MONTHLY MIRROR,

FOR

JULY, 1800.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF

THE EARL OF CARLISLE.

[WITH A PORTRAIT.]

FREDERICK HOWARD, Earl of Carlisle, Viscount Howard of Morpeth, Baron Dacres, of Gillesland, and Knight of the Garter, was born in the year 1748. His Lordship was educated at Eton, where he displayed an emulative ardour for literary excellence, and acquired that pure and classic taste, which so particularly distinguishes his poetry. Among the early indications of future eminence, the verses addressed to his school-fellows, obtained a considerable degree of applause, and formed, as it were, the first round of that laurel which has since thickened into so conspicuous a wreath. The verses to which we allude, contain a prophetic declaration of the fame Mr. Fox would acquire as a senator.

"How will, my Fox, (alone) your strength of parts
Shake the full senate ? animate the hearts

Of fearful statesmen ? while around you stand
Both peers and commons, listening your command:
While Tully's sense its weight to you affords,
His nervous sweetness shall adorn your words:
What praise to Pitt or Townshend e'er was due,

In future times, my Fox, shall wait on you."

His Lordship married Caroline Leveson, the daughter of the present Marquis of Stafford, a lady distinguished for her beauty and accomplishments, and whose conduct has displayed a character of uniform excellence.

In 1771 his Lordship published a small volume of poems. This collection opens with an ode on the death of Gray. Declining to draw, from the common fountain of elegy, the tears of artificial sorrow, he treads the poetic ground which was hallowed by the footsteps of the departed bard, and raises an altar of applause to every poem. This difficult mode of panegyric is happily executed. The Ode on Eton College is beautifully alluded to in the following lines: "O guardian angel of our early day,

Henry, thy darling plant shall bloom no more!

By thee attended, pensive would he stray,

Where Thames, soft-murm'ring, laves his winding shore.
Thou bad'st him raise the moralizing song,

Through life's new seas the little bark to steer:
The winds are rude and high, the sailor young;
Thoughtless, he spies no furious tempest near:
Till to the poet's hand the helm you gave,

From hidden rocks an infant crew to save."

The next poem in this collection is the speech of Ugolino, from Danté. This version displays the dark colouring and the terrible graces of the original. The other poems contained in this volume have all their specific merit. They have been lately reprinted at the end of the tragedy of the Father's Revenge. This production of the Bulmer press exhibits the finest specimen of typographical luxury, that ever appeared in this country: the engravings, from Westall, add to the splendour of this work, of which we understand one hun dred copies were printed.

Of the tragedy of the Father's Revenge, which was first published in the year 1783, Dr. Johnson gives his opinion in the following letter to Mrs. Chapone:

"MADAM,

"By sending the tragedy to me a second time, I think that a very honourable distinction has been shewn me, and I did not delay the perusal, of which I am now to tell the effect.

"The construction of the play is not completely regular; the stage is too often vacant, and the scenes are not sufficiently connected. This, however, would be called, by Dryden, only a mechanical effect, which takes away little from the power of the poem, and which is seen rather than felt.

"Of the sentiments, I remember not one that I wish omitted. In the imagery, I cannot forbear to distinguish the comparison of joy (succeeding grief) to light rushing on the eye accustomed to darkness. It seems to have all that can be desired to make it new, just, and delightful.

"With the characters, either as conceived or preserved, I have no fault to find, but was much inclined to congratulate a writer, who, in defiance of prejudice and fashion, made the archbishop a good man, and scorned all thoughtless applause which a vicious churchman would have brought him.

"The catastrophe is affecting. The father and daughters both culpable, both wretched, and both penitent, divide between them our pity and our sorrow. I am, &c.

Nov. 28, 1783.

"SAMUEL JOHNSON.”.

The lines that follow are what Dr. Johnson alludes to in his letter.

"I could have borne my woes: that stranger joy wounds while it smiles. The long-imprisoned wretch, emerging from the night of his damp cell, shrinks from the sun's bright beams, and that which flings gladness o'er all, to him is agony."

A tragedy, entitled the Step-mother, has lately appeared, by the same hand: the store-house of history has not afforded the least hint for the subject of this play. The construction of the fable is perfectly new; the scene, Poland; chiefly in the castle of Count Casimir. In the character of the Countess is exhibited the workings of a mind intrepidly vicious. The third act opens with a soliloquy, in which the countess unveils her purpose. At this moment Lord Henry, her confident, enters: she darkly prompts him to the task of murdering her husband, and endeavours to conquer his reluctance, by recalling to his mind that he had confederated with her in the murder of Henriques, and that, since that hour, no terror had clouded their happiness, or interrupted their slumbers. The reply lord Henry makes the countess delineates, with masterly and impressive touches, the remorse that haunts and terrifies him, in the form of the murdered spectre. Modern literature has nothing to offer that is superior to this portrait of a guilt-distracted mind.

COUNTESS.I have heard

Of no convulsive heavings of the tomb,

To set its tenant free, and scare our slumbers.

HENRY.-Thy rest, then, has been tranquil? calm thy nights *and days?

COUNTESS.-What should disturb them!

That's never absent from these tortur'd eyes.

COUNTESS. O childish vision!—and you view this spectre ?
HENRY.-Oh! I have seen it take all shape and size:
Sometimes as it did fill the mortal case

That nature gave it;-anon, twould dwindle
Into so small a speck, that I have marvell'd
How, with my eyes, I have pursu'd its changes:
And yet, in that appalling miniature,

Most horribly distinct. Lady have done
With blood. Again, it was but yesterday,

As I do live, it met me like a giant,

Striding the valley's space.
For substance it had none:

film

'Twas outline all, through its grey I view'd the distant prospect; yet there was One spot opake, one spot that sadly mark'd Where once a nobler heart had beat; but now, Wither'd and gone in that dark bed of gore, lent me!

You might have found the dagger that you

Lady, no more of blood—no more of blood—

The remorseless countess, through the fourth and fifth acts, obeys the promptings of a pregnant invention which, combining several incidents, produces, at length, a new and affecting catas→ trophe. We cannot refrain from expressing a wish of seeing this play on the stage, under the confidence that it would receive from acting the greatest effect.

As this little memoir embraces the literary, rather than the political character of Lord Carlisle, we shall conclude with only noticing, that his lordship was appointed first commissioner for negociating peace with the American States: that he was subsequently appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, where a wisely-directed administration, united with his personal elegance of manners, conciliated esteem, and has impressed upon that kingdom a lasting and grateful recollection.

THE ARTS.

EXHIBITION OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY,

[Continued from page 533.]

No. 84. The Play Ground.

BARNEY.

THIS, as well as No. 88, (a) if not distinguished by extraordinary force of composition, yet compensates that deficiency by tenderness of thought and an interesting conception of the subject.

No. 90. Confession. OPIE.

This picture, whether we consider its own peculiar merits, or the eminent rank which its author holds in the public estimation, is amongst the most important objects that have hitherto been mentioned. Our notice is, at the first glance, attracted by the singularly happy choice of the subject, so well calculated to give the most ample scope to the display of contrasted passion and expression. A young, timid, blushing girl, and an old, rigid, accomplished friar, are not more opposite in form and dress, than in habit of thought,

(a) Unanimity; or the Old Man, his three sons, and the bundle of sticks.

mien, and countenance. The first coup d'œil therefore is forcible, and where the eye has been successfully caught, the powerful skill of the painter prevails to fix the attention, and win approval from the judgment. In the humble recital of her faults, the bashful penitent dares not lift her eye from the ground. Her thought, her whole soul is absorbed in the consciousness of her indiscretions.— The friar, on the other hand, seated in his confessional, and holding on his knee his beads, the consecrated metewand of prayer and penance, listens to his fair client with an external demeanour of ob duracy, that threatens a penalty on all offences; whilst, beneath it, some hints of a lurking, malicious derision discover how far he thinks his superiority founded on the ingenuous ignorance of the suppliant, and how differently his heart would comment on the errors, which his tongue is forbid to pardon. In point of character, the head of the friar has seldom been equalled. The unaffected and unconscious motion of the girl's arms is likewise to be admired

"Snatching a grace beyond the reach of art."

Such are the merits of this work, as it is directed principally to the mind. In force of effect and colour, it is in the general style of the artist, which will be the object of discussion in a subsequent number. It were to be wished that the background, behind the girl, represented part of the church in perspective, as it might give a clearer idea of the situation of the confessional.

Of those who may be reckoned in the latter list of competitors for fame, OPIE is one who has made the most strenuous advances towards that rank of eminence which fixes an artist amongst the masters of art.

Endowed with a largely comprehensive mind, amid all the varying caprices of the multitude, he has maintained a firm and uninterrupted progress, from the moment when, at his first arrival in London, his great, but unmatured talents were idly exalted above their just consideration, until time has more duly appreciated his merits, and what it has taken from them of the ignorant adulation of crowds, it has more than compensated in judicious and profes sional acknowledgment. Every year has added improvement to his works.

In No. 154, (a) we discover the same skilful address to the mind, which we noticed in the preceding number. The whole picture is full of interest, arising from the display of moral images. The manly boldness, however, of effect and colour preponderate (a) The Fugitive, or La fille mal gardee:

B-VOL. X.