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broader interest of the most attractive history in the world to an Englishman, the history of his own country, pervades the whole. The complete sense of solitude experienced by a man alone in a crowd, has often been commented on by the moralist and the poet. The phrase of crowded loneliness 'the eloquent expression that faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love,' are familiar as proverbs to our ears; and yet how completely for the time a collection of portraits appears to reverse these judgments. The gallery of pictures teems with living interest. The memories brought back to our minds are as full of pleasure as the most brilliant converse. We feel as if better acquainted with those we have so often read of, as their faces live over again for us, bright with intelligence, or beaming with beauty.

This second year's Exhibition of National Portraits, at South Kensington, is, chronologically speaking, a continuation of that of the year 1866. Both exhibitions were formed on the same plan, and took their rise from the admirable suggestions of the Earl of Derby, which were prefixed to the catalogues of both collections. The portrait exhibition last year extended in date, from what may fairly be termed the archaic period of portraiture, as far as the Revolution of 1688. The present collection takes up the story from that time, and carries the roll of history down to the commencement of the present century. The extreme interest possessed by the collection of this year is sufficiently indicated by the dates over which it extends. True, the period illustrated by last year's exhibition was fertile in great men. The Reformation, the stirring days of Elizabeth, the Civil War, the Commonwealth, suggest at once many wellknown names. The genius of Holbein and the skill of Vandyck were often employed in perpetuating the portraits of many of the worthies of their respective eras. But even on the ground of art, the present collection will well vie with that of last year, while the personal and historic interest alike are far deeper. In one point, to every Englishman, it has greatly the advantage; instead of the noblest works being by the hands of foreigners, as they were in the collection of 1866, they are by our own countrymen. Sir Peter Lely, Sir John Medina, and Michael Dahl, scarcely rise above mediocrity, while Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Hogarth well sustain the repute of their native island. And with every respect to the great men of earlier ages, an equal tribute at least is due to those mighty ones who were none the less heroic because they wore broadcloth instead of armour, whose lot was cast among early parliamentary contests instead of the days of the Civil War. Some, even, who served in both capacities are commemorated here. The chief

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events of their lives belong rather to the troubled times of the revolution, than to the peaceful days of Anne and her Hanoverian successors. Thus, a carefully painted portrait, by Wissing, preserves to us the remembrance of the first Earl of Warrington, who, as Lord Delamere, was tried before Jeffreys on the charge of being connected with Monmouth's insurrection; and to be tried before Jeffreys was almost equivalent to being ordered for execution. But, as a member of the House of Lords, Delamere had the privilege of being tried before his peers, and such a court was not to be overawed like an ordinary jury. He was acquitted though every effort was made by the king, James II. to procure his execution. Not long after, the whirligig of time brought his revenges. Lord Delamere was one of the three peers deputed, on the 17th December, 1688, to bear to the same monarch, who had strained his prerogative to the uttermost to obtain his condemnation, the request that he would withdraw from London. The request, however courteously delivered, was equivalent to a command; and few hours elapsed after receiving it before James II. was on his road to Rochester, to fly thence from his country for ever. Close by is a very different character-Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee. The features give no idea of cruelty: the elegant face represents rather the young' Bonnie Dundee,' than the execrated persecutor of later days. The energy Claverhouse displayed in maintaining the cause of James II. in Scotland, and his death on the field of Killiekrankie have invested his character with an undeserved halo of romance among that large class of persons who think 'there is no excess of wickedness for which courage and ability 'do not atone.' Near hangs the portrait of one of those free lances whom the Thirty Years' War brought into so much prominence: a man grown when Dundee was born, the Duke of Schomberg; a successful general in many services-in those of Sweden, of France, and William of Orange. He had attained, by distinguished merit, the dignity of a Marshal of France; but when there came to be a choice between retaining that high station, or compromising his principles, he resigned at once all his honours and dignities, and firmly adhered to the Protestant cause. When an old man, he accompanied William III. to this country, and died at last in the field of battle, full of years, full of honours, at the crowning victory of the Boyne. This portrait, by Wissing, and that of one of Schomberg's opponents, James Fitzjames, Duke of Berwick, by N. Cassana, are both admirable specimens of a good technical style of painting, which, though far inferior to the works of Rubens or Vandyck, are among the most interesting examples of the last foreign followers of the old masters in the present exhibi

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tion. The handsome dashing face of the nephew of Marlborough reminds us of the fierce struggles of the period, and of the manner in which generals and soldiers alike found themselves frequently combating their natural allies and their own kinsfolk; but a moment's comparison of his face with that of Schomberg will show on which side weight of character and earnestness preponderated. Close by, a picture of inferior merit deserves our attention from the person represented. Sir Cloudesley Shovel's portrait, by Martin Dahl, gives well the determined character of the man. Near, is a man better known still in our naval history. The firm, rough face of Admiral Benbow looks out on this age of iron-clads with a rough and ready vigour. Few were the good acts of James II., but among the few was the care he bestowed on the navy of England. Benbow was one of those whose merits were recognised by, or forced themselves on the monarch. The story of the salted Saracen's heads may or may not be true; but there can be little doubt that the exploits of Benbow, whether against the Moslem or the French, laid the foundation of that popular appreciation which found form in the ballad declaring that

When grown a man, I soon began

To quit each boyish notion;
With old Benbow I swore to go,
And tempt the roaring ocean.'

Not useless in their generation were such officers: examples of the highest type of sailorhood: men ready for all weathers, ready for all wars.

The names which we have just mentioned are commemorated each only in a single picture. The greater interest which attached to the chief actor in the revolution has given us many portraits of him. Thus, we have William III. as a boy, by Cornelius Jansen; as a lad, early clad in armour when most of his age in these days would now be only thinking of boating or cricket; and we hope, though Waagen is silent on the point, we may include the charming picture No. 18 as a genuine portrait. The greater skill of the most powerful renderer of individuality among the Flemish painters-of Rembrandt-has here preserved for us the lovely features of a child, bright with dawning intelligence, yet calm and pensive. The sweet boyish face, the dark grey eyes, the little dimple on the chin, the light wavy brown hair, set off by the deep tones of the cap and scarlet feather, compose a most engaging picture. All is delicate, tender, refined. A few steps onward we see the same face, now grave and marked with thought, weighted with the cares of a kingdom, as the

Prince, firm and self-possessed, looks out from the windows of his state coach during his ceremonial progress into London. The great Flemish horses solemnly step on-the attendants, in scarlet uniforms, wait their master's pleasure. Beyond, in the distance, by a pardonable anachronism, the completed dome of St. Paul's announces the importance of the capital. The face of the Prince looks calmly from the canvas. Recepi non rapui seems the burden of his thought. More characteristic still, perhaps, is the little picture by Wyke-the_resolute mien, the drawn sword, denote the man at once; the grey horse prances and curvets under the firm hand; behind are trumpeters and troopers, and the rush of battle. Such pictures enable us to enter into the characters of the great men of past years. Such portraits more than illustrate, they realise history.

Another general, greater perhaps in military skill, but how immeasurably inferior in all greatness of character will be found represented close by. The great Duke of Marlborough is given in two portraits. The first by Vanloo, a carefully painted picture, represents the hero of Blenheim, with the smooth handsome face which won him the favour of the first Duchess of Cleveland; No. 87, though by the weaker hand of Kneller, possesses more the character of the man. Clad in armour, the blue ribbon crossing his breast, baton in hand, the portrait, though heavy in tone, is a good specimen of what one may call 'state' portrait painting. The general is looking at the plan of the first siege at which he became distinguished; but it is to be understood as representing him at a considerably later date in life. Lines of thought mark the face; the habit of command, the love of power, and alas! a baser feeling, the love of money, have settled on and fixed those stern features. He looks, as he clenches his baton, every inch the general; able to plan the intricate campaign, not above what a greater leader still, considered his first duty-thinking of the shoes of his soldiers. It is the face of a man who was long England's bulwark, the greatest general England ever produced, till his glory as a military man was at least equalled, while his character in every respect was far surpassed, by the fame of Wellington. For a moment we must break through our chronological survey of the gallery to mention the portrait of the Countess of Mornington, the mother of so many heroes (No. 823). Her sons, the Duke of Wellington, the Marquis Wellesley, Baron Cowley, and the third Earl of Mornington, form a group (No. 751-4) unequalled in interest as the members of one family. Of course, the celebrated Duchess is near her Lord-'the great Sarah'-alas, also, that wicked woman of Marlborough, as the distressed Vanbrugh found,-the 'Atossa' of Pope's Essay.

'Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store,
Or wanders, Heaven directed, to the poor.'

Her quick ready face shines out from many canvasses by Kneller. You see her playing at cards, looking at her hand as if she approved it, with her bright look and her long hair; at last older, but still handsome, in a black dress, with Blenheim as the characteristic background.

The portrait of a very different, though a contemporary general, is close by. The dashing Earl of Peterborough, whose great ability was overshadowed by the wildest eccentricity, looks more like a gallant of the time of Charles II., than a soldier who served under Queen Anne. His exploits in Spain, and the now almost forgotten British possession of Tangier, were the wonder of his time. We may apply the well-known lines

'His schemes of war were sudden, unforeseen,
Inexplicable both to friend and foe;

And most, his fortune and success were seen
With means the most inadequate and low;
Most master of himself and least encumbered

When over-matched, entangled, and outnumbered.'

A curious mark of the celebrity which he reached is recorded in the name Peterborough Tower, given to the loftiest stronghold in that last-named transitory possession of ours on the North Coast of Africa, which in the curious drawing by Hollar, now in the British Museum, may be seen domineering over the rest of the fortress.

Of our Royal Family there are several portraits, which it will be more convenient to discuss at once, without paying regard to the endeavour to preserve a contemporary series, which has somewhat interfered with the arrangement of the gallery. The most characteristic portrait of Queen Anne is that by E. Lilly, a full length in it, perhaps, alone of all the portraits of her, a likeness to her father, James II., may be traced in the complexion and heavy mouth. A picture of George I. gives a higher idea of him, as a man, than either history or other portraits have given. As he was painted whilst Elector of Brunswick, let us hope that flattery had not, endeavoured to do so much for him as in Kneller's picture (205), in which the monarch is represented with all the pomp of majesty. Somehow, the Elector looks more engaging, as perhaps he was happier, than the king. George II. was also painted by Kneller, and the picture is a courtly one; but the monarch is not free from that appearance of anxiety to look his best which always seems to distinguish his portraits.

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