including a portrait by Mr R. S. Lauder, (the president of this
new society,) which is perhaps the best, although one of the most
unpretending, of the seven pictures he exhibits. We do not discern
any very great merit in two carefully painted illustrations of
Quentin Durward. We should like to know on what authority Mr Lauder
makes a tall, large-limbed man of Louis XI., and how he intends to
get him and the raw-boned Scot through the door in No. 166, without
a most unkingly deviation from the perpendicular. There is here a
fault of perspective. And Mr Lauder should beware of repetition.
We remember the lady behind the tapestry in No. 45, in at least
a dozen of his pictures. This, however, is the best of the pair,
and there is good painting in it. His most important picture this
year is that of _Christ appearing to two of his Disciples on the
way to Emmaus_. This is certainly a fine work, although there is
much opposition of opinion respecting it. There is undoubtedly a
fine sentiment in the colouring, which is peculiarly applicable to
the subject. Mr M'Ian is in great force here, with no less than
ten pictures. We like this artist for the character and energy he
infuses into his productions. His most attractive picture this
year is No. 55, _Here's his health in Water!_ thus explained--"A
Highland gentleman of 1715, in Carlisle prison, the day previous to
his execution, receiving the last visit of his mother, wife, and
children, and instilling into his son--the future Highland gentleman
of 1745--the principles of loyalty." The face of the condemned
Highlander is full of vigour and determination, as is also that of
his mother, a resolute old lady, who seems to confirm his precepts
to her grandchild. The countenances of the sorrowing wife and of
the little girl, whose attention is distracted by the opening of
the prison door, are natural and pleasing. The boy, a sturdy scion
of the old stock, drinks King James's health out of the prison-mug
of water. We will not omit to praise Mrs M'Ian's very well-painted
picture of _Captivity and Liberty_--gipsies in prison, with swallows
twittering in the loophole that affords them light. There is a
nice feeling about this picture, which includes a handsome gipsy
face; it is careful in its details, and very effective in point of
chiaroscuro. No. 251, _A Jealous Man, disguised as a Priest, hears
the confession of his Wife_, is a subject (from the _Decameron_)
of which more might have been made than there has been by Mr D. W.
Deane. The countenances lack decided expression. Several artists
have this year painted scenes from the _Tempest_, and Mr A. Fussell
is one of the number. It were to be wished he had abstained. His
picture of _Caliban, Ariel, and his fellows_, is very bad indeed.
He should be less ambitious in his subjects, or at least less
fantastical in their treatment. It is unintelligible to us how
this picture illustrates the passage quoted. Nos. 264-5 are Mr H.
Barraud's pictures:--_Lord have mercy upon us_, and _We praise
thee, O God!_ the engravings of which have for some time past been
in every shop-window. We are really at a loss to comprehend the
_engouement_ for these pictures, which seem to us as deficient in
real sentiment as they are feeble in execution. They are pretty
enough, certainly, but that is all the praise we are disposed to
accord them. There is no great beauty in the faces; and one of the
boys (on the spectator's right hand) is a mere lout, without any
expression whatever. The Messrs Barraud have a great many pictures
in this exhibition--amongst others, No. 199, _The Curfew_, their
joint production, which is pretty, but in respect to which it
strikes us that they have read Gray's poem wrong, for the light
in their picture is not that of parting day, but of approaching
sunset. Mr Rayner's _Beauchamp Chapel, Warwick_, is a good picture;
Mr Niemann's _Kenilworth from the Tilt-yard_, and _Landscape_, No.
72, also deserve praise; Mr Dighton is very effective in some of
his landscapes and studies. Upon the whole, this young exhibition
promises well.
Driven to our utmost limits, we must conclude, without further
mention than we have already here and there made of the Society of
British Artists in Suffolk Street; and we do so with the less regret
because that gallery contains but a small proportion of pictures
of merit. Mr Anthony contributes a very large number of his odd
paintings, some of which are rather effective at a distance; but it
is not a style we admire. Finally, we have with pleasure noticed,
during our many rambles through the different galleries, that the
public not only visit but buy; and we trust that the year 1850 will
prove profitable and satisfactory to British artists, in the same
proportion that it undoubtedly is creditable to their industry,
and, upon the whole, highly honourable to their talents. One word
more we will say at parting. In this article we have written down
opinions, formed neither hastily nor partially, of whose soundness,
although critics will always differ, we venture to feel pretty
confident. We have applied ourselves to point out merits rather
than defects, and to distribute praise in preference to blame; but
we should have failed in our duty to ourselves and the public, had
we altogether abstained from the latter. We well know, however, the
many difficulties and discouragements that beset the path of the
painter. And it would be matter for sincere regret to us, if, in the
freedom of our remarks, we had unwittingly hurt the feelings of any
man who is honestly and earnestly striving in the pursuit of a very
difficult art--although his success may as yet be incommensurate
with his industry and zeal.
THE YEAR OF SORROW.--IRELAND--1849.
SPRING SONG.
Once more, through God's high will and grace,
Of Hours that each its task fulfils,
Heart-healing Spring resumes its place;--
The valley throngs and scales the hills,
In vain. From earth's deep heart o'ercharged,
The exulting life runs o'er in flowers;--
The slave unfed is unenlarged:
In darkness sleep a nation's powers.
Who knows not Spring? Who doubts, when blows
Her breath, that Spring is come indeed?
The swallow doubts not; nor the rose
That stirs, but wakes not, nor the weed.
I feel her near, but see her not,
For those with pain-uplifted eyes
Fall back repulsed; and vapours blot
The vision of the earth and skies.
I see her not; I feel her near,
As, charioted in mildest airs,
She sails through yon empyreal sphere,
And in her arms and bosom bears
That urn of flowers and lustral dews,
Whose sacred balm, o'er all things shed,
Revives the weak, the old renews,
And crowns with votive wreaths the dead.
Once more the cuckoo's call I hear;
I know, in many a glen profound,
The earliest violets of the year
Rise up like water from the ground.
The thorn I know once more is white;
And, far down many a forest dale,
The anemones in dubious light
Are trembling like a bridal veil.
By streams released that singing flow
From craggy shelf through sylvan glades,
The pale narcissus, well I know,
Smiles hour by hour on greener shades.
The honeyed cowslip tufts once more
The golden slopes;--with gradual ray
The primrose stars the rock, and o'er
The wood-path strews its milky way.
--From ruined huts and holes come forth
Old men, and look upon the sky!
The Power Divine is on the earth:--
Give thanks to God before ye die!
And ye, O children worn and weak,
Who care no more with flowers to play,
Lean on the grass your cold, thin cheek,
And those slight hands, and whispering, say,
"Stern Mother of a race unblest--
In promise kindly, cold in deed;
Take back, O Earth, into thy breast,
The children whom thou wilt not feed."
IRELAND--1849.
AUTUMNAL DIRGE.
Then die, thou Year--thy work is done:
The work ill done is done at last.
Far off, beyond that sinking sun,
Which sets in blood, I hear the blast
That sings thy dirge, and says--"Ascend,
And answer make amid thy peers,
(Since all things here must have an end,)
Thou latest of the famine years!"
I join that voice. No joy have I
In all thy purple and thy gold,
Nor in the nine-fold harmony
From forest on to forest rolled:
Nor in that stormy western fire,
Which burns on ocean's gloomy bed,
And hurls, as from a funeral pyre,
A glare that strikes the mountain's head;
And writes on low-hung clouds its lines
Of cyphered flame, with hurrying hand;
And flings amid the topmost pines
That crown the steep, a burning brand.
Make answer, Year, for all they dead,
Who found not rest in hallowed earth,
The widowed wife, the father fled,
The babe age-stricken from his birth.
Make answer, Year, for virtue lost;
For Faith, that vanquished fraud and force,
Now waning like a noontide ghost;
Affections poisoned at their source:
The labourer spurned his lying spade;
The yeoman spurned his useless plough;
The pauper spurned the unwholesome aid,
Obtruded once, exhausted now.
The weaver wove till all was dark,
And, long ere morning, bent and bowed
Above his work with fingers stark;
And made, nor knew he made, a shroud.
The roof-trees fall of hut and hall,
I hear them fall, and falling cry--
"One fate for each, one fate for all;
So wills the Law that willed a lie."
Dread power of Man! what spread the waste
In circles, hour by hour more wide,
And would not let the past be past?--
The Law that promised much, and lied.
Dread power of God! whom mortal years
Nor touch, nor tempt; who sitt'st sublime
In night of night,--O bid thy spheres
Resound at last a funeral chime.
Call up, at last, the afflicted Race
Whom Man not God abolished. Sore,
For centuries, their strife: the place
That knew them once shall know no more.
IRELAND--1849.
WINTER DIRGE.
Fall, Snow, and cease not! Flake by flake
The decent winding-sheet compose:
Thy task is just and pious; make
An end of blasphemies and woes.
Fall flake by flake: by thee alone,
Last friend, the sleeping draught is given:
Kind nurse, by thee the couch is strewn,
The couch whose covering is from heaven.
Descend and clasp the mountain's crest;
Possess wide plain and valley deep:--
This night, in thy maternal breast
Forsaken myriads die in sleep.
Lo! from the starry Temple gates
Death rides, and bears the flag of peace:
The combatants he separates;
He bids the wrath of ages cease.
Descend, benignant Power! But O,
Ye torrents, shake no more the vale;
Dark streams, in silence seaward flow;
Thou rising storm, remit thy wail.
Shake not, to-night, the cliffs of Moher,
Or Brandon's base, rough sea! Thou Isle,
The Rite proceeds:--from shore to shore
Hold in thy gathered breath the while.
Fall, snow! in stillness fall, like dew
On temple roof, and cedar's fan;
And mould thyself on pine and yew,
And on the awful face of man.
Without a sound, without a stir,
In streets and wolds, on rock and mound,
O omnipresent comforter,
By thee, this night, the lost are found.
On quaking moor, and mountain moss,
With eyes upstaring at the sky,
And arms extended like a cross,
The long-expectant sufferers lie.
Bend o'er them, white-robed Acolyte!
Put forth thine hand from cloud and mist,
And minister the last sad rite,
Where altar there is none, nor priest.
Touch thou the gates of soul and sense:
Touch darkening eyes and dying ears;
Touch stiffening hand and feet, and thence
Remove the trace of sin and tears.
And ere thou seal those filmed eyes,
Into God's urn thy fingers dip,
And lay, 'mid eucharistic sighs,
The sacred wafer on the lip.
This night the Absolver issues forth:
This night the Eternal Victim bleeds--
O winds and woods--O heaven and earth!
Be still this night. The Rite proceeds.
LONDON AND EDINBURGH CHESS MATCH.
If we pique ourselves on anything, it is on our invincible
good-nature. We are as slow to be roused as a brown bear in the
midst of its winter sleep; and, if we were let alone, we very much
doubt whether, by any conceivable exertion, we could work ourselves
into a downright passion. But, somehow or other, it constantly
happens that people of a less tranquil mood step in to deprive
us of the enjoyment of our untroubled repose. At one time some
worthy fellow entreats us to take up the public cudgel and belabour
a blatant Economist. At another, we are pathetically besought
to administer due castigation to some literary sinner who has
transgressed the first principles of decency, morality, and taste.
One friend implores us, with tears in his eyes, to take up the case
of the oppressed and injured washerwomen: a second puts a tomahawk
into our hand, and benevolently suggests the severment of the skull
of a charlatan: a third writes to us regarding a rowing match, in
which he opines gross injustice has been done by the umpire to
the Buffs, and he fervently prays for our powerful assistance in
vindicating the honour of the Blues.
In all national questions, it seems to be expected that we are to
act with the devotion of a knight-errant. Whenever Scotland is
assailed, the general impression is that we are bound to stand
forth, and incontinently give battle to the enemy: and we believe
it will be admitted that we have done so before now with no
inconsiderable effect. It so happens that, at the present juncture,
several of our most esteemed compatriots, feeling themselves deeply
aggrieved by the _outrecuidance_ of the Southron, have laid the
story of their wrongs before us; and, after a deliberate review of
the whole circumstances of the case, we feel ourselves compelled to
come forward in behalf of our countrymen. Let no man venture to say
that Chess is an ignoble subject. It is, if properly considered, as
recondite a science as mathematics. Kings, conquerors, and sages
have not thought it beneath them to ponder over the chequered board;
and it may be that the noble game has contributed in no light degree
to the success of their most triumphant efforts. We know of no
absorption more complete than that which possesses the mind of a
true votary of chess. Watch him as he is contemplating his moves,
and his countenance is a perfect study for the physiognomist. He
may not perhaps be the most agreeable of companions, but we cannot
expect loquacity from men of high intellect whilst engaged in
deepest rumination.
Let us, however, dispense as much as possible with preface, and
come to the actual offence which has induced us to take up our
pen in vindication of the national honour. Our attention has been
called to what is undoubtedly a departure from the fair and liberal
spirit which ought to actuate antagonists--in short, by an attempt
to deprive the Edinburgh Chess Club of laurels which were fairly
and honourably won. It is all very well for men who have been
beaten to apply salves to their wounded vanity, and to persuade
themselves that they have failed rather through misfortune than
from any deficiency of skill. Napoleon used to amuse himself at
St Helena by demonstrating that he _ought_ to have won the battle
of Waterloo--a position in which, we doubt not, Count Montholon
and General Bertrand entirely concurred, though, after a certain
time, they must have been tolerably sick of the subject. But these
affirmations of the Emperor did not serve the purpose of reinstating
him on the throne of France; and, in like manner, opine that the
writers who, at this time of day, are, applying themselves to the
task of persuading the public that the great match at chess between
Edinburgh and London, which was won by Edinburgh in 1828, ought to
have terminated otherwise, are losing their labour, and, moreover,
placing themselves in a very ridiculous position.
We like to see a man take a beating in good part. The Southron
may come here and vanquish us at cricket, and we shall submit to
be bowled or caught out with the utmost equanimity--no member of
the Grange Club will retire to the cloister in consequence. He may
extinguish our renown at rackets, or even soar considerably above
our mark in the altitude of the flying-leap. We shall not cavil at
the result, should some Southron Robin Hood defeat the Queen's Body
Guard in the toxophilite competition which is about to take place in
this city. We shall not be jealous if the stranger beats us; and if,
in return, we should extinguish him utterly at golf or throwing the
hammer, we promise to crow as mildly as the plenitude of our lungs
will permit. But we have no idea of pushing complaisance to such an
extraordinary point, as to permit our real victories to be perverted
and annulled at the hands of a defeated adversary. Hector _might_
have beaten Achilles, but he did not; and the mere fact of a remote
possibility having once existed, will not justify us in giving the
lie to Homer. We make every allowance for testiness; still we cannot
help thinking it extraordinary that those feelings of mortification,
which might perhaps have been excusable in the defeated party at
the moment of the antagonist's triumph, should manifest themselves
as strongly as ever nearly a quarter of a century after the
contest--and that, too, in persons who took no actual share in it,
and are comparatively strangers to the views and opinions of those
really concerned.
English chess-players have the command of all the chess-periodicals,
which emanate chiefly, if not exclusively, from the London press;
and which have, for many years back, been made the vehicles of
repeated observations intended to depreciate the triumph of
Scotland. Of late these have been even more than usually frequent.
And within the last year, the _Quarterly Review_, which, like the
trunk of an elephant, is as ready to pick up a pin as to uproot a
tree, has opened its pages for remarks on the chess match, conceived
in no very handsome spirit towards the Scotch champions. This we
do not consider to be justifiable conduct on the part of our bulky
contemporary. In the accomplished editor--himself a Scot--it is
in direct antagonism to the principles of Richie, the servitor of
Nigel, who made so vigorous a stand for the credit of the Water of
Leith; and we regret to observe so palpable a falling off from the
fervid patriotism of the Moniplies. The uniform burden of the song
is, that the event of the match was determined by an accident,--or
by what they reckon as nearly equivalent to an accident--an
oversight upon the part of the London Club, to which the best of
players are liable, and which in this instance is said to have been
rather ungenerously taken advantage of by Edinburgh. The Scottish
players have hitherto said very little upon the subject, contenting
themselves with a short but perfectly satisfactory answer, made
immediately after the termination of the match, to some observations
of Mr Lewis, in which, while they conclusively disposed of his views
and inferences, they at the same time stated, that they were "far
from begrudging to the London Club the usual consolation of a beaten
adversary--of going back upon a game, and showing that, if they had
played otherwise at a particular point, they could have won the
game." The constant reiteration of the English statement, however,
is calculated to produce an erroneous impression in the minds of
those not acquainted with the merits of the question.
The London and Edinburgh chess match, which was played by
correspondence, was begun in the year 1824. It was the result of a
challenge given by the Edinburgh Club, which was then only in its
infancy. The terms agreed on were, that the match should consist
of three won games; and that, in case of any game being drawn, a
new one, begun by the same opener, should take its place. The match
commenced on 23d April 1824. Two games were opened simultaneously.
The first game was opened by the Edinburgh Club; and in sending
their first answering move, the London Club also sent the first move
of the second game. The first game, which consisted of 35 moves,
was, on 14th December 1824, declared to be drawn. The second, which
consisted of 52 moves, was resigned by the London Club on 23d
February 1825. The third game--opened by the Edinburgh Club in place
of the first game, which had been drawn--was begun on 20th December
1824; it consisted of 99 moves, and was drawn on 18th March 1828.
The fourth game, begun by the Edinburgh Club, on 26th February 1825,
was resigned by them on 15th September 1826, at the 55th move. The
fifth game, begun by the Edinburgh Club, on 6th October 1826, was
resigned by the London Club on 31st July 1828, at the 60th move--and
this determined the match in favour of Edinburgh.
The simple statement of these details is sufficient altogether to
exclude the idea that the result of the match was a mere accident,
where manifestly inferior players profited by the unfortunate
blunder of their superior antagonists. Though the Edinburgh Club
had lost, instead of gaining, two out of the three games, it would
still have been in vain to maintain that the play in the match
showed them to be unquestionably inferior. The contest was a long
and severe one. When the fifth and deciding game was proceeding,
each party had gained one game, and there had been two drawn games,
both of which were keenly disputed, without the least advantage in
favour of London at any point of either; while, on the other hand,
in the third game, Edinburgh had obtained an advantage, though
not sufficient to enable them to checkmate their adversaries. It
has never been pretended, by the most unscrupulous partisan of
England, that the winning of the fifth game was ascribable to an
oversight. On the contrary, their chess writers have, with most
becoming fairness and candour, always referred to it as an instance
of admirable play on the part of Edinburgh; and members of the
London committee, who shortly after happened to visit Edinburgh,
acknowledged that their committee were quite unable to discover the
object of particular moves, the effect of which had been previously
calculated, and reduced to demonstration by the Edinburgh players.
Is there, in all this, such evidence of overwhelming superiority on
the part of the English players, that their losing the match _must_
have been an accident?
But it is time to inquire a little more minutely into the so-called
blunder, which the Englishmen say was the cause of their defeat. And
here it is but fair to give their statement in their own words. The
_Quarterly_ reviewer says--
"Perhaps the most remarkable instance on record of a strict
enforcement of the tenor of chess law occurred in the celebrated
match, by correspondence, between the London and Edinburgh
Clubs. At the 27th move of the second game, the London Club
threw a rook away. How they did so, Mr Lewis explains in the
following words:--'The 26th, 27th, and 28th moves were sent on
the same day to the Edinburgh Club. This was done to save time.
It so happened that the secretary, whose duty it was to write
the letters, had an engagement which compelled him to leave the
Club two hours earlier than usual--the letter was therefore
posted at three instead of five o'clock. In the mean time, one
of the members discovered that the 2d move (the 27th) had not
been sufficiently examined.[10] An application was immediately
made at the Post-office for the letter, which was refused. In
consequence, a second letter was transmitted by the same post to
the Edinburgh Club, retracting the 2d and 3d moves, and abiding
only by the first. The Edinburgh Club, in answer, gave it as
their decided opinion that the London Club were bound by their
letter, and that no move could be retracted: they therefore
insisted on the moves being played. The London Club conceded the
point, though they differed in opinion.'
"We cannot but think, under all the circumstances, the Edinburgh
Club were to blame. What rendered the mishap more vexatious to
the Londoners was, that whereas they had a won game before, they
now barely lost it, and thereby the match, which the winning
of this game would have decided in their favour. There can be
little doubt that the London Club (then comprising Messrs Lewis,
Fraser, and Cochrane) was the strongest of the two. On the part
of Edinburgh, we believe the lion's share of the work fell to
the late Mr Donaldson."
[10] It is of importance to keep in view that it never was asserted
that the _first_ move, the 26th, had not been sufficiently examined;
and it will be immediately seen that that move was adhered to, no
attempt being made to recall it. The truth is, that the London Club
could not have played a better move than their 27th. Their mistake,
as was first discovered by the Edinburgh Club, was in the 26th move,
the one adhered to _after examination_.
In the remarks on the London and Amsterdam match, in Mr Staunton's
periodical, (the _Chess-Player's Chronicle_,) for February 1850,
there is the following passage:--
"If the relative skill of the competitors engaged on each side
were to be the gauge by which to estimate the probable result of
a contest like this, it would have been easy to predict to which
party victory would incline; and we should have wondered at the
daring gallantry that prompted the little band of Hollanders to
challenge the leviathans of London. Experience, however, has
shown that, in a match of chess by correspondence, the battle
is not always to the strong, and that foresight and profound
calculation are of infinitely less account, when the men may be
moved experimentally, than they are in ordinary chess, where
conclusions must be tried by the head, and not by the hand. Of
this, indeed, the archives of the London Club afford a memorable
instance. In March 1824, a proposal was made to this Club by the
Club at Edinburgh, to play a match at chess by correspondence
for a silver cup; the match to consist of three games,
(irrespective of drawn games;) two games to be played together,
and the winner of the first game to have the move in the third.
The London Club at this period was in the pride and plenitude
of its strength, and the committee appointed to conduct the
match comprised every name of note among the chess-players of
the metropolis. The Edinburgh Chess-Club, on the other hand, was
composed of amateurs comparatively unknown and inexperienced,
and possessed one player only--the late Mr Donaldson--capable of
making anything like a stand 'over the board' with any of the
London chiefs. In an ordinary contest, indeed, over the board,
it was the old odds of Lombard Street to a China orange! Maugre
all the advantages of superior skill and practice, however,
the Londoners lost the battle, and lost it by a blunder as
ridiculous as it was vexatious, at the very moment, too, when
the game was in their hands."