Read Ebook: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Volume 68 No. 417 July 1850 by Various

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"Why art thou alone, unfollowed? Is it weal, or is it woe?"

We have not counted them, but we are informed, and have no difficulty in believing, that there are 450 portraits in this the eighty-second exhibition of the Royal Academy. A very large number, out of 1456 works of art. Adding the portraits in the three other exhibitions, we attain a total of which, even after deducting drawings and miniatures, it is impossible for us to notice one fourth-part. And we must particularly remark, with respect to portraits and landscapes, what also applies in a less degree to the less numerous classes of pictures, that we have unavoidably--on account of our limited space to deal with so compendious a subject, and also because we would not reduce this article to a mere catalogue--omitted notice of many artists and pictures whose claims are undoubted to mention more or less honourable; as we have also forborne, for the same reason, and much more willingly, certain censures which we should have been justified in inflicting. Concerning portraits, however, we would gladly have been rather more diffuse, had we not still to take some notice, within the compass of a very few pages, of those exhibitions to which as yet we have done little more than incidentally refer.

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.

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, 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.

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.

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.

"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 had not been sufficiently examined. 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 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."

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