, or rather trotted, as if he were
impatient for exercise; but often stopped
suddenly for purposes of conversation.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Crabb<br/>
Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p>“<i>December 31st.</i>—At half-past one went
by appointment to see Jeremy Bentham, at
his house in Westminster Square,
and walked with him for about half
an hour in his garden, when he
dismissed me to take his breakfast and have
the paper read to him. I have but little
to report concerning him. He is a small
man. He stoops very much (he is eighty-four),
and shuffles in his gait. His hearing
is not good, yet excellent considering his
age. His eye is restless, and there is a
fidgety activity about him, increased probably<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</SPAN></span>
by the habit of having all round fly at
his command.”—1831.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">RICHARD BENTLEY<br/> <small>1662-1742</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">R. C. Jebb’s<br/>
<i>Bentley</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> pose of the head is haughty, almost
defiant; the eyes, which are large, prominent,
and full of bold vivacity, have a
light in them as if Bentley were
looking straight at an impostor whom he had
detected, but who still amused him; the nose,
strong and slightly tip-tilted, is moulded as
if Nature had wished to show what a nose
can do for the combined expression of scorn
and sagacity; and the general effect of the
countenance, at a first glance, is one which
suggests power—frank, self-assured, sarcastic,
and, I fear we must add, insolent: yet, standing
a little longer before the picture, we become
aware of an essential kindness in those<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</SPAN></span>
eyes of which the gaze is so direct and intrepid;
we read in the whole face a certain
keen veracity; and the sense grows—this was
a man who could hit hard, but who would
not strike a foul blow, and whose ruling instinct,
whether always a sure guide or not,
was to pierce through falsities to truth.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JAMES BOSWELL<br/> <small>1740-1795</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Littell’s<br/>
<i>Living Age</i>,<br/>
1870.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> sketch by Sir Thomas Lawrence of
Boswell, prefixed to Mr. Murray’s edition
of Johnson’s <i>Life</i>, illustrates with
striking accuracy the saying of
Hazlitt, that ‘A man’s life may be
a lie to himself and others; and yet a picture
painted of him by a great artist would probably
stamp his character.’ The busy vanity, the
garrulous complacency of the man when out
of sight of Dr. Johnson, as he may be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</SPAN></span>
supposed to have been when the portrait
was etched, are brought out with all the
humour and point of a caricature, without its
exaggeration. The thin nose, that seems to
sniff the air for information, has the sharp
shrewdness of a Scotch accent. The small
eyes, too much relieved by the high-arched
eyebrows, twinkle with the exultation of
victories not won—an expression contracted
from a vigilant watching of Dr. Johnson,
who, when he spoke, spoke always for
victory; the bleak lips, making by their
protrusion an angle almost the size of the
nose, proclaim Boswell’s love of ‘drawing
people out,’ a thirst for information at once
droll and impertinent; but which finally
embodied itself in a form that has been
pronounced by Lord Macaulay the most
interesting biography in the world; the
ample chins, fold upon fold, tell of a strong
affection, gross, and almost sottish, for port
wine and tainted meats; whilst the folded
arms, the slightly-inclined posture, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</SPAN></span>
strong and arrogant setting of the head,
exhibit the self-importance, the shrewd
understanding, not to be obscurated by
vanity, the imperturbable but artless egotism,
the clever inquisitiveness which have made
him the best-despised and best-read writer
in English literature. The portraits handed
down to us of Boswell by his contemporaries
are most graphic; some of them are
malignant, some bitter, some temperate;
and those that are temperate are probably
just.... Miss Burney thus caricatures the
appearance of Boswell in Johnson’s presence,
when intent upon his note-taking: ‘The
moment that voice burst forth, the attention
which it excited on Mr. Boswell amounted
almost to pain. His eyes goggled with
eagerness; he leant his ear almost on the
shoulder of the doctor, and his mouth
dropped down to catch every syllable that
was uttered; nay, he seemed not only
to dread losing a word, but to be anxious
not to miss a breathing, as if hoping<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</SPAN></span>
from it latently or mystically some information.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLOTTE BRONTË<br/> <small>1816-1855</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs Gaskell’s<br/>
<i>Life of C. Brontë</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> 1831, she was a quiet, thoughtful girl,
of nearly fifteen years of age, very small in
figure—‘stunted’ was the word
she applied to herself; but as
her limbs and head were in just proportion
to the slight, fragile body, no word in ever
so slight a degree suggestive of deformity
could properly be applied to her; with soft,
thick, brown hair, and peculiar eyes, of which
I find it difficult to give a description as they
appeared to me in her later life. They were
large and well-shaped, their colour a reddish
brown, but if the iris were closely examined,
it appeared to be composed of a great variety
of tints. The usual expression was of quiet,
listening intelligence; but now and then, on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</SPAN></span>
some just occasion for vivid interest or
wholesome indignation, a light would shine
out, as if some spiritual lamp had been
kindled, which glowed behind those expressive
orbs. I never saw the like in any
other human creature. As for the rest of
her features, they were plain, large, and ill-set;
but, unless you began to catalogue
them, you were hardly aware of the fact, for
the eyes and power of the countenance overbalanced
every physical defect; the crooked
mouth and the large nose were forgotten,
and the whole face arrested the attention,
and presently attracted all those whom she
herself would have cared to attract. Her
hands and feet were the smallest I ever saw;
when one of the former was placed in mine,
it was like the soft touch of a bird in the
middle of my palm. The delicate long
fingers had a peculiar fineness of sensation,
which was one reason why all her handiwork,
of whatever kind—writing, sewing, knitting,—was
so clear in its minuteness. She was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</SPAN></span>
remarkably neat in her whole personal attire;
but she was dainty as to the fit of her shoes
and gloves.”—1831.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Harriet<br/>
Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Biographical<br/>
Sketches</i>.</div>
<p>“There was something inexpressibly affecting
in the aspect of the frail little creature
who had done such wonderful
things, and who was able to bear
up, with so bright an eye and so
composed a countenance, under not only such
a weight of sorrow, but such a prospect of
solitude. In her deep mourning dress (neat
as a Quaker’s), with her beautiful hair,
smooth and brown, her fine eyes, and her
sensible face indicating a habit of self-control,
she seemed a perfect household image—irresistibly
recalling Wordsworth’s description
of that domestic treasure. And she was
this.”—1850.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Bayne’s<br/>
<i>Two great<br/>
Englishwomen</i>.</div>
<p>“I can only say of this lady, <i>vide tantum</i>.
I saw her first just as I rose out
of an illness from which I never
thought to recover. I remember the
trembling little frame, the little hand, the great<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</SPAN></span>
honest eyes. An impetuous honesty seemed
to me to characterise the woman.... She
gave me the impression of being a very pure,
and lofty, and high-minded person. A great
and holy reverence of right and truth seemed
to be with her always. Such, in our brief
interview, she appeared to me.”—1851.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM<br/> <small>1778-1868</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Ticknor’s <i>Life<br/>
and Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Brougham</span>, whom I knew in society, and
from seeing him both at his chambers and
at my own lodgings, is now about
thirty-eight, tall, thin, and rather
awkward, with a plain and not very expressive
countenance, and simple or even
slovenly manners. He is evidently nervous,
and a slight convulsive movement about the
muscles of his lips gives him an unpleasant
expression now and then. In short, all that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</SPAN></span>
is exterior in him, and all that goes to make
up the first impression, is unfavourable.
The first thing that removes this impression
is the heartiness and good-will he shows you,
whose motive cannot be mistaken, for such
kindness comes only from the heart. This
is the first thing, but a stranger presently
begins to remark his conversation. On
common topics nobody is more commonplace.
He does not feel them, but if the
subject excites him, there is an air of
originality in his remarks which, if it convinces
you of nothing else, convinces you
that you are talking with an extraordinary
man. He does not like to join in a general
conversation, but prefers to talk apart with
only two or three persons, and, though with
great interest and zeal, in an undertone. If,
however, he does launch into it, all the little,
trim, gay pleasure-boats must keep well out
of the way of his great black collier, as
Gibbon said of Fox. He listens carefully
and fairly—and with a kindness which would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</SPAN></span>
be provoking if it were not genuine—to all
his adversary has to say; but when his time
comes to answer, it is with that bare, bold,
bullion talent which either crushes itself or
its opponent.... Yet I suspect the impression
Brougham generally leaves is that
of a good-natured friend. At least that is
the impression I have most frequently found,
both in England and on the Continent.”—1819.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Newspaper<br/>
cutting<br/>
1876.</div>
<p>“Standing in the narrow Gothic railed-off
place reserved for the public—the throne at
the opposite extremity of the House—you
may see on one of the benches
to the right, almost every forenoon,
Saturday and Sunday excepted, during the
session, a very old man with a white head,
and attired in a simple frock and trousers of
shepherd’s plaid. It is a leonine head, and
the white locks are bushy and profuse. So,
too, the eyebrows, penthouses to eyes somewhat
weak now, but that can flash fire yet
upon occasion. The face is ploughed with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</SPAN></span>
wrinkles, as well it may be, for the old man
will never see fourscore years again, and of
these, threescore, at the very least, have been
spent in study and the hardest labour, mental
and physical. The nose is a marvel—protuberant,
rugose, aggressive, inquiring and
defiant: unlovely, but intellectual. There
is a trumpet mouth, a belligerent mouth,
projecting and self-asserting; largish ears,
and on chin or cheeks no vestige of hair.
Not a beautiful man this, on any theory of
beauty, Hogarthesque, Ruskinesque, Winclemenesque,
or otherwise. Rather a shaggy,
gnarled, battered, weather-beaten, ugly,
faithful, Scotch-collie type. Not a soft,
imploring, yielding face. Rather a tearing,
mocking, pugnacious cast of countenance.
The mouth is fashioned to the saying of
harsh, hard, impertinent things: not cruel,
but downright; but never to whisper compliments,
or simper out platitudes. A nose,
too, that can snuff the battle afar off, and
with dilated nostrils breathe forth a glory<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</SPAN></span>
that is sometimes terrible; but not a nose
for a pouncet-box, or a Covent Garden
bouquet, or a <i>flacon</i> of Frangipani. Would
not care much for truffles either, I think, or
the delicate aroma of sparkling Moselle.
Would prefer onions or strongly-infused malt
and hops; something honest and unsophisticated.
Watch this old man narrowly, young
visitor to the Lords. Scan his furrowed
visage. Mark his odd angular ways and
gestures passing uncouth. Now he crouches,
very dog-like, in his crimson bench: clasps
one shepherd’s plaid leg in both his hands.
Botherem, <i>q.c.</i>, is talking nonsense, I think.
Now the legs are crossed, and the hands
thrown behind the head; now he digs his
elbows into the little Gothic writing-table
before him, and buries his hands in that
puissant white hair of his. The quiddities
of Floorem, <i>q.c.</i>, are beyond human
patience. Then with a wrench, a wriggle,
a shake, a half-turn and half-start up—still
very dog-like, but of the Newfoundland<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</SPAN></span>
rather, now—he asks a lawyer or a witness a
question. Question very sharp and to the
point, not often complimentary by times, and
couched in that which is neither broad Scotch
nor Northumbrian burr, but a rebellious
mixture of the two. Mark him well, eye
him closely: you have not much time to lose.
Alas! the giant is very old, though with
frame yet unenfeebled, with intellect yet
gloriously unclouded. But the sands are
running, ever running. Watch him, mark
him, eye him, score him on your mind tablets:
then home, and in after years it may be your
lot to tell your children that once at least
you have seen with your own eyes the famous
Lord of Vaux; once listened to the voice
which has shaken thrones and made tyrants
tremble; that has been a herald of deliverance
to millions pining in slavery and
captivity; a voice that has given utterance,
in man’s most eloquent words, to the noblest,
wisest thoughts lent to this man of men by
heaven; a voice that has been trumpet-sounding<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</SPAN></span>
these sixty years past in defence of
Truth, and Right, and Justice; in advocacy
of the claims of learning and industry, and of
the liberties of the great English people, from
whose ranks he rose; a voice that should be
entitled to a hearing in a Walhalla of wise
heroes, after Francis of Verulam and Isaac of
Grantham; the voice of one who is worthily
a lord, but who will be yet better remembered,
and to all time,—remembered enthusiastically
and affectionately,—as the champion of all
good and wise and beautiful human things—Harry
Brougham.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Temple Bar</i>,<br/>
1868.</div>
<p>“The personal man, the bodily man, the
private man, did not vary. From 1830 to
1866,—the period between his
brightest glow of fame and his
mental eclipse,—he was always the same
gaunt, angular, raw-boned figure, with the
high cheek-bones, the great flexible nose, the
mobile mouth, the shock head of hair, the
uncouthly-cut coat with the velvet collar, the
high black stock, the bulging shirt front, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</SPAN></span>
dangling bunch of seals at his fob, and the
immortal pantaloons of checked tweed. It
is said that one of his admirers in the
Bradford Cloth Hall gave him a bale of
plaid trousering ‘a’ oo’’<SPAN name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN> in 1825, and that
he continued until the day of his death to
have his nether garments cut from the inexhaustible
store. I have seen Lord Brougham
in evening dress and in the customary black
continuations; but I never met him by daylight
without the inevitable checks.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING<br/> <small>1809-1861</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">M. R. Mitford’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of a<br/>
Literary Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“My</span> first acquaintance with Elizabeth Barrett
commenced about fifteen years
ago. She was certainly one of
the most interesting persons that
I had ever seen. Everybody who then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</SPAN></span>
saw her said the same; so that it is not
merely the impression of my partiality, or my
enthusiasm. Of a slight delicate figure, with
a shower of dark curls falling on either side
of a most expressive face, large tender eyes,
richly fringed with dark eyelashes, a smile
like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness,
that I had some difficulty in persuading
a friend, in whose carriage we went together
to Chiswick, that the translatress of the
<i>Prometheus</i> of Æschylus, the authoress of
the <i>Essay on Mind</i>, was old enough to be
introduced into company, in technical
language, was <i>out</i>.”—1835.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sara Coleridge’s<br/>
<i>Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“She is little, hard featured, with long
dark ringlets, a pale face, and plaintive voice,
something very impressive in her
dark eyes and her brow. Her
general aspect puts me in mind of Mignon,—what
Mignon might be in maturity and
maternity.”—1851.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Crab Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p>“Dined at home, and at eight dressed to
go to Kenyon. With him I found an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</SPAN></span>
interesting person I had never seen before,
Mrs. Browning, late Miss Barrett—not the
invalid I expected; she has a
handsome oval face, a fine eye,
and altogether a pleasing person. She had
no opportunity for display, and apparently
no desire. Her husband has a very amiable
expression. There is a singular sweetness
about him.”—1852.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN BUNYAN<br/> <small>1628-1688</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Charles Doe’s <i>Life<br/>
of John Bunyan</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> appeared in countenance to be of a
stern and rough temper. He had a sharp,
quick eye, accomplished, with an
excellent discerning of persons.
As for his person, he was tall of stature,
strong-boned, though not corpulent; somewhat
of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes,
wearing his hair on the upper lip after<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</SPAN></span>
the old British fashion; his hair reddish,
but in his later days time had sprinkled
it with gray; his nose well set, but not
declining or bending, and his mouth moderate
large, his forehead something high, and his
habit always plain and modest.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Tulloch’s <i>English<br/>
Puritanism</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“It is impossible to look at his portrait,
and not recognise the lines of power by
which it is everywhere marked.
It has more of a sturdy soldier
than anything else—the aspect of a man who
would face dangers any day rather than shun
them; and this corresponds exactly to his
description by his oldest biographer and
friend, Charles Doe.... A more manly and
robust appearance cannot well be conceived,
his eyes only showing in their sparkling
depth the fountains of sensibility concealed
within the roughened exterior. Here, as
before, we are reminded of his likeness to
Luther.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Bunyan’s<br/>
<i>Works</i>, 1692.</div>
<p>“Give us leave to say his natural parts
and abilities were not mean, his fancy and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</SPAN></span>
invention were very pregnant and fertile; the
use he made of them was good, converting
them to spiritual objects. His wit
was sharp and quick; his memory
tenacious; it being customary with him to
commit his sermons to writing, after he had
preached them. His understanding was
large and comprehensive; his judgments
sound and deep in the fundamentals of the
Gospel, as his writings evidence. And yet,
this great saint was always, in his own eyes,
the chiefest of sinners and the least of saints;
esteeming any, where he did believe the truth
of (their) grace, better than himself. There
was, indeed, in him all the parts of an accomplished
man. His carriage was condescending,
affable, and meek to all; yet bold and
courageous for Christ’s and the Gospel’s sake.
His countenance was grave and sedate, and did
so, to the life, discover the inward frame of his
heart, that it did strike something of awe into
them that had nothing of the fear of God....
His conversation was as becomes the Gospel.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">EDMUND BURKE<br/> <small>1730-1797</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Burney’s <i>Diary<br/>
and Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“No</span> expectation that I had formed of Mr.
Burke, either from his works, his speeches,
his character, or his fame, had
anticipated to me such a man as
I now met. He appeared, perhaps, at the
moment, to the highest possible advantage
in health, vivacity, and spirits. Removed
from the impetuous aggravations of party
contentions, that at times, by inflaming his
passions, seemed (momentarily, at least), to
disorder his character, he was lulled into
gentleness by the grateful sense of prosperity;
exhilarated, but not intoxicated, by sudden
success; and just rising, after toiling years of
failures, disappointments, fire and fury, to
place, affluence, and honours, which were
brightly smiling on the zenith of his powers.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</SPAN></span>
He looked, indeed, as if he had no wish but
to diffuse philanthropic pleasure and genial
gaiety all around.</p>
<p>“His figure is noble, his air commanding,
his address graceful; his voice clear, penetrating,
sonorous, and powerful; his language
copious, eloquent, and changefully impressive;
his manners are attractive; his conversation
is past all praise.</p>
<p>“You may call me mad, I know; but if I
wait till I see another Mr. Burke for such
another fit of ecstacy, I may be long enough
in my sober good senses.”—1782.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Peter Burke’s<br/>
<i>Life of Burke</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The personal description of Edmund
Burke has been handed down. He was
about five feet ten inches high,
well made and muscular; of that
firm and compact frame that denotes more
strength than bulk. His countenance had
been in his youth handsome. The expression
of his face was less striking than might
have been anticipated; at least it was so
until lit up by the animation of his conversation,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</SPAN></span>
or the fire of his eloquence. In dress
he usually wore a brown suit; and he was
in his later days easily recognisable in the
House of Commons from his bob-wig and
spectacles.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Macknight’s<br/>
<i>Life of Burke</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“He deserved ... worship better than
most idols. Gentle, affectionate, unassuming
towards the members of his own
family, he was also dignified,
polished, and courteous in his manner to all
the rest of mankind. Nature had stamped
the noblest impress of genius on his wrinkled
brow, and time had slowly conferred a grace
on his address which made him appear
singularly pleasing and lovable. In the
House of Commons only the fiercer peculiarities
of his character were now seen;
while at home he seemed the mildest and
kindest, as well as one of the best and
greatest of human beings. He poured forth
the rich treasures of his mind with the most
prodigal bounty. At breakfast and dinner
his gaiety, wit, and pleasantry enlivened the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</SPAN></span>
board, and diffused cheerfulness and happiness
all round.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ROBERT BURNS<br/> <small>1759-1796</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Currie’s<br/>
<i>Life of Burns</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Burns</span> ... was nearly five feet ten inches in
height, and of a form that indicated agility as
well as strength. His well-raised
forehead, shaded with black curling
hair, indicated extensive capacity.
His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour
and intelligence. His face was well-formed,
and his countenance uncommonly interesting
and expressive. His mode of dressing,
which was often slovenly, and a certain
fulness and bend in his shoulders, characteristic
of his original profession, disguised in
some degree the natural symmetry and
elegance of his form. The external appearance
of Burns was most strikingly indicative
of the character of his mind. On a first<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</SPAN></span>
view, his physiognomy had a certain air of
coarseness, mingled, however, with an expression
of deep penetration, and of calm
thoughtfulness, approaching to melancholy....
His dark and haughty countenance easily
relaxed into a look of good-will, of pity, or
of tenderness, and, as the various emotions
succeeded each other in his mind, assumed
with equal ease the expression of the
broadest humour, of the most extravagant
mirth, of the deepest melancholy, or of the
most sublime emotion. The tones of his
voice happily corresponded with the expression
of his features, and with the feelings of
his mind. When to these endowments are
added a rapid and distinct apprehension, a
most powerful understanding, and a happy
command of language—of strength as well
as brilliancy of expression—we shall be able
to account for the extraordinary attractions
of his conversation—for the sorcery which
in his social parties he seemed to exert on
all around him.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lockhart’s<br/>
<i>Life of Scott</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</SPAN></span>“His person was strong and robust; his
manners rustic, not clownish; a sort of
dignified plainness and simplicity,
which received part of its effect,
perhaps, from one’s knowledge of his extraordinary
talents. His features are represented
in Mr. Nasmyth’s picture, but to me it conveys
the idea that they are diminished, as if
seen in perspective. I think his countenance
was more massive than it looks in any of the
portraits. I would have taken the poet, had
I not known what he was, for a very sagacious
country farmer of the old Scotch school; <i>i.e.</i>
none of your modern agriculturists, who keep
labourers for their drudgery, but the <i>douce
gudeman</i> who held his own plough. There
was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness
in all his lineaments; the eye alone,
I think, indicated the poetical character and
temperament. It was large, and of a dark
cast, and glowed (I say literally <i>glowed</i>) when
he spoke with feeling or interest. I never
saw such another eye in a human head,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</SPAN></span>
though I have seen the most distinguished
men in my time. His conversation expressed
perfect self-confidence, without the slightest
presumption. Among the men who were
the most learned of their time and country,
he expressed himself with perfect firmness,
but without the least intrusive forwardness;
and when he differed in opinion, he did not
hesitate to express it firmly, yet, at the same
time, with modesty. I do not remember any
part of his conversation distinctly enough to
be quoted, nor did I ever see him again,
except in the street, where he did not
recognise me, as I could not expect he
should.”—1787.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Dumfries<br/>
Journal</i>, 1796.</div>
<p>“His personal endowments were perfectly
correspondent to the qualifications of his
mind, his form was manly, his action
energy itself, devoid in a great
measure perhaps of those graces, of that polish,
acquired only in the refinement of societies
where in early life he could have no opportunities
of mixing; but where, such was the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</SPAN></span>
irresistible power of attraction that encircled
him, though his appearance and manners
were always peculiar, he never failed to
delight and to excel. His figure seemed to
bear testimony to his earlier destination and
employments. It seemed rather moulded by
nature for the rough exercises of agriculture,
than the gentler cultivation of the <i>Belles
Lettres</i>. His features were stamped with the
hardy character of independence, and the
firmness of conscious, though not arrogant,
pre-eminence; the animated expressions of
countenance were almost peculiar to himself;
the rapid lightenings of his eye were always
the harbingers of some flash of genius,
whether they darted the fiery glances of
insulted and indignant superiority, or beamed
with the impassioned sentiments of fervent
and impetuous affections. His voice alone
could improve upon the magic of his eye;
sonorous, replete with the finest modulations,
it alternately captivated the ear with the
melody of poetic numbers, the perspicuity of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</SPAN></span>
nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies of
enthusiastic patriotism.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL BUTLER<br/> <small>1612-1680</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent Men</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> is of a middle stature, strong sett, high-colored,
a head of sorrell haire, a
severe and sound judgement: a
good fellowe.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent Men</i>.</div>
<p>“He was of a leonine-colored haire, sanguine,
cholerique, middle-sized,
strong; a boon and witty companion,
especially among the companie he
knew well.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">GEORGE, LORD BYRON<br/> <small>1788-1824</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Moore’s<br/>
<i>Life of Byron</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Among</span> the impressions which this meeting
left upon me, what I chiefly remember to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</SPAN></span>
have remarked was the nobleness of his air,
his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and
manners, and—what was naturally
not the least attraction—his marked
kindness to myself. Being in mourning for
his mother, the colour, as well of his dress
as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque
hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual
paleness of his features, in the expression of
which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual
play of lively thought, though melancholy
was their habitual character when in repose.”—1811.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Geo. Ticknor’s<br/>
<i>Life</i>.</div>
<p>“I called on Lord Byron to-day, with an
introduction from Mr. Gifford. Here, again,
my anticipations were mistaken.
Instead of being deformed, as I had
heard, he is remarkably well-built, with the
exception of his feet. Instead of having a
thin and rather sharp and anxious face, as he
has in his pictures, it is round, open, and
smiling; his eyes are light, and not black;
his air easy and careless, not forward and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</SPAN></span>
striking; and I found his manners affable
and gentle, the tones of his voice low and
conciliating, his conversation gay, pleasant,
and interesting in an uncommon degree.”—1815.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Moore’s<br/>
<i>Life of Byron</i>.</div>
<p>“It would be to little purpose to dwell
upon the mere beauty of a countenance in
which the expression of an extraordinary
mind was so conspicuous.
What serenity was seated on the forehead,
adorned with the finest chestnut hair,
light, curling, and disposed with such art, that
the art was hidden in the imitation of most
pleasing nature! What varied expression
in his eyes! They were of the azure colour
of the heavens, from which they seemed to
derive their origin. His teeth, in form, in
colour, in transparency, resembled pearls;
but his cheeks were too delicately tinged
with the hue of the pale rose. His neck,
which he was in the habit of keeping uncovered
as much as the usages of society
permitted, seemed to have been formed in a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</SPAN></span>
mould, and was very white. His hands were
as beautiful as if they had been the works of
art. His figure left nothing to be desired,
particularly by those who found rather a
grace than a defect in a certain light and
gentle undulation of the person when he
entered a room, and of which you hardly felt
tempted to inquire the cause. Indeed it was
hardly perceptible,—the clothes he wore were
so long.... His face appeared tranquil
like the ocean on a fine spring morning, but,
like it, in an instant became changed into
the tempestuous and terrible, if a passion
(a passion did I say?), a thought, a word
occurred to disturb his mind. His eyes then
lost all their sweetness, and sparkled so that
it became difficult to look on them.”—1819.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS CAMPBELL<br/> <small>1777-1844</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“They</span> who knew Mr. Campbell only as
the author of <i>Gertrude of Wyoming</i>, and the
<i>Pleasures of Hope</i>, would not have
suspected him to be a merry companion,
overflowing with humour and anecdote,
and anything but fastidious....
When I first saw this eminent person, he
gave me the idea of a French Virgil. Not
that he was like a Frenchman, much less the
French translator of Virgil. I found him
as handsome as the Abbé Delille is said to
have been ugly. But he seemed to me to
embody a Frenchman’s ideal notion of the
Latin poet; something a little more cut and
dry than I had looked for; compact and
elegant, critical and acute, with a consciousness
of authorship upon him; a taste over-anxious<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</SPAN></span>
not to commit itself, and refining
and diminishing nature as in a drawing-room
mirror. This fancy was strengthened, in the
course of conversation, by his expatiating on
the greatness of Racine. I think he had a
volume of the French poet in his hand. His
skull was sharply cut and fine; with plenty,
according to the phrenologists, both of the
reflective and amative organs; and his poetry
will bear them out. For a lettered solitude,
and a bridal properly got up, both according
to law and luxury, commend us to the lovely
<i>Gertrude of Wyoming</i>. His face and person
were rather on a small scale; his features
regular; his eye lively and penetrating; and
when he spoke, dimples played about his
mouth, which, nevertheless, had something
restrained and close in it. Some gentle
puritan seemed to have crossed the breed,
and to have left a stamp on his face, such as
we often see in the female Scotch face rather
than in the male. But he appeared not at
all grateful for this; and when his critiques<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</SPAN></span>
and his Virgilianism were over, very unlike a
puritan he talked! He seemed to spite his
restrictions, and, out of the natural largeness
of his sympathy with things high and low, to
break at once out of Delille’s Virgil into
Cotton’s, like a boy let loose from school.
When I had the pleasure of hearing him
afterwards, I forgot his Virgilianisms, and
thought only of the delightful companion, the
unaffected philanthropist, and the creator of
a beauty worth all the heroines in Racine.”—About
1809.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Patmore’s <i>Sketch<br/>
from Real Life</i>.</div>
<p>“The person of this exquisite writer and
delightful man is small, delicately formed,
and neatly put together, without
being little or insignificant. His
face has all the harmonious arrangement of
features which marks his gentle and refined
mind; it is oval, perfectly regular in its details,
and lighted up not merely by ‘eyes of youth,’
but by a bland smile of intellectual serenity
that seems to pervade and penetrate all the
features, and impart to them all a corresponding<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</SPAN></span>
expression, such as the moonlight lends
to a summer landscape; the moonlight, not
the sunshine; for there is a mild and tender
pathos blended with that expression, which
bespeaks a soul that has been steeped in the
depths of human woe, but has turned their
waters (as only poets can) into fountains of
beauty and of bliss.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Beattie’s <i>Life<br/>
and Letters of<br/>
Thomas Campbell</i>.</div>
<p>“He was generally careful as to dress,
and had none of Dr. Johnson’s indifference
to fine linen. His wigs were
always nicely adjusted, and
scarcely distinguishable from
natural hair. His appearance was interesting
and handsome. Though rather below the
middle size, he did not seem little; and his
large dark eye and countenance bespoke great
sensibility and acuteness. His thin quivering
lip and delicate nostril were highly expressive.
When he spoke, as Leigh Hunt
has remarked, dimples played about his
mouth, which, nevertheless, had something
restrained and close in it.... In personal<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</SPAN></span>
neatness and fastidiousness—no less than
in genius and taste—Campbell in his best days
resembled Gray. Each was distinguished by
the same careful finish in composition—the
same classical predilections and lyrical fire,
rarely but strikingly displayed. In ordinary
life they were both somewhat finical—yet
with greater freedom and idiomatic plainness
in their unreserved communications—Gray’s
being evinced in his letters, and Campbell’s
in conversation.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS CARLYLE<br/> <small>1795-1881</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Caroline Fox’s<br/>
<i>Journals and<br/>
Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Carlyle</span> soon appeared, and looked as if
he felt a well-dressed London crowd scarcely
the arena for him to figure in as
a popular lecturer. He is a tall,
robust-looking man; rugged simplicity
and indomitable strength are in his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</SPAN></span>
face, and such a glow of genius in it,—not
always smouldering there, but flashing from
his beautiful gray eyes, from the remoteness
of their deep setting under that massive
brow. His manner is very quiet, but he
speaks like one tremendously convinced of
what he utters.... He began in a rather
low nervous voice, with a broad Scotch
accent, but it soon grew firm, and shrank not
abashed from its great task.”—1840.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s<br/>
<i>Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p>“He was then fifty-four years old; tall
(about five feet eleven), thin, but at the same
time upright, with no signs of the later
stoop. His body was angular, his face
beardless, such as it is represented in Woolner’s
medallion, which is by far the best
likeness of him in the days of his strength.
His head was extremely long, with the chin
thrust forward; the neck was thin; the mouth
firmly closed, the under lip slightly projecting;
the hair grizzled and thick and bushy. His
eyes, which grew lighter with age, were then
of a deep violet, with fire burning at the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</SPAN></span>
bottom of them, which flashed out at the
least excitement. The face was altogether
most striking, most impressive in every way.
And I did not admire him the less because
he treated me—I cannot say unkindly, but
shortly and sternly. I saw then what I saw
ever after—that no one need look for conventional
politeness from Carlyle—he would
hear the exact truth from him and nothing
else.”—1849.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Wylie’s<br/>
<i>Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p>“The maid went forward and said something
to Carlyle and left the room. He was
sitting before a fire in an arm-chair,
propped up with pillows, with his feet
on a stool, and looked much older than I
had expected. The lower part of his face
was covered with a rather shaggy beard,
almost quite white. His eyes were bright
blue, but looked filmy from age. He had on
a sort of coloured night-cap, a long gown
reaching to his ankles, and slippers on his
feet. A rest attached to the arm of his chair
supported a book before him. I could not<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</SPAN></span>
quite see the name, but I think it was
Channing’s works. Leaning against the
fireplace was a long clay pipe, and there was
a slight smell of tobacco in the room....
His hands were very thin and wasted, he
showed us how they shook and trembled
unless he rested them on something, and said
they were failing him from weakness....
He seemed such a venerable old man, and
so worn and old looking, that I was very much
affected. Our visit was on Tuesday, 18th
May 1880, at about 2 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS CHATTERTON<br/> <small>1752-1770</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Wilson’s<br/>
<i>Chatterton</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“It</span> is to be feared that no authentic portrait
of Chatterton exists; and even the accounts
furnished as to his appearance, only
partially aid us in realising an idea
of the manly, handsome boy, with his flashing,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</SPAN></span>
hawklike eye, through which even the
Bristol pewterer thought he could see his
soul. His forehead one fancies must have
been high; though hidden, perhaps, as in
the supposed Gainsborough portrait, with
long flowing hair. His mouth, like that of
his father, was large. But the brilliancy of
his eyes seems to have diverted attention
from every other feature; and they have
been repeatedly noted for the way in which
they appeared to kindle in sympathy with his
earnest utterances. Mr. Edward Gardner,
who only knew him during his last three
months in Bristol, specially recalled ‘the
philosophic gravity of his countenance, and
the keen lightening of his eye.’ Mr. Capel,
on the contrary, resided as an apprentice in
the same house where Lambert’s office was,
and saw Chatterton daily. His advances had
been repelled at times with the flashing
glances of the poet; and the terms in which
he speaks of his pride and visible contempt
for others show there was little friendship<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</SPAN></span>
between them. But he also remarks: ‘Upon
his being irritated or otherwise greatly
affected, there was a light in his eyes which
seemed very remarkable.’ He had frequently
heard this referred to by others; and Mr.
George Catcott speaks of it as one who had
often quailed before such glances, or been
spell-bound, like Coleridge’s wedding guest
by the ‘glittering eye’ of the Ancient Mariner.
He said he could never look at it long enough
to see what sort of an eye it was; but it
seemed to be a kind of hawk’s eye. You
could see his soul through it.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Gregory’s <i>Life<br/>
of Chatterton</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The person of Chatterton, like his genius,
was premature; he had a manliness and
dignity beyond his years, and
there was a something about him
uncommonly prepossessing. His more remarkable
feature was his eyes which, though
gray, were uncommonly piercing; when he
was warmed in argument or otherwise, they
sparked with fire, and one eye, it is said, was
still more remarkable than the other.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">GEOFFREY CHAUCER<br/> <small>ABOUT 1340-1400</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Nicholas’s<br/>
<i>Life of Chaucer</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> affection of Occleve” (<i>his contemporary
and dear friend</i>) “has made Chaucer’s person
better known than that of any
individual of his age. The portrait
of which an engraving illustrates this memoir,
is taken from Occleve’s painting already
mentioned in the Harleian MS. 4866, which
he says was painted from memory after
Chaucer’s decease, and which is apparently
the only genuine portrait in existence. The
figure, which is half-length, has a background
of green tapestry. He is represented with
gray hair and beard, which is bi-forked; he
wears a dark-coloured dress and hood, his
right hand is extended, and in his left he
holds a string of beads. From his vest a
black case is suspended, which appears to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</SPAN></span>
contain a knife, or possibly a ‘penner’<SPAN name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</SPAN> or
pencase. The expression of the countenance
is intelligent, but the fire of the eye seems
quenched, and evident marks of advanced
age appear on the countenance. This is
incomparably the best portrait of Chaucer
yet discovered.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Nicholas’s<br/>
<i>Life of Chaucer</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“There is a third portrait in a copy of the
<i>Canterbury Tales</i> made about the reign of
King Henry the Fifth, being
within twenty years of the poet’s
death, in the Lansdowne MS. 851. The
figure, which is a small full-length, is placed in
the initial letter of the volume. He is dressed
in a long gray gown, with red stockings, and
black shoes fastened with black sandals round
the ankles. His head is bare, and the hair
closely cut. In his right hand he holds an
open book; and a knife or pencase, as in the
other portraits, is attached to his vest.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</SPAN></span><i>Tradition asserts that Chaucer merged his
own personality in that of the Poet in his</i>
Canterbury Tales.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Prologue to<br/>
<i>The Rime of<br/>
Sire Thopas</i>.</div>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">“... Our Hoste to japen he began,</div>
<div class="verse">And than at erst he loked upon me,</div>
<div class="verse">And saide thus; ‘What man art thou?’ quod he;</div>
<div class="verse">‘Thou lokest, as thou woldest finde an hare,</div>
<div class="verse">For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">‘Approche nere, and loke up merily.</div>
<div class="verse">Now ware you, sires, and let this man have place.</div>
<div class="verse">He in the waste is shapen as wel as I:</div>
<div class="verse">This were a popet,<SPAN name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</SPAN> in an arme to enbrace</div>
<div class="verse">For any woman, smal and faire of face.</div>
<div class="verse">He semeth elvish<SPAN name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</SPAN> by his contenance,</div>
<div class="verse">For unto no wight doth he daliance.’”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">PHILIP, LORD CHESTERFIELD<br/> <small>1694-1773</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Life and Letters<br/>
of Lord Chesterfield.</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Philip Dormer Stanhope</span>, Earl of Chesterfield,
was a slight-made man, of the middle<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</SPAN></span>
size; rather genteel than handsome either
in face or person: but there was a certain
suavity in his countenance,
which, accompanied with a
polite address and pleasing elocution, obtained
him in a wonderful degree the admiration of
both sexes, and made his suit irresistible
with either. He was naturally possessed
of a fine sensibility; but by a habit of
mastering his passions and disguising his
feelings, he at length arrived at the appearance
of the most perfect Stoicism: nothing
surprised, alarmed, or discomposed him.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Hayward’s<br/>
<i>Lord Chesterfield</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The name of Chesterfield has become a
synonym for good breeding and politeness.
It is associated in our minds
with all that is graceful in manner
and cold in heart, attractive in appearance
and unamiable in reality. The image
it calls up is that of a man rather below the
middle height, in a court suit and blue
riband, with regular features wearing an
habitual expression of gentleman-like ease.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</SPAN></span>
His address is insinuating, his bow perfect,
his compliments rival those of <i>Le Grand
Monarque</i> in delicacy; laughter is too demonstrative
for him, but the smile of courtesy
is ever on his lips; and by the time he has
gone through the circle, the great object of
his daily ambition is accomplished—all the
women are already half in love with him, and
every man is desirous to be his friend.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Blackwood’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1868.</div>
<p>“... Lord Hervey pauses in his story
of Queen Caroline and her Court to describe
with cutting and bitter force the
character and appearance of his
rival courtier.... ‘His person was as disagreeable
as it was possible for a human
figure to be without being deformed,’ he says.
‘He was very short, disproportioned, thick
and clumsily made, with black teeth, and a
head big enough for a Polyphemus. One
Ben Ashurst, who said few good things
though admired for many, told Lord Chesterfield
once that he was like a stunted giant,
which was a humorous idea, and really<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</SPAN></span>
apposite.’... The defects of his personal
appearance are evidently exaggerated in
this truculent sketch; but his portrait by
Gainsborough, which is said to be the best,
affords some foundation for the picture. The
face is heavy, rugged, and unlovely, though
full of force and intelligence; and his unheroic
form and stature are points which
Chesterfield himself does not attempt to
conceal.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM COBBETT<br/> <small>1762-1835</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Bamford’s<br/>
<i>Passages in the<br/>
Life of a Radical</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Had</span> I met him anywhere else save in the
room and on that occasion, I should have
taken him for a gentleman
farming his own broad estate. He
seemed to have that kind of self-possession
and ease about him, together
with a certain bantering jollity, which are<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</SPAN></span>
so natural to fast-handed and well-housed
lords of the soil. He was, I should suppose,
not less than six feet in height, portly, with a
fresh, clear, and round cheek, and a small
gray eye, twinkling with good-humoured
archness. He was dressed in a blue coat,
yellow swan’s-down waistcoat, drab kerseymere
small-clothes, and top-boots. His hair
was gray, and his cravat and linen fine, and
very white.”—1818.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Hazlitt’s<br/>
<i>Table Talk</i>.</div>
<p>“Mr. Cobbett speaks almost as well as he
writes. The only time I ever saw him he
seemed to me a very pleasant man,
easy of access, affable, clear-headed,
simple and mild in his manner, deliberate
and unruffled in his speech, though some of
his expressions were not very qualified. His
figure is tall and portly. He has a good,
sensible face, rather full, with little gray eyes,
a hard square forehead, a ruddy complexion,
with hair gray or powdered; and had on a
scarlet broadcloth waistcoat with the flaps of
the pockets hanging down, as was the custom<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</SPAN></span>
for gentleman farmers in the last century, or
as we see it in pictures of members of parliament
in the reign of George I. I certainly
did not think less favourably of him for seeing
him.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Watson’s<br/>
<i>Biographies of<br/>
Wilkes and Cobbett</i>.</div>
<p>“In stature the late Mr. Cobbett was tall
and athletic. I should think he could not
have been less than six feet two,
while his breadth was proportionately
great. He was indeed
one of the stoutest men in the House....
His hair was of a milk-white colour, and
his complexion ruddy. His features were
not strongly marked. What struck you
most about his face was his small, sparkling,
laughing eyes. When disposed to be
humorous yourself, you had only to look at
his eyes, and you were sure to sympathise
with his merriment. When not speaking,
the expression of his eye and his countenance
was very different. He was one of the
most striking refutations of the principles of
Lavater I ever witnessed. Never were the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</SPAN></span>
looks of any man more completely at
variance with his character. There was
something so heavy and dull about his whole
appearance, that any one who did not know
him would at once set him down for some
country clodpole, to use a favourite expression
of his own, who not only had never read a
book, or had a single idea in his head, but
who was a mere mass of mortality, without
a particle of sensibility of any kind in his
composition. He usually sat with one leg
over the other, his head slightly drooping, as
if sleeping, on his breast, and his hat down
almost to his eyes. His usual dress was a
light-gray coat of a full make, a white waistcoat,
and kerseymere breeches of a sandy
colour. When he walked about the House,
he generally had his hands inserted in his
breeches’ pocket. Considering his advanced
age, seventy-three, he looked remarkably hale
and healthy, and walked with a firm but slow
step.”—1835.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">HARTLEY COLERIDGE<br/> <small>1796-1849</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Derwent<br/>
Coleridge’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Hartley Coleridge</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I first</span> saw Hartley in the beginning, I
think, of 1837, when I was at Sedbergh, and
he heard us our lesson in Mr.
Green’s parlour. My impression
of him was what I conceived
Shakespeare’s idea of a gentleman to
be, something which we like to have in a picture.
He was dressed in black, his hair,
just touched with gray, fell in thick waves
down his back, and he had a frilled shirt on;
and there was a sort of autumnal ripeness
and brightness about him. His shrill voice,
and his quick, authoritative ‘Right! right!’
and the chuckle with which he translated
‘rerum repetundarum’ as ‘peculation, a very
common vice in governors of all ages,’<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</SPAN></span>
after which he took a turn round the sofa—all
struck me amazingly.”—1837.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Derwent<br/>
Coleridge’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Hartley Coleridge</i>.</div>
<p>“His manners and appearance were
peculiar. Though not dwarfish either in form
or expression, his stature was
remarkably low, scarcely exceeding
five feet, and he early
acquired the gait and general appearance
of advanced age. His once dark, lustrous
hair, was prematurely silvered, and became
latterly quite white. His eyes, dark, soft,
and brilliant, were remarkably responsive to
the movements of his mind, flashing with a
light from within. His complexion, originally
clear and sanguine, looked weather-beaten,
and the contour of his face was
rendered less pleasing by the breadth of his
nose. His head was very small, the ear
delicately formed, and the forehead, which
receded slightly, very wide and expansive.
His hands and feet were also small and
delicate. His countenance when in repose,
or rather in stillness, was stern and thoughtful<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</SPAN></span>
in the extreme, indicating deep and
passionate meditation, so much so as to be at
times almost startling. His low bow on
entering a room, in which there were ladies
or strangers, gave a formality to his address,
which wore at first the appearance of constraint;
but when he began to talk these
impressions were presently changed,—he
threw off the seeming weight of years, his
countenance became genial, and his manner
free and gracious.”—1843.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Littell’s<br/>
<i>Living Age</i>,<br/>
1849.</div>
<p>“His head was large and expressive, with
dark eyes and white waving locks, and resting
upon broad shoulders, with the
smallest possible apology for a neck.
To a sturdy and ample frame were
appended legs and arms of a most disproportioned
shortness, and, ‘in his whole aspect
there was something indescribably elfish and
grotesque, such as limners do not love to
paint, nor ladies to look upon.’ He reminded
you of a spy-glass shut up, and you
wanted to take hold of him and pull him out<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</SPAN></span>
into a man of goodly proportions and average
stature. It was difficult to repress a smile
at his appearance as he approached, for the
elements were so quaintly combined in him
that he seemed like one of Cowley’s conceits
translated into flesh and blood.... His
manners were like those of men accustomed
to live much alone, simple, frank, and direct,
but not in all respects governed by the rules
of conventional politeness. It was difficult
for him to sit still. He was constantly
leaving his chair, walking about the room,
and then sitting down again, as if he were
haunted by an incurable restlessness. His
conversation was very interesting, and marked
by a vein of quiet humour not found in his
writings. He spoke with much deliberation,
and in regularly-constructed periods, which
might have been printed without any alteration.
There was a peculiarity in his voice
not easily described. He would begin
a sentence in a sort of subdued tone,
hardly above a whisper, and end it in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</SPAN></span>
something between a bark and a growl.”—1848.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE<br/> <small>1772-1834</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">de Quincey’s<br/>
<i>Life and<br/>
Writings</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I had</span> received directions for finding out
the house where Coleridge was visiting; and
in riding down a main street of
Bridgewater, I noticed a gateway
corresponding to the description
given me. Under this was standing and gazing
about him, a man whom I shall describe!
In height he might seem to be about five feet
eight (he was in reality about an inch and a
half taller, but his figure was of an order which
drowns the height); his person was broad
and full, and tended even to corpulence; his
complexion was fair, though not what painters
technically style fair, because it was associated
with black hair; his eyes were large<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</SPAN></span>
and soft in their expression, and it was from
the peculiar haze or dreaminess which mixed
with their light that I recognised my object.
This was Coleridge.”—1807.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Bryan Procter’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of<br/>
Men of Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“Coleridge had a weighty head, dreaming
gray eyes, full, sensual lips, and a look and
manner which were entirely wanting
in firmness and decision. His
motions also appeared weak and
undecided, and his voice had nothing of the
sharpness or ring of a resolute man.
When he spoke his words were thick
and slow, and when he read poetry his utterance
was altogether a chant.”—About 1820.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s <i>Life<br/>
of Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p>“I have seen many curiosities; not the
least of them I reckon Coleridge, the Kantian
metaphysician and quondam Lake
Poet. I will tell you all about our
interview when we meet. Figure a fat,
flabby, incurvated personage, at once short,
rotund, and relaxed, with a watery mouth,
a snuffy nose, a pair of strange brown, timid,
yet earnest-looking eyes, a high tapering<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</SPAN></span>
brow, and a great bush of gray hair, and you
have some faint idea of Coleridge. He is a
kind, good soul, full of religion and affection
and poetry and animal magnetism. His
cardinal sin is that he wants <i>will</i>. He has
no resolution. He shrinks from pain or
labour in any of its shapes. His very attitude
bespeaks this. He never straightens
his knee-joints. He stoops with his fat,
ill-shapen shoulders, and in walking he does
not tread, but shovel and slide. My father
would call it ‘skluiffing.’ He is also always
busied to keep, by strong and frequent inhalations,
the water of his mouth from overflowing,
and his eyes have a look of anxious
impotence. He <i>would</i> do with all his heart,
but he knows he dares not. The conversation
of the man is much as I anticipated—a
forest of thoughts, some true, many false,
more <i>part</i> dubious, all of them ingenious in
some degree, often in a high degree. But
there is no method in his talk; he wanders
like a man sailing among many currents,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</SPAN></span>
whithersoever his lazy mind directs him; and,
what is more unpleasant, he preaches, or
rather soliloquises. He cannot speak, he can
only <i>tal-k</i> (so he names it). Hence I found him
unprofitable, even tedious; but we parted very
good friends, I promising to go back and see
him some evening—a promise which I fully
intend to keep. I sent him a copy of
<i>Meister</i>, about which we had some friendly
talk. I reckon him a man of great and
useless genius: a strange, not at all a great
man.”—1824.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM COLLINS<br/> <small>1720-1756</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Gentleman’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1781.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Collins</span> I was intimately acquainted with
from the time that he came to reside at Oxford.
In London I met him often....
He was of moderate stature, of
a light and clear complexion, with gray<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</SPAN></span>
eyes so very weak at times as hardly to
bear a candle in the room, and often raising
within him apprehensions of blindness. He
was passionately fond of music, good-natured
and affable, warm in his friendships and
visionary in his pursuits, and, as long as I knew
him, temperate in his eating and drinking.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Collins</i>.</div>
<p>“About this time I fell into his company.
His appearance was decent and manly; his
knowledge considerable, his views
extensive, his conversation elegant,
and his disposition cheerful.”—1744.</p>
<div class="sidenote">J. Langhorne’s<br/>
<i>Memoirs of<br/>
William Collins</i>.</div>
<p>“Mr. Collins was, in stature, somewhat
above the middle size; of a brown complexion,
keen expressive eyes, and
a fixed sedate aspect, which, from
intense thinking, had contracted
an habitual frown. His proficiency in letters
was greater than could have been expected
from his years. He was skilled in
the learned languages, and acquainted with
the Italian, French, and Spanish.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM COWPER<br/> <small>1731-1800</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Cowper’s<br/>
<i>Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“As</span> for me, I am a very smart youth of my
years. I am not indeed grown gray so much
as I am grown bald. No matter.
There was more hair in the world
than ever had the honour to belong to me.
Accordingly, having found just enough to
curl a little at my ears, and to intermingle
with a little of my own that still hangs behind,
I appear, if you see me in an afternoon,
to have a very decent head-dress, not easily
distinguished from my natural growth; which
being worn with a small bag, and a black
ribbon about my neck, continues to me the
charms of my youth, even on the verge of
age. Away with the fear of writing too
often.</p>
<p class="indent1">“Yours, my dearest cousin,</p>
<p class="right">“W. C.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</SPAN></span>“<i>P.S.</i>—That the view I give you of myself
may be complete, I add the two following
items,—that I am in debt to nobody, and
that I grow fat.”—1785.</p>
<div class="sidenote">H. F. Cary’s<br/>
<i>Notice of Cowper</i>.</div>
<p>“Cowper was of a middle height, with
limbs strongly framed, hair of
light brown, eyes of a bluish
gray, and ruddy complexion.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Rossetti’s <i>Memoir<br/>
of Cowper</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The eager, sudden-looking, large-eyed,
shaven face of Cowper is familiar to us in his
portraits—a face sharp-cut and
sufficiently well-moulded, without
being handsome, nor particularly sympathetic.
It is a high-strung, excitable face,
as of a man too susceptible and touchy to
put himself forward willingly among his
fellows, but who, feeling a ‘vocation’ upon
him, would be more than merely earnest,—self-asserting,
aggressive, and unyielding.
This is in fact very much the character of his
writings.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">GEORGE CRABBE<br/> <small>1754-1832</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Life of Crabbe</i>,<br/>
by his son.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> the eye of memory I can still see him as
he was at that period of his life,—his fatherly
countenance unmixed with any
of the less lovable expressions
that in too many faces obscure that character;
but pre-eminently <i>fatherly</i>, conveying the
ideas of kindness, intellect, and purity; his
manner grave, manly, and cheerful, in unison
with his high and open forehead; his very
attitudes, whether as he sat absorbed in the
arrangement of his minerals, shells, and
insects; or as he laboured in his garden until
his naturally pale complexion acquired a tinge
of fresh healthy red; or as, coming lightly
towards us with some unexpected present, his
smile of indescribable benevolence spoke exultation
in the foretaste of our raptures.”—1789.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Life of Crabbe</i>,<br/>
by his son.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</SPAN></span>“... Mr. Lockhart ... recently
favoured me with the following letter....
‘His noble forehead, his bright
beaming eye, without anything of
old age about it—though he was then, I
presume, above seventy; his sweet, and, I
would say, innocent smile, and the calm
mellow tones of his voice, are all reproduced
the moment I open any page of his poetry.’”—1822.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“In the appearance of Crabbe there was
little of the poet, but even less of the stern
critic of mankind, who looked at
nature askance, and ever contemplated
beauty animate or inanimate,—</p>
<p class="center">‘The simple loves and simple joys,’</p>
<p>‘through a glass darkly.’ On the contrary,
he seemed to my eyes the representative of
the class of rarely troubled, and seldom thinking,
English farmers. A clear gray eye, a
ruddy complexion, as if he loved exercise<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</SPAN></span>
and wooed mountain breezes, were the leading
characteristics of his countenance. It is a
picture of age, ‘frosty but kindly,’—that of
a tall and stalwart man gradually grown old,
to whom age was rather an ornament than
a blemish. He was one of those instances
of men, plain perhaps in youth, and homely
of countenance in manhood, who become
absolutely handsome when white hairs have
become a crown of glory, and indulgence in
excesses or perilous passions has left no lines
that speak of remorse, or even of errors
unatoned.”—1825-26.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">DANIEL DE FOE<br/> <small>1661-1731</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Secretary<br/>
of State’s<br/>
Proclamation.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Whereas</span>, Daniel De Foe, <i>alias</i> De Fooe,
is charged with writing a scandalous and
seditious pamphlet entitled <i>The Shortest
Way with the Dissenters</i>. He is a middle-sized<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</SPAN></span>
spare man, about forty years old, of
a brown complexion, and dark
brown-colored hair, but wears a
wig; a hooked nose, a sharp chin,
gray eyes, and a large mole near his mouth.”—1703.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Wilson’s<br/>
<i>De Foe</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“A likeness of the author, engraved by
M. Vandergucht, from a painting by Taverner,
is prefixed.” (<i>To a volume of treatises
published in 1703.</i>) “It is the first
portrait of De Foe, and probably the most
like him. The following description of it by
a recent biographer is strikingly characteristic:
‘No portrait can have more verisimilitude, to
say the least of it. It exhibits a set of features
rather regular than otherwise, very determined
in its outlines, more particularly the mouth,
which expresses great firmness and resolution
of character. The eyes are full, black, and
grave-looking, but the impression of the
whole countenance is rather a striking than a
pleasing one. Daniel is here set forth in a
most lordly and full-bottomed wig, which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</SPAN></span>
flows down lower than his elbow, and rises
above his forehead with great amplitude of
curl. A richly-laced cravat, and fine loose-flowing
cloak completes his attire, and preserve,
we may suppose, the likeness of that
civic “gallantry” which Oldmixon ascribes
to Daniel on the occasion of his escorting
King William to the Lord Mayor’s feast. It
is altogether more like a picture of a substantial
citizen of the “surly breed” De Foe
has himself so often satirised, than that of a
poor pamphleteer languishing in jail after the
terrors of the pillory.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">John Forster’s<br/>
<i>Bibliographical<br/>
Essays</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“It is, to us, very pleasing to contemplate
the meeting of such a sovereign and such a
subject, as William and De Foe.
There was something not dissimilar
in their physical aspect, as in their
moral temperament resemblances undoubtedly
existed. The King was the elder by ten
years, but the middle size, the spare figure,
the hooked nose, the sharp chin, the keen
gray eye, the large forehead, and grave appearance,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</SPAN></span>
were common to both. William’s
manner was cold, except in battle, and little
warmth was ascribed to De Foe’s, unless he
spoke of civil liberty.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLES DICKENS<br/> <small>1812-1870</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Forster’s <i>Life<br/>
of Dickens</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Very</span> different was his face in those days
from that which photography has made
familiar to the present generation.
A look of youthfulness first
attracted you, and then a candour and openness
of expression which made you sure of the
qualities within. The features were very
good. He had a capital forehead, a firm
nose with full wide nostrils, eyes wonderfully
beaming with intellect and running over with
humour and cheerfulness, and a rather
prominent mouth strongly marked with
sensibility. The head was altogether well<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</SPAN></span>
formed and symmetrical, and the air and
carriage of it was extremely spirited. The
hair so scant and grizzled in later days was
then of a rich brown and most luxuriant
abundance, and the bearded face of his last
two decades had hardly a vestige of hair or
whisker; but there was that in the face as I
first recollect it which no time could change,
and which remained implanted on it unalterably
to the last. This was the quickness,
keenness, and practical power, the eager,
restless, energetic outlook on each several
feature, that seemed to tell so little of a
student or writer of books, and so much of
a man of action and business in the world.
Light and motion flashed from every part of
it. <i>It was as if made of steel</i>, was said of it,
four or five years after the time to which I
am referring, by a most original and delicate
observer, the late Mrs. Carlyle. ‘What a
face is his to meet in a drawing-room!’
wrote Leigh Hunt to me, the morning after
I had made them known to each other. ‘It<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</SPAN></span>
has the life and soul in it of fifty human
beings.’ In such sayings are expressed not
alone the restless and resistless vivacity and
force of which I have spoken, but that also
which lay beneath them of steadiness and
hard endurance.”—1838.</p>
<div class="sidenote">J. T. Fields’s<br/>
<i>Yesterdays with<br/>
Authors</i>.</div>
<p>“How well I recall the bleak winter
evening in 1842 when I first saw the handsome,
glowing face of the young
man who was even then famous
over half the globe! He came
bounding into the Tremont House, fresh from
the steamer that had brought him to our
shores, and his cheery voice rang through
the hall, as he gave a quick glance at the
new scenes opening upon him in a strange
land on first arriving at a Transatlantic hotel.
‘Here we are!’ he shouted, as the lights
burst upon the merry party just entering the
house, and several gentlemen came forward
to meet him. Ah, how happy and buoyant
he was then! Young, handsome, almost
worshipped for his genius, belted round by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</SPAN></span>
such troops of friends as rarely ever man had,
coming to a new country to make new conquests
of fame and honor,—surely it was a
sight long to be remembered and never wholly
to be forgotten. The splendour of his endowments
and the personal interest he had won to
himself called forth all the enthusiasm of old
and young America, and I am glad to have
been among the first to welcome his arrival.
You ask me what was his appearance as he
ran, or rather flew, up the steps of the hotel,
and sprang into the hall? He seemed all on
fire with curiosity, and alive as I never saw
mortal before. From top to toe every fibre of
his body was unrestrained and alert. What
vigor, what keenness, what freshness of
spirit, possessed him! He laughed all over,
and did not care who heard him! He seemed
like the Emperor of Cheerfulness on a cruise
of pleasure, determined to conquer a realm
or two of fun every hour of his overflowing
existence. That night impressed itself on
my memory for all time, so far as I am<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</SPAN></span>
concerned with things sublunary. It was
Dickens, the true ‘Boz,’ in flesh and blood,
who stood before us at last, and with my companions,
three or four lads of my own age, I
determined to sit up late that night.”—1842.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cowden<br/>
Clarkes’ <i>Recollections<br/>
of writers</i>.</div>
<p>“Charles Dickens had that acute perception
of the comic side of things which causes
irrepressible brimming of the
eyes; and what eyes his were!
Large, dark blue, exquisitely
shaped, fringed with magnificently long and
thick lashes—they now swam in liquid, limpid
suffusion, when tears started into them from a
sense of humour or a sense of pathos, and
now darted quick flashes of fire when some
generous indignation at injustice, or some
high-wrought feeling of admiration at magnanimity,
or some sudden emotion of interest
and excitement touched him. Swift-glancing,
appreciative, rapidly observant, truly superb
orbits they were, worthy of the other features
in his manly, handsome face. The mouth
was singularly mobile, full-lipped, well-shaped,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</SPAN></span>
and expressive; sensitive, nay restless, in its
susceptibility to impression that swayed him,
or sentiment that moved him. He, who saw
into apparently slightest trifles that were
fraught to his perception with deeper significance;
he, who beheld human nature with
insight almost superhuman, and who revered
good and abhorred evil with intensity, showed
instantaneously by his expressive countenance
the kind of idea that possessed him. This
made his conversation enthralling, his acting
first-rate, and his reading superlative.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ISAAC D’ISRAELI<br/> <small>1766-1848</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of<br/>
a long Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I found</span> him a most kindly and courteous
gentleman, obviously of a tender,
loving nature, and certainly more
than willing to give me what I
asked for. I do not recall him as like his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</SPAN></span>
illustrious son; if my memory serves me
rightly, he was rather fair than dark; not
above the middle height, with features calm in
expression; his eyes (which, however, were
always covered with spectacles) sparkling,
and searching, but indicating less the fire of
genius than the patient inquiry that formed
the staple of his books.”—1823.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Beaconsfield’s<br/>
<i>Memoirs of<br/>
Isaac D’Israeli</i>.</div>
<p>“As the world has always been fond of
personal details respecting men who have
been celebrated, I will mention
that he was fair, with a Bourbon
nose, and brown eyes of extraordinary
beauty and lustre. He wore a small
black velvet cap, but his white hair latterly
touched his shoulders in curls almost as
flowing as in his boyhood. His extremities
were delicate and well formed, and his leg, at
his last hour, as shapely as in his youth, which
showed the vigour of his frame. Latterly he
had become corpulent. He did not excel in
conversation, though in his domestic circle he
was garrulous. Everything interested him,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</SPAN></span>
and blind and eighty-two, he was still as
susceptible as a child.... He more resembled
Goldsmith than any man that I can
compare him to: in his conversation, his apparent
confusion of ideas ending with some felicitous
phrase of genius, his <i>naïveté</i>, his simplicity
not untouched with a dash of sarcasm
affecting innocence—one was often reminded
of the gifted and interesting friend of Burke and
Johnson. There was, however, one trait in
which my father did not resemble Goldsmith;
he had no vanity. Indeed, one of his few infirmities
was rather a deficiency of self-esteem.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Chorley’s<br/>
<i>Personal<br/>
Reminiscences</i>.</div>
<p>“Mr. D’Israeli was announced.... An
old gentleman, <i>strictly</i> in his appearance; a
countenance which at first glance
(owing, perhaps, to the mouth,
which hangs), I fancied slightly
chargeable with solidity of expression, but
which developed strong sense as it talked; a
rather <i>soigné</i> style of dress for so old a man,
and a manner good-humoured, complimentary
(to Gebir), discursive and prosy, bespeaking<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</SPAN></span>
that engrossment and interest in his own
pursuits which might be expected to be found
in a person so patient in research and collection.
But there is a tone of <i>philosophe</i> (or I
fancied it), which I did not quite like.”—1838.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN DRYDEN<br/> <small>1631-1700</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Anderson’s<br/>
<i>Poets of<br/>
Great Britain</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Of</span> the person, private life, and domestic
manners of Dryden, very few particulars are
known. His picture by Kneller
would lead us to suppose that he
was graceful in his person; but
Kneller was a great mender of nature. From
the <i>State Poems</i> we learn that he was a
short, thick man. The nickname given him
by his enemies was <i>Poet Squab</i>. ‘I remember
plain John Dryden’ (says a writer
in the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> for February
1745, who was then eighty-seven years of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</SPAN></span>
age) ‘before he paid his court to the great,
in one uniform clothing of Norwich drugget.
I have eat tarts with him and Madam Reeve
(the actress) at the Mulberry Garden, when
our author advanced to a sword and <i>Chedreux</i>
wig (probably the wig that Swift has ridiculed
in <i>The Battle of the Books</i>). Posterity is
absolutely mistaken as to that great man.
Though forced to be a satirist, he was the
mildest creature breathing, and the readiest
to help the young and deserving. Though
his comedies are horribly full of <i>double
entendre</i>, yet ’twas owing to a false compliance
for a dissolute age; he was in
company the modestest man that ever conversed.’...
From those notices which he
has very liberally given us of himself, it
appears, that ‘his conversation was slow and
dull, his humour saturnine and reserved, and
that he was none of those who endeavour to
break jests in company, and make repartees.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Gilfillan’s<br/>
<i>Life of Dryden</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“As to his habits and manners little is
known, and that little is worn threadbare by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</SPAN></span>
his many biographers. In appearance he
became in his maturer years fat and florid,
and obtained the name of ‘Poet
Squab.’ His portraits show a
shrewd but rather sluggish face, with long
gray hair floating down his cheeks, not
unlike Coleridge, but without his dreamy eye
like a nebulous star. His conversation was
less sprightly than solid. Sometimes men
suspected that he had ‘sold all his thoughts
to his booksellers.’ His manners are by his
friends pronounced ‘modest,’ and the word
modest has since been amiably confounded
by his biographers with ‘pure.’ Bashful he
seems to have been to awkwardness; but he
was by no means a model of the virtues. He
loved to sit at Will’s coffee-house and be the
arbiter of criticism. His favourite stimulus
was snuff, and his favourite amusement
angling. He had a bad address, a down
look, and little of the air of a gentleman.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Christie’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Dryden</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Some notion of Dryden’s personal
appearance may be gathered from contemporary<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</SPAN></span>
notices. He was of short stature, stout,
and ruddy in the face. Rochester christened
him ‘Poet Squab,’ and Tom Brown
always calls him ‘Little Bayes.’
Shadwell, in his <i>Medal of John
Bayes</i>, sneers at him as a cherry-cheeked
dunce; another lampooner calls him ‘learned
and florid.’ Pope remembered him as plump
and of fresh colour, with a down look. Lady
de Longueville, who died in 1763 at the age
of a hundred, told Oldys that she remembered
Dryden dining with her husband, and that
the most remarkable part of his appearance
was an uncommon distance between his eyes.
He had a large mole on his right cheek.
The friendly writer of some lines on his
portrait by Closterman says:</p>
<p class="center">‘A sleepy eye he shows, and no sweet feature.’</p>
<p>He appears to have become gray comparatively
early, and he let his gray hair grow long. We
see him with his long gray locks in the portrait
by which, through engravings, his face is best
known to us, painted by Kneller in 1698.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</SPAN></span>
The face, as we know it by that picture and
the engravings, is handsome, it indicates
intellect, and sensual characteristics are not
wanting.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">MARY ANNE EVANS<br/> <small>(<span class="smcap">George Eliot</span>)</small><br/> <small>1819-1880</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Harper’s<br/>
Magazine</i>,<br/>
1881.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> more than one striking passage in his
novels Mr. Hardy has recognised the fact
that the beauty of the future, as the
race is more developed in intellect,
cannot be the mere physical beauty
of the past; and in one of the most remarkable
he says that ‘ideal physical beauty
is incompatible with mental development,
and a full recognition of the evil of things.
Mental luminousness must be fed with the
oil of life, even though there is already a
physical need for it.’ And this was the case
with George Eliot. The face was one of a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</SPAN></span>
group of four, not all equally like each other,
but all of the same spiritual family, and with
a curious interdependance of likeness. These
four are Dante, Savonarola, Cardinal Newman,
and herself.... In the group of which
George Eliot was one there is the same
straight wall of brow; the droop of the
powerful nose; mobile lips, touched with
strong passion, kept resolutely under control;
a square jaw, which would make the face
stern, were it not counteracted by the sweet
smile of lip and eye.... The two or three
portraits that exist, though valuable, give but
a very imperfect presentiment. The mere
shape of the head would be the despair of any
painter. It was so grand and massive that
it would scarcely be possible to represent it
without giving the idea of disproportion to
the frame of which no one ever thought for a
moment when they saw her, although it was a
surprise, when she stood up, to see that after
all, she was but a little fragile woman who
bore this weight of brow and brain.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Century</i>,<br/>
1881.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</SPAN></span>“Everything in her aspect and presence
was in keeping with the bent of her soul.
The deeply-lined face, the too
marked and massive features, were
united with an air of delicate refinement,
which in one way was the more impressive
because it seemed to proceed so entirely from
within. Nay, the inward beauty would sometimes
quite transform the external harshness;
there would be moments when the thin hands
that entwined themselves in their eagerness,
the earnest figure that bowed forward to
speak and hear, the deep gaze moving from
one face to another with a grave appeal,—all
these seemed the transparent symbols that
showed the presence of a wise benignant soul.
But it was the voice which best revealed her,
a voice whose subdued intensity and tremulous
richness seemed to environ her uttered
words with the mystery of a work of feeling
that must remain untold.... And then
again, when in moments of more intimate
converse some current of emotion would set<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</SPAN></span>
strongly through her soul, when she would
raise her head in unconscious absorption and
look out into the unseen, her expression was
not one to be soon forgotten. It had not,
indeed, the serene felicity of souls to whose
child-like confidence all heaven and earth are
fair. Rather it was the look (if I may use
a platonic phrase) of a strenuous Demiurge,
of a soul on which high tasks are laid, and
which finds in their accomplishment its only
imagination of joy.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">William<br/>
Morgan’s<br/>
<i>George Eliot</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“I was disappointed when I found the
illustrated papers gave no portraits of George
Eliot, and I afterwards learned that,
celebrated as she is in other ways,
she enjoys the rare, and perhaps
unique, distinction that she was never photographed.
Two portraits of her are, however,
in existence. One, by Mr. Lawrence, hangs
in Mr. Blackwood’s drawing-room in Edinburgh;
the other, by Mr. Buxton, was in her
own house at Chelsea. She is described as a
woman of large, massive, and homely features,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</SPAN></span>
which were softened and irradiated by a
gracious and winning smile. The size, shape,
and poise of her head were very noticeable,
and some of her friends have been struck by
her resemblance to the portrait of Savonarola
by Fra Bartolommea. Her voice was rich
and melodious, and those who best knew her
speak of her as a strangely fascinating and
sympathetic woman, who left on every one
who approached her an impression of
goodness and greatness. Her conversation
had no traces of the rich humour which runs
through some of her writings, but she joined
very heartily in the jocularity of others.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HENRY FIELDING<br/> <small>1707-1754</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Roscoe’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Fielding</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“With</span> regard to his personal appearance,
Fielding was strongly built, robust, and in
height rather exceeding six feet; he was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</SPAN></span>
also remarkably active, till repeated attacks
of gout had broken down the vigour of
a fine constitution. Naturally of a
dignified presence, he was equally
impressive in his tone and manner,
which added to his peculiarly-marked features;
his conversational powers and rare wit must
have given him a decided influence in general
society, and not a little ascendency over the
minds of common men.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jeaffreson’s<br/>
<i>Novels and<br/>
Novelists</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“That our nation was well and favourably
represented by him, amongst the lads at the
university, there can be no doubt;
for he was a magnificent fellow,
frank in bearing, agile as a trained
wrestler, rather exceeding six feet in height,
with a face, both by aristocratic features and
gallant expression, remarkably engaging, with
a fresh, slightly ruddy complexion, and a
winning smile of the most mirthful intelligence,
with an air commanding, but
free from the slightest taint of haughtiness,
and lastly, with a disposition as well endowed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</SPAN></span>
as his mind,—generous and truly noble as
became one sprung from the seed of kings.”—1725.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lawrence’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Fielding</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The personal appearance of the great
novelist has been thus described by his
friend, Mr. Arthur Murphy: ‘Henry
Fielding was in stature rather rising
above six feet; his frame of body
large and remarkably robust, till the gout
had broken the vigour of his constitution.’
His features were marked and striking, so
much so, that a portrait of him was painted
by his friend Hogarth from memory, with
the assistance of a profile which had been
cut in paper with a pair of scissors by a lady.
Though he was singularly handsome in his
youth, in his later years it appears, from his
own account, that his gouty and dropsical
figure was anything but agreeable to behold.
But his cheerfulness and good temper
rendered him to the last a delightful companion,
and endeared him to his family and
friends.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN GAY<br/> <small>1688-1732</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Coxe’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
John Gay</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> physiognomy does not appear to have
been remarkable for strong lines or expressive
features, it rather denoted benignity
and meekness.... In his person
Gay was inclined to corpulency; a
circumstance which he humorously alludes
to in his Epistle to Lord Burlington:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="indent">‘You knew fat bards might tire,</div>
<div class="verse">And mounted sent me forth your trusty squire.’</div>
</div></div>
<p>His natural corpulency was increased by
extreme indolence, for which his friends
often rallied him. Swift, in a letter to the
Duchess of Queensberry, thus expresses
himself on this subject: ‘You need not be
in pain about Mr. Gay’s stock of health; I
promise you he will spend it all upon laziness,
and run deep in debt by a winter’s repose in
town; therefore I entreat your Grace will<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</SPAN></span>
order him to move his chaps less, and his
legs more, the six cold months, else he will
spend all his money in physic and coach-hire.’—8th
October 1731.... In the early
part of his life Gay was extremely fond of
dress.... Pope also touches upon this weakness
in a letter to Swift.—18th December
1713.</p>
<p>... “‘One Mr. Gay, an unhappy youth,
who writes pastorals during the time of
divine service; whose case is the more
deplorable, as he hath miserably lavished
away all that silver he should have reserved
for his soul’s health in buttons and loops for
his coat.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Thackeray’s<br/>
<i>English<br/>
Humourists</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“In the portraits of the literary worthies
of the early part of the last century, Gay’s
face is the pleasantest perhaps of all.
It appears adorned with neither
periwig nor nightcap (the full dress
and <i>négligée</i> of learning without which the
painters of those days scarcely ever pourtrayed
wits), and he laughs at you over his shoulder<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</SPAN></span>
with an honest boyish glee—an artless sweet
humour. He was so kind, so gentle, so
jocular, so delightfully brisk at times, so
dismally woe-begone at others, such a natural
good creature, that the Giants loved him.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">EDWARD GIBBON<br/> <small>1737-1794</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Colman’s<br/>
<i>Random<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> learned Gibbon was a curious counter-balance
to the learned (may I not say
the less learned) Johnson. Their
manners and tastes, both in writing
and conversation, were as different
as their habiliments. On the day I first sat
down with Johnson in his rusty brown suit
and his black worsted stockings, Gibbon was
placed opposite to me in a suit of flowered
velvet, with a bag and sword. Each had his
measured phraseology, and Johnson’s famous
parallel between Dryden and Pope might be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</SPAN></span>
loosely parodied in reference to himself and
Gibbon. Johnson’s style was grand, and
Gibbon’s elegant: the stateliness of the
former was sometimes pedantic, and the
latter was occasionally finical. Johnson
marched to kettledrums and trumpets, Gibbon
moved to flutes and hautboys. Johnson
hewed passages through the Alps, while
Gibbon levelled walks through parks and
gardens. Mauled as I had been by Johnson,
Gibbon poured balm upon my bruises by
condescending once or twice in the course of
the evening to talk with me. The great
historian was light and playful, suiting his
matter to the capacity of a boy; but it was
done <i>more suo</i>—still his mannerism prevailed,
still he tapped his snuff-box, still he smirked
and smiled, and rounded his periods with
the same air of good-breeding, as if he were
conversing with men. His mouth, mellifluous
as Plato’s, was a round hole nearly in the
centre of his visage.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lord<br/>
Sheffield’s<br/>
<i>Gibbon</i>.</div>
<p>“M. Pavilliard has described to me the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</SPAN></span>
astonishment with which he gazed on Mr.
Gibbon standing before him; a thin little
figure, with a large head, disputing
and urging, with the greatest ability,
all the best arguments that had ever
been used in favour of popery. Mr. Gibbon
many years ago became very fat and corpulent,
but he had uncommonly small bones,
and was very slightly made.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Quarterly<br/>
Review</i>,<br/>
1809.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“As to his manners in society, without
doubt the agreeableness of Gibbon was
neither that yielding and retiring complaisance,
nor that modesty which is
forgetful of self; but his vanity never
showed itself in an offensive manner: anxious
to succeed and to please, he wished to
command attention, and obtained it without
difficulty by a conversation animated, sprightly,
and full of matter: all that was dictatorial in
his tone betrayed not so much that desire of
domineering over others, which is always
offensive, as confidence in himself. Notwithstanding
this, his conversation never<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</SPAN></span>
carried one away; its fault was a kind of
arrangement which never permitted him to
say anything unless well.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM GODWIN<br/> <small>1756-1836</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> person he was remarkably sedate and
solemn, resembling in dress and manner a
Dissenting minister rather than the
advocate of ‘free-thought’ in all
things—religious, moral, social,
and intellectual; he was short and stout,
his clothes loosely and carelessly put on,
and usually old and worn; his hands were
generally in his pockets; he had a remarkably
large, bald head, and a weak voice;
seeming generally half asleep when he
walked, and even when he talked. Few
who saw this man of calm exterior, quiet
manners, and inexpressive features, could<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</SPAN></span>
have believed him to have originated three
romances—<i>Falkland</i>, <i>Caleb Williams</i>, and <i>St.
Leon</i>,—not yet forgotten because of their
terrible excitements; and the work, <i>Political
Justice</i>, which for a time created a sensation
that was a fear in every state of Europe....
Lamb called him ‘a good-natured heathen’;
Southey said of him, in 1797, ‘He has large
noble eyes, and a nose—oh! most abominable
nose.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">George Ticknor’s<br/>
<i>Life</i>.</div>
<p>“Godwin is as far removed from everything
feverish and exciting as if his head had
never been filled with anything
but geometry. He is now about
sixty-five, stout, well-built, and unbroken by
age, with a cool, dogged manner, exactly
opposite to everything I had imagined of the
author of <i>St. Leon</i> and <i>Caleb Williams</i>.”—1819.</p>
<div class="sidenote">H. Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p>“The mention of Coleridge reminds me, I
hardly know why, of Godwin,
who was an occasional morning
visitor of mine. I looked upon him as a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</SPAN></span>
curious monument of a bygone state of
society; and there was still a good deal that
was interesting in him. His fine head was
striking, and his countenance remarkable. It
must not be judged of by the pretended
likeness put forth in <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i> about
that time, and attributed, with the whole
set, to Maclise.... The high Tory
favourites of the Magazine were exhibited
to the best advantage; while Liberals were
represented as Godwin was. Because the
finest thing about him was his noble head,
they put on a hat; and they represented him
in profile because he had lost his teeth, and
his lips fell in. No notion of Godwin’s face
could have been formed from that caricature.”—1833.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">OLIVER GOLDSMITH<br/> <small>1728-1774</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Forster’s <i>Life<br/>
and Times<br/>
of Oliver<br/>
Goldsmith</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“You</span> scarcely can conceive how much eight
years of disappointment, anguish, and study,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</SPAN></span>
have worn me down.... Imagine to yourself
a pale melancholy visage, with two great
wrinkles between the eyebrows,
with an eye disgustingly severe, and,
a big wig, and you may have a
perfect picture of my present appearance....
I can neither laugh nor drink, have
contracted a hesitating disagreeable manner
of speaking, and a visage that looks ill-nature
itself; in short, I have thought myself into
a settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of
all that life brings with it.”—1759.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Boswell’s <i>Life<br/>
of Dr. Johnson</i>.</div>
<p>“He was very much what the French call
<i>un étourdi</i>, and from vanity and an eager
desire of being conspicuous wherever
he was, he frequently talked
carelessly without knowledge of the subject,
or even without thought. His person was
short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his
deportment that of a scholar awkwardly
affecting the easy gentleman.”—1763.</p>
<div class="sidenote">R. Walsh’s<br/>
<i>British Poets</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Nothing could be more amiable than the
general features of his mind; those of his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</SPAN></span>
person were not perhaps so engaging. His
stature was under the middle size, his body
strongly built, and his limbs more
sturdy than elegant. His complexion
was pale, his forehead low, his face
almost round and pitted with the small-pox,
but marked with strong lines of thinking.
His first appearance was not captivating;
but when he grew easy and cheerful in
company, he relaxed into such a display of
good-humour as soon removed every unfavourable
impression.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">DAVID GRAY<br/> <small>1838-1861</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Buchanan’s<br/>
<i>Life of David<br/>
Gray</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“At</span> twenty-one years of age ... David was
a tall young man, slightly but firmly built, and
with a stoop at the shoulders. His
head was small, fringed with black
curly hair. Want of candour was
not his fault, though he seldom looked one<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</SPAN></span>
in the face; his eyes, however, were large
and dark, full of intelligence and humour,
harmonising well with the long thin nose and
nervous lips. The great black eyes and
woman’s mouth betrayed the creature of
impulse; one whose reasoning faculties were
small, but whose temperament was like red-hot
coal. He sympathised with much that
was lofty, noble, and true in poetry, and with
much that was absurd and suicidal in the
poet. He carried sympathy to the highest
pitch of enthusiasm; he shed tears over
the memories of Keats and Burns, and he
was corybantic in his execution of a Scotch
‘reel.’”—1859.</p>
<div class="sidenote">R. M. Milnes’s<br/>
<i>Notice on David<br/>
Gray</i>.</div>
<p>“I was told a young man wished to see
me, and when he came into the room I at
once saw it was no other than the
young Scotch poet. It was a
light, well-built, but somewhat
stooping figure, with a countenance that at
once brought strongly to my recollection a
cast of a face of Shelley in his youth, which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</SPAN></span>
I had seen at Mr. Leigh Hunt’s. There was
the same full brow, out-looking eyes, and
sensitive melancholy mouth.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Hedderwick’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
David Gray</i>.</div>
<p>“In person, the deceased poet was tall,
with a slight stoop. His head was not large,
but his temperament was of the
keenest and brightest edge. With
black curling hair, eyes dark, large,
and lustrous, and a complexion of almost
feminine delicacy, his appearance never
failed to make a favourable impression on
strangers.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS GRAY<br/> <small>1716-1771</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Gosse’s<br/>
<i>Gray</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> one of Philip Gray’s fits of extravagance
he seems to have had a full-length of his son
painted about this time, by the fashionable
portrait-painter of the day, Jonathan
Richardson the elder. This picture is
now in the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</SPAN></span>
The head is good in colour and modelling;
a broad pale brow, sharp nose and chin, large
eyes, and a pert expression, give a lively idea
of the precocious and not very healthy young
gentleman of thirteen. He is dressed in a
blue satin coat, lined with pale shot silk, and
crosses his stockinged legs so as to display
dapper slippers of russet leather.”—1729.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Warburton’s<br/>
<i>Horace Walpole<br/>
and his<br/>
contemporaries</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Gray, judging from his portrait by
Echardt, lately at Strawberry Hill, was
eminently the poet and the
scholar in his appearance. A
delicate frame, a pale complexion,
an expansive forehead, clear eyes, a small
mouth, and regular features, bearing the
general impression of thoughtfulness and
melancholy, surrounded by his own hair, worn
long, prepossessed the spectator in his
favour, and charmed those who were already
his admirers.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Gosse’s<br/>
<i>Gray</i>.</div>
<p>“Mr. Gray’s singular niceness in the
choice of his acquaintance makes him appear
fastidious in a great degree to all who are not<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</SPAN></span>
acquainted with his manner. He is of a fastidious
and recluse distance of carriage, rather
averse to all sociability, but of the
graver turn, nice and elegant in his
person, dress, and behaviour, even to a degree
of finicality and effeminacy.”—1770.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HENRY HALLAM<br/> <small>1777-1859</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Hallam</span> was a tall and remarkably handsome
man, very stately in look and manner.
His countenance was thoughtful and
intelligent, yet by no means stern.
On the contrary, he was kindly and
condescending. I had once occasion to
apply to him for information. He gave it
graciously and gracefully, and appeared as
if he had received instead of conferred a
compliment.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">George Ticknor’s<br/>
<i>Life</i>.</div>
<p>“Mr. Hallam is, I suppose, about sixty<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</SPAN></span>
years old, gray-headed, hesitates a little in
his speech, is lame, and has a shy manner
which makes him blush frequently,
when he expresses as decided an
opinion as his temperament constantly leads
him to entertain. Except his lameness, he
has a fine dignified person, and talked
pleasantly, with that air of kindness which is
always so welcome to a stranger.... He is
a wise man, a little nervous in his manner
and a little fidgety, yet of a sound and quiet
judgment.”—1838.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jerdan’s<br/>
<i>Men I have<br/>
known</i>.</div>
<p>“A statue of him by Mr. Theed was
sculptured for St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a
good copy was exhibited at the last
National Exhibition, though I was
not altogether satisfied with the
likeness, nor thought the accessories well
chosen and happy; for a standing figure,
nevertheless, it has the great merit of simplicity.</p>
<p>“Though habitually rather grave, the
pleasant smile best became his features, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</SPAN></span>
I do not think he was often guilty of audible
laughter.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM HAZLITT<br/> <small>1778-1830</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Patmore’s<br/>
<i>Personal<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> truth is, that for depth, force, and
variety of intellectual expression, a finer head
and face than Hazlitt’s were never
seen. I speak of them when his
countenance was not dimmed and
obscured by illness, or clouded and deformed
by those fearful indications of internal passion
which he never even attempted to conceal.
The expression of Hazlitt’s face, when anything
was said in his presence that seriously
offended him, or when any peculiarly painful
recollection passed across his mind, was truly
awful, more so than can be conceived as
within the capacity of the human countenance;
except, perhaps, by those who have
witnessed Edmund Kean’s last scene of ‘Sir<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</SPAN></span>
Giles Overreach’ from the front of the pit.
But when he was in good health, and in a
tolerable humour with himself and the world,
his face was more truly and entirely answerable
to the intellect that spoke through it,
than any other I ever saw, either in life or on
canvas; and its crowning portion—the brow
and forehead—was, to my thinking, quite
unequalled for mingled capacity and beauty.</p>
<p>“For those who desire a more particular
description, I will add that Hazlitt’s features,
though not cast in any received classical
mould, were regular in their formation,
perfectly consonant with each other, and so
finely ‘chiseled’ (as the phrase is), that they
produced a much more prominent and striking
effect than their scale of size might have led
one to expect. The forehead, as I have
hinted, was magnificent; the nose precisely
that (combining strength with lightness and
elegance) which physiognomists have assigned
as evidence of a fine and highly cultivated
taste, though there was a peculiar character<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</SPAN></span>
about the nostrils like that observable in
those of a fiery and unruly horse. The mouth,
from its ever-changing form and character,
could scarcely be described, except as to its
astonishingly varied power of expression,
which was equal to, and greatly resembled, that
of Edmund Kean. His eyes, I should say,
were not good. They were never brilliant,
and there was a furtive and at times a sinister
look about them, as they glanced suspiciously
from under their overhanging brows, that
conveyed a very unpleasant impression to
those who did not know him. And they
were seldom directed frankly and fairly
towards you, as if he were afraid that you
might read in them what was passing in his
mind concerning you. His head was nobly
formed and placed, with (until the last few
years of his life) a profusion of coal-black
hair, richly curled; and his person was of
middle height, rather slight, but well formed
and put together.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Bryan Procter’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of<br/>
Men of Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“My first meeting with Mr. Hazlitt took<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</SPAN></span>
place at the house of Leigh Hunt, where I
met him at supper. I expected to see a
severe, defiant-looking being. I
met a grave man, diffident, almost
awkward in manner, whose
appearance did not impress me with much
respect. He had a quick, restless eye, however,
which opened eagerly when any good or
bright observation was made; and I found at
the conclusion of the evening, that when any
question arose, the most sensible reply always
came from him.... Hazlitt was of the middle
size, with eager, expressive eyes, near which his
black hair, sprinkled sparely with gray, curled
round in a wiry, resolute manner. His gray
eyes, not remarkable in colour, expanded into
great expression when occasion demanded it.
Being very shy, however, they often evaded
your steadfast look. They never (as has
been asserted by some one) had a sinister
expression, but they sometimes flamed with
indignant glances when their owner was
moved to anger, like the eyes of other angry<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</SPAN></span>
men. At home, his style of dress (or undress)
was perhaps slovenly, because there was no
one to please; but he always presented a very
neat and clean appearance when he went
abroad. His mode of walking was loose,
weak, and unsteady, although his arms
displayed strength, which he used to put
forth when he played at racquets with Martin
Burney and others.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cowden<br/>
Clarkes’<br/>
<i>Recollections<br/>
of Writers</i>.</div>
<p>“The painting ... was standing on an
old-fashioned couch in one corner of the room
leaning against the wall, and we
remained opposite to it for some
time, while Hazlitt stood by holding
the candle high up so as to throw the light well
on to the picture, descanting enthusiastically
on the merits of the original. The beam from
the candle falling on his own finely intellectual
head, with its iron-gray hair, its square
potential forehead, its massive mouth and chin,
and eyes full of earnest fire, formed a glorious
picture in itself, and remains a luminous vision
for ever upon our memories.”—About 1829.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">FELICIA HEMANS<br/> <small>1794-1835</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Hughes’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Mrs. Hemans</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> young poetess was then only fifteen;
in the full glow of that radiant beauty which
was destined to fade so early.
The mantling bloom of her cheeks
was shaded by a profusion of
natural ringlets, of a rich golden brown, and
the ever-varying expression of her brilliant
eyes gave a changeful play to her countenance,
which would have made it impossible
for any painter to do justice to it. The
recollection of what she was at that time,
irresistibly suggests a quotation from Wordsworth’s
graceful poetic picture:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">‘She was a Phantom of delight,</div>
<div class="verse">When first she gleamed upon my sight;</div>
<div class="verse">A lovely Apparition, sent</div>
<div class="verse">To be a moment’s ornament.</div>
<div class="verse"> * * * *</div>
<div class="verse">A dancing Shape, an Image gay,</div>
<div class="verse">To haunt, to startle, and waylay.’”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verseright">1809.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">Moir’s<br/>
<i>Memoirs of<br/>
Mrs. Hemans</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</SPAN></span>“Mrs. Hemans was about the middle
height, and rather slenderly made than
otherwise. To a countenance of
great intelligence and expression,
she united manners alike unassuming
and playful, and with a trust arising
out of the purity of her own character—which
was beyond the meanness of suspicion
in others—she remained untainted by the
breath of worldly guile.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Rossetti’s<br/>
<i>Notice of<br/>
Mrs. Hemans</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“An engraved portrait of her by the
American artist William E. West—one of
three which he painted in 1827,
shows us that Mrs. Hemans, at
the age of thirty-four, was eminently
pleasing and good-looking, with an air
of amiability and sprightly gentleness, and of
confiding candour which, while none the less
perfectly womanly, might almost be termed
childlike in its limpid depth. The features
are correct and harmonious; the eyes full; and
the contour amply and elegantly rounded. In
height she was neither tall nor short. A<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</SPAN></span>
sufficient wealth of naturally clustering hair,
golden in early youth, but by this time of
a rich auburn, shades the capacious but not
over-developed forehead, and the lightly
pencilled eyebrows. The bust and form
have the fulness of a mature period of life;
and it would appear that Mrs. Hemans was
somewhat short-necked and high-shouldered,
partly detracting from delicacy of proportion,
and of general aspect of impression on the
eye. We would rather judge of her by this
portrait (which her sister pronounces a good
likeness) than by another engraved in Mr.
Chorley’s Memorials. This latter was executed
in Dublin in 1831, by a young artist
named Edward Robinson. It makes Mrs.
Hemans look younger than in the earlier
portrait by West, and may on that ground
alone be surmised unfaithful, and, though
younger, it also makes her heavier and less
refined.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">JAMES HOGG<br/> <small>1770-1835</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Lockhart’s<br/>
<i>Peter’s Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Although</span> for some time past he has
spent a considerable portion of every year in
excellent, even in refined society,
the external appearance of the
man can have undergone but very little
change since he was ‘a herd on Yarrow.’
His face and hands are still as brown as if
he had lived entirely <i>sub dio</i>. His very
hair has a coarse stringiness about it, which
proves beyond dispute its utter ignorance of
all the arts of the <i>friseur</i>, and hangs in
playful whips and cords about his ears, in a
style of the most perfect innocence imaginable.
His mouth which, when he smiles,
nearly cuts the totality of his face in twain,
is an object that would make the Chevalier
Ruspini die with indignation; for his teeth
have been allowed to grow where they listed,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</SPAN></span>
and as they listed, presenting more resemblance,
in arrangement (and colour too), to a
body of crouching sharp-shooters, than to any
more regular species of array. The effect
of a forehead, towering with a true poetic
grandeur above such features as these, and
of an eye that illuminates their surface with
genuine lightenings of genius ... these are
things which I cannot so easily transfer to
my paper.”—1819.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“The Rev. Mr. Thomson, his biographer,
thus pictures him:—‘In height he was five
feet ten inches and a half; his broad
chest and square shoulders indicated
health and strength; while a well-rounded
leg, and small ankle and foot,
showed the active shepherd who could outstrip
the runaway sheep.’ His hair in his
younger days was auburn, slightly inclining
to yellow, which afterwards became dark
brown, mixed with gray; his eyes, which
were dark blue, were bright and intelligent.
His features were irregular, while his eye<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</SPAN></span>
and ample forehead redeemed the countenance
from every charge of common-place
homeliness.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s<br/>
<i>Life of Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p>“Hogg is a little red-skinned stiff sack
of a body, with quite the common air of an
Ettrick shepherd, except that he
has a highish though sloping
brow (among his yellow grizzled hair), and
two clear little beads of blue or gray eyes
that sparkle, if not with thought, yet with
animation. Behaves himself quite easily and
well; speaks Scotch, and mostly narrative
absurdity (or even obscenity) therewith....
His vanity seems to be immense, but also
his good-nature.”—1832.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS HOOD<br/> <small>1798-1845</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Gentleman’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1872.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“As</span> he entered the room my first impression
was that of slight disappointment.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</SPAN></span>
I had not then seen any portrait of him,
and my imagination had depicted a man of
the under size, with a humorous
and mobile mouth, and with sharp,
twinkling, and investigating eyes. When,
therefore, a rather tall and attenuated figure
presented itself before me, with grave aspect
and dressed in black, and when, after scrutinising
his features, I noticed those dark, sad
eyes set in that pale and pain-worn yet
tranquil face, and saw the expression of that
suffering mouth, telling how sickness with its
stern plough had driven its silent share
through that slender frame, all the long train
of quaint and curious fancies, ludicrous imageries,
oddly-combined contrasts, humorous
distortions, strange and uncouth associations,
myriad word-twistings, ridiculous miseries,
grave trifles, and trifling gravities—all these
came before me like the rushing event of a
dream, and I asked myself, ‘Can this be the
man that has so often made me roll with
laughter at his humour, chuckle at his wit,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</SPAN></span>
and wonder while I threaded the maze of his
inexhaustible puns?’ When he began to
converse in bland and placid tones about
Germany, where he had for some time lived,
I became more reconciled to him.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“In person Hood was of middle height,
slender and sickly-looking, of sallow complexion
and pale features, quiet in
expression, and very rarely excited
so as to give indication of either
the pathos or the humour that must ever
have been working in his soul. His was,
indeed, a countenance rather of melancholy
than mirth; there was something calm, even
to solemnity, in the upper portion of the face,
seldom relieved, in society, by the eloquent
play of the mouth, or the sparkle of an
observant eye. In conversation he was by
no means brilliant. When inclined to pun,
which was not often, it seemed as if his wit
was the issue of thought, and not an instinctive
produce, such as I have noticed in
other men who have thus become famous,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</SPAN></span>
who are admirable in crowds, whose animation
is like that of the sounding-board, which
makes a great noise at a small touch, when
listeners are many and applause is sure.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Rossetti’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of Hood</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The face of Hood is best known by two
busts and an oil-portrait, which have both
been engraved from. It is the
sort of face to which apparently
a bust does more than justice, yet less than
right,—the features, being mostly by no
means bad ones, look better when thus reduced
to the more simple and abstract contour
than they probably showed in reality,
for no one supposed Hood to be a fine-looking
man; on the other hand, the <i>value</i>
of the face must have been in its shifting expression—keen,
playful, or subtle—and this
can be but barely suggested by the sculptor.
The poet’s visage was pallid, his figure slight,
his voice feeble; he always dressed in black,
and is generally spoken of as presenting a
generally clerical appearance.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">THEODORE HOOK<br/> <small>1788-1841</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I remember</span>, one day at Sydenham, Mr.
Theodore Hook coming in unexpectedly to
dinner, and amusing us very
much with his talent at extempore
verse. He was then a youth, tall,
dark, and of a good person, with small eyes,
and features more round than weak; a face
that had character and humour, but no
refinement.”—1809.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“When I first saw him, he was above the
middle height, robust of frame, and broad
of chest; well-proportioned, with
evidence of great physical capacity;
his complexion dark, as were his
eyes. There was nothing fine or elevated
in his expression; indeed, his features when
in repose were heavy; it was otherwise when
animated; yet his manners were those of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</SPAN></span>
a gentleman, less, perhaps, from inherent
faculty than the polish which refined society
ever gives.”—1828.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Barham’s<br/>
<i>Life of Hook</i>.</div>
<p>“In person Theodore Hook was above
the middle height, his frame was robust and
well-proportioned, possessing a
breadth and depth of chest which,
joined to a constitution naturally of the
strongest order, would have seemed, under
ordinary care, to hold out promise of a long
and healthy life. His countenance was fine
and commanding, his features when in repose
settling into a somewhat stern and heavy expression,
but all alive and alight with genius
the instant his lips were opened. His eyes
were dark, large, and full—to the epithet
[Greek: boôpis] he, not less justly than the venerable
goddess, was entitled. His voice was rich,
deep, and melodious.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">DAVID HUME<br/> <small>1711-1776</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Chambers’s<br/>
<i>Eminent<br/>
Scotsmen</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Lord Charlemont</span>, who at this period met
with Mr. Hume at Turin, has given the
following account of his habits and
appearance, penned apparently with
a greater aim at effect than at truth,
yet somewhat characteristic of the philosopher:
‘Nature, I believe, never formed any man
more unlike his real character than David
Hume. The powers of physiognomy were
baffled by his countenance; neither could the
most skilful in the science pretend to discover
the smallest trace of the faculties of his mind
in the unmeaning features of his visage.
His face was broad and fat, his mouth wide,
and without any other expression than that
of imbecility. His eyes vacant and spiritless;
and the corpulence of his whole person was
far better fitted to communicate the idea of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</SPAN></span>
a turtle-eating alderman than of a refined
philosopher. His speech in English was
rendered ridiculous by the broadest Scotch
accent, and his French was, if possible, still
more laughable, so that wisdom most certainly
never disguised herself before in so uncouth
a garb.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lockhart’s<br/>
<i>Peter’s Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“The prints of David Hume are, most of
them, I believe, taken from the very portrait
I have seen; but of course the
style and effect of the features are
much more thoroughly to be understood
when one has an opportunity of observing
them expanded in their natural proportions.
The face is far from being in any respect a
classical one. The forehead is chiefly remarkable
for its prominence from the ear,
and not so much for its height. This gives
him a lowering sort of look forwards, expressive
of great inquisitiveness into matters
of fact and the consequences to be deduced
from them. His eyes are singularly prominent,
which, according to the Gallic system,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</SPAN></span>
would indicate an extraordinary development
of the organ of language behind them. His
nose is too low between the eyes, and not
well or boldly formed in any other respect.
The lips, although not handsome, have in
their fleshy and massy outlines abundant
marks of habitual reflection and intellectual
occupation. The whole had a fine expression
of intellectual dignity, candour, and serenity.
The want of elevation, however, which I
have already noticed, injures very much the
effect even of the structure of the lower part
of the head.... It is to be regretted that
he wore powder, for this prevents us from
having the advantage of seeing what was
the natural style of his hair—or, indeed, of
ascertaining the form of any part of his head
beyond the forehead.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">David Hume’s<br/>
<i>Life</i>.</div>
<p>“To conclude historically with my own
character. I am, or rather was (for that is
the style which I must now use in
speaking of myself, which emboldens
me the more to speak my sentiment);<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</SPAN></span>
I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command
of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful
humour, capable of attachment, but little
susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation
in all my passions. Even my love of
literary fame—my ruling passion, never soured
my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments.
My company was not unacceptable
to the young and careless, as well
as to the studious and literary; and as I took
a particular pleasure in the company of
modest women, I had no reason to be displeased
with the reception I met with from
them.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">LEIGH HUNT<br/> <small>1784-1859</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Son’s preface to<br/>
<i>Autobiography<br/>
of Leigh Hunt</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“It</span> was at this period of his life” (<i>as a young
man</i>) “that his appearance was most characteristic,
and none of the portraits of him
adequately conveyed the idea of it. One of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</SPAN></span>
the best, a half-length chalk drawing, by an
artist named Wildman, perished. The miniature
by Severn was only a sketch
on a small scale, but it suggested
the kindness and animation of his
countenance. In other cases, the artists
knew too little of their sitter to catch the
most familiar traits of his aspect. He was
rather tall, as straight as an arrow, and looked
slenderer than he really was. His hair was
black and shining, and slightly inclined to
wave; his head was high, his forehead straight
and white, his eyes black and sparkling, his
general complexion dark.... Few men
were so attractive ‘in society,’ whether in
a large company or over the fireside. His
manners were peculiarly animated; his conversation
varied, ranging over a great field
of subjects, was moved and called forth by
the response of his companion, be that companion
philosopher or student, sage or boy,
man or woman; and he was equally ready
for the most lively topics or for the gravest<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</SPAN></span>
reflections—his expression easily adapting
itself to the tone of his companion’s mind.
With much freedom of manners, he combined
a spontaneous courtesy that never failed, and
a considerateness derived from a ceaseless
kindness of heart that invariably fascinated
even strangers.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Bryan Procter’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of<br/>
Men of Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“Hunt was a little above the middle size,
thin and lithe. His countenance was very
genial and pleasant. His hair
was black; his eyes were very
dark, but he was short-sighted,
and therefore, perhaps, it was that they had
nothing of that fierce glance which black eyes
so frequently possess. His mouth was expressive,
but protruding, as is sometimes
seen in half-caste Americans.”—1817.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Haydon’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p>“I afterwards met Hunt, and reminded
him of Wilkie’s intention, and Hunt, with a
frankness I liked much, became
quite at home, and as I was just
as easily acquainted in five minutes as himself,
we began to talk, and he to hold forth,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</SPAN></span>
and I thought him, with his black bushy hair,
black eyes, pale face, and ‘nose of taste,’ as
fine a specimen of a London editor as could
be imagined; assuming yet moderate, sarcastic
yet genial, with a smattering of everything
and a mastery of nothing, affecting the
dictator, the poet, the politician, the critic, and
the sceptic, whichever would, at the moment,
give him the air, to inferior minds, of being
a very superior man. I listened with something
of curiosity to his republican independence,
though hating his effeminacy and
cockney peculiarities. The fearless honesty
of his opinions, the unscrupulous sacrifice of
his own interests, the unselfish perseverance
of his attacks on all abuses, whether royal or
religious, noble or democratic, ancient or
modern, so gratified my mind, that I suffered
this singular young man to gain such an
ascendancy in my heart, as justified the perpetual
caution of Wilkie against my great
tendency to become acquainted too soon with
strangers, and like Canning’s German, to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</SPAN></span>
swear eternal friendship with any spirited
talented fellow after a couple of hours of
witty talk or able repartee.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ELIZABETH INCHBALD<br/> <small>1753-1821</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Kavanagh’s<br/>
<i>English Women<br/>
of Letters</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Miss Simpson</span> ... was ... tall and
slender, with hair of a golden
auburn, and lovely hazel eyes,
perfect features, and an enchanting
countenance.”—1771.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs. Inchbald’s<br/>
<i>Memoirs</i>.</div>
<p class="center">“<span class="smcap">Description of Me.</span></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Age.</i>—Between 30 and 40, which, in the
register of a lady’s birth, means a little
turned of 30.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Height.</i>—Above the middle size, and rather
tall.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Figure.</i>—Handsome, and striking
in its general air, but a little too stiff
and erect.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</SPAN></span><i>Shape.</i>—Rather too fond of sharp angles.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Skin.</i>—By nature fair, though a little freckled,
and with a tinge of sand, which is the
colour of her eyelashes, but made coarse
by ill-treatment upon her cheeks and arms.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Bosom.</i>—None; or so diminutive, that it’s
like a needle in a bottle of hay.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Hair.</i>—Of a sandy auburn, and rather too
straight as well as thin.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Face.</i>—Beautiful in effect, and beautiful in
every feature.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Countenance.</i>—Full of spirit and sweetness;
excessively interesting, and, without indelicacy,
voluptuous.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><i>Dress.</i>—Always becoming; and very seldom
worth so much as <i>eightpence</i>.”—About
1788.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">FRANCIS, LORD JEFFREY<br/> <small>1773-1850</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Geo.<br/>
Ticknor’s<br/>
<i>Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“You</span> are to imagine then, before you, a
short, stout little gentleman, about five and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</SPAN></span>
a half feet high, with a very red face, black
hair and black eyes. You are to suppose
him to possess a very gay and animated
countenance, and you are to
see in him all the restlessness of a
will-o’-wisp, and all that fitful irregularity
in his movements which you have heretofore
appropriated to the pasteboard Merry
Andrews whose limbs are jerked about with
a wire. These you are to interpret as the
natural indications of the impetuous and
impatient character which a farther acquaintance
developes. He enters the room with
a countenance so satisfied and a step so light
and almost fantastic, that all your previous
impressions of the dignity and severity of
the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> are immediately put
to flight, and, passing at once to the opposite
extreme, you might, perhaps, imagine him
to be frivolous, vain, and supercilious. He
accosts you too, with a freedom and
familiarity which may, perhaps, put you at
your ease and render conversation unceremonious;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</SPAN></span>
but which, as I observed in
several instances, were not very tolerable to
those who had always been accustomed to
the delicacy and decorum of refined society.”—1814.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lockhart’s<br/>
<i>Peter’s Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“I had not been long in the room, however,
when I heard Mr. J—— announced,
and as I had not seen him for some
time, resolved to stay, and if
possible, enjoy a little of his conversation
in some corner.... I have seldom seen
a man more nice in his exterior than
Mr. J—— now seemed to be. His little
person looked very neat in the way he had
now adorned it. He had a very well-cut
blue coat,—evidently not after the design of
any Edinburgh artist,—light kerseymere
breeches and ribbed silk stockings, a pair
of elegant buckles, white kid gloves, and a
tricolour watch-ribbon. He held his hat
under his arm in a very <i>dégagée</i> manner—and
altogether he was certainly one of the
last men in the assembly, whom a stranger<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</SPAN></span>
would have guessed to be either a great
lawyer or a great reviewer. In short, he
was more of a dandy than any great author
I ever saw—always excepting Tom Moore
and David Williams.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>New Monthly<br/>
Magazine</i>,<br/>
1831.</div>
<p>“He is of low stature, but his figure is
elegant and well proportioned. The face is
rather elongated, the chin deficient,
the mouth well formed, with a
mingled expression of determination, sentiment,
and arch mockery; the nose is slightly
curved; the eye is the most peculiar feature
of the countenance; it is large and sparkling.
He has two tones in his voice—the one
harsh and grating, the other rich and clear.”—1831.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">DOUGLAS JERROLD<br/> <small>1803-1857</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Hodder’s<br/>
<i>Personal<br/>
Reminiscences</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“To</span> my great delight, ... I had not been
in the room many minutes before I was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</SPAN></span>
introduced to Douglas Jerrold, who was flitting
about with that peculiar restlessness of eye,
speech, and demeanour, which was
amongst his most marked characteristics.
I confess I was not surprised
to find him a man of small stature,
as I had heard before that his proportions
were rather those of Tydeus than of Alcides;
but I was a little astonished when I saw in
the author of <i>Black-eyed Susan</i>, <i>The Rent
Day</i>, and <i>The Wedding Gown</i>, (all of
which pieces and many others he had then
produced), an amount of boyish gaiety and a
rapidity of movement which one could hardly
expect from a writer who had risen to high
rank as a moralist and censor.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">W. B. Jerrold’s<br/>
<i>Life of Douglas<br/>
Jerrold</i>.</div>
<p>“He had none of the airs of success or
reputation, none of the affectations, either
personal or social, which are rife
everywhere. He was manly and
natural; free and off-handed to
the verge of eccentricity. Independence and
marked character seemed to breathe from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</SPAN></span>
the little, rather bowed figure, crowned with
a lion-like head and falling light hair—to
glow in the keen, eager, blue eyes glancing
on either side as he walked along. Nothing
could be less commonplace, nothing less
conventional, than his appearance in a room
or in the streets.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“He was a very short man, but with
breadth enough, and a back excessively bent—bowed
almost to deformity; very
gray hair, and a face and expression
of remarkable briskness and intelligence.
His profile came out pretty
boldly, and his eyes had the prominence that
indicates, I believe, volubility of speech;
nor did he fail to talk from the instant of his
appearance; and in the tone of his voice, and
in his glance, and in the whole man, there
was something racy—a flavour of the
humourist. His step was that of an aged
man, and he put his stick down very
decidedly at every foot-fall; though, as
he afterwards told me, he was only fifty-two,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</SPAN></span>
he need not yet have been infirm.”—1856.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL JOHNSON<br/> <small>1709-1784</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Boswell’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Dr. Johnson</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Miss Porter</span> told me, that when he was
first introduced to her mother, his appearance
was very forbidding; he was then
lean and lank, so that his immense
structure of bones was hideously
striking to the eye, and the scars of the
scrofula were deeply visible. He also wore
his hair, which was straight and stiff, and
separated behind; and he often had, seemingly,
convulsive starts and odd gesticulations,
which tended to excite at once surprise and
ridicule. Mrs. Porter was so much engaged
by his conversation that she overlooked all
these external disadvantages, and said to
her daughter, ‘This is the most sensible man
that I ever saw in my life.’”—1731.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Boswell’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Dr. Johnson</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</SPAN></span>“His chambers were on the first floor of
No. 1 Inner Temple Lane.... He received
me very courteously; but it must
be confessed that his apartment and
furniture and morning dress was
sufficiently uncouth. His brown suit of
clothes looked very rusty; he had on a little
old shrivelled unpowdered wig, which was
too small for his head; his shirt neck and
knees of his breeches were loose, his black
worsted stockings ill drawn up, and he had
a pair of unbuckled shoes by way of slippers.
But all these slovenly peculiarities were
forgotten the moment he began to talk.”—1763.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Croker’s<br/>
<i>Johnsoniana</i>.</div>
<p>“The day after I wrote my last letter to
you I was introduced to Mr. Johnson by a
friend. We passed through three
very dirty rooms to a little one that
looked like an old counting-house, where this
great man was sat at breakfast.... I was
very much struck with Mr. Johnson’s appearance,
and could hardly help thinking him a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</SPAN></span>
madman for some time, as he sat waving
over his breakfast like a lunatic. He is a
very large man, and was dressed in a dirty
brown coat and waistcoat, with breeches that
were brown also (although they had been
crimson), and an old black wig; his shirt
collar and sleeves were unbuttoned; his
stockings were down about his feet, which
had on them, by way of slippers, an old pair
of shoes.... We had been with him some
time before he began to talk, but at length
he began, and, faith, to some purpose;
everything he says is as <i>correct</i> as a <i>second
edition</i>; ’tis almost impossible to argue with
him, he is so sententious and so knowing.”—1764.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">BEN JONSON<br/> <small>1574-1637</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was (or rather had been) of a clear and
faire skin, his habit was very plaine. I have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</SPAN></span>
heard Mr. Lacy, the player, say that he was
wont to weare a coate like a coach-man’s coate
with slitts under the arme-pitts.
He would many times exceed in
drinke. Canarie was his beloved
liquer.... Ben Jonson had one eie lower
than t’other and bigger, like Clun, the
player.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Anderson’s<br/>
<i>Poets of<br/>
Great Britain</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The character of Jonson, like that of
most celebrated wits, has been drawn with
great diversity of lights and
shades, according as affection or
envy guided the pencil. His
person, as he has himself told us, was
corpulent and large. His disposition seems
to have been reserved and saturnine, and
sometimes not a little oppressed with the
gloom of a splenetic imagination.... Stern
and rigid as his virtue was, he was easy and
social in the convivial meetings of his friends;
and the laws of his <i>Symposia</i>, inscribed over
the chimney of the Apollo, a room in the
Devil Tavern, near Temple Bar, where he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</SPAN></span>
kept his club, show that he was neither averse
to the pleasures of conversation, nor ignorant
of what would render it agreeable and improving.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Lafond, <i>Notice<br/>
sur Ben Jonson</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Il est clair pour nous que Ben Jonson
avait une nature violente dans un corps
robuste et athlétique; son portrait
nous le montre avec une énorme
face, une vigoureuse mâchoire, des yeux
profonds et durs, un cou de taureau. Sa
peau avait été, de bonne heure, couturée par
le scorbut; et lui-même dit quelque part qu’il
eut, dans le milieu de sa vie, une montagne
pour ventre et un dandinement disgracieux
pour démarche. Tous ses traits fortement
accentués, anguleux ou carrés, dénoncent
l’énergie, l’orgueil et l’amour des luttes de
toute nature. Il aimait la bonne chère et le
vin; sa prédilection pour le vin des Canaries
avait, disait il, pour excuse la nécessité de
sa constitution scorbutique. Il avait l’esprit
semblable au corps; malgré ses études
classiques, il était loin d’être un Athénien,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</SPAN></span>
c’était un Anglo-Saxon enté sur un Romain
de la décadence. Généreux, libéral, prodigue,
il tint toujours table ouverte, même lorsque la
misère était devenue l’hôte de son foyer.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN KEATS<br/> <small>1795-1821</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Bryan Procter’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of<br/>
Men of Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I was</span> first introduced to him (Keats), by
Leigh Hunt, and found him very pleasant,
and free from all affectation in
manner and opinion. Indeed it
would be difficult to discover a
man with a more bright and open countenance....
I can only say that I never
encountered a more manly and simple young
man. In person he was short, and had eyes
large and wonderfully luminous, and a resolute
bearing, not defiant but well sustained.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Monckton<br/>
Milnes’s <i>Life of<br/>
Keats</i>.</div>
<p>“His eyes were large and blue, his hair
auburn, he wore it divided down the centre,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</SPAN></span>
and it fell in rich masses on each side his face,
his mouth was full, and less intellectual than
his other features. His countenance
lives in my mind as one of
singular beauty and brightness,—it
had an expression as if he had been looking
on some glorious sight. The shape of his
face had not the squareness of a man’s, but
more like some women’s faces I have seen—it
was so wide over the forehead, and so
small at the chin. He seemed in perfect
health, and with life offering all things that
were precious to him.”—1818.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cowden<br/>
Clarkes’<br/>
<i>Recollections<br/>
of Writers</i>.</div>
<p><i>In reviewing this portrait, Mrs. Cowden
Clarke, while admitting that much of it is</i>
“excellent” <i>and</i> “true,” <i>goes on to
add these words</i>: “But when our
artist pronounces that ‘his eyes
were large and <i>blue</i>,’ and that ‘his hair was
<i>auburn</i>,’ I am naturally reminded of the
‘Chameleon’ fable—‘they were <i>brown</i>, ma’am—<i>brown</i>,
I assure you!’... Reader, alter,
in your copy of the <i>Life of Keats</i>, vol. i. page<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</SPAN></span>
103, ‘eyes’ light hazel, ‘hair’ <i>lightish brown
and wavy</i>.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p>“Keats, when he died, had just completed
his four and twentieth year. He was under
the middle height, and his lower
limbs were small in comparison
with the upper, but neat and well-turned.
His shoulders were very broad for his size;
he had a face in which energy and sensibility
were remarkably mixed up; an eager power,
checked and made patient by ill-health.
Every feature was at once strongly cut,
and delicately alive. If there was any faulty
expression, it was in the mouth, which was
not without something of a character of
pugnacity. His face was rather long than
otherwise; the upper lip projected a little
over the under; the chin was bold, the cheeks
sunken; the eyes are mellow and glowing,
large, dark, and sensitive. At the recital of
a noble action, or a beautiful thought, they
would suffuse with tears, and his mouth
trembled. In this there was ill-health as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</SPAN></span>
well as imagination, for he did not like these
betrayals of emotion; and he had great
personal as well as moral courage. He once
chastised a butcher, who had been insolent,
by a regular stand-up fight. His hair, of a
brown colour, was fine, and hung in natural
ringlets. The head was a puzzle for the
phrenologists, being remarkably small in the
skull—a singularity which he had in common
with Byron and Shelley, whose hats I could
not get on. Keats was sensible of the disproportion
above noticed between his upper
and lower extremities, and he would look at
his hand, which was faded, and swollen in the
veins, and say it was the hand of a man of
fifty.”—1826.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN KEBLE<br/> <small>1792-1866</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">J. Coleridge’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of the<br/>
Rev. John Keble</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“To</span> me both the portraits are full of deep
interest” (<i>these portraits of Keble, the one in</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</SPAN></span>
<i>the prime of manhood and the other in old
age, were drawn by Richmond</i>), “the earlier
and the later both—each brings
him back to me as he was; in
the earlier, he has some of the
merry defiance he could assume in argument;
in the latter, I see the sad tenderness of his
advanced years. Keble had not regular
features; he could not be called a handsome
man, but he was one to be noticed anywhere,
and remembered long; his forehead and
hair beautiful in all ages; his eyes, full of
play, intelligence, and emotion, followed you
while you spoke; and they lighted up,
especially with pleasure, or indignation, as it
might be, when he answered you. The most
pleasing photograph is one in which he is
standing by Mrs. Keble’s side; she is sitting
with a book in her hand. The later photographs
are to me very unpleasant. I will
attempt no more particular description, for I
feel how little definite I can convey in
writing.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Christian<br/>
Observer</i>, 1871.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</SPAN></span>“Mr. Keble greeted us, emerging from
his little study, the door of which, as I afterwards
noticed, oftener than not,
stood open.... His features,
indeed, were familiar to us, as to most
people, from the engraving of Richmond’s
first portrait of him, taken in middle life for
Sir John Coleridge. Now the original stood
before me, and I saw at a glance that face
and figure had been faithfully portrayed.
The forehead was pale and serene, the hair
silvery; doubtless this token of advancing
years must have helped to give softness and
refinement to the features; eyebrows,
sprinkled with white, shaded eyes of singular
brilliancy and depth of expression, as ready (I
afterwards well knew) to light up with mirth
and mischief while playful talk was going on,
as they were to melt into mournful earnestness
when graver topics were broached. He
habitually wore glasses, but used often to
take them off and hold them in his hand
when conversing with animation. A dear<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</SPAN></span>
and old friend of his has told me that he
‘looked almost boyish till about fifty, and
after that rapidly aged in personal appearance.’
At this time he was in his sixty-first
year, healthy and strong and active.... In
appearance he was quite one’s ideal of an
old-fashioned country clergyman, but of one
whose Oxford days were still fresh in his
mind; there was a touch of <i>vieille cour</i> in his
manner, which added, I think, to its charm.
His voice in speaking was rather low, and
especially so when the subject of conversation
was very near his heart. It often struck
me, when listening to him, that without the
slightest effort or aim at effect, he always hit
upon the most suitable and telling words,
(and the shortest), in which to clothe his
ideas. This unconscious beauty of language,
coupled with the originality and wisdom of
the ideas themselves, riveted them in one’s
memory; the look, too, with which they were
uttered, could not be forgotten, and rises as
vividly before my mind’s eye ‘through the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</SPAN></span>
golden mist of years’ as though it belonged to
the present, instead of the ‘long ago.’”—1852.</p>
<div class="sidenote">L. A. Huntingford:<br/>
private<br/>
letter.</div>
<p>“People who went to look at Mr. Keble
as a ‘lion’ were, I think, disappointed to see
a very simple old-fashioned clerical
gentleman, with very little
manner, and so completely unconscious
of self that as he talked of common
things, they were inclined to think as little
of him as he thought of himself. He used
to come down early and stand writing at a
side-table till it was quite time for prayers
and breakfast, and then sit down anywhere
and, with a little peculiar jerk of the head
and shoulders, read a short ‘Instruction,’
almost as if he were reading it to himself.
Certain people even called his reading bad,
for his voice was weak, and he had a slight
cough which never wholly left him; but he
brought out the meaning of Holy Scripture
in a manner which I never heard surpassed.
Mr. Keble was of middle height, very thin,
with a splendid forehead, bright eyes which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</SPAN></span>
were rather hidden by his spectacles, and a
sweet merry smile. Those who knew him
well must remember the way in which he
used to pull himself together, as if he were
a boy obeying a well-known rule to ‘hold
up his head.’ His manner was nervous, so
much so that people who were not intimately
acquainted with him were rarely quite at
their ease when in his presence. The two
pictures of Mr. Keble by Richmond are both
good likenesses; but the lithograph of the
head which was taken from the then-unfinished
picture which, in its completed form,
now hangs in Keble College, Oxford, has
caught the peculiar intelligence of the eyes
when lighted up with the eager brightness
his friends knew so well. He had the unusual
power of being able to write upon one
subject and listen to the discussion of another
at the same time; and he would often glance
up from the paper in which he was apparently
immersed, and pushing up his spectacles
join eagerly in the conversation.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLES KINGSLEY<br/> <small>1812-1875</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Caroline Fox’s<br/>
<i>Journals and<br/>
Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Torquay</span>, <i>January 30th</i>.—Charles Kingsley
called, but we missed him.</p>
<p>“<i>February 3d.</i>—We paid him and his wife
a very happy call; he fraternising
at once, and stuttering pleasant
and discriminating things concerning
F. D. Maurice, Coleridge and others.
He looks sunburnt with dredging all the
morning, has a piercing eye under an overhanging
brow, and his voice is most
melodious and his pronunciation exquisite.
He is strangely attractive.”—1854.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Galaxy</i>,<br/>
1872.</div>
<p>“I was present at a meeting not long since
where Mr. Kingsley was one of the principal
speakers. The meeting was held
in London, the audience was a
peculiarly Cockney audience, and Charles
Kingsley is personally little known to the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</SPAN></span>
public of the metropolis. Therefore when he
began to speak there was quite a little thrill
of wonder and something like incredulity
through the listening benches. Could that,
people near me asked, really be Charles
Kingsley, the novelist, the poet, the scholar,
the aristocrat, the gentleman, the pulpit-orator,
the ‘soldier—priest,’ the apostle of
muscular Christianity? Yes, that was indeed
he. Rather tall, very angular, surprisingly
awkward, with thin staggering legs, a hatchet
face adorned with scraggy gray whiskers, a
faculty for falling into the most ungainly
attitudes, and making the most hideous
contortions of visage and frame; with a
rough provincial accent and an uncouth way
of speaking which would be set down for
absurd caricature on the boards of a comic
theatre. Such was the appearance which the
author of <i>Glaucus</i> and <i>Hypatia</i> presented
to his startled audience. Since Brougham’s
time nothing so ungainly, odd, and ludicrous
had been displayed upon an English platform.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</SPAN></span>
Needless to say, Charles Kingsley has not
the eloquence of Brougham. But he has a
robust and energetic plain-speaking which
soon struck home to the heart of the meeting.
He conquered his audience. Those who
at first could hardly keep from laughing,
those who, not knowing the speaker,
wondered whether he was not mad or in
liquor, those who heartily disliked his
general principles and his public attitude,
were alike won over, long before he had
finished, by his bluff and blunt earnestness
and his transparent sincerity.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Fraser’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1877.</div>
<p>“For nine years the portrait of Kingsley,
close to that of John Parker, has looked down
from the wall of the room in
which I write. It is a large
photograph, taken, while he was on a visit to
the house, by an amateur of extraordinary
ability, the late Dr. Adamson of St. Andrews.
It is the best and most lifelike portrait of
Kingsley known to me. It has the stern
expression, which came partly of the effort,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</SPAN></span>
never quite ceasing, to express himself
through that characteristic stammer which
quite left him in public speaking, and which
in private added to the effect of his wonderful
talk. Photography caught him easily.
Those who look at the portrait prefixed to
Volume I. of the <i>Life</i> see the man as he
lived. Mr. Woolner’s bust, shown at the
beginning of Volume II., shows him aged
and shrunken, not more than he was but more
than he ought to have been; and the removal
of all hair from the face is a marked
difference from the fact in life; yet the likeness
is perfect too. That somewhat severe
face belied one of the kindest hearts that
ever beat: yet the handsome and chivalrous
features unworthily expressed one of the
truest, bravest, and noblest of souls. Kingsley
could not have done a mean or false thing:
by his make it was as impossible as that
water should run uphill.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLES LAMB<br/> <small>1775-1834</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">de Quincey’s<br/>
<i>Life and<br/>
Writings</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Lamb</span>, at this period of his life, then passed
regularly, after taking wine, under a brief
eclipse of sleep. It descended
upon him as soft as a shadow. In
a gross person laden with superfluous
flesh, and sleeping heavily, this would
have been disagreeable; but in Lamb, thin
even to meagreness, spare and wiry as an
Arab of the desert, or as Thomas Aquinas,
wasted by scholastic vigils, the affection of
sleep seemed rather a net-work of aerial
gossamer than of earthly cobweb,—more like
a golden haze falling upon him gently from
the heavens than a cloud exhaling upwards
from the flesh. Motionless in his chair as a
bust, breathing so gently as scarcely to seem
entirely alive, he presented the image of
repose midway between life and death like<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</SPAN></span>
the repose of sculpture, and to one who knew
his history, a repose contrasting with the
calamities and internal storms of his life. I
have heard more persons than I can now
distinctly recall, observe of Lamb when
sleeping, that his countenance in that state
assumed an expression almost seraphic, from
its intellectual beauty of outline, its childlike
simplicity, and its benignity. It could not
be called a transfiguration that sleep worked
in his face; for the features wore essentially
the same expression when waking; but sleep
spiritualised that expression, exalted it, and
also harmonised it. Much of the change lay
in that last process. The eyes it was that
disturbed the unity of effect in Lamb’s waking
face. They gave a restlessness to the
character of his intellect, shifting, like northern
lights, through every mode of combination
with fantastic playfulness; and sometimes by
fiery gleams obliterating for the moment that
pure light of benignity which was the predominant
reading on his features.”—1822.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s<br/>
<i>Life of Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</SPAN></span>“He was the leanest of mankind; tiny black
breeches buttoned to the knee-cap and no
further, surmounting spindle-legs
also in black, face and head fineish,
black, bony, lean, and of a Jew type rather;
in the eyes a kind of smoky brightness, or
confused sharpness; spoke with a stutter; in
walking tottered and shuffled, emblem of
imbecility, bodily and spiritual (something of
real insanity, I have understood), and yet something,
too, of human, ingenuous, pathetic, sportfully
much enduring. Poor Lamb! he was
infinitely astonished at my wife, and her quiet
encounter of his too ghastly London wit by a
cheerful native ditto. Adieu! poor Lamb!”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Talfourd’s<br/>
<i>Reminiscence of<br/>
Charles Lamb</i>.</div>
<p>“Methinks I see him before me now, as
he appeared then, and as he continued with
scarcely any perceptible alteration
to me, during the twenty years
of intimacy which followed, and
were closed by his death. A light frame, so
fragile that it seemed as if a breath would
overthrow it, clad in clerklike black, was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</SPAN></span>
surmounted by a head of form and expression
the most noble and sweet. His black hair
curled crisply about an expanded forehead;
his eyes, softly brown, twinkled with varying
expression, though the prevalent feeling was
sad; and the nose slightly curved, and delicately
carved at the nostril, with the lower
outline of the face regularly oval, completed a
head which was finely placed on the shoulders,
and gave importance and even dignity to a
diminutive and shadowy stem. Who shall
describe his countenance, catch its quivering
sweetness, and fix it for ever in words? There
are none, alas, to answer the vain desire of
friendship. Deep thought striving with humour,
the lines of suffering wreathed into cordial mirth,
and a smile of painful sweetness, present an
image to the mind it can as little describe as
lose. His personal appearance and manner
are not unfitly characterised by what he
himself says in one of his letters to Manning,
of Braham, ‘a compound of the Jew, the
gentleman, and the angel.’”—<i>Written shortly
after Lamb’s death.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON<br/> <small>1802-1838</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Crabb Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“... Miss Landon</span>, a young poetess—a
starling—the L. E. L. of
the <i>Gazette</i>, with a gay good-humoured
face, which gave me a favourable
impression.”—1826.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Blanchard’s<br/>
<i>Life of L. E. L.</i></div>
<p>“Her hair was ‘darkly brown,’ very soft
and beautiful, and always tastefully arranged;
her figure, as before remarked,
slight, but well-formed and
graceful; her feet small, but her hands
especially so, and faultlessly white and finely
shaped; her fingers were fairy fingers; her
ears also were observably little. Her face,
though not regular in ‘every feature,’ became
beautiful by expression,—every flash of
thought, every change and colour of feeling
lightened over it as she spoke,—when she
spoke earnestly. The forehead was not<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</SPAN></span>
high, but broad and full; the eyes had no
overpowering brilliancy, but their clear intellectual
light penetrated by its exquisite
softness; her mouth was not less marked by
character, and, besides the glorious faculty of
uttering the pearls and diamonds of fancy
and wit, knew how to express scorn, or
anger, or pride, as well as it knew how to
smile winningly, or to pour forth those short,
quick, ringing laughs which, not excepting
even her <i>bon-mots</i> and aphorisms, were the
most delightful things that issued from it.”—1832.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of a<br/>
Long Life</i>.</div>
<p>“Small of person, but well formed. Her
dark silken hair braided back over a small,
but what phrenologists would call
a well-developed head; her forehead
full and open, but the hair
grew low upon it; the eyebrows perfect in
arch and form; the eyes round—soft or
flashing as might be—gray, well formed, and
beautifully set; the lashes long and black,
the under lashes turning down with delicate<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</SPAN></span>
curve, and forming a soft relief upon the
tint of her cheek, which, when she enjoyed
good health, was bright and blushing; her
complexion was delicately fair; her skin soft
and transparent; her nose small (<i>retroussé</i>),
slightly curved, but capable of scornful expression,
which she did not appear to have
the power of repressing, even though she
gave her thoughts no words, when any
despicable action was alluded to.”—About
1835.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR<br/> <small>1775-1864</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Crabb Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was a man of florid complexion, with
large full eyes, and altogether a <i>leonine</i> man,
and with a fierceness of tone
well suited to his name; his
decisions being confident, and on all subjects,
whether of taste or life, unqualified, each
standing for itself, not caring whether it was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</SPAN></span>
in harmony with what had gone before or
would follow from the same oracular lips.
But why should I trouble myself to describe
him? He is painted by a master hand in
Dickens’s novel <i>Bleak House</i>, now in course
of publication, where he figures as Mr.
Boythorn. The combination of superficial
ferocity and inherent tenderness, so admirably
portrayed in <i>Bleak House</i>, still at first
strikes every stranger,—for twenty-two years
have not materially changed him,—no less
than his perfect frankness and reckless indifference
to what he says.”—1830.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of a<br/>
Long Life</i>.</div>
<p>“... He was at that time sixty years of
age, although he did not look so old; his
form and features were essentially
masculine; he was not tall, but
stalwart; of a robust constitution,
and was proud even to arrogance of his
physical and intellectual strength. He was
a man to whom passers-by would have looked
back and asked, ‘Who is that?’ His forehead
was high, but retreated, showing remarkable<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</SPAN></span>
absence of the organs of benevolence
and veneration. It was a large head,
fullest at the back, where the animal propensities
predominate; it was a powerful,
but not a good head, the expression the
opposite of genial. In short, physiognomists
and phrenologists would have selected it,—each
to illustrate his theory.”—1836.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Harriet<br/>
Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Biographical<br/>
Sketches</i>.</div>
<p>“His tall, broad, muscular, active frame
was characteristic, and so was his head, with
the strange elevation of the eyebrows
which expresses self-will as
strongly in some cases as astonishment
in others. Those eyebrows, mounting
up until they comprehend a good portion of
the forehead, have been observed in many
more paradoxical persons than one. Then
there was the retreating but broad forehead,
showing the deficiency of reasoning and
speculative power, with the preponderance
of imagination and a huge passion for destruction.
The massive self-love and self-will
carried up his head to something<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</SPAN></span>
more than a dignified bearing—even to one
of arrogance. His vivid and quick eye, and
the thoughtful mouth, were fine, and his
whole air was that of a man distinguished in
his own eyes certainly, but also in those of
others. Tradition reports he was handsome
in his youth. In age he was more.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLES LEVER<br/> <small>1806-1872</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Fitz-Patrick’s<br/>
<i>Life of Lever</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I found</span> him seated at an open window, a
bottle of claret at his right hand, and the
proof-sheets of <i>Lord Kilgobbin</i>
before him.... At the date of
our visit he looked a hale, hearty, laughter-loving
man of sixty. There was mirth in
his gray eye, joviality in the wink that
twittered on his eyelid, saucy humour in his
smile, and <i>bon-mot</i>, wit, repartee, and rejoinder
in every movement of his lips. His<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span>
hair very thin, but of a silky brown, fell
across his forehead, and when it curtained
his eyes he would jerk back his head—this,
too, at some telling crisis in a narrative,
when the particular action was just the exact
finish required to make the story perfect.
Mr. Lever’s teeth were all his own and very
brilliant, and whether from accident or habit,
he flashed them on us in conjunction with
his wonderful eyes, a battery at once powerful
and irresistible.... Mr. Lever made
great use of his hands, which were small
and white and delicate as those of a woman.
He made play with them, threw them up in
ecstasy, or wrung them in mournfulness, just
as the action of the moment demanded. He
did not require eyes or teeth with such a
voice and such hands; they could tell and
illustrate the workings of his brain. He
was somewhat careless in his dress, but clung
to the traditional high shirt-collar, merely
compromising the unswerving stock of the
Brummell period.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS<br/> <small>1775-1818</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Southern<br/>
Literary<br/>
Messenger</i>,<br/>
1849.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> person, Mat Lewis (as his intimate
friends at first termed him) was quite
ordinary; his stature was rather
diminutive; his face was almost
an ellipse, looking upon it from
the side, and his features though pleasant
were not to be regarded as handsome. His
forehead, however, was high and his eyes
very lustrous.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jeaffreson’s<br/>
<i>Novels and<br/>
Novelists</i>.</div>
<p>“Lewis’s personal appearance was not prepossessing.
He describes himself as</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">‘Of passions strong, of hasty nature,</div>
<div class="verse">Of graceless form and dwarfish stature.’</div>
</div></div>
<p>He had, moreover, large gray eyes, thick
features, and an inexpressive countenance.
When he talked he had an insufferable habit
of drawing the fore-finger of his right hand
across his eyelid, and in conversation he was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span>
guilty of the absurd affectation of a drawling
tone such as was popular with dandies.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>New Monthly<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1848.</div>
<p>“Matthew Gregory Lewis. Of this
gentleman I knew but little, not having
encountered him half a dozen
times after my introduction to
him at the house of Nat Middleton, the
banker. With a short thick-set figure, unintellectual
features, and a disagreeable habit
of peering, being very short-sighted, his
aspect was by no means prepossessing; but
as he had ‘that within which passeth show,’
he recovered the ground lost at starting as
rapidly as Wilkes could have done.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART<br/> <small>1794-1854</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Times</i>,<br/>
9th Dec. 1854.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Endowed</span> with the very highest order of
manly beauty, both of features and expression,
he retained the brilliancy of youth and a stately<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</SPAN></span>
strength of person comparatively unimpaired
in ripened life; and then, though sorrow and
sickness suddenly brought on a
premature old age which none
could witness unmoved, yet the beauty of the
head and of the bearing so far gained in
melancholy loftiness of expression what they
lost in animation, that the last phase, whether
to the eye of painter or of anxious friend,
seemed always the finest.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR RICHARD LOVELACE<br/> <small>1618-1658</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Anthony Wood’s<br/>
<i>Athenæ<br/>
Oxonienses.</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Richard Lovelace</span> ... became a gent-commoner
of Glo’cester Hall in the beginning
of the year 1634, and in that of
his age 16, being then accounted
the most amiable and beautiful
person that ever eye beheld, a person also of
innate modesty, virtue, and courtly deportment,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</SPAN></span>
which made him then, but especially after,
when he retired to the great city, much
admired and adored by the female sex....
Accounted by all those that well knew him,
to have been a person well vers’d in the
Greek and Latin poets, in music, whether
practical or theoretical, instrumental or vocal,
and in other things befitting a gentleman.
Some of the said persons have also added in
my hearing, that his common discourse was
not only significant and witty, but incomparably
graceful, which drew respect from all
men and women.”—1634 and 1658.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Gentleman’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1884.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The personal attractions of Richard
Lovelace have been much extolled by his
contemporaries; nor is this
matter for wonder. A picture
of the poet by an unknown painter, preserved
in the old college at Dulwich, to which it was
bequeathed by Cartwright the actor, in 1687,
represents him as a very handsome man.
The face is oval, the hair, worn Cavalier
fashion, long, is of a dark brown colour and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</SPAN></span>
falls down in abundant masses, while the
mustachios are small and thin. The small,
well-formed mouth is perhaps a trifle
voluptuous, but is nevertheless suggestive of
firmness of character. The eyes are large
and dark, and the well-arched and delicately
pencilled eyebrows are unusually far apart;
the general expression of the face is singularly
sweet and winning. The hand is small, well
formed and aristocratic. Lovelace is attired
in armour, with a white collar, and across the
breast is thrown a red scarf. The picture is
inscribed ‘Col. Lovelace.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">EDWARD, LORD LYTTON<br/> <small>1803-1873</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of a<br/>
long Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“A young</span> man whose features, though of a
somewhat effeminate cast, were
remarkably handsome. His bearing
had that aristocratic something
bordering on hauteur, which clung to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</SPAN></span>
him during his life. I never saw the famous
writer without being reminded of the passage,
‘Stand back; I am holier than thou.’—1826.</p>
<p>“The last time I saw him was in his then
residence, No. 12 Grosvenor Square. It was
growing towards fifty years since first we had
met, and there were more changes in him than
those that time usually brings. His once
handsome face had assumed the desolation
without the dignity of age. His locks, once
brown, inclining to auburn, were shaggy and
grizzled; his mouth, seldom smiling even in
youth, was close shut; his whole aspect had
something in it at once painful and unpleasant.”—About
1872.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Appleton’s<br/>
Journal</i>, 1873.</div>
<p>“Bulwer is described as having been, at
this period of his first brilliant triumph, rather
taller than the middle height,
with a graceful, slender figure,
well-proportioned limbs, and a countenance
stamped with distinctly aristocratic features
and expression. His dark-brown, curly hair,
his large and bright blue eye, his decided,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</SPAN></span>
though delicately-formed aquiline nose, his
rather full and handsome mouth, his patrician,
almost haughty pose and manner, as seen
at that time, are dwelt on, with true feminine
enthusiasm, by a lady who frequented the
circles of which he was regarded as one of
the most shining ornaments.”—1828.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Appleton’s<br/>
Journal</i>, 1873.</div>
<p>“It was my fortune to see Bulwer in the
House of Commons in 1863 and 1865, and
in the House of Lords, to which
he had recently risen, in 1868.
He then had the appearance of being a man
of some fifty years, tallish, straight, stiff, and
proudly sedate. His long, sombre face was
no longer ‘fair,’ but was yellow and wrinkled,
while the almost cadaverous aspect of his
features added to the really far from proportionate
prominence of his long, aquiline
nose. He now wore a moustache with his
‘heavy red whiskers,’ which had themselves
become a dull brown, plentifully sprinkled
with gray; and upon his chin he grew an
imperial. His hair was still thick, but no<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</SPAN></span>
trace of its rich auburn hue of youth remained;
it was a heavy gray in colour.
Spectacles partially concealed the large but
now dulled and glassy blue eyes; and the
whole appearance was far from prepossessing.
On the former occasion referred to, I heard
him address the House in an eloquent and
evidently carefully-prepared speech of half an
hour. His manner was quiet and subdued,
his voice no longer ‘lover-like and sweet,’ but
rather harsh and grating, and his declamation
humdrum; occasionally a spark of the old
animation appeared, when he drew himself up
to the full height, and, for the moment seemed
a very orator in motion as in speech; but the
spark soon vanished, and he was again
Pelham grown old, the exhausted and
melancholy beau and wit of the past,
struggling through an imposed task....
His dress was conspicuously plain, almost
stiff and ministerial; though there was something
about the attire of the neck which
seemed a suspicion of a relic of dandyism.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY<br/> <small>1800-1859</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Trevelyan’s <i>Life<br/>
and Letters of<br/>
Lord Macaulay</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Macaulay’s</span> outward man was never better
described than in two sentences of Praed’s Introduction
to Knight’s <i>Quarterly
Magazine</i>. ‘There came up a
short manly figure, marvellously
upright, with a bad neckcloth, and one hand
in his waistcoat pocket. Of regular beauty
he had little to boast; but in faces where
there is an expression of great power, or of
great good-humour, or both, you do not regret
its absence.’ This picture, in which every
touch is correct, tells all that there is to be told.
He had a massive head, and features of a
powerful and rugged cast, but so constantly
lit up by every joyful and ennobling emotion
that it mattered little if, when absolutely
quiescent, his face was rather homely than
handsome. While conversing at table no one<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</SPAN></span>
thought him otherwise than good-looking;
but, when he rose, he was seen to be short
and stout in figure. ‘At Holland House, the
other day,’ writes his sister Margaret in September
1831, ‘Tom met Lady Lyndhurst
for the first time. She said to him: “Mr.
Macaulay, you are so different to what
I had expected. I thought you were dark
and thin, but you are fair, and really, Mr.
Macaulay, you are fat!”’ He at all times sat
and stood straight, full, and square; and in
this respect Woolner, in the fine statue at
Cambridge, has missed what was undoubtedly
the most marked fact in his personal appearance.
He dressed badly, but not cheaply.
His clothes, though ill put on, were good, and
his wardrobe was always enormously overstocked.”—1822
and 1831.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Crabb Robinson’s<br/>
<i>Diary</i>.</div>
<p>“I went to James Stephen, and drove with
him to his house at Hendon. A
dinner-party. I had a most interesting
companion in young Macaulay, one
of the most promising of the rising generation<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</SPAN></span>
I have seen for a long time. He has a good
face,—not the delicate features of a man of
genius and sensibility, but the strong lines and
well-knit limbs of a man sturdy in body and
mind. Very eloquent and cheerful. Overflowing
with words, and not poor in thought.
Liberal in opinion, but no radical. He seems
a correct as well as a full man. He showed
a minute knowledge of subjects not introduced
by himself.”—1826.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of a<br/>
long Life</i>.</div>
<p>“I never heard Macaulay speak in the
House, where, although by no means an
orator, he always made a strong
impression. He spoke as he
wrote,—eloquently in the choicest
diction,—smooth, easy, graceful, and ever to
the purpose, striving to convince rather than
persuade, and grudging no toil of preparation
to sustain an argument or enforce a truth.
His person was in his favour; in form as
in mind he was robust, with a remarkably
intelligent expression, aided by deep blue
eyes that seemed to sparkle, and a mouth<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</SPAN></span>
remarkably flexible. His countenance was
certainly well calculated to impress on his
audience the classical language ever at his
command—so faithfully did it mirror the high
intelligence of the speaker.... I found him—as
the world has found him—a man of rare
intelligence, deep research, and untiring
energy in pursuit of facts: also a kind,
courteous, and unaffected gentleman. His
memory is to me one of the pleasantest I can
recall.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM MAGINN<br/> <small>1793-1842</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">William<br/>
Maginn’s <i>Miscellanies</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“All</span> were standing, all were listening to
some one who sat in the middle of a group.
A low-seated man, short in stature,
was uttering pleasantries and
scattering witticisms about him
with the careless glee of his country. His
articulation was impeded by a stutter, yet the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</SPAN></span>
sentences he stammered forth were brilliant
repartees uttered without sharpness, and
edged rather with humour than with satire.
His countenance was rather agreeable than
striking; its expression sweet rather than
bright; the gray hair, coming straight over
his forehead, gave a singular appearance to a
face still bearing the attributes of youth. He
was thirty or thereabouts, but his thoughtful
brow, his hair, and the paleness of his complexion,
gave him many of the attributes
of age. His conversation was careless and
off-hand, and, but for the impediment of
speech, would have had the charm of a rich
comedy. His choice of words was such as
I have rarely met with in any of my contemporaries.”—1824.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Bentley’s Miscellany</i>,<br/>
1842.</div>
<p>“I dined to-day at the Salopian with Dr.
Maginn. He is a most remarkable fellow.
His flow of ideas is incredibly
quick, and his articulation so rapid,
that it is difficult to follow him. He is
altogether a person of vast acuteness, celerity<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</SPAN></span>
of apprehension, and indefatigable activity
both of body and mind. His is about my own
height; but I could allow him an inch round
the chest. His forehead is very finely developed,
his organ of language and ideality
large, and his reasoning faculties excellent.
His hair is quite gray, although he does not
look more than forty. I imagined he was
much older looking, and that he wore a
wig. While conversing his eye is never a
moment at rest: in fact his whole body is
in motion, and he keeps scrawling grotesque
figures upon the paper before him, and
rubbing them out again as fast as he draws
them. He and Gifford are, as you know,
joint editors of the <i>Standard</i>.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Dublin<br/>
University<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1844.</div>
<p>“Well does the writer of this notice
recollect the feelings with which he first
wended to the residence of his
late friend. He was then but a
mere boy, fresh from the university....
He went, and was shown upstairs;
the doctor was not at home, but was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</SPAN></span>
momentarily expected.... Suddenly, when
his heart almost sank within him, a light step
was heard ascending the stairs—it could not
be a man’s foot—no, it was too delicate for
that; it must, certainly, be the nursery-maid.
The step was arrested at the door, a brief
interval, and Maginn entered. The spell
vanished like lightning, and the visitor took
heart in a moment. No formal-looking personage,
in customary suit of solemn black,
stood before him, but a slight, boyish, careless
figure, with a blue eye, the mildest ever
seen—hair, not exactly white, but of a sunned
snow colour—an easy, familiar smile—and a
countenance that you would be more inclined
to laugh with than feel terror from. He
bounded across the room with a most unscholar-like
eagerness, and warmly welcomed
the visitor, asking him a thousand questions,
and putting him at ease with himself in a
moment. Then, taking his arm, both sallied
forth into the street, where, for a long time,
the visitor was in doubt whether it was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</SPAN></span>
Maginn to whom he was really talking as
familiarly as if he were his brother, or whether
the whole was a dream. And such, indeed,
was the impression generally made on the
minds of all strangers—but, as in the present
case, it was dispelled instantly the living
original appeared. Then was to be seen the
kindness and gentleness of heart which tinged
every word and gesture with sweetness; the
suavity and mildness, so strongly the reverse
of what was to be expected from the most
galling satirest of the day; the openness of
soul and countenance, that disarmed even the
bitterest of his opponents; the utter absence
of anything like prejudice and bigotry from
him the ablest and most devoted champion of
the Church and State. No pedantry in his
language, no stateliness of style, no forced
metaphors, no inappropriate anecdote, no
overweening confidence—all easy, simple,
agreeable, and unzoned.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">FRANCIS MAHONY<br/> <small>(<span class="smcap">Father Prout</span>)</small><br/> <small>1805-1866</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">The works of<br/>
Father Prout.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Stooping</span> his short and spare but thick-set
figure as he walked, wearing his ill-brushed
hat upon the extreme back of his
head, clothed in the slovenliest
way in a semi-clerical dress of the shabbiest
character, he sauntered by with his right arm
habitually clasped behind him in his left
hand,—altogether presenting to view so
distinctly the appearance of a member of one
of the mendicant orders, that upon one occasion,
in the Rue de Rivoli, an intimate friend
of his found it impossible to resist the impulse
of slipping a sou into the open palm of his
right hand, with the apologetic remark, ‘You
<i>do</i> look so like a beggar.’ Apart, however,
from his threadbare garb and shambling gait,
there were personal traits of character about
him which caught the attention almost at<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</SPAN></span>
a glance, and piqued the curiosity of even
the least observant wayfarer. The ‘roguish
Hibernian mouth,’ noted in his regard by
Mr. Gruneisen, and the gray piercing eyes,
that looked up at you so keenly over his
spectacles, won your interest in him even
upon a first introduction. From the mocking
lips soon afterwards, if you fell into conversation
with him, came the ‘loud snappish
laugh,’ with which, as Mr. Blanchard Jerrold
remarks, the Father so frequently evinced
his appreciation of a casual witticism—uproarious
fits of merriment signalising at other
moments one of his own ironical successes,
outbursts of fun followed during his later
years by the racking cough with which he
was too often then tormented.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Blanchard<br/>
Jerrold’s <i>Final<br/>
Reliques of<br/>
Father Prout</i>.</div>
<p>“The Rev. Francis Mahony, or Father
Prout, trudging along the Boulevards with
his arms clasped behind him, his
nose in the air, his hat worn as
French caricaturists insist all
Englishmen wear hat or cap; his quick, clear,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</SPAN></span>
deep-seeking eye wandering sharply to the
right or left, and sarcasm—not of the sourest
kind—playing like Jack-o’-lantern in the
corners of his mouth, Father Prout was as
much a character of the French capital as the
learned Armenian of the Imperial Library
only a few years ago.... It was difficult
to meet Father Prout. He was an odd,
uncomfortable, uncertain man. His moods
changed like April skies. Light little
thoughts were busy in his brain, lively and
frisking as ‘troutlets in a pool.’ He was
impatient of interruption, and shambled
forward talking in an undertone to himself,
with now and then a bubble or two of
laughter, or one short sharp laugh almost
like a bark, like that of the marksman when
the arrow quivers in the bull’s-eye. He
would pass you with a nod that meant ‘Hold
off—not to-day!’... He was very impatient
if any injudicious friend or passing
acquaintance (who took him to be usually as
accessible as any <i>flâneur</i> on the macadam),<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</SPAN></span>
thrust himself forward and would have his
hand and agree with him that it was a fine
day, but would possibly rain shortly. A
sharp answer, and an unceremonious plunge
forward without bow or good-day, would put
an end to the interruption. Of course the
Father was called a bear by shallow-pates
who could not see that there was something
extra in the little man talking to himself and
shuffling, with his hands behind him, through
the <i>fines fleurs</i> and <i>grandes dames</i> of the
Italian Boulevard.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p>“In recalling the Rev. Francis Mahony,
I am forcibly reminded of a few lines at the
beginning of old Burton’s <i>Anatomy
of Melancholy</i>: ‘Democritus,
as he is described by Hippocrates,
and Laërtius, was a little wearish old man,
very melancholy by nature, averse from
company in his latter dayes, and much given
to solitariness, a famous philosopher in his
age, ... wholly addicted to his studies at
the last, and to a private life; writ many excellent<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</SPAN></span>
workes.’ Substituting Father Prout’s
name for that of Democritus, the words are
equally descriptive of the quaint little Irishman.
He was a small spare man, with a
pale deeply-lined face; badly dressed; with
gray unkempt whiskers, and a certain waspish
expression on his thin face which was utterly
at variance, not only with the good Father’s
writings,—which for ‘real larky fun,’ as
James Hannay expressed it, are unsurpassed,—but
also with the really kind nature of the
man. His eyes were by far the best feature
of his face. Keen, bright, and piercing, they
were eyes that held you. Their glance was
very rapid and eager, and instantly prepossessed
you in his favour.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">FREDERICK MARRYAT<br/> <small>1792-1848</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">F. Marryat’s<br/>
<i>Life and Letters<br/>
of Captain<br/>
Marryat</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Although</span> not handsome, Captain Marryat’s
personal appearance was very prepossessing.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</SPAN></span>
In figure he was upright, and broad-shouldered
for his height, which measured
five feet ten inches. His hands,
without being under-sized, were
remarkably perfect in form, and
modelled by a sculptor at Rome on account
of their symmetry. The character of his
mind was borne out by his features, the most
salient expression of which was the frankness
of an open heart. The firm decisive mouth
and massive thoughtful forehead were redeemed
from heaviness by the humorous
light that twinkled in his deep-set gray eyes,
which, bright as diamonds, positively flashed
out their fun, or their reciprocation of the
fun of others. As a young man, dark crisp
curls covered his head; but, later in life,
when, having exchanged the sword for the
pen and the ploughshare, he affected a soberer
and more patriarchal style of dress and
manner, he wore his gray hair long, and
almost down to his shoulders. His eyebrows
were not alike, one being higher up and more<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</SPAN></span>
arched than the other, which peculiarity
gave his face a look of inquiry, even in
repose. In the upper lip was a deep cleft,
and in his chin as deep a dimple—a pitfall
for the razor, which, from the ready growth
of his dark beard, he was often compelled to
use twice a day.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Cornhill</i>,<br/>
1876.</div>
<p>“He was not a tall man—five feet ten—but
I think intended by nature to be six feet,
only having gone to sea when still
almost a child, at a time when the
between-decks were very low-pitched, he
had, he himself declared, had his growth
unnaturally stopped. His immensely powerful
build and massive chest, which measured
considerably over forty inches round, would
incline one to this belief. He had never
been handsome, as far as features went, but
the irregularity of his features might easily
be forgotten by those who looked at the
intellect shown in his magnificent forehead.
His forehead and his hands were his two
strong points. The latter were models of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</SPAN></span>
symmetry. Indeed, while resident at Rome,
at an earlier period of his life, he had been
requested by a sculptor to allow his hand to
be modelled. At the time I now speak of
him he was fifty-two years of age, but looked
considerably younger. His face was clean-shaved,
and his hair so long that it reached
almost to his shoulders, curly in light loose
locks like those of a woman. It was slightly
gray. He was dressed in anything but evening
costume on the present occasion, having
on a short velveteen shooting-jacket and
coloured trousers. I could not help smiling
as I glanced at his dress—recalling to my
mind what a dandy he had been as a young
man.”—1844.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HARRIET MARTINEAU<br/> <small>1802-1876</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">H. Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“She</span> was graver and laughed more rarely
than any young person I ever knew. Her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</SPAN></span>
face was plain, and (you will scarcely believe
it) she had <i>no</i> light in the countenance,
no expression to redeem the
features. The low brow and
rather large under lip increased the effect of
her natural seriousness of look, and did her
much injustice. I used to be asked occasionally,
‘What has offended Harriet that
she looks so glum?’—I, who understood
her, used to answer, ‘Nothing; she is not
offended, it is only her look,’”—1818.</p>
<div class="sidenote">James Payn’s<br/>
<i>Literary<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p>“In the porch stood Miss Martineau herself.
A lady of middle height, ‘inclined’ as
the novelists say ‘to <i>embonpoint</i>,’
with a smile on her kindly face
and her trumpet at her ear. She
was at that time, I suppose, about fifty years
of age; her brown hair had a little grey in it,
and was arranged with peculiar flatness over
a low but broad forehead. I don’t think she
could ever have been pretty, but her features
were not uncomely, and their expression was
gentle and motherly.”—1852.</p>
<div class="sidenote">H. Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</SPAN></span>“... I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks
since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman,
and plainly dressed; but withal
she has so kind, cheerful, and
intelligent a face, that she is pleasanter to
look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a
decided gray, and she does not shrink from
calling herself old. She is the most continual
talker I ever heard; it is really like
the babbling of a brook; and very lively and
sensible too; and all the while she talks she
moves the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one
auditor to another, so that it becomes quite an
organ of intelligence and sympathy between
her and yourself.... All her talk was about
herself and her affairs; but it did not seem
like egotism, because it was so cheerful and
free from morbidness.”—About 1856.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">FREDERICK DENISON MAURICE<br/> <small>1805-1872</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">F. Maurice’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
F. D. Maurice</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was distinctly below the middle height,
not above five feet seven inches, but he had
a certain dignity of carriage,
despite the entire absence of any
self-assertion of manner, which in
the pulpit, where only his head and shoulders
were observable, removed the impression of
small stature.... His hair was now of a
silvery white, very ample in quantity, fine
and soft as silk. The rush of his start for a
walk had gone. His movements had, like
his life, become quiet and measured. At no
time had there been so much beauty about
his face and figure. There was now—partly
from manner, partly from face, partly from a
character that seemed expressed in all,—beauty
which seemed to shine round him,
and was very commonly observed by those<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</SPAN></span>
amongst whom he was. It made undergraduates,
not specially impressionable, stop
and watch him.... Servants and poor
people whom he visited often spoke of him
as ‘beautiful.’”—1866.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Spectator</i>,<br/>
1872.</div>
<p>“Yet though Mr. Maurice’s voice seemed
to be the essential part of him as a religious
teacher, his face, if you ever
looked at it, was quite in keeping
with his voice. His eye was full of sweetness,
but fixed, and, as it were, fascinated on
some ideal point. His countenance expressed
nervous, high-strung tension, as though all
the various play of feelings in ordinary human
nature converged, in him, towards a single
focus, the declaration of the divine purpose.
Yet this tension, this peremptoriness, this
convergence of his whole nature on a single
point, never gave the effect of a dictatorial
air for a moment. There was a quiver
in his voice, a tremulousness in the strong
deep lines of his face, a tenderness in his
eye, which assured you at once that nothing<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</SPAN></span>
of the hard crystallising character of a dogmatic
belief in the Absolute had conquered
his heart, and most men recognised this, for
the hardest and most business-like voices
took a tender and almost caressing tone in
addressing him.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN MILTON<br/> <small>1608-1674</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">D’Israeli’s<br/>
<i>Curiosities of<br/>
Literature</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Salmasius</span> sometimes reproaches Milton as
being but a puny piece of man, an homunculus,
a dwarf deprived of the human
figure, a bloodless being composed
of nothing but skin and bone, a
contemptible pedagogue, fit only to flog his
boys; and rising into a poetic frenzy applies
to him the words of Virgil: ‘<i>Monstrum horrendum,
informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.</i>’
Our great poet thought this senseless declamation
merited a serious refutation;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</SPAN></span>
perhaps he did not wish to appear despicable
in the eyes of the ladies; and he would not
be silent on the subject, he says, lest any one
should consider him as the credulous
Spaniards are made to believe by their
priests, that a heretic is a kind of rhinoceros
or a dog-headed monster. Milton says that
he does not think any one ever considered
him as unbeautiful; that his size rather
approaches mediocrity than the diminutive;
that he still felt the same courage and the same
strength which he possessed when young,
when, with his sword, he felt no difficulty to
combat with men more robust than himself;
that his face, far from being pale, emaciated,
and wrinkled, was sufficiently creditable to
him: for though he had passed his fortieth
year, he was in all other respects ten years
younger. And very pathetically he adds,
‘That even his eyes, blind as they are, are
unblemished in their appearance; in this
instance alone, and much against my inclination,
I am a deceiver!’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s<br/>
<i>Lives of<br/>
Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</SPAN></span>“He was scarce as tall as I am.<SPAN name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</SPAN> He
had light browne hayre. His complexion
exceeding fayre. Ovall face, his eie
a darke gray. His widowe has his picture
drawne very well and like, when
a Cambridge scollar. She has his picture
when a Cambridge scollar, which ought to
be engraven; for the pictures before his
books are not at all like him.... He was a
spare man.... Extreme pleasant in his
conversation, and at dinner, supper, etc., but
satyricall. He pronounced the letter <i>r</i> very
hard. He had a delicate tuneable voice, and
had good skill. His harmonicall and ingeniose
soul did lodge in a beautiful and well-proportioned
body:—‘In toto nusquam corpore
menda fuit.’—Ovid.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Keightley’s<br/>
<i>Life of Milton</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“In his person Milton was rather under
the middle size, well built and muscular.
‘His deportment,’ says Wood, ‘was
affable, and his gait erect and
manly, bespeaking courage and undauntedness.’<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</SPAN></span>
He was skilled in the use of the
small sword, and, though he certainly would
not have engaged in a duel, he had strength,
skill, and courage to repel the attack of any
adversary. His hair, which never fell off, was
of a light-brown hue, and he wore it parted
on his forehead as it is represented in his
portraits. His eyes were gray, and, as the
cause of his blindness was internal, they
suffered no change of appearance from it.
His face was oval, and his complexion was
so fine in his youth that at Cambridge he was,
as we are told by Aubrey, called the Lady
of his College; even in his later days his
cheeks retained a ruddy tinge. He had a
fine ear for music, and was well skilled in that
delightful science; he used to perform on the
organ and bass-viol. His voice was sweet
and musical, and we may presume that his
singing showed both taste and science.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">MARY RUSSELL MITFORD<br/> <small>1786-1855</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I certainly</span> was disappointed when a stout
little lady, tightened up in a shawl, rolled into
the parlour of Newman Street, and
Mrs. Holland announced her as
Miss Mitford; her short petticoats
showing wonderfully stout leather boots, her
shawl <i>bundled</i> on, and a little black coal-scuttle
bonnet—when bonnets were expanding—added
to the effect of her natural shortness
and rotundity; but her manner was that of a
cordial country gentlewoman; the pressure of
her ‘fat’ little hands (for she extended both)
was warm; her eyes, both soft and bright,
looked kindly and frankly into mine; and her
pretty rosy mouth dimpled with smiles that
were always sweet and friendly.... She was
always pleasant to look at, and had her face
not been cast in so broad—so ‘out-spread’—<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</SPAN></span>a
mould, she would have been handsome;
even with that disadvantage, if her figure had
been tall enough to carry her head with
dignity, she would have been so; but she
was most vexatiously ‘dumpy.’ Miss Landon
‘hit off’ her appearance when she whispered,
the first time she saw her (and it was at our
house), ‘Sancho Panza in petticoats!’ but
when Miss Mitford spoke, the awkward effect
vanished,—her pleasant voice, her beaming
eyes and smiles, made you forget the wide
expanse of face; and the roley-poley figure,
when seated, did not appear really short.”—1828.</p>
<div class="sidenote">James Payn’s<br/>
<i>Literary<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p>“I can never forget the little figure rolled
up in two chairs in the little Swallowfield
room, packed round with books up
to the ceiling, on to the floor—the
little figure with clothes on of
course, but of no recognised or recognisable
pattern; and somewhere out of the upper
end of the heap, gleaming under a great deep,
globular brow, two such eyes as I never,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</SPAN></span>
perhaps, saw in any other Englishwoman—though
I believe she must have had French
blood in her veins, to breed such eyes, and
such a tongue, for the beautiful speech which
came out of that ugly (it was that) face, and
the glitter and depth too of the eyes, like live
coals—perfectly honest the while, both lips
and eyes—these seemed to me to be attributes
of the highest French, or rather Gallic, not
of the highest English, woman. In any case,
she was a triumph of mind over matter, of
spirit over flesh, which gave the lie to all
materialism, and puts Professor Bain out of
court—at least out of court with those who
use fair induction about the men and women
whom they meet and know.”—About 1851.</p>
<div class="sidenote">James Payn’s<br/>
<i>Literary<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p>“I seem to see the dear little old lady now,
looking like a venerable fairy, with bright
sparkling eyes, a clear, incisive
voice, and a laugh that carried you
away with it. I never saw a
woman with such an enjoyment of—I was
about to say a joke, but the word is too<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</SPAN></span>
coarse for her—of a pleasantry. She was
the warmest of friends, and with all her love
of fun never alluded to their weaknesses....
I well remember our first interview. I
expected to find the authoress of <i>Our Village</i>
in a most picturesque residence, overgrown
with honeysuckle and roses, and set in an
old-fashioned garden. Her little cottage at
Swallowfield, near Reading, did not answer
this picture at all. It was a cottage, but not
a pretty one, placed where three roads met,
with only a piece of green before it. But if
the dwelling disappointed me, the owner did
not. I was ushered upstairs (for at that
time, crippled by rheumatism, she was unable
to leave her room) into a small apartment,
lined with books from floor to ceiling, and
fragrant with flowers; its tenant rose from
her arm-chair with difficulty, but with a sunny
smile and a charming manner bade me welcome.
My father had been an old friend of
hers, and she spoke of my home and belongings
as only a woman can speak of such<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</SPAN></span>
things. Then we plunged, <i>in medias res</i>, into
men and books.”—1852.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU<br/> <small>1690-1762</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Horace<br/>
Walpole’s<br/>
<i>Letters</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I went</span> last night to visit her. I give
you my word of honour, and you who know
her will believe me without it, the
following is a faithful description:
I found her in a little miserable
bedchamber of a ready furnished house, with
two tallow candles and a bureau covered with
pots and pans. On her head, in full of all
accounts, she had an old black-laced hood
wrapped entirely round so as to conceal all
hair, or want of hair; no handkerchief, but
instead of it a kind of horseman’s riding-coat,
calling itself a <i>pet-en-l’air</i>, made of a dark
green brocade, with coloured and silver
flowers, and lined with furs; bodice laced;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</SPAN></span>
a full dimity petticoat, sprigged; velvet
muffetees on her arms; gray stockings and
slippers. Her face less changed in twenty
years than I would have imagined. I told
her so, and she was not so tolerable twenty
years ago that she should have taken it for
flattery, but she did, and literally gave me a
box on the ears. She is very lively, all her
senses perfect, her language as imperfect as
ever, her avarice greater.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Horace<br/>
Walpole’s<br/>
<i>Letters</i>.</div>
<p>“Did I tell you that Lady Mary Wortley
is here? She laughs at my Lady Walpole,
scolds my Lady Pomfret, and is
laughed at by the whole town.
Her dress, her avarice, and her
impudence must amaze any one that never
heard her name. She wears a foul mob, that
does not cover her greasy black locks, that
hang loose, never combed or curled; an old
mazarine blue wrapper, that gapes open and
discovers a canvas petticoat. Her face
swelled violently on one side with the
remains of a ——, partly covered with a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</SPAN></span>
plaister, and partly with white paint, which
for cheapness she has bought so coarse
that you would not use it to wash a chimney.—In
three words I will give you her picture
as we drew it in the ‘Sortes Virgilianae’—</p>
<p class="center">‘Insanam vatem aspicies.’</p>
<p>I give you my honour we did not choose it;
but Gray, Mr. Coke, Sir Francis Dashwood,
and I, and several others, drew it fairly
amongst a thousand for different people, most
of which did not hit as you may imagine.”—1740.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS MOORE<br/> <small>1779-1852</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Moore’s</span> forehead was bony and full of
character, with ‘bumps’ of wit, large and
radiant enough to transport a
phrenologist. Sterne had such
another. His eyes were as dark and fine as
you would wish to see under a set of vine-leaves;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</SPAN></span>
his mouth generous and good-humoured,
with dimples; and his manner
was as bright as his talk, full of the wish
to please and be pleased. He sang, and
played with great taste on the pianoforte, as
might be supposed from his musical compositions.
His voice, which was a little
hoarse in speaking (at least I used to think
so), softened into a breath, like that of a
flute, when singing. In speaking he was
emphatic in rolling the letter <i>r</i>, perhaps out
of a despair of being able to get rid of the
national peculiarity.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“His eyes sparkle like a champagne
bubble; there is a kind of wintry red, of the
tinge of an October leaf, that seems
enamelled on his cheek; his lips
are delicately cut, slight, and changeable
as an aspen; the slightly-turned nose confirms
the fun of the expression; and altogether
it is a face that sparkles, beams, and radiates—</p>
<p class="center">‘The light that surrounds him is all from within.’”</p>
<p>1835.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of<br/>
a Long Life</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</SPAN></span>“I recall him at this moment—his small
form and intellectual face rich in expression,
and that expression the sweetest,
the most gentle, and the kindliest.
He had still in age the same bright
and clear eye, the same gracious smile, the
same suave and winning manner I had noticed
as the attributes of what might in comparison
be styled his youth (I have stated I knew him
as long ago as 1821); a forehead not remarkably
broad or high, but singularly impressive,
firm, and full, with the organs of music and
gaiety large, and those of benevolence and
veneration greatly preponderating; the nose,
as observed in all his portraits, was somewhat
upturned. Standing or sitting, his
head was invariably upraised, owing, perhaps,
mainly to his shortness of stature. He had
so much bodily activity as to give him the
attribute of restlessness, and no doubt that
usual accompaniment of genius was eminently
a characteristic of his. His hair was, at the
time I speak of, thin and very gray, and he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</SPAN></span>
wore his hat with the jaunty air that has
been often remarked as a peculiarity of the
Irish. In dress, although far from slovenly,
he was by no means precise. He had but
little voice, yet he sang with a depth of
sweetness that charmed all hearers; it was
true melody, and told upon the heart as well
as the ear. No doubt much of this charm
was derived from association, for it was only
his own melodies he sang.”—1845.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HANNAH MORE<br/> <small>1745-1833</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Memoir of<br/>
Mrs. Hannah<br/>
More.</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I was</span> much struck by the air of affectionate
kindness with which the old lady welcomed
me to Barley Wood—there was
something of courtliness about it,
at the same time the courtliness
of the <i>vieille cour</i>, which one reads of, but so
seldom sees. Her dress was of light green<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</SPAN></span>
Venetian silk; a yellow, richly embroidered
crape shawl enveloped her shoulders; and
a pretty net cap, tied under her chin with
white satin riband, completed the costume.
Her figure is singularly <i>petite</i>; but to have
any idea of the expression of her countenance,
you must imagine the small withered face of
a woman in her seventy-seventh year; and,
imagine also (shaded, but not obscured, by
long and perfectly white eyelashes) eyes
dark, brilliant, flashing, and penetrating,
sparkling from object to object, with all the
fire and energy of youth, and smiling welcome
on all around.”—1820.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“Her form was small and slight: her
features wrinkled with age; but the burden
of eighty years had not impaired
her gracious smile, nor lessened the
fire of her eyes, the clearest, the
brightest, and the most searching I have
ever seen—they were singularly dark—positively
black they seemed as they looked
forth among carefully-trained tresses of her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</SPAN></span>
own white hair; and absolutely sparkled
while she spoke of those of whom she was
the venerated link between the present and
the long past. Her manner on entering the
room, while conversing, and at our departure,
was positively sprightly; she tripped about
from console to console, from window to
window, to show us some gift that bore a
name immortal, some cherished reminder of
other days—almost of another world, certainly
of another age; for they were memories of
those whose deaths were registered before
the present century had birth.... She was
clad, I well remember, in a dress of rich pea-green
silk. It was an odd whim, and contrasted
somewhat oddly with her patriarchal
age and venerable countenance, yet was in
harmony with the youth of her step, and
her unceasing vivacity as she laughed and
chatted, chatted and laughed, her voice
strong and clear as that of a girl, and her
animation as full of life and vigour as it
might have been in her spring-time.”—1825.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A. M. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Pilgrimages<br/>
to English<br/>
Shrines</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</SPAN></span>“Her brow was full and well sustained,
rather than what would be called <i>fine</i>: from
the manner in which her hair was
dressed, its formation was distinctly
visible; and though her
eyes were half-closed, her countenance
was more tranquil, more sweet, more
holy—for it <i>had</i> a holy expression—than
when those deep intense eyes were looking
you through and through. Small, and
shrunk, and aged as she was, she conveyed
to us no idea of feebleness. She looked,
even then, a woman whose character, combining
sufficient thought and wisdom, as well
as dignity and spirit, could analyse and exhibit,
in language suited to the intellect of
the people of England, the evils and dangers
of revolutionary principles. Her voice had
a pleasant tone, and her manner was quite
devoid of affectation or dictation; she spoke
as one expecting a reply, and by no means
like an oracle. And those bright immortal
eyes of hers—not wearied by looking at the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</SPAN></span>
world for more than eighty years, but clear
and far-seeing then—laughing, too, when she
spoke cheerfully, not as authors are believed
to speak—</p>
<p class="center">‘In measured pompous tones,’—</p>
<p>but like a dear matronly dame, who had
especial care and tenderness towards young
women. It is impossible to remember how
it occurred, but in reference to some observation
I had made she turned briskly round
and exclaimed, ‘Controversy hardens the
heart, and sours the temper: never dispute
with your husband, young lady; tell him
what you think, and leave it to time to
fructify.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR THOMAS MORE<br/> <small>1480-1535</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">More’s<br/>
<i>Life of Sir<br/>
Thomas More</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was of a meane stature, well proportioned,
his complexion tending to the
phlegmaticke, his colour white and pale, his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</SPAN></span>
hayre neither black nor yellow, but betweene
both; his eies gray, his countenance
amiable and chearefull, his voyce
neither bigg nor shrill, but speaking
plainely and distinctly; it was not
very tunable, though he delighted much in
musike, his bodie reasonably healthfull, only
that towards his latter ende by using much
writing, he complained much of the ache of his
breaste. In his youth he drunke much water,
wine he only tasted of, when he pledged
others; he loved salte meates, especially
powdered beefe, milke, cheese, eggs and fruite,
and usually he eate of corse browne bread,
which it may be he rather used to punish
his taste, than from anie love he had thereto.
For he was singularly wise to deceave the
world with mortifications, only contenting
himselfe with the knowledge which God had
of his actions: et pater ejus, qui erat in
abscondito reddidit ei.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Campbell’s<br/>
<i>Lives of the<br/>
Lord Chancellors</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Holbein’s portrait of More has made his
features familiar to all Englishmen. According<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</SPAN></span>
to his great-grandson, he was of
‘a middle stature, well proportioned, of a
pale complexion; his hair of a
chestnut colour, his eyes gray,
his countenance mild and cheerful;
his voice not very musical, but clear
and distinct; his constitution, which was good
originally, was never impaired by his way of
living, otherwise than by too much study.
His diet was simple and abstemious, never
drinking any wine but when he pledged
those who drank to him, and rather mortifying
than indulging his appetite in what he
ate.’</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Life of Sir<br/>
Thomas More.</i><br/>
*</div>
<p>“He is rather below than above the middle
size; his countenance of an agreeable and
friendly cheerfulness, with somewhat
of an habitual inclination
to smile; and appears more adapted to
pleasantry than to gravity or dignity, though
perfectly remote from vulgarity or silliness.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CAROLINE NORTON<br/> <small>1808-1877</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Kemble’s<br/>
<i>Records of<br/>
a Girlhood</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“When</span> I first knew Caroline Sheridan she
had not long been married to the Hon.
George Norton. She was splendidly
handsome, of an un-English character
of beauty, her rather large and
heavy head and features recalling the
grandest Grecian and Italian models, to the
latter of whom her rich colouring and blue-black
braids of hair gave her an additional
resemblance. Though neither as perfectly
lovely as the Duchess of Somerset, nor as
perfectly charming as Lady Dufferin, she
produced a far more striking impression than
either of them, by the combination of the
poetical genius with which she alone, of the
three, was gifted, with the brilliant power
of repartee which they (especially Lady
Dufferin) possessed in common with her,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</SPAN></span>
united to the exceptional beauty with which
they were all three endowed. Mrs. Norton
was exceedingly epigrammatic in her talk,
and comically dramatic in her manner of
relating things.... She was no musician,
but had a deep, sweet contralto voice,
precisely the same in which she always
spoke, and which, combined with her always
lowered eyelids (‘downy eyelids’ with sweeping
silken fringes), gave such incomparably
comic effect to her sharp retorts and ludicrous
stories.... I admired her extremely.—1827.</p>
<p>“The next time ... was at an evening party
at my sister’s house, where her appearance
struck me more than it had ever done. Her
dress had something to do with this effect,
no doubt. She had a rich gold-coloured
silk on, shaded and softened all over with
black lace draperies, and her splendid head,
neck, and arms, were adorned with magnificently
simple Etruscan ornaments, which she
had brought from Rome, whence she had just
returned, and where the fashion of that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</SPAN></span>
famous antique jewellery had lately been
revived. She was still ‘une beauté triomphante
à faire voir aux ambassadeurs.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p>“The most beautiful of ‘the beautiful
Sheridans,’ Caroline Norton will also live in
the memory of her friends as one
of the most fascinating of women.
Her voice was exceedingly sweet and
musical, her movements wonderfully graceful,
and, with the solitary exception of Theodore
Hook, whose rough, coarse wit spared no
one, her queenly bearing won her general
adulation and deference. Her face was a
pure oval, her head was crowned by heavy
braids of the darkest hair, while the warmth
and light which suffused her expressive
countenance gave her a somewhat un-English
appearance. Her eyes were dark;
black curly lashes swept over the warmly-tinted
cheek; the lips were of geranium
red; the teeth, dazzlingly white. Altogether
she was a vivid piece of colouring, and as
she was always very beautifully dressed, it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</SPAN></span>
did not require her literary reputation to
make her at all times sought after and admired.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of<br/>
a long Life</i>.</div>
<p>“It seems but yesterday—it is not so very
long ago certainly—that I saw for the last
time the Hon. Mrs. Norton. Her
radiant beauty was then faded, but
her stately form had been little
impaired by years, and she had retained
much of the grace that made her early
womanhood so surpassingly attractive. She
combined, in a singular degree, feminine
delicacy with masculine vigour; though essentially
womanly, she seemed to have the
force of character of man. Remarkably
handsome she perhaps excited admiration
rather than affection. I can easily imagine
greater love to be given to a far plainer
woman. She had, in more than full measure,
the traditional beauty of her family, and no
doubt inherited with it some of the waywardness
that is associated with the name of
Sheridan.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS OTWAY<br/> <small>1651-1685</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Gentleman’s<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1745.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“You’ll</span> be glad to know any trifling circumstance
concerning Otway. His person was
of the middle size, about five feet
seven inches in height, inclinable
to fatness. He had a thoughtful speaking
eye, and that was all. He gave himself up
early to drinking, and, like the unhappy wits
of that age, passed his days between rioting
and fasting, ranting jollity and abject penitence,
carousing one week with Lord Pl——th,
and then starving a month in low company
at an ale-house on Tower Hill.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sir Walter<br/>
Scott’s <i>Memoir<br/>
of Mrs. Radcliffe</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Otway, heavy, squalid, unhappy; yet
tender countenance, but not so squalid as
one we formerly saw; full-speaking,
black eyes; it seems as if
dissolute habits had overcome
all his finer feelings, and left him little of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</SPAN></span>
mind, except a sense of sorrow.” <i>On a
picture.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL PEPYS<br/> <small>1632-1703</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Cornhill<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1874.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Pepys</span> spent part of a certain winter Sunday,
when he had taken physic, composing ‘a
song in praise of a liberal genius
(such as I take my own to be)
to all studies and pleasures.’ The song was
successful, but the diary is, in a sense, the
very song that he was seeking; and his
portrait by Hales, so admirably reproduced
in Mynors Bright’s edition, is a confirmation
of the diary. Hales, it would appear, had
known his business, and though he put his
sitter to a deal of trouble, almost breaking
his neck ‘to have the portrait full of shadows,’
and draping him in an Indian gown hired
expressly for the purpose, he was preoccupied
about no merely picturesque effects, but to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</SPAN></span>
portray the essence of the man. Whether
we read the picture by the diary, or the diary
by the picture, we shall at least agree, that
Hales was among the numbers of those who
can ‘surprise the manners in a face.’ Here
we have a mouth pouting, moist with desires;
eyes greedy, protuberant, and yet apt for
weeping too; a nose great alike in character
and dimensions, and altogether a most fleshly,
melting countenance. The face is attractive
by its promise of reciprocity. I have used
the word <i>greedy</i>, but the reader must not
suppose that he can change it for that closely
kindred one of <i>hungry</i>, for there is here no
aspiration, no waiting for better things, but
an animal joy in all that comes. It could
never be the face of an artist; it is the face
of a <i>viveur</i>—kindly, pleased, and pleasing,
protected from excess and upheld in contentment
by the shifting versatility of his desires.
For a single desire is more rightly to be
called a lust; but there is health in a variety,
where one may balance and control another.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">ALEXANDER POPE<br/> <small>1688-1744</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Guardian</i>,<br/>
1713.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Dick Distich</span> ... we have elected president,
not only as he is the shortest of
us all, but because he has entertained
so just a sense of his
stature as to go generally in black, that he
may appear yet less. Nay, to that perfection
is he arrived, that he stoops as he walks.
The figure of the man is odd enough; he is
a lively little creature, with long arms and
legs: a spider is no ill emblem of him. He
has been taken at a distance for a small windmill.”—1713.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s <i>Life<br/>
of Pope</i>.</div>
<p>“The person of Pope is well known not
to have been formed on the nicest model.
He has, in his account of the
Little Club, compared himself to
a spider, and, by another, is described as protuberant
behind and before. He is said to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</SPAN></span>
have been beautiful in his infancy; but he
was of a constitution originally feeble and
weak; and, as bodies of a tender frame are
easily distorted, his deformity was, probably,
in part the effect of his application. His
stature was so low, that to bring him on a
level with common tables it was necessary to
raise his seat. But his face was not displeasing,
and his eyes were animated and vivid....
His dress of ceremony was black, with
a tie-wig and a little sword.... He sometimes
condescended to be jocular with servants
or inferiors; but by no merriment, either of
others or of his own, was he ever seen excited
to laughter.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Tyer’s <i>Historical<br/>
rhapsody on Mr.<br/>
Pope</i>.</div>
<p>“Pope, as Lord Clarendon says of (the
ever memorable) Hales of Eaton, was one of
the least men in the kingdom; who adds of
Chillingworth, that he was of a
stature little superior to him, and
that it was an age in which there
were many great and wonderful men of that
size.... He inherited his deformity from his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</SPAN></span>
father, who turns out at last, from the information
of Mrs. Racket his relation, to
have been a linen-draper in the Strand.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">‘My friend, this shape which you and I will admire,</div>
<div class="verse">Came not from Ammon’s son, but from my sire,’</div>
</div></div>
<p>as he expresses himself in his first epistle to
Arbuthnot. He was protuberant behind and
before, in the words of his last biographer.
But he carried a mind in his face, as a
reverend person once expressed himself of a
singular countenance. He had a brilliant
eye, which pervaded everything at a glance.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">BRYAN WALLER PROCTER<br/> <small>1787-1874</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s<br/>
<i>Life of Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I have</span> also seen and scraped acquaintance
with Procter—Barry Cornwall. He is a
slender, rough-faced, palish, gentle,
languid-looking man, of three or
four and thirty. There is a dreamy mildness<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</SPAN></span>
in his eye; he is kind and good in his manners
and, I understand, in his conduct. He is a poet
by the ear and the fancy, but his heart and
intellect are not strong.”—1824.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Retrospect of<br/>
a long Life</i>.</div>
<p>“A decidedly rather pretty little fellow,
Procter, bodily and spiritually: manners prepossessing,
slightly London-elegant,
not unpleasant; clear judgment in
him, though of narrow field; a sound,
honourable morality, and airy friendly ways;
of slight, neat figure, vigorous for his size;
fine genially rugged little face, fine head;
something curiously dreamy in the eyes of
him, lids drooping at the <i>outer</i> ends into a
cordially meditative and drooping expression;
would break out suddenly now and then into
opera attitude and a <i>Là ci darem là mano</i> for
a moment; had something of real fun, though
in London style.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Fields’s<br/>
<i>Yesterdays<br/>
with Authors</i>.</div>
<p>“The poet’s figure was short and full, and
his voice had a low, veiled tone
habitually in it, which made it sometimes
difficult to hear distinctly what he was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</SPAN></span>
saying. When he spoke in conversation, he
liked to be very near his listener, and thus
stand, as it were, on confidential grounds with
him. His turn of thought was apt to be
cheerful among his friends, and he entered
readily into a vein of wit and nimble expression.
Verbal facility seemed natural to him,
and his epithets, evidently unprepared, were
always perfect. He disliked cant and hard
ways of judging character. He praised
easily. He impressed every one who came
near him as a born gentleman, chivalrous and
generous in a high degree.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">THOMAS DE QUINCEY<br/> <small>1786-1859</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Masson’s<br/>
<i>de Quincey</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> addition to the general impression of
his diminutiveness and fragility, one was
struck with the peculiar beauty
of his head and forehead,
rising disproportionately high over his small,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</SPAN></span>
wrinkly visage and gentle, deep-set eyes.
His talk was in the form of really harmonious
and considerate colloquy, and not at all in
that of monologue.... That evening passed,
and though I saw him once or twice again, it
is the last sight I remember best. It must
have been, I think, in 1846, on a summer
afternoon. A friend, a stranger in Edinburgh,
was walking with me in one of the pleasant,
quiet, country lanes near Edinburgh. Meeting
us, and the sole living thing in the lane
beside ourselves, came a small figure, not
untidily dressed, but with his hat pushed far
up in front of his forehead, and hanging on
his hindhead, so that the back rim must have
been resting on his coat-collar. At a little
distance I recognised it to be De Quincey;
but, not considering myself entitled to
interrupt his meditations, I only whispered
the information to my friend, that he might
not miss what the look at such a celebrity
was worth. So we passed him, giving him
the wall. Not unnaturally, however, after<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</SPAN></span>
we passed, we turned round for the pleasure
of a back view of the wee, intellectual wizard.
Whether my whisper and our glance had
alarmed him, as a ticket-of-leave man might
be rendered uneasy in his solitary walk by the
scrutiny of two passing strangers, or whether
he had some recollection of me (which was
likely enough, as he seemed to forget nothing),
I do not know, but we found that he, too, had
stopped, and was looking round at us.
Apparently scared at being caught doing so,
he immediately wheeled round again, and
hurried his face towards a side-turning in the
lane, into which he disappeared, his hat still
hanging on the back of his head. That was
my last sight of De Quincey.”—1846.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Page’s<br/>
<i>de Quincey</i>.</div>
<p>“Pale he was, with a head of wonderful
size, which served to make more apparent the
inferior dimensions of his body, and
a face which lived the sculptured
past in every lineament from brow to chin.
One seeing him would surely be tempted to
ask who he was that took off his hat with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</SPAN></span>
such grave politeness, remaining uncovered
if a lady were passing almost until she was
out of sight, and would get for an answer
likely enough, ‘Oh, that is little De Quincey,
who hears strange sounds and eats opium.
Did you ever see such a little man?’ Little
he was, indeed, like Dickens and Jeffrey, the
latter of whom had so little flesh that it was
said that his intellect was indecently exposed.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">James Payn’s<br/>
<i>Literary<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p>“In the ensuing summer, after the publication
of another volume of poems, I visited
Edinburgh, and called upon De
Quincey, to whom I had a letter of
introduction from Miss Mitford. He
was at that time residing at Lasswade, a few
miles from the town, and I went thither by
coach. He lived a secluded life, and even at
that date had become to the world a name
rather than a real personage; but it was a
great name. Considerable alarm agitated my
youthful heart as I drew near the house: I
felt like Burns on the occasion when he was
first about ‘to dinner wi’ a Lord.’... My<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</SPAN></span>
apprehensions, however, proved to be utterly
groundless, for a more gracious and genial
personage I never met. Picture to yourself
a very diminutive man, carelessly—very carelessly—dressed;
a face lined, careworn, and
so expressionless that it reminded one of
‘that chill changeless brow, where cold
Obstruction’s apathy appals the gazing
mourners heart’—a face like death in life.
The instant he began to speak, however, it
lit up as though by electric light; this came
from his marvellous eyes, brighter and more
intelligent (though by fits) than I have ever
seen in any other mortal. They seemed to
me to glow with eloquence. He spoke of my
introducer, of Cambridge, of the Lake Country,
and of English poets. Each theme was interesting
to me, but made infinitely more so
by some apt personal reminiscence. As for
the last-named subject, it was like talking of
the Olympian gods to one not only cradled
in their creed, but who had mingled with
them, himself half an immortal.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">ANN RADCLIFFE<br/> <small>1764-1823</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Kavanagh’s<br/>
<i>English Women<br/>
of Letters</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Ann Ward’s</span> education was plain and
somewhat formal. She was shy; she showed
no extraordinary genius, and the
times were not propitious to the
development of female intellect.
The young girl’s person was probably more
admired than her mind. She was short, but
exquisitely proportioned; she had a lovely
complexion, fine eyes and eyebrows, and a
beautiful mouth. She had a sweet voice too,
and sang with feeling and taste.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Scott’s <i>Memoir<br/>
of Ann Radcliffe</i>.</div>
<p>“This admirable writer, whom I remember
from about the time of her twentieth year,
was, in her youth, of a figure
exquisitely proportioned, while
she resembled her father and his brother
and sister in being low of stature. Her
complexion was beautiful, as was her whole<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</SPAN></span>
countenance, especially her eye, eyebrows,
and mouth.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Memoir of Mrs.<br/>
Ann Radcliffe.</i></div>
<p>“Mrs. Radcliffe, though a giant in intellect,
was low in stature, and of a slender
form, but exquisitely proportioned:
her countenance was beautiful and
expressive.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR WALTER RALEIGH<br/> <small>1552-1618</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Nineteenth<br/>
Century</i>, 1881.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> appearance what manner of man was
Raleigh when in Ireland? There was much
change, of course, from the dashing
captain of eight and twenty, when
he was putting the unarmed men to the sword
and hanging the women in Dingle Bay, to
the admiral of sixty-five who, between the
Tower and the scaffold, visited his old haunts
in the county of Cork for the last time in the
three summer months of 1617.</p>
<p>“But all accounts agree in giving him a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</SPAN></span>
commanding presence, a handsome and well-compacted
figure, a forehead rather too high;
the lower part of his face, though partly hidden
by the moustache and peaked beard, showing
rare resolution. His portrait, a life-sized
head, painted when he was Major of Youghal,
was recently presented to the owner of his
house, where it had been years ago, by the
senior member for the county of Waterford;
and another original picture of him when in
Ireland is in the possession of the Rev. Pierce
W. Drew of Youghal. Both these Irish
pictures show the same lofty brow and firm
lips. There is an old and much-prized
engraving by Vander Werff of Amsterdam
that seems to combine all his characteristic
features—the extraordinarily high forehead,
the moustache and peaked beard, ill-concealing
a too determined mouth. The likeness is
most striking.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives of<br/>
Eminent Persons</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“He was a tall, handsome, and bold man;
but his <i>næve</i> was, that he was damnably
proud.... In the great parlour at Downton,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</SPAN></span>
at Mr. Ralegh’s, is a good piece (an originall)
of Sir W. in a white sattin doublet, all embroidered
with rich pearles, and a
mighty rich chaine of great pearles
about his neck. The old servants have told
me that the pearles were neer as big as the
painted ones. He had a most remarkable
aspect, an exceedingly high forehead, long-faced,
and sourlie-bidded, a kind of pigge-eie.... He
spake broad Devonshire to his
dye-ing day. His voice was small, as likewise
were my schoolfellowes, his gr. nephews.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Publications of<br/>
the Prince Society.</i><br/>
*</div>
<p>“In all the pictures we have of him, there
is almost nothing to suggest the typical
Englishman. Burly and robust.
About six feet in height, he is
rather thin than corpulent, and in the vivacity
of expression and the nervous cast of his
features he resembles rather the modern
New-Englander than the old-time Englishman.
He was nineteen years younger than
Elizabeth, and had, as Naunton describes him,
‘a good presence in a handsome and well-compacted<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</SPAN></span>
person.’ Fuller has already told
us that at the time of his entrance at the court
his clothes made a ‘considerable part of
his estate.’ He seems to have had an innate
love for the luxury and splendour of dress.
He lived at a period when gentlemen as
well as ladies indulged in all the glory of gay
colours. Edwards, describing some of the
more noted pictures of him, says: ‘In another
full-length, which long remained in the possession
of his descendants, he is apparelled in a
white satin pinked vest, close sleeved to the
wrists with a brown doublet finely flowered
and embroidered with pearls, and a sword,
also brown and similarly decorated. Over the
right hip is seen the jewelled pommel of his
dagger. He wears his hat, in which is a
black feather with a ruby and pearl drop.
His trunk hose and fringed garters appear to
be of white satin. His buff-coloured shoes
are tied with white ribbons.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHARLES READE<br/> <small>1814-1884</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Coleman’s<br/>
<i>Personal Reminiscences</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“On</span> arriving at Bolton Row I was shown into
a large room littered over with books, MSS.
agenda, newspapers of every description
from the <i>Times</i> and the
<i>New York Herald</i> down to the
<i>Police News</i>. Before me stood a stately and
imposing man of fifty or fifty-one, over six
feet high, a massive chest, herculean limbs, a
bearded and leonine face, giving traces of a
manly beauty which ripened into majesty as
he grew older. Large brown eyes which
could at times become exceedingly fierce, a
fine head, quite bald on the top but covered
at the sides with soft brown hair, a head
strangely disproportioned to the bulk of the
body; in fact I could never understand how
so large a brain could be confined in so small a
skull. On the desk before him lay a huge<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</SPAN></span>
sheet of drab paper on which he had been
writing—it was about the size of two sheets
of ordinary foolscap; in his hand one of
Gillott’s double-barrelled pens. (Before I left
the room he told me he sent Gillott his books,
and Gillott sent him his pens.)</p>
<p>“His voice, though very pleasant, was very
penetrating. He was rather deaf, but I don’t
think quite so deaf as he pretended to be.
This deafness gave him an advantage in
conversation; it afforded him time to take
stock of the situation, and either to seek refuge
in silence or to request his interlocutor to
propound his proposal afresh. At first he
was very cold, but at last, carried away by the
ardour of my admiration for his works, he
thawed, and in half an hour he was eager,
excited, delighted and delightful.”—1856.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Contemporary<br/>
Review</i>,<br/>
1884.</div>
<p>“The man in truth justified Lavater, for
his physiognomy was noble, and
his body the perfection of symmetry
and grace. Nature gave
him a forehead as high as Shakespeare’s, but<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</SPAN></span>
broader; the mild, pensive ox-eye so dear to
the old Greek æsthetes; a marble skin, a
mouth that was sarcasm itself. His personal
attractiveness was phenomenal. In any roomful
of people, however illustrious, he became
involuntarily—for he was as little self-asserting
off his paper as he was dogmatic on it—the
centre. Living immersed in Bohemianism,
and in the society of a large-hearted, yet not
very cultured woman, he never parted company
with his Ipsden breeding, and his natural
bearing was that of one born to command.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Eclectic<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1880.</div>
<p>“In personal appearance Mr. Reade is
tall, erect, of a commanding presence, with
a full, expressive brown eye and
a noble brow. His manner is
singularly dignified without being arrogant,
and in society he sustains an enviable reputation
as a conversationalist.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL RICHARDSON<br/> <small>1689-1761</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Barbauld’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Richardson</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Richardson</span> was, in person, below the
middle stature, and inclined to corpulency;
of a round, rather than oval face,
with a fair, ruddy complexion.
His features, says one who speaks
from recollection, bore the stamp of good
nature, and were characteristic of his placid
and amiable disposition. He was slow in
speech, and, to strangers at least, spoke with
reserve and deliberation; but in his manners
was affable, courteous, and engaging, and
when surrounded with the social circle he loved
to draw around him, his eye sparkled with
pleasure, and often expressed that particular
spirit of archness which we see in some of
his characters, and which gave, at times, a
vivacity to his conversation not expected from
his general taciturnity and quiet manners.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Richardson’s<br/>
<i>Correspondence</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</SPAN></span>“Short, rather plump, about five feet five
inches, fair wig, one hand generally in his
bosom, the other a cane in it,
which he leans upon under the
skirts of his coat, that it may
imperceptibly serve him as a support when
attacked by sudden tremors or dizziness; of
a light brown complexion; teeth not yet
failing him. Looking directly foreright as
passengers would imagine, but observing all
that stirs on either hand of him, without
moving his short neck; a regular even pace,
stealing away ground rather than seeming to
rid it; a gray eye, too often overclouded by
mistiness from the head, by chance lively,
very lively, if he sees any he loves; if he
approaches a lady, his eye is never fixed first
on her face, but on her feet, and rears it up
by degrees, seeming to set her down as so
and so.”—1749.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Stephen’s<br/>
<i>Richardson</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“He looks like a plump white mouse in a
wig, with an air at once vivacious and timid,
a quick excitable nature, taking refuge in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</SPAN></span>
outside of a smug, portly tradesman. Two
coloured engravings in Mrs. Barbauld’s
volumes give us Richardson
amidst his surroundings....
One introduces us to Richardson at home.
Half a dozen ladies and gentlemen are sitting
by the open window in his bare parlour looking
out into the garden. There is only one
spindle-legged table, and a set of uncompromising
wooden chairs, just enough to
accommodate the party.... Miss Highmore,
whose hoop can scarcely be squeezed into her
straight-backed chair, is quietly sketching the
memorable scene. We are truly grateful to
her, for there sits the little idol of the party
in his usual morning dress, a nondescript
brown dressing-gown with a cap on his head
of the same materials. His plump little frame
fills the chair, and he is apparently raising one
foot for an emphatic stamp, as he reads a
passage of <i>Sir Charles Grandison</i>. We can
see that as he concludes he will be applauded
with deferential gasps of heartfelt admiration.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">SAMUEL ROGERS<br/> <small>1763-1855</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">S. C Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> countenance was the theme of continual
jokes. It was ‘ugly,’ if not repulsive. The
expression was in no way, nor
under any circumstances, good;
he had a drooping eye and a thick
underlip; his forehead was broad, his head
large—out of proportion indeed to his form;
but it was without the organs of benevolence
and veneration, although preponderating in that
of ideality. His features were ‘cadaverous.’
Lord Dudley once asked him why, now that
he could afford it, he did not set up his
hearse; and it is said that Sydney Smith
gave him mortal offence by recommending
him, ‘when he sat for his portrait, to be drawn
saying his prayers, with his face hidden by
his hands.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Jerdan’s <i>Men I<br/>
have known</i>.</div>
<p>“His personal appearance was extraordinary,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</SPAN></span>
or rather his countenance was
unique. His skull and facial expression bore
so striking a likeness to the
skeleton pictures which we sometimes
see of Death, that the facetious Sydney
Smith (at one of the dressed evening
parties ...) entitled him the ‘Death
dandy.’ And it was told (probably with
truth), that the same satirical wag inscribed
upon the capital portrait in his breakfast-room,
‘Painted in his lifetime.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Mackay’s<br/>
<i>Forty Years’<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p>“My first look at the poet, then in his
seventy-eighth year, was an agreeable
surprise, and a protest in my mind
against the malignant injustice
which had been done him. As a
young man he might have been uncomely, if
not as ugly as his revilers had painted him,
but as an old man there was an intellectual
charm in his countenance, and a fascination
in his manner which more than atoned for
any deficiency of personal beauty.”—1840.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI<br/> <small>1828-1882</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">William Sharp’s<br/>
<i>Dante Gabriel<br/>
Rossetti</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“According</span> to a sketch by Mr. Eyre Crowe,
dated about this time, Rossetti must have
had anything but a robust appearance,
being very thin and even
somewhat haggard in expression.
He went about in a long swallow-tailed
coat of what was even in 1848 an antique
pattern. That his appearance in his twentieth
and some subsequent years was that of an
ascetic I have been told by several, including
himself, and in addition to such pen-and-ink
sketches as the above, and of himself sitting
to Miss Siddall (his future wife) for his
portrait, there are the perhaps more reliable
portraitures in Mr. Millais’s <i>Isabella</i> (painted
in 1849), and Mr. Deverell’s <i>Viola</i>. On the
other hand, a beautifully-executed pencil head
of himself in boyhood shows him much removed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</SPAN></span>
from the ascetic type of later years,
not unlike and strongly suggestive of a young
Keats or Chatterton; while in maturer age
he carefully drew his portrait from his
mirrored image, the result being a highly-finished
pen-and-ink likeness. While
speaking of portraits, I may state that
Rossetti was twice photographed, once in
Newcastle (which is the one publicly known,
and upon which all other illustrations have
been based), and once standing arm-in-arm
with Mr. Ruskin, the latter being the best
likeness of the poet-artist as he was a quarter
of a century ago. There is also an etching
by Mr. Menpes, which, however, is only
founded on the well-known photograph;
and, finally, there is a portrait taken shortly
after death by Mr. Frederick Shields.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Hall Caine’s<br/>
<i>Recollections of<br/>
Rossetti</i>.</div>
<p>“Very soon Rossetti came to me through
the doorway in front, which
proved to be the entrance to his
studio. Holding forth both hands
and crying, ‘Hulloa!’ he gave me that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</SPAN></span>
cheery hearty greeting which I came to
recognise as his alone, perhaps, in warmth
and unfailing geniality among all the men of
our circle. It was Italian in its spontaneity,
and yet it was English in its manly reserve,
and I remember with much tenderness of
feeling that never to the last (not even when
sickness saddened him, or after an absence
of a few days or even hours), did it fail him
when meeting with those friends to whom to
the last he was really attached. Leading the
way to the studio, he introduced me to his
brother, who was there upon one of the
evening visits, which at intervals of a week
he was at that time making with unfailing
regularity. I should have described Rossetti,
at this time, as a man who looked quite ten
years older than his actual age, which was
fifty-two, of full middle height and inclining
to corpulence, with a round face that ought,
one thought, to be ruddy but was pale, large
gray eyes with a steady introspecting look,
surmounted by broad protrusive brows and a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</SPAN></span>
clearly-pencilled ridge over the nose, which
was well cut and had large breathing nostrils.
The mouth and chin were hidden beneath
a heavy moustache and abundant beard,
which grew up to the ears, and had been of
a mixed black-brown and auburn, and were
now streaked with gray. The forehead was
large, round, without protuberances, and very
gently receding to where thin black curls,
that had once been redundant, began to
tumble down to the ears. The entire configuration
of the head and face seemed to me
singularly noble, and from the eyes upwards
full of beauty. He wore a pair of spectacles,
and, in reading, a second pair over the first:
but these took little from the sense of power
conveyed by those steady eyes, and that
‘bar of Michael Angelo.’ His dress was not
conspicuous, being however rather negligent
than otherwise, and noticeable, if at all, only
for a straight sack-coat buttoned at the
throat, descending at least to the knees, and
having large pockets cut into it perpendicularly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</SPAN></span>
at the sides. This garment was, I
afterwards found, one of the articles of
various kinds made to the author’s own
design. When he spoke, even in exchanging
the preliminary courtesies of an opening
conversation, I thought his voice the richest
I had ever known any one to possess. It
was a full deep baritone, capable of easy
modulation, and with undertones of infinite
softness and sweetness, yet, as I afterwards
found, with almost illimitable compass, and
with every gradation of tone at command,
for the recitation or reading of poetry.”—1880.</p>
<div class="sidenote">William Sharp’s<br/>
<i>Dante Gabriel<br/>
Rossetti</i></div>
<p>“As to the personality of Dante Gabriel
Rossetti much has been written since his
death, and it is now widely known
that he was a man who exercised
an almost irresistible charm over
most with whom he was brought in contact.
His manner could be peculiarly
winning, especially with those much younger
than himself, and his voice was alike notable
for its sonorous beauty and for a magnetic<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</SPAN></span>
quality that made the ear alert, whether the
speaker was engaged in conversation, recitation,
or reading. I have heard him read,
some of them over and over again, all the
poems in the <i>Ballads and Sonnets</i>; and
especially in such productions as <i>The Cloud
Confines</i> was his voice as stirring as a
trumpet tone; but where he excelled was in
some of the pathetic portions of the <i>Vita
Nuova</i>, or the terrible and sonorous passages
of <i>L’Inferno</i>, when the music of the Italian
language found full expression indeed.
His conversational powers I am unable
adequately to describe, for during the four
or five years of my intimacy with him he
suffered too much from ill-health to be a
consistently brilliant talker, but again and
again I have seen instances of those marvellous
gifts that made him at one time a
Sydney Smith in wit, and a Coleridge in
eloquence. In appearance he was, if anything,
rather over middle height, and, especially
latterly, somewhat stout; his forehead was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</SPAN></span>
of splendid proportions, recalling instantaneously
to most strangers the Stratford bust of
Shakespeare; and his gray blue eyes were
clear and piercing, and characterised by that
rapid penetrative gaze so noticeable in
Emerson. He seemed always to me an
unmistakable Englishman, yet the Italian
element was frequently recognisable. As far
as his own opinion is concerned, he was
wholly English.”—1878.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">RICHARD SAVAGE<br/> <small>1697-1743</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Dublin University,<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1858.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> companion, Who is he? He looks a
little older, and is a great deal slenderer, and
very much better dressed; that
is, his clothes are well made, but
alas! they are also well worn.
He has an air of faded fashion about him.
There is decision in every line of the lank,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</SPAN></span>
and long, and melancholy visage; it is a
veritable Quixotic face. Meagre and proud,
and high and pale. An exceeding ‘woeful
countenance,’ which sadness and scorn alternately
cloud and corrugate. It is mixed up
with extreme diversities. The brow and
eye are intellectual and bright, while the
lower features are sensual and coarse:
humour and passion both lurk in the mouth,
yet few smiles expand those lips from which
laughter seems altogether banished, while
the voice is sweet, soft, and lute-like; the
pace is slow, and the gait has a certain pretension
to importance, which ill harmonises
with the rest of his appearance. This person
is Richard Savage, a man whose rare talents
might have brought him poetic immortality,
and a lofty pedestal in the muse’s temple, had
not his coarser vices, together with his pride
and his ingratitude, dragged him down to the
lowest moral depth, and buried the many
bright things he had in brain and bosom,
head and heart, in the same mud-heap.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s <i>Life<br/>
of Savage</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</SPAN></span>“He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit
of body, a long visage, coarse features, and
melancholy aspect; of a grave
and manly deportment, a solemn
dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer
acquaintance, softened into an engaging
easiness of manners. His walk was slow,
and his voice tremulous and mournful. He
was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom
provoked to laughter.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR WALTER SCOTT<br/> <small>1771-1832</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Lockhart’s <i>Life<br/>
of Scott</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> personal appearance at this time was
not unengaging. A lady of high rank, who
remembers him in the Old
Assembly Rooms, says, ‘Young
Walter Scott was a comely creature.’ He
had outgrown the sallowness of early ill-health,
and had a fresh, brilliant complexion.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</SPAN></span>
His eyes were clear, open, and well set, with
a changeful radiance, to which teeth of the
most perfect regularity and whiteness lent
their assistance, while the noble expanse and
elevation of the brow gave to the whole
aspect a dignity far above the charm of mere
features. His smile was always delightful;
and I can easily fancy the peculiar intermixture
of tenderness and gravity, with playful
innocent hilarity and humour in the expression,
as being well calculated to fix a fair
lady’s eye. His figure, excepting the blemish
in one limb, must in those days have been
eminently handsome; tall, much above the
usual standard, it was cast in the very mould
of a young Hercules; the head set on with
singular grace, the throat and chest after the
truest model of the antique, the hands delicately
finished; the whole outline that of extraordinary
vigour, without as yet a touch of
clumsiness. When he had acquired a little
facility of manner, his conversation must have
been such as could have dispensed with any<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</SPAN></span>
exterior advantages, and certainly brought
swift forgiveness for the one unkindness of
nature. I have heard him, in talking of this
part of his life, say, with an arch simplicity of
look and tone which those who were familiar
with him can fill in for themselves—‘It was
a proud night with me when I first found that
a pretty young woman could think it worth
her while to sit and talk with me, hour after
hour, in a corner of the ball-room, while all
the world were capering in our view.’”—1790.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s <i>Life<br/>
of Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p>“I never spoke with Scott.... Have a
hundred times seen him, from of old, writing
in the Courts, or hobbling with
stout speed along the streets of
Edinburgh; a large man, pale, shaggy face,
fine, deep-browed gray eyes, an expression
of strong homely intelligence, of humour
and good-humour, and, perhaps (in later
years amongst the wrinkles), of sadness or
weariness.... He has played his part,
and left <i>none like</i> or second to him.
<i>Plaudite!</i>”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sir John Bowring’s<br/>
<i>Autobiographical<br/>
Recollections</i>.</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</SPAN></span>“More eloquent men I have known, I think,
but I never knew any one so attractive. The
variety of his conversation is
stupendous, while it overflows
with the most agreeable anecdotes,
and almost every person who has
figured in modern times has in some way or
other been connected with him. His manner
of talking is without the smallest pretence,
and is gentle and humorous. His eye has
a constant play upon it, and around it. His
dress is that of a substantial farmer,—a short
green coat with steel buttons, striped waistcoat
and pantaloons, and he put on light
gaiters when we sallied forth.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE<br/> <small>1564-1616</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">E. T. Craig’s<br/>
<i>Portraits of<br/>
Shakespeare</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> portrait of Martin Droeshout” (<i>published
with the first folio edition of Shakespeare’s</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</SPAN></span>
<i>works in 1623</i>) “has a greater
claim to attention, as it was engraved by
a well-known artist at the time
when published by Shakespeare’s
contemporaries, Heminge and
Condell, and has the additional testimony
of the poet’s friend, Ben Jonson, in its
favour, in the following lines inscribed
opposite to the engraving of the portrait:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">‘This figure, that thou here seest put,</div>
<div class="verse">It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;</div>
<div class="verse">Wherein the graver had a strife</div>
<div class="verse">With Nature, to out-doo the life.</div>
<div class="verse">O, could he but have drawne his wit</div>
<div class="verse">As well in brasse as he hath hit</div>
<div class="verse">His face, the print would then surpasse</div>
<div class="verse">All that was ever writ in brasse;</div>
<div class="verse">But since he cannot, reader, looke</div>
<div class="verse">Not on his picture, but his booke.’</div>
</div></div>
<p>These lines would indicate that the portrait
of the face was represented with some degree
of truth. It may be observed here that until
within the last few years artists were less
exact and minute in the delineation of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</SPAN></span>
head than the face; and the head appears
unusually high for its breadth, and impresses
you with the semblance of a form more like
Scott than Byron, of Canova than Chantrey.</p>
<p>“The features of Droeshout’s engraving
bear a closer resemblance to the plaster cast
than to the Stratford bust. The nose has the
same flowing outline, well defined, prominent,
yet finely chiselled, and the nostrils rather
large. There is the same long upper lip, and
a general correspondence with the mouth of
the cast. The eye is large and round, and
in life would be mild and lustrous. The hair
is thin and not curled, and the head is high
but comparatively narrow. There would be
moderate secretiveness, less destructiveness,
small constructiveness, and little acquisitiveness.
There is an ample endowment of the
higher sentiments. The imaginative and
imitative faculties are represented as very
large. Ideality, wonder, wit, imitation,
benevolence, and veneration, comparison
and causality, are all very large. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</SPAN></span>
perceptive region is scarcely sufficiently
indicated for the powers of mind possessed
by Shakespeare, in his vast and ready
command of view over the range of natural
objects so evident in his works. This may
be the fault of the engraver. It is the
opposite in this respect to the cast from the
face. There is one feature in the portrait
which harmonises with Milton’s praise and
Jonson’s worship and Spenser’s admiration,—his
large benevolence, veneration and
ideality, and his small destructiveness and
acquisitiveness, leading to the control over
his feelings and generous sympathy with
others, manifested by his quiet manner and
gentle nature. Men of strong passions like
Jonson and Byron have very different heads
to this portrait, which presents a great contrast
both to the bust and the Chandos
portrait” (<i>said to be painted by Burbage, a
player contemporary with Shakespeare</i>). “The
physical proportions of the Droeshout figure
harmonise better with a fine temperament<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</SPAN></span>
and an intellectual head than the Stratford
bust with Shakespeare’s mental activity.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Halliwell-Phillipps’s<br/>
<i>Outlines<br/>
of the Life<br/>
of Shakespeare</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The exact time at which the monument
was erected in the church” (<i>Stratford-on-Avon</i>)
“is unknown, but it is
alluded to by Leonard Digges as
being there in the year 1623.
The bust must, therefore, have been submitted
to the approval of the Halls, who could hardly
have been satisfied with a mere fanciful image.
There is, however, no doubt that it was an
authentic representation of the great dramatist,
but it has unfortunately been so tampered
with in modern times that much of the
absorbing interest with which it would otherwise
have been surrounded has evaporated.
It was originally painted in imitation of life,
the face and hands of the usual flesh colour,
the eyes a light hazel, and the hair and beard
auburn. The realisation of the costume was
similarly attempted by the use of scarlet for
the doublet, black for the loose gown, and
white for the collar and wristbands.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">E. T. Craig’s<br/>
<i>Portraits of<br/>
Shakespeare</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</SPAN></span>“It only remains to examine the cast from
the face of Shakespeare. The documentary
statements published by Mr. Friswell
tend to establish a claim to
attention. It was left in the
possession of Professor Owen by Dr. Becher,
the enterprising botanist, who fell a victim to
his zeal in the unfortunate Australian expedition
under Burke. The cast, it appears,
originally belonged to a German nobleman at
the Court of James I., whose descendants
kept it as an heirloom till the last of the race
died, when his effects were sold. Mr. Friswell
observes that ‘the cast bears some resemblance
to the more refined portraits of the
poet. It is not unlike the ideal head of
Roubillac, and bears a very great resemblance
to a fine portrait of the poet in the possession
of Mr. Challis.’ It has some of the characteristics
of Jansen’s portrait. The mask has a
mournful aspect, and sensitive persons are
affected when they look at it.... There are
indications visible ... of wrinkles and ‘crow’s<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</SPAN></span>
feet’ at the corners of the eyes. It is utterly
destitute of the jovial physiognomy of the
Stratford bust and portrait. It is certainly
the impress from one who was gifted with
great sensibility, great range of perceptive
power, a ready memory, great facility of
expression, varied power of enjoyment, and
great depth of feeling. The year 1616, when
Shakespeare died, is recorded on the back of
the cast. Hairs of the moustache, eyelashes,
and beard still adhere to the plaster, of a
reddish brown or auburn colour, corresponding
with several portraits and the Stratford
bust.... The cast presents to view finely
formed features, strongly marked, yet regular.
The forehead is well developed in the region
of the perceptive powers; but scarcely so
high as the Droeshout, and the coronal
region is much lower than in that of the
Felton head. The sides of the head are well
developed, and there is a large mass of brain
in the front. The moustache is divided, and
falls over the corners of the mouth, and the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</SPAN></span>
beard, or imperial, is a full tuft on the chin,
which, as well as the moustache, appears to
be marked with a tool since taken. The face
is a sharp oval, that of the bust is a blunt or
round one. The chin is rather narrow and
pointed, yet firm; that of the bust well
rounded. The cheeks are thin and fallen;
in those of the bust full, fat, and coarse, as if
‘good digestion waited on appetite,’ without
thought, fancy, or feeling, troubling either.
The mask has a moderate-sized upper lip,
the bust a very large one, although Sir
Walter Scott lost his wager in asserting that
it was longer than his own. The lips of the
cast are thin and well marked; those of the
bust present a rude opening for the mouth.
The nostrils are drawn up, and this feature is
exaggerated in the bust. The nose of the
cast is large, finely marked, aquiline, and
delicately formed. That of the bust is short,
mean, straight, and small. In their physiognomy
and phrenology they are utterly
different. The cast indicates the man of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</SPAN></span>
thought, emotion, and suffering; the bust, of
ease, enjoyment, and self-satisfaction. If the
bust is to represent the living image of the
dead poet, the answer is, death does not
immediately alter the language once written
on the ivory gate at the temple of thought.
It has been said by John Bell that the Stratford
bust was cut from a mask, but by a
clumsy sculptor, who modified his work. A
monument, erected as a memorial of Shakespeare,
should therefore avoid the evident
discrepancies that already exist, and perpetrate
no repetition of forms inconsistent with
nature, truth, and beauty.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY<br/> <small>1798-1851</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Anecdote Biography<br/>
of P.<br/>
B. Shelley.</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“... At</span> the time I am speaking of, Mrs.
Shelley was twenty-four. Such a rare pedigree
of genius was enough to interest me in her,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</SPAN></span>
irrespective of her own merits as an authoress.
The most striking feature in her face was
her calm gray eyes; she was
rather under the English standard
of woman’s height, very fair and
light-haired, witty, social, and animated in
the society of friends, though mournful in
solitude.”—1821.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cowden<br/>
Clarkes’ <i>Recollections<br/>
of Writers</i>.</div>
<p>“Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley,
with her well-shaped, golden-haired head,
almost always a little bent and
drooping; her marble-white
shoulders and arms statuesquely
visible in the perfectly plain black velvet
dress, which the customs of that time allowed
to be cut low, and which her own taste
adopted; ... her thoughtful, earnest eyes;
her short upper lip and intellectually curved
mouth, with a certain close compressed and
decisive expression while she listened, and a
relaxation into fuller redness and mobility
when speaking; her exquisitely formed,
white, dimpled, small hands, with rosy<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</SPAN></span>
palms, and plumply commencing fingers,
that tapered into tips as slender and delicate
as those in a Vandyck portrait,—all remain
palpably present to memory.”—About 1824.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Cornhill</i>,<br/>
1875.</div>
<p>“Shelley’s second love, who was five
years his junior, is described as ‘rather
short, remarkably fair, and light-haired
with brownish gray eyes,
a great forehead, striking features, and a
noticeable air of sedateness.’ One writer has
compared her with the classic bust of Clytie.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY<br/> <small>1792-1822</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Stoddard’s<br/>
<i>Anecdote Biography<br/>
of Percy<br/>
Bysshe Shelley</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“As</span> I felt in truth but a slight interest in
the subject of his conversation, I
had leisure to examine, and, I
may add, admire the appearance of
my very extraordinary guest. It was a sum<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</SPAN></span>
of many contradictions. His figure was slight
and fragile, and yet his bones and joints were
large and strong. He was tall, but he
stooped so much that he seemed of a low
stature. His clothes were expensive, and
made according to the most approved mode
of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled,
unbrushed. His gestures were abrupt and
sometimes violent, occasionally even awkward.
His complexion was delicate and
almost feminine, of the purest red and white;
yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure
to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he
said, in shooting. His features, his whole
face, and particularly his head, were, in fact,
unusually small; yet the last <i>appeared</i> of a
remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and
bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the
agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious
thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with
his hands, or passed his fingers quickly
through his locks unconsciously, so that it
was singularly wild and rough. In times<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</SPAN></span>
when it was the mode to imitate stage-coachmen
as closely as possible in costume, and
when the hair was invariably cropped, like
that of our soldiers, this eccentricity was
very striking. His features were not symmetrical
(the mouth, perhaps, excepted), yet
was the effect of the whole extremely powerful.
They breathed an animation, a fire, an
enthusiasm, a vivid and preternatural intelligence,
that I never met with in any other
countenance.”—1810.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Cowden<br/>
Clarke’s <i>Recollections<br/>
of Writers</i>.</div>
<p>“Shelley’s figure was a little above the
middle height, slender, and of delicate construction,
which appeared the
rather from a lounging or waving
manner in his gait, as though
his frame was compounded barely of muscle
and tendon; and that the power of walking was
an achievement with him and not a natural
habit. Yet I should suppose that he was not
a valetudinarian, although that has been said
of him on account of his spare and vegetable
diet; for I have the remembrance of his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</SPAN></span>
scampering and bounding over the gorse-bushes
on Hampstead Heath late one night—now
close upon us, and now shouting from
the height like a wild school-boy. He was
both an active and an enduring walker,—feats
which do not accompany an ailing and
feeble constitution. His face was round, flat,
pale, with small features; mouth beautifully
shaped; hair bright brown and wavy; and
such a pair of eyes as are rarely in the human
or any other head,—intensely blue, with a
gentle and lambent expression, yet wonderfully
alert and engrossing; nothing appeared
to escape his knowledge.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p>“Shelley, when he died, was in his
thirtieth year. His figure was tall and
slight, and his constitution consumptive.
He was subject to
violent spasmodic pains, which would sometimes
force him to lie on the ground until
they were over; but he had always a kind
word to give to those about him when his
pangs allowed him to speak. In this organisation,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</SPAN></span>
as well as in some other respects,
he resembled the German poet Schiller.
Though well-turned, his shoulders were
bent a little, owing to premature thought
and trouble. The same causes had touched
his hair with gray; and though his habits of
temperance and exercise gave him a remarkable
degree of strength, it is not supposed
that he could have lived many years. He
used to say that he had lived three times as
long as the calendar gave out; which he
would prove, between jest and earnest, by
some remarks on Time,</p>
<p class="center">‘That would have puzzled that stout Stagyrite.’</p>
<p>Like the Stagyrites, his voice was high and
weak. His eyes were large and animated,
with a dash of wildness in them; his face
small, but well shaped, particularly the mouth
and chin, the turn of which was very sensitive
and graceful. His complexion was naturally
fair and delicate, with a colour in the cheeks.
He had brown hair, which, though tinged<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</SPAN></span>
with gray, surmounted his face well, being
in considerable quantity, and tending to a
curl. His side face, upon the whole, was
deficient in strength, and his features would
not have told well in a bust; but when
fronting and looking at you attentively, his
aspect had a certain seraphical character that
would have suited a portrait of John the
Baptist, or the angel whom Milton describes
as holding a reed ‘tipt with fire.’”—1822.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN<br/> <small>1751-1816</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Moore’s <i>Life<br/>
of Sheridan</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“It</span> has been seen, by a letter of his sister
already given, that, when young, he was
generally accounted handsome;
but in later years his eyes were
the only testimonials of beauty which remained
to him. It was, indeed, in the upper
part of his face that the spirit of the man<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</SPAN></span>
chiefly reigned; the dominion of the world
and the senses being rather strongly marked
out in the lower. In his person, he was
above the middle size, and his general make
was, as I have already said, robust and well-proportioned.
It is remarkable that his
arms, though of powerful strength, were thin,
and appeared by no means muscular. His
hands were small and delicate; and the
following couplet, written on the cast of one
of them, very livelily enumerates both its
physical and moral qualities:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">‘Good at a fight, better at a Play,</div>
<div class="verse">God-like in giving, but—the Devil to pay!’”</div>
</div></div>
<div class="sidenote">Jerdan’s<br/>
<i>Men I have<br/>
known</i>.</div>
<p>“I have seen his large beautiful eyes
speak sadly, even while his brilliant tongue was
rehearsing the gayest sentiments and
the finest wit.... What a portrait
to pronounce of intellect is that by
Sir Joshua! The head so fine, the expression
so brilliant, and the lower part of the
countenance, in the prime of life, without the
sensuous encroachment of luxurious indulgence<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</SPAN></span>
upon later years. And how light-hearted
the look.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Gantter’s<br/>
<i>Standard Poets of<br/>
Great Britain</i>.</div>
<p>“Sheridan was above the middle size, and
of a make robust and well-proportioned. In
his youth, his family said, he had
been handsome; but in his latter
years he had nothing left to show
for it but his eyes. ‘It was, indeed, in the
upper part of his face,’ says Mr. Moore,
‘that the spirit of the man chiefly reigned;
the dominion of the world and the senses
being rather strongly marked out in the lower.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR PHILIP SIDNEY<br/> <small>1554-1587-8</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was not only an excellent witt, but
extremely beautiful; he much resembled
his sister but his haire
was not red, but a little inclining;
viz., a darke amber colour. If I were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</SPAN></span>
to find a fault in it, methinkes ’tis not masculine
enough; yett he is a person of great
courage.... My great-uncle Mr. T.
Browne, remembered him, and sayd that he
was wont to take his table-booke out of his
pocket and write downe his notions as they
came into his head, when he was writing his
<i>Arcadia</i> (which was never finished by him)
as he was hunting on our pleasant plaines.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Worthie Sir<br/>
Phillip Sidney,<br/>
Knight, his<br/>
Epitaph.</div>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“A man made out of goodliest mould</div>
<div class="indent1">As shape in ware were wrought,</div>
<div class="verse">Or Picture stoode in stampe of gold</div>
<div class="indent1">To please each gazer’s thought....</div>
<div class="verse">... His silent lookes sayd wisdome great</div>
<div class="indent1">Did lodge in loftie brow:</div>
<div class="verse">His patient heart (in chollers heate)</div>
<div class="indent1">Supprest all passion’s throw.</div>
<div class="verse">... A portly presence passing fine</div>
<div class="indent1">With beautie furnisht well,</div>
<div class="verse">Where vertues buds and grace divine</div>
<div class="indent1">And daintie gifts did dwell.”</div>
</div></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Edinburgh<br/>
Review</i>, 1876.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“He was tall, shapely, and muscular, with
large blue-gray eyes, a long aquiline
nose, hair of a dark auburn
tint, and full sensitive lips, the slightly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</SPAN></span>
pensive expression of which was relieved by
the decision of the jaw and chin.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HORACE SMITH<br/> <small>1779-1849</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Horace</span> was delicious.... A finer nature
than Horace Smith’s, except in the single
instance of Shelley, I never met
with in man; nor even in that
instance, all circumstances considered, have
I a right to say that those who knew him as
intimately as I did the other, would not have
had the same reasons to love him.... The
personal appearance of Horace Smith, like
that of most of the individuals I have met
with, was highly indicative of his character.
His figure was good and manly, inclining to
the robust; and his countenance extremely
frank and cordial; sweet without weakness.
I have been told he was irascible. If so, it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</SPAN></span>
must have been no common offence that
could have irritated him. He had not a jot
of it in his appearance.”—1809.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SYDNEY SMITH<br/> <small>1771-1845</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Duycknick’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Sydney Smith</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“In</span> person, Sydney Smith, as he has been
described to us by those who knew him, was
of the medium height; plethoric
in habit though of great activity,
of a dense brown complexion, a
dark expressive eye, an open countenance,
indicative of shrewdness, humour, and benevolence.
There is a look too, in the English
engraved portraits, of a thoughtful seriousness.
His ‘sense, wit, and clumsiness,’ said
a college companion, gave ‘the idea of an
Athenian carter.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Reid’s <i>Life and<br/>
Times of Sydney<br/>
Smith</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Strangers entering St. Paul’s ... would
have witnessed a burly but active-looking<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</SPAN></span>
man of sixty-three, of medium height, with
a dark complexion and iron-gray hair, ascend
the pulpit. When he stood up
to preach, the shapely and
well-carried head, the fine eyes,
with their quick and penetrating glance, the
expression of thorough benevolence which lit
up the sensitive yet boldly chiselled features
of the strong and intellectual face, would
all contribute to heighten favourably the first
general impression concerning a man whose
every movement suggested intelligence, determination,
and kindliness.”—1834.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Reid’s <i>Life and<br/>
Times of Sydney<br/>
Smith</i>.</div>
<p>“Very distinctly do I recall the portly
figure of Sydney Smith seated in his large
yellow chariot—then a fashionable
style of carriage—the full-sized
head, the face indicative, as it
now presents itself to my mind’s eye, of
mental power, of kindliness, and of the spirit
of humour which possessed him.... This
brilliant man was not brilliant only; there
was in his character, as I conceive, an unusually<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</SPAN></span>
substantial basis of sound common
sense.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">TOBIAS SMOLLETT<br/> <small>1721-1771</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Chalmers’s <i>Life<br/>
of Smollett</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> person of Smollett was stout and well-proportioned,
his countenance engaging, his
manner reserved, with a certain
air of dignity that seemed to
indicate that he was not unconscious of his
own powers.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Anderson’s <i>Poets<br/>
of Great Britain</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“In his person he was graceful and handsome,
and in his air and manner there was a
certain dignity which commanded
respect. He possessed a loftiness
and elevation of sentiment and character,
without pride or haughtiness, for to his equals
and inferiors he was ever polite, friendly and
generous.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Chambers’s<br/>
<i>Eminent<br/>
Scotsmen</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Smollett, who thus died prematurely in
the fifty-first year of his age, and the bloom<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</SPAN></span>
of his mental faculties, was tall and handsome,
with a most prepossessing carriage
and address, and the marks and
manners of a gentleman.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ROBERT SOUTHEY<br/> <small>1774-1843</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Froude’s <i>Carlyle</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“A man</span> towards well up in the fifties; hair
gray, not yet hoary, well setting off his fine
clear brown complexion, head
and face both smallish, as indeed the figure
was while seated; features finely cut; eyes,
brow, mouth, good in their kind—expressive
all, and even vehemently so, but betokening
rather keenness than depth either of intellect
or character; a serious, human, honest, but
sharp, almost fierce-looking thin man, with
very much of the militant in his aspect,—in
the eyes especially was visible a mixture of
sorrow and of anger, or of angry contempt,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</SPAN></span>
as if his indignant fight with the world had not
yet ended in victory, but also never should in
defeat.”—1835.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Southey’s Life and<br/>
Correspondence.</i></div>
<p>“The personal appearance and demeanour
of Southey at this time (he was then aged sixty-two)
was striking and peculiar.
The only thing in art which
brings him exactly before me is the monument
by Lough, the sculptor. Like many
other young men of the time who had read
Byron with great admiration, I had imbibed
rather a prejudice against the Laureate.
This was weakened by his appearance, and
wholly removed by his frank conversation.
He was calm, mild, and gentlemanly; full of
quiet, subdued humour; the reverse of ascetic
in his manner, speech, or actions. His
bearing was rather that of a scholar than
that of a man much accustomed to mingle in
general society.... In any place Southey
would have been pointed at as ‘a noticeable
man.’ He was tall, slight, and well made.
His features were striking, and Byron truly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</SPAN></span>
described him as ‘with a hook nose and a
hawk’s eye.’ Certainly his eyes were
peculiar,—at once keen and mild. The
brow was rather high than square, and the
lines well defined. His hair was tinged with
gray, but his head was as well covered with
it—wavy and flowing—as it could have
been in youth. He by no means looked his
age; simple habits, pure thoughts, the
quietude of a happy hearth, the friendship of
the wise and good, the self-consciousness of
acting for the best purposes, a separation from
the personal irritations which men of letters
are so often subjected to in the world; and
health, which to that time had been so
generally unbroken, had kept Southey from
many of the cares of life, and their usually
harrowing effect on mind and body. It is
one of my most pleasant recollections that I
enjoyed his friendship and regard.”—1836.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“His height was five feet eleven inches.
‘His forehead was very broad; his complexion
rather dark; the eyebrows large and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</SPAN></span>
arched; the eye well shaped, and dark brown;
the mouth somewhat prominent, muscular,
and very variously expressive;
the chin small in proportion to
the upper features of the face.’
So writes his son, who adds that ‘many
thought him a handsomer man in age than in
youth,’ when his hair had become white,
continuing abundant, and flowing in thick
curls over his brow. Byron, who saw him
but twice, once at Holland House, and once
at one of Rogers’ breakfasts, said, ‘To have
that man’s head and shoulders, I would
almost have written his sapphics.’ That was
in 1813, when Southey was in his prime.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">EDMUND SPENSER<br/> <small>1553-1599</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Grosart’s <i>Life<br/>
of Spenser</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“But</span> of Edmund Spenser we have inestimable
portraits. In the first rank must be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</SPAN></span>
placed the miniature now in the inherited
possession of Lord Fitzhardinge. It was
a gift to the Lady Elizabeth
Carey (Althorp Spenser), heiress
of the Hunsdons, to whom it was left by
Queen Elizabeth. It thus came with an indisputable
lineage through the marriage of
a Berkeley to Lady Elizabeth Carey. It is
an exquisitely beautiful face. The brow is
ample, the lips thin but mobile, the eyes a
grayish-blue, the hair and beard a golden red
(as of ‘red monie’ of the ballads) or goldenly
chestnut, the nose with semi-transparent
nostril and keen, the chin firm-poised, the
expression refined and delicate. Altogether
just such ‘presentment,’ of the Poet of Beauty
<i>par excellence</i> as one would have imagined.
To be placed next is the older face of the
Dowager Countess of Chesterfield. It is
identically the same face. But there is more
roundness of chin, more fulness or ripening
of the lips (especially the under), more restfulness.
There is not the ‘fragile’ look of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</SPAN></span>
Fitzhardinge miniature. Hair and eyes agree
with the miniature. The only other with
a pedigree or sufficiently authenticated,—not
mere ‘copies,’ such as those at Pembroke
College,—is the very remarkable one that
came down as a Devonshire heirloom to the
Rev. S. Baring Gould, M.A., with a companion
of Sir Walter Raleigh.</p>
<p>“Both have been in the family beyond
record. This shows the poet in the full
strength of manhood. It is a kind of three-quarter
profile, and as one studies it, it seems
to vindicate itself as ‘our sage and serious
Spenser.’ Again, hair and eyes agree with
the others. The Spaniard’s haughty face,
for long engraved and re-engraved, ought
never to have been engraved as Spenser.
There is not a jot or tittle of evidence in its
favour. It is an absolutely un-English, and
palpably Spanish face, and an impossible
portrait of our Poet.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Payne Collier’s<br/>
<i>Life of Spenser</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Several portraits of Spenser are in existence;
but it is difficult to settle the degree<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</SPAN></span>
of authenticity belonging to them. The late
Mr. Rodd, of Newport Street, had a miniature
of the poet in his possession in
1845, and perhaps afterwards,
which corresponded pretty exactly with the
ordinary representations, but what became of
it is not known to us. The features were
sharp and delicately formed, the nose long,
and the mouth refined; but the lower part of
the face projected, and the high forehead
receded, while the eyes and eyebrows did not
very harmoniously range.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives of<br/>
Eminent Men</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Mr. Beeston sayes he was a little man,
wore short haire, little band, and
little cuffs.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY<br/> <small>1815-1881</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Harper’s<br/>
Magazine</i>,<br/>
1881.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> was at that time (and indeed always
remained) very slight of his age, of rather<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</SPAN></span>
florid complexion, and with a singularly
bright, quick, and yet often dreamy expression.
He wore his hat rather on
the back of his head, and walked
with queer little short shuffling paces,
rather on his heels, so that you could tell him
by his gait at any distance—a singular contrast
to the Doctor’s long shambling stride as they
walked along at the side of Mrs. Arnold’s
gray pony on half-holiday afternoons.”—1834.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Macmillan</i>,<br/>
1881.</div>
<p>“Il n’improvisait jamais; il lisait avec
gravité, avec une force réelle qui étonnait,
sortant d’un corps si fragile, mais
avec une sorte de monotonie.
L’action oratoire manquait de variété et
d’abandon; c’était toujours la même note.
Du reste, personne n’avait l’oreille moins
musicale que le doyen.... D’une complexion
délicate, de petite taille, son corps
semblait n’être qu’un prétexte pour être, et
pour retenir son esprit dans le monde visible.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Temple Bar</i>,<br/>
1881.</div>
<p>“Dean Stanley, like so many great men,
possessed some strongly-marked personal<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</SPAN></span>
characteristics. If he was superintendent in
some qualities there were some of which he
was almost altogether destitute.
He was utterly careless of personal
appearance, and of external circumstances.
Short and spare in figure, there was a beauty
and a dignity about him that made his presence
a perpetual pleasure. Those clear-cut features,
the beautiful forehead, and the silvery head of
hair, will remain photographed on the minds
of this generation. When in the performance
of any sacred or secular function, the more
crowded his auditory, the more he was at
ease. There must be many who can remember
him as he used to stand at the
lectern in the Abbey waiting to read the
lesson in one of those crowded services in the
nave, with the people clustered even round
his feet, and yet unconsciously, as if in his
own library, with the old familiar action,
passing his hand across his face and ruffling
up his head.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR RICHARD STEELE<br/> <small>1671-1729</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Thackeray’s<br/>
<i>English<br/>
Humourists</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Dennis</span>, who ran a-muck at the literary
society of his day, falls foul of poor Steele,
and thus depicts him: ‘Sir John
Edgar, of the County of —— in
Ireland, is of a middle stature, broad
shoulders, thick legs, a shape like the picture
of somebody over a farmer’s chimney; a
short chin, a short nose, a short forehead, a
broad, flat face, and a dusky countenance.
Yet with such a face and such a shape, he
discovered at sixty that he took himself for
a beauty, and appeared to be more mortified
at being told that he was ugly, than he was
by any reflection made upon his honour or
understanding.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Dublin University<br/>
Magazine</i>, 1858.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The interior of a coffee-house at Hyde
Park Corner. Here in a room small and
meanly furnished, sit two men who have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</SPAN></span>
just arrived in a handsome carriage, which
is at this moment driving from the door.
One of these is Richard Savage;
the other, who is fully
twenty years his senior, is a <i>beau</i> and a
<i>militaire</i>, being a Captain in Lord Lucas’s
regiment of Fusileer Guards. With a somewhat
diminutive stature and a long dress
sword; he has laced ruffles in abundance on
his shirt sleeves and at his bosom, but not a
shadow on his smiling face; with an air at
that time styled ‘genteel,’ in these days called
<i>distingué</i>. Around this gentleman’s agreeable
face and person there is a brilliant atmosphere
of life and animation, for the three Celtic
characteristics are his—vivacity, volatility,
and versatility,—by turns the curse and
advantage, the obstacle and ornament of his
nation,—for he is an Irishman, and his name
is Sir Richard Steele.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Swift’s<br/>
<i>Works</i>.</div>
<p>“He has naturally a downcast foreboding
aspect, which they of the country hereabouts
call a hanging look, and an unseemly manner<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</SPAN></span>
of staring, with his mouth wide open, and
under-lip propending, especially when any
ways disturbed.... He takes a
great deal of pains to persuade his
neighbours that he has a very short face, and
a little flat nose like a diminutive wart in the
middle of his visage.... His eyes are large
and prominent, too big of all conscience for
the conceited narrowness of his phiz....
His back, though not very broad, is well
turned, and will bear a great deal; I have
seen him myself, more than once, carry a
vast load of timber. His legs also are tolerably
substantial, and can stride very wide
upon occasion; but the best thing about him
is a handsome pair of heels, which he takes
especial pride to show, not only to his friends,
but even to the very worst of his enemies.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">LAURENCE STERNE<br/> <small>1713-1768</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Sir Walter Scott’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Sterne</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“We</span> are well acquainted with Sterne’s features
and personal appearance, to which he himself
frequently alludes. He was
tall and thin, with a hectic and
consumptive appearance. His
features, though capable of expressing with
peculiar effect the sentimental emotions by
which he was often affected, had also a
shrewd, humorous, and sarcastic expression,
proper to the wit and the satirist. His conversation
was as animated as witty, but Johnson
complained that it was marked by licence,
better suiting the company of the Lord of
Crazy Castle than of the great moralist.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Timbs’s<br/>
<i>Anecdote<br/>
Biography</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“In the same year (1761) that Reynolds
exhibited the large equestrian portrait of
Lord Ligonier, now in the National Gallery,
he also exhibited the half-length of Sterne,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</SPAN></span>
seated, and leaning on his hand. This portrait
was painted for the Earl of Ossary, and
afterwards came into the possession
of Lord Holland, on whose death
in 1840, it was purchased for
500 guineas by the Marquis of Lansdowne.
‘This,’ says Mrs. Jameson, ‘is the most
astonishing head for truth of character I
ever beheld; I do not except Titian; the
character, to be sure, is different: the subtle
evanescent expression of satire round the
lips, the shrewd significance in the eye, the
earnest contemplative attitude,—all convey
the strongest impression of the man, of his
peculiar genius, and peculiar humour.’”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Memoir<br/>
of Sterne.</i><br/>
*</div>
<p>“Speaking of Sterne’s physiognomy,
Lavater says, ‘In this face you discover
the arch, satirical Sterne, the shrewd
and exquisite observer, more limited
in his object, but on that very account more
profound,—you discover him, I say, in the
eyes, in the space which separates them, in
the nose and the mouth of this figure.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR JOHN SUCKLING<br/> <small>1608-1641</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> picture, which is like him, before his
poems, says that he was but twenty-eight
years old when he dyed. He
was of middle stature and slight
strength, brisque round eie, reddish
fac’t, and red-nosed (ill liver), his head
not very big, his hayre a kind of sand colour,
his beard turn’d up naturally, so that he had
a brisk and graceful looke. He died a
batchelour.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">W. C. Hazlitt’s<br/>
<i>Life of Sir<br/>
John Suckling</i>.</div>
<p>“He was a man of grave deportment
and very comely person: of a
fair complexion, with good features
and flaxen haire.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">W. C. Hazlitt’s<br/>
<i>Life of Sir<br/>
John Suckling</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“In person he was of a middle size,
though but slightly made, with
a winning and graceful carriage,
and noble features.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">JONATHAN SWIFT<br/> <small>1667-1745</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Scott’s <i>Life<br/>
of Swift</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Swift</span> was in person tall, strong, and well
made, of a dark complexion, but with blue
eyes, black and bushy eyebrows,
nose somewhat aquiline, and features
which remarkably expressed the stern,
haughty, and dauntless turn of his mind. He
was never known to laugh, and his smiles
are happily characterised by the well-known
lines of Shakespeare. Indeed the whole
description of Cassius might be applied to
Swift:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="indent2">‘He reads much;</div>
<div class="verse">He is a great observer and he looks</div>
<div class="verse">Quite through the deeds of men; ...</div>
<div class="verse">Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort,</div>
<div class="verse">As if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit</div>
<div class="verse">That could be moved to smile at any thing.’</div>
</div></div>
<p>... In youth he was reckoned handsome;
Pope observed that though his face had an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</SPAN></span>
expression of dulness, his eyes were very
particular. They were as azure, he said, as
the heavens, and had an unusual expression of
acuteness. In old age the Dean’s countenance
conveyed an expression which, though
severe, was noble and impressive.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s <i>Life<br/>
of Swift</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The person of Swift had not many
recommendations. He had a kind of muddy
complexion which, though he
washed himself with oriental scrupulosity,
did not look clear. He had a countenance
sour and severe, which he seldom
softened by an appearance of gaiety. He
stubbornly resisted any tendency to laughter.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Thomas Roscoe’s<br/>
<i>Life of<br/>
Dean Swift</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Swift was of middle stature, inclining to
tall, robust, and manly, with strongly-marked
and regular features. He had a
high forehead, a handsome nose,
and large piercing blue eyes, which
retained their lustre to the last. He had an
extremely agreeable and expressive countenance,
which, in the words of the unfortunate
Vanessa, sometimes shone with a divine compassion,—at<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</SPAN></span>
others, the most engaging vivacity,
indignation, fearful passion, and striking
awe. His mouth was pleasing, he had a fine
regular set of teeth, a round double chin
with a small dimple; his complexion a light
olive or pale brown. His voice was sharp,
strong, high-toned; but he was a bad reader,
especially of verses, and disliked music.
His mien was erect, his head firm, and his
whole deportment commanding. There was
a sternness and severity in his aspect which
wit and gaiety did not entirely remove.
When pleased he would smile, but never
laughed aloud.... In his person he was
neat and clean even to superstition, and
appeared regularly dressed in his gown
every morning, to receive the visits of his
most familiar friends.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY<br/> <small>1811-1863</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Theodore<br/>
Taylor’s<br/>
<i>Thackeray</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“As</span> for the man himself who has lectured
us, he is a stout, healthful, broad-shouldered
specimen of a man, with cropped
grayish hair, and keenish gray eyes,
peering very sharply through a pair
of spectacles that have a very satiric focus.
He seems to stand strongly on his own feet,
as if he would not be easily blown about or
upset, either by praise or pugilists; a man of
good digestion, who takes the world easy,
and scents all shams and humours (straightening
them between his thumb and forefinger)
as he would a pinch of snuff.”—1852.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Stoddard’s<br/>
<i>Anecdote<br/>
Biography of<br/>
Thackeray</i>.</div>
<p>“Good portraits of Thackeray are so
common, and so many of your readers saw
him in the lecture-room, that I need not
describe his person. The misshaped nose, so
broad at the bridge and so stubby at the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</SPAN></span>
end, was the effect of an early accident.
His near-sightedness, unless hereditary, must
have had, I think, a similar origin,
for no man had less the appearance
of a student who had weakened
his sight by application to books. In his
gestures—especially in the act of bowing
to a lady—there was a certain awkwardness,
made more conspicuous by his tall, well-proportioned,
and really commanding figure. His
hair, at forty, was already gray, but abundant
and massy; the cheeks had a ruddy tinge, and
there was no sallowness in the complexion;
the eyes, keen and kindly even when they
bore a sarcastic expression, twinkled through
and sometimes over the spectacles. What I
should call the predominant expression of
the countenance was courage—a readiness
to face the world on its own terms, without
either bawling or whining, asking no favour,
yielding, if at all, from magnanimity. I have
seen but two faces on which this expression,
coupled with that of high and intellectual<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</SPAN></span>
power, was equally striking—those of Daniel
Webster and Thomas Carlyle. But the
former had a saturnine gloom even in its
animation, and the latter a variety and intensity
of expression which was absent from
Thackeray’s.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Watts’s<br/>
<i>Great<br/>
Novelists</i>.</div>
<p>“In stature he was tall and commanding,
and he walked erect. With gray eyes—not
over luminous—and a noble brow,
his appearance was confident, but
never conceited or aggressive. He
wore long hair, and, but for a small whisker,
shaved clean. His features, if anything,
were immobile; the nose, which had been
fractured in youth at the Charterhouse, was,
like Milton’s, ‘a thoughtful one,’ and the
nostrils were full and wide, as are those of
all men of genius, according to Balzac.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">JAMES THOMSON<br/> <small>1700-1748</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Johnson’s <i>Life<br/>
of Thomson</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Thomson</span> was of stature above the middle
size, and ‘more fat than bard beseems,’ of a
dull countenance, and a gross, unanimated,
uninviting appearance;
silent in mingled company, but cheerful
among select friends, and by his friends
very tenderly and warmly beloved.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Murdoch’s<br/>
<i>Thomson</i>.</div>
<p>“Our author himself hints, somewhere in
his works, that his exterior was not the most
promising—his make being rather
robust than graceful, though it is
known that in his youth he had been thought
handsome. His worst appearance was when
you saw him walking alone in a thoughtful
mood, but let a friend accost him and enter
into conversation, he would instantly brighten
into a most amiable aspect, his features no
longer the same, and his eye darting a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</SPAN></span>
peculiar animating fire. The case was much
alike in company, where, if it was mixed or
very numerous, he made but an indifferent
figure, but with a few select friends he was
open, sprightly, and entertaining. His wit
flowed freely but pertinently, and at due
intervals leaving room for every one to contribute
his share. Such was his extreme
sensibility, so perfect the harmony of his
organs with the sentiments of his mind, that
his looks always announced and half expressed
what he was about to say, and
his voice corresponded exactly to the
manner and degree in which he was
affected.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Rossetti’s<br/>
<i>Memoir of<br/>
Thomson</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“Thomson was above the middle size, of
a fat and bulky form, with a face that might
almost be called dull, and an uninviting
heavy look, although in his early
youth he had even been counted
handsome, and his eyes were expressive.
He was mostly taciturn, save in the company
of his familiar friends; with them he was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</SPAN></span>
cheerful and pleasant, and he secured their
attachment in an eminent degree.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">ANTHONY TROLLOPE<br/> <small>1815-1882</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“I remember</span> a man hitting off a very good
description of Trollope’s manner, by remarking
that ‘he came in at the door like
a frantic windmill.’ The bell would
peal, the knocker begin thundering, the door
be burst open, and the next minute the
house be filled by the big resonant voice
inquiring who was at home. I should say
he had naturally a sweet voice, which through
eagerness he had spoilt by holloing. He
was a big man, and the most noticeable
thing about his dress was a black handkerchief
which he wore tied <i>twice</i> round his
neck. A trick of his was to put the end of a
silk pocket-handkerchief in his mouth and to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</SPAN></span>
keep gnawing at it—often biting it into holes
in the excess of his energy; and a favourite
attitude was to stand with his thumbs tucked
into the armholes of his waistcoat. He was
a full-coloured man, and joking and playful
when at his ease. Unless with his intimates,
he rarely laughed, but he had a funny way
of putting things, and was usually voted good
company.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p>“Trollope said his height was five feet ten,
but most people would have thought him
taller. He was a stout man, large
of limb, and always held himself
upright without effort. His manner was
bluff, hearty, and genial, and he possessed to
the full the great charm of giving his undivided
attention to the matter in hand. He
was always enthusiastic and energetic in whatever
he did. He was of an eager disposition,
and doing nothing was a pain to him. In
early manhood he became bald; in his latter
life his full and bushy beard naturally grew
to be gray. He had thick eyebrows, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</SPAN></span>
his open nostrils gave a look of determination
to his strong capable face. His
eyes were grayish-blue, but he was rarely
seen without spectacles, though of late years
he used to take them off whenever he was
reading. From a boy he had always been
short-sighted.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">A personal<br/>
friend.</div>
<p>“Standing with his back to the fire, with
his hands clasped behind him and his feet
planted somewhat apart, the appearance
of Anthony Trollope, as I recall
him now, was that of a thorough Englishman
in a thoroughly English attitude. He was
then, perhaps, nearing sixty, and had far
more the look of a country gentleman than
of a man of letters. Tall, broad-shouldered,
and dressed in a careless though not slovenly
fashion, it seemed more fitting that he should
break into a vivid description of the latest
run with the hounds than launch into book-talk.
Either subject, however, and for the
matter of that I might add <i>any</i> subject, was
attacked by him with equal energy. In<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</SPAN></span>
writing of the man, this, indeed, is the chief
impression I recall—his energy, his thoroughness.
While he talked to me, I and my
interests might have been the only things
for which he cared; and any passing topic of
conversation was, for the moment, the one
and absorbing topic in the world. Being
short-sighted, he had a habit of peering
through his glasses which contracted his
brows and gave him the appearance of a
perpetual frown, and, indeed, his expression
when in repose was decidedly severe. This,
however, vanished when he spoke. He
talked well, and had generally a great deal
to say; but his talk was disjointed, and he
but rarely laughed. In manner he was
brusque, and one of his most striking
peculiarities was his voice, which was of an
extraordinarily large compass.”—1873.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">EDMUND WALLER<br/> <small>1605-1687</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Aubrey’s <i>Lives<br/>
of Eminent<br/>
Persons</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“His</span> intellectuals are very good yet; but he
growes feeble. He is somewhat above a
middle stature, thin body, not at
all robust: fine thin skin, his face
somewhat of an olivaster; his
hayre frized, of a brownish colour, full eie,
popping out and working; ovall faced, his
forehead high and full of wrinkles. His head
but small, braine very hott, and apt to be
cholerique. <i>Quarto doctior, eo iracundior.</i>—<span class="smcap">Cic.</span>
He is somewhat magisteriall, and hath
received a great mastership of the English
language. He is of admirable elocution, and
gracefull, and exceeding ready.”—1680.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Life of Edmund<br/>
Waller.</i><br/>
*</div>
<p>“Waller’s person was handsome and
graceful. That delicacy of soul
which produces instinctive propriety,
gave him an easy manner, which was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</SPAN></span>
improved and finished by a polite education,
and by a familiar intercourse with the Great.
The symmetry of his features was dignified
with a manly aspect, and his eye was animated
with sentiment and poetry. His elocution,
like his verse, was musical and flowing.
In the senate, indeed, it often assumed
a vigorous and majestick tone, which, it
must be owned, is not a leading characteristick
of his numbers.... His conversation
was chatised by politeness, enriched by learning,
and brightened by wit.”</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>An account of the<br/>
life of Mr.<br/>
Edmund Waller.</i><br/>
*</div>
<p>“’Twas the politeness of his manners, as
well as the excellence of his genius, which
endeared him to these foreign
wits. All the world knows Mr.
St. Evremond was polite almost
to a fault, for ev’ry virtue has its opposite
vice, and this has affectation; and yet writing
to my Lord St. Albans he says, ‘Mr. Waller
vous garde une conversation délicieuse, je ne
suis pas si vain de vous <i>parleur</i> de mienne.’...
We shall close what we intend to say of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</SPAN></span>
his manners and personal endowments with
the Earl of Clarendon’s short character of
him: ‘There was of the House of Commons
one Mr. Waller, and a gentleman of very good
fortune and estate, and of admirable parts and
faculty of wit, and of an intimate conversation
with those who had that reputation.’ This,
and what has been taken out of his lordship’s
history which has respect to Mr. Waller’s
qualities, confirm the judgment we endeavour
to form of him that he was one of the most
polite, the most gallant, and the most witty
men of his time, and he supported that character
above half a century.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">HORACE WALPOLE<br/> <small>1717-1797</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Walpoliana.</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> person of Horace Walpole was short
and slender, but compact and neatly
formed. When viewed from behind he had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</SPAN></span>
somewhat of a boyish appearance, owing to
the form of his person, and the simplicity of
his dress. His features may be seen in many
portraits; but none can express the placid
goodness of his eyes, which would often
sparkle with sudden rays of wit, or dart forth
flashes of the most keen and intuitive intelligence.
His laugh was forced and uncouth,
and even his smile not the most pleasing.
His walk was enfeebled by the gout; which,
if the editor’s memory do not deceive, he
mentioned he had been tormented with since
the age of twenty-five.... This painful
complaint not only affected his feet, but
attacked his hands to such a degree that his
fingers were always swelled and deformed....
His engaging manners and gentle endearing
affability to his friends exceed all
praise.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Cunningham’s<br/>
<i>Letters of<br/>
Walpole</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“The person of Horace Walpole<SPAN name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</SPAN> was
short and slender, but compact, and neatly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</SPAN></span>
formed. When viewed from behind he had,
from the simplicity of his dress, somewhat of
a boyish appearance: fifty years
ago, he says, ‘Mr. Winnington
told me I ran along like a pewet.’
His forehead was high and pale. His eyes
remarkably bright and penetrating. His
laugh was forced and uncouth, and his smile
not the most pleasing. His walk, for more
than half his life, was enfeebled by the gout,
which not only affected his feet, but attacked
his hands. Latterly his fingers were swelled
and deformed, having, as he would say, more
chalk-stones than joints in them, and adding
with a smile, that he must set up an inn, for
he could chalk a score with more ease and
rapidity than any man in England.... His
entrance into a room was in that style of
affected delicacy which fashion had made
almost natural—<i>chapeau bras</i> between his
hands as if he wished to compress it, or under
his arm, knees bent, and feet on tiptoe, as if
afraid of a wet floor. His summer dress of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</SPAN></span>
ceremony was usually a lavender suit, the
waistcoat embroidered with a little silver, or
of white silk worked in the tambour, partridge
silk stockings, gold buckles, ruffles, and lace
frills. In winter he wore powder. He disliked
hats, and in his grounds at Strawberry
would even in winter walk without one. The
same antipathy, Cole tells us, extended to a
greatcoat.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Hawkins’s<br/>
<i>Memoirs</i>.</div>
<p>“His figure was not merely tall, but more
properly long and slender to excess; his complexion,
and particularly his hands, of
a most unhealthy paleness. His eyes
were remarkably bright and penetrating, very
dark and lively: his voice was not strong, but
his tones were exceedingly pleasant, and if I
may say so, highly gentlemanly. I do not
remember his common gait; he always entered
a room in that style of affected delicacy which
fashion had then made almost natural—<i>chapeau
bras</i> between his hands, as if he
wished to compress it, or under his arm,
knees bent, and feet on tiptoe, as if afraid of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</SPAN></span>
a wet floor. His dress in visiting was most
usually, in summer, when I most saw him, a
lavender suit, the waistcoat embroidered with
a little silver, or of white silk worked in the
tambour, partridge silk stockings, and gold
buckles, ruffles and frill generally lace. I
remember, when a child, thinking him very
much under-dressed, if at any time, except
in mourning, he wore hemmed cambric. In
summer, no powder, but his wig combed
straight, and showing his very smooth, pale
forehead, and queued behind; in winter,
powder.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">IZAAC WALTON<br/> <small>1593-1683</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Zouch’s <i>Memoir<br/>
of Izaac Walton</i>.<br/>
*</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> features of the countenance often enable
us to form a judgment, not very fallible, of
the disposition of the mind. In
few portraits can this discovery
be more successfully pursued than in that of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</SPAN></span>
Izaac Walton. Lavater, the acute master
of physiognomy, would, I think, instantly
acknowledge in it the decisive traits of the
original,—mild complacency, forbearance,
mature consideration, calm activity, peace,
sound understanding, power of thought, discerning
attention, and secretly active friendship.
Happy in his unblemished integrity,
happy in the approbation and esteem of
others, he inwraps himself in his own virtue.
The exaltation of a good conscience eminently
shines forth in this venerable person—</p>
<p class="center">‘Candida semper<br/>
Gaudia, et in vultu curarum ignara voluptas.’”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN WILSON<br/> <small>1785-1854</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">de Quincey’s<br/>
<i>Life and<br/>
writings</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“William Wordsworth</span> it was who ...
did me the favour of making me known to
John Wilson.... A man in a sailor’s dress,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</SPAN></span>
manifestly in robust health, <i>fervidus juventa</i>,
and wearing upon his countenance a powerful
expression of ardour and
animated intelligence, mixed with
much good nature. ‘Mr. Wilson
of Elleray’—delivered as the formula of introduction,
in the deep tones of Mr. Wordsworth—at
once banished the momentary
surprise I felt on finding a stranger where I
had expected nobody, and substituted a surprise
of another kind; and there was no
wonder in his being at Allan Bank, Elleray
standing within nine miles; but (as usually
happens in such cases) I felt a shock of
surprise on seeing a person so little corresponding
to the one I had at first half-consciously
prefigured. Figure to yourself a
tall man about six feet high, within half an
inch or so, built with tolerable appearance of
strength; but at the date of my description
(that is, in the very spring-tide and bloom of
youth) wearing, for the predominant character
of his person, lightness and agility or (in our<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</SPAN></span>
Westmoreland phrase) <i>lishness</i>, he seemed
framed with an express view to gymnastic
exercises of every sort. Ask in one of your
public libraries for that little quarto edition
of the ‘<i>Rhetorical Works of Cicero</i>’ ...
and you will there see ... a reduced
whole-length of Cicero from the antique,
which in the mouth and chin, and indeed
generally, if I do not greatly forget, will give
you a lively representation of the contour
and expression of Professor Wilson’s face.
Of all this array of personal features, however,
I then saw nothing at all, my attention
being altogether occupied with Mr. Wilson’s
conversation and demeanour, which were in
the highest degree agreeable; the points
which chiefly struck me, being the humility
and gravity with which he spoke of himself,
his large expansion of heart, and a certain
air of noble frankness which overspread
everything he said; he seemed to have an
intense enjoyment of life; indeed, being
young, rich, healthy, and full of intellectual<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</SPAN></span>
activity, it could not be very wonderful that
he should feel happy and pleased with himself
and others; but it was something unusual
to find that so rare an assemblage of endowments
had communicated no tinge of arrogance
to his manner, or at all disturbed the
general temperance of his mind.”—1808.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Harriet Martineau’s<br/>
<i>Biographical<br/>
Sketches</i>.</div>
<p>“If the marvel of his eloquence is not
lessened, it is at least accounted for to those
who have seen him,—or even his
portrait. Such a presence is
rarely seen; and more than one
person has said that he reminded them of the
first man, Adam, so full was that large frame
of vitality, force, and sentience. His tread
seemed almost to shake the streets, his eye
almost saw through stone walls, and as for
his voice, there was no heart which could
stand before it. He swept away all hearts,
whithersoever he would. No less striking
was it to see him in a mood of repose, as
when he steered the old packet-boat that
used to pass between Bowness and Ambleside,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</SPAN></span>
before the steamers were put upon the
Lake. Sitting motionless with his hand
upon the rudder, in the presence of journey-men
and market-women, with his eyes
apparently looking beyond everything into
nothing, and his mouth closed under his
beard, as if he meant never to speak again,
he was quite as impressive and immortal an
image as he could have been to the students
of his class or the comrades of his jovial
hours.”</p>
<div class="sidenote">Forster’s <i>Life<br/>
of Dickens</i>.</div>
<p>“Walking up and down the hall of the
courts of law (which was full of advocates,
writers to the signet, clerks, and
idlers), was a tall, burly, handsome
man of eight and fifty, with a gait like
O’Connell’s, the bluest eye you can imagine,
and long hair—longer than mine—falling
down in a wild way under the broad brim of
his hat. He had on a surtout coat, a blue
checked shirt; the collar standing up, and
kept in its place with a wisp of black neckerchief;
no waistcoat; and a large pocket-handkerchief<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</SPAN></span>
thrust into his breast, which
was all broad and open. At his heels followed
a wiry, sharp-eyed, shaggy devil of a terrier,
dogging his steps as he went slashing up and
down, now with one man beside him, now
with another, and now quite alone, but always
at a fast, rolling pace, with his head in the
air, and his eyes as wide open as he could
get them. I guessed it was Wilson; and it
was. A bright, clear-complexioned, mountain-looking
fellow, he looks as though he had
just come down from the Highlands and had
never in his life taken pen in hand. But he
has had an attack of paralysis in his right
arm within this month. He winced when I
shook hands with him, and once or twice
when we were walking up and down slipped
as if he had stumbled on a piece of orange-peel.
He is a great fellow to look at, and to
talk to; and, if you could divest your mind
of the actual Scott, is just the figure you
would put in his place.”—1841.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">ELLEN WOOD<br/> <small>(<span class="smcap">Mrs. Henry Wood</span>)</small><br/> <small>1814-1887</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Argosy</i>,<br/>
1887.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“The</span> face was a pure oval of the most
refined description; that perfection of form
that is so rarely seen. A small,
straight, very delicate and refined
nose; teeth of dazzling whiteness, entire
to the day of her death; a perfect mouth,
revealing at once the sensitiveness and tender
sympathy of her nature, and the steadfastness
of her disposition. Her eyes were unusually
large, dark, and flashing, with a penetrating
gaze that seemed to read your inmost thoughts.
One felt that everything before her had to be
outspoken; for if you uttered only half your
thoughts, she would certainly divine the rest....
The head was well set upon the
shoulders; a head perfect in form, small except
where the intellectual faculties were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</SPAN></span>
developed. Her complexion was dazzling,
the most lovely bloom at all times contrasting
with the brilliant whiteness of her skin. In
hours of animation I have watched the delicate
flush come and go a hundred times in as
many minutes across her wonderful countenance;
and, to record the simile once used
by a friend in speaking to me of this peculiar
beauty, ‘chasing each other like the rosy
clouds of sunrise sweeping across a summer
sky.’ She had a very keen sense of wit and
humour. This strange beauty remained with
her to the end. Even in hours of illness and
suffering it never forsook her. Her face
never lost its look of youth. It was absolutely
without line or wrinkle or any mark
or sign of age. She kept to the last the
complexion and freshness of a young girl;
that strange radiancy which seemed the
reflection of some unseen glory. This was
so great that to the last we were unable to
realise that death could come to her.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH<br/> <small>1770-1850</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote">Leigh Hunt’s<br/>
<i>Autobiography</i>.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Mr. Wordsworth</span> ... had a dignified
manner, with a deep and roughish but not
unpleasing voice, and an exalted
mode of speaking. He had a
habit of keeping his left hand in the bosom
of his waistcoat; and in this attitude, except
when he turned round to take one of the
subjects of his criticism from the shelves
(for his contemporaries were there also), he
sat dealing forth his eloquent but hardly
catholic judgments.... Walter Scott said
that the eyes of Burns were the finest he
ever saw. I cannot say the same of Mr.
Wordsworth; that is, not in the sense of the
beautiful, or even of the profound. But certainly
I never beheld eyes which looked so inspired
and supernatural. They were like fires
half burning, half smouldering with a sort<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</SPAN></span>
of acrid fixture of regard, and seated at the
further end of two caverns. One might imagine
Ezekiel or Isaiah to have had such eyes.
The finest eyes, in every sense of the word,
which I have ever seen in a man’s head
(and I have seen many fine ones), are those
of Thomas Carlyle.”—1815.</p>
<div class="sidenote">S. C. Hall’s<br/>
<i>Memories of<br/>
Great Men</i>.</div>
<p>“His features were large, and not suddenly
expressive; they conveyed little idea of the
‘poetic fire’ usually associated with
brilliant imagination. His eyes
were mild and up-looking, his
mouth coarse rather than refined, his forehead
high rather than broad; but every
action seemed considerate, and every look
self-possessed, while his voice, low in tone,
had that persuasive eloquence which invariably
‘moves men.’”—1832.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Carlyle’s<br/>
<i>Reminiscences</i>.</div>
<p>“... He (Wordsworth) talked well in
his way; with veracity, easy brevity, and
force, as a wise tradesman would
of his tools and workshop,—and
as no unwise one could. His voice was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</SPAN></span>
good, frank, and sonorous, though practically
clear, distinct, and forcible, rather than
melodious; the tone of him business-like,
sedately confident; no discourtesy, yet no
anxiety about being courteous. A fine
wholesome rusticity, fresh as his mountain
breezes, sat well on the stalwart veteran, and
on all he said and did. You would have
said he was a usually taciturn man; glad to
unlock himself to audience sympathetic and
intelligent when such offered itself. His face
bore marks of much, not always peaceful,
meditation; the look of it not bland or
benevolent so much as close, impregnable,
and hard: a man <i>multa tacere loquive
paratus</i>, in a world where he had experienced
no lack of contradictions as he strode
along! The eyes were not very brilliant,
but they had a quiet clearness; there was
enough of brow, and well-shaped; rather too
much of cheek (‘horse face’ I have heard
satirists say); face of squarish shape, and
decidedly longish, as I think the head itself<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</SPAN></span>
was (its ‘length’ going horizontal); he was
large-boned, lean, but still firm-knit, tall, and
strong-looking when he stood, a right good
old steel-gray figure, with rustic simplicity and
dignity about him, and a vivacious strength
looking through him which might have suited
one of those old steel-gray markgrafs
whom Henry the Fowler set up to ward the
‘marches’ and do battle with the heathen
in a stalwart and judicious manner.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">SIR HENRY WOTTON<br/> <small>1568-1639</small></h2></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Reliquiæ<br/>
Wottoninæ</i></div>
<p><span class="smcap">“He</span> returned out of <i>Italy</i> in <i>England</i> about
the thirtieth year of his age, being then
noted by many, both for his
person and comportment; for
indeed he was of a choice shape, tall of
stature, and of a most persuasive behaviour;
which was so mixed with sweet Discourse
and Civilities, as gained him much love from
all Persons with whom he entered into an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</SPAN></span>
acquaintance. And whereas he was noted
in his Youth to have a sharp Wit, and apt to
jest; that, by Time, Travel, and Conversation,
was so polished, and made so useful, that his
company seemed to be one of the delights of
mankind.”—1598.</p>
<div class="sidenote">M. E. W.<br/>
*</div>
<p>“An eminently lovable face, albeit there
is something in the gravely-set mouth which
recalls the old Elizabethan expression
‘<i>My Dearest Dread</i>.’ The love
of those about him for this tender-worded
amourous poet, this gentle student, this
courtly gentleman, must have struggled hard
for the mastery with that reverence which
they must have felt for the learned author,
the friend of kings, the diplomatist. Something
of all this, I fancy, shows in the face
and figure of the man as Jansen has portrayed
him in the picture now hanging in the
Bodleian Library at Oxford. The high
square brow from which the hair has been
brushed up and back in short silky waves, the
strongly-marked eyebrows, the long straight<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</SPAN></span>
nose,—they all speak of good brains and an
iron will; while there is a suspicion of daintiness
in the close-cropped whiskers, trimly-pointed
beard, and flowing moustache. The
eyes are his finest feature, large and oval,
with the eyelid drooping somewhat at the
outer edge, which gives him a look of sadness.
So far from bending forward under
the orthodox student’s-stoop, Sir Henry is
tall, straight, and broad-shouldered, for he
comes of a fighting race, and there is more
of the soldier than of the scholar in his
appearance. The hands are strong, nervous,
and well shaped; the dress that of a sober-minded
gentleman. That word indeed sums
up his personal appearance as fully as it does
his character: the portrait of Sir Henry
Wotton is emphatically that of a gentleman.”</p>
<p class="center">THE END.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<blockquote>
<p class="center"><i>Printed by</i> R. & R. <span class="smcap">Clark</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p>
<p class="right"><i>S. & H.</i></p>
</blockquote>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">RICHARD BENTLEY & SON’S</h2></div>
<p class="ph3">LIST OF WORKS</p>
<p class="center"><small>FOR</small></p>
<p class="center"><i>OCTOBER & NOVEMBER</i></p>
<p class="center"><strong>1887.</strong></p>
<hr class="tiny" />
<p class="center">I</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND REMINISCENCES
OF W. P. FRITH, R.A.</b> In two vols., demy 8vo., with
two Portraits.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">II</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>WHAT I REMEMBER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Thomas Adolphus
Trollope</span>. In two vols., demy 8vo., with Portrait.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">III</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>MEMOIRS OF THE PRINCESSE HÉLÈNE
DE LIGNE.</b> From the French of <span class="smcap">Lucien Perey</span>, by
<span class="smcap">Laura Ensor</span>. In two vols., large crown 8vo., with
Portrait.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">IV</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>VERESTCHAGIN: PAINTER: SOLDIER:
TRAVELLER.</b> Autobiographical Sketches by Mons. and
Madame <span class="smcap">Verestchagin</span>, from the original by <span class="smcap">F. H. Peters</span>,
M.A. In two volumes, large crown 8vo., with upwards of
eighty Illustrations from sketches by the Author.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">V</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND REMINISCENCES
OF SIR DOUGLAS FORSYTH, K.C.S.I., C.B.</b> Edited
by his Daughter, <span class="smcap">Ethel Forsyth</span>. In demy 8vo., with
Portrait on Steel, and Map.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">VI</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>THE COURT AND REIGN OF FRANCIS
THE FIRST, KING OF FRANCE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Julia Pardoe</span>.
A New Edition in three volumes, demy 8vo., with Illustrations
on Steel, and voluminous Index.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">VII</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>THE LAST OF THE VALOIS: and the
Accession of Henry of Navarre, 1559-1610.</b> By <span class="smcap">Catherine
Charlotte Lady Jackson</span>. In two vols., large Crown 8vo.,
with Portraits on Steel. 24s.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">VIII</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>A HOLIDAY ON THE ROAD.</b> An Artist’s
Wanderings in Kent, Sussex, and Surrey. By <span class="smcap">James John
Hissey</span>. In demy 8vo., with numerous Illustrations from
Sketches by the Author, and engraved upon wood by <span class="smcap">George
Pearson</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">IX</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>WILD LIFE AND ADVENTURE IN THE
AUSTRALIAN BUSH.</b> By <span class="smcap">Arthur Nicols</span>, F.G.S.,
F.R.G.S., Author of “Zoological Notes,” “Natural History of
the Carnivora,” etc. In two vols., large crown 8vo., with
eight Illustrations from Sketches by <span class="smcap">Mr. John Nettleship</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">X</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>MY CONSULATE IN SAMOA.</b> With Personal
Experiences of King Malietoa Laupepa, His Country, and His
Men. By <span class="smcap">William B. Churchward</span>. In demy 8vo. 15s.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">XI</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>LETTERS FROM CRETE.</b> Written during the
Spring of 1886. By <span class="smcap">Charles Edwardes</span>. In demy 8vo. 15s.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">XII</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>THE ENGLISH OCCUPATION OF TANGIERS,
1663-1684.</b> Being the first volume of “The History of the
Second Queen’s Royal Regiment (now the Queen’s Royal West
Surrey Regiment).” By Lieut.-Colonel <span class="smcap">John Davis</span>, F.S.A.,
Author of “Historical Records of the Second Royal Surrey
Militia.” In royal 8vo., with Maps, Plans, and numerous
Illustrations. Vol. I. 24s.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center"><i>The Work is expected to be completed in four volumes, royal 8vo.</i></p>
<p class="center">XIII</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>LORD CARTERET</b>: a Political Biography. By
<span class="smcap">Archibald Ballantyne</span>. In demy 8vo. 16s.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">XIV</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>WORD PORTRAITS of FAMOUS WRITERS.</b>
Edited by <span class="smcap">Mabel E. Wotton</span>. In large Crown 8vo.</p>
</blockquote>
<p class="center">XV</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hangingindent"><b>A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLDEN TIME.</b>
<span class="smcap">François de Scépeaux, Sire de Vieilleville</span>, 1509-1571.
From the French of Madame C. Coignet, by <span class="smcap">C. B. Pitman</span>.
In two vols., crown 8vo. 21s.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr class="tb" />
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London: Richard Bentley & Son, New Burlington St.</span></p>
<p class="center">Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2 class="nobreak">FOOTNOTES:</h2></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></SPAN> All wool.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></SPAN></p>
<p>“Prively a <i>penner</i> gan he borwe,<br/>
And in a lettre wrote he all his sorwe!”</p>
<p class="indent"><i>Marchant’s Tale</i>, l. 9753.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></SPAN> A puppet.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></SPAN> Shy, reserved.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></SPAN> <i>Q. Quot feet I am high? Resp. of middle stature.</i></p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></SPAN> Drawn from Pinkerton, Miss Hawkins, Coles MSS. and his
letters.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p> </p>
<div class="transnote">
<p class="ph3">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:</p>
<p>The cover image for this eBook has been created by the transcriber using the original cover as the background and is thus entered into the public domain.</p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
<p>Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication has been preserved.</p>
<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been preserved.</p>
<p>One unpaired double quotation mark could not be corrected.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full" />
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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