my paddles." There was a table covered with writing materials near the fire. Between the table and the window was a large folding skreen, to dim the glare of the light. On the inner side of the table, with his back to the fire, stood the fully developed full-length of John Soane.

He was certainly distinguished looking: taller than common; and so thin as to appear taller: his age at this time about seventythree. He was dressed entirely in black; his waistcoat being of velvet, and he wore knee-breeches with silk stockings. Of course the exceptions to his black, were his cravat, shirt-collar, and shirt-frill of the period. Let a man's "shanks" be ever so" shrunken,"-if they be but straight, the costume described never fails upon a gentleman. The idea of John Soane in a pair of loose trowsers, and a short broad-tailed jacket, after the fashion of these latter times, occurs to me as more ludicrous than Liston's Romeo! The Professor unquestionably looked the professorand the gentleman. His face was long in the extreme; for his chin-no less than his forehead-contributed to make it so; and it still more so appeared from its narrowness. Sir T. Lawrence's portrait of him (to be seen in Lincolns-inn-Fields) is extremely like; but the facial breadth, though in a certain light it may have warrant, is decidedly flattering in respect to what was its general seeming. It is true, he was ill when I saw him, and sorely worn with perplexity and vexation; and therefore I ought to say, that at that time, it can be scarcely said that he had any front face. In profile his countenance was extensive; but, looking at it "edgeways," it would have been "to any thick sight" something of the invisible. A brown wig carried the elevation of his head to the utmost attainable height; so that, altogether, his physiognomy was suggestive of the picture which is presented on the back of a spoon, held vertically. His eyes, now sadly failing in their sight, looked red and small beneath their full lids; but, through their weakened orbs, the fire of his spirit would often show itself, in proof of its unimpaired vigour. Finally, his countenance presented, under differing circumstances, two distinct phases. In the one, a physiognomist might read a mild amiability, as cheerful and happy, as "kind and courteous;" yielding, and requiring, gentle sympathy; a delicate sensibility spiced with humour; towards men, a politeness in which condescension and respect were mingled; and, towards women, a suavity, enlivened with a show of gallantry, rather sly than shy. The other phase of his countenance indicated an acute sensitiveness, and a fearful irritability, dangerous to himself, if not to others; an embittered heart, prompting a cutting and sarcastic mind; uncompromising pride, neither respecting, nor desiring respect; a contemptuous disregard for the feelings of his dependents; and yet, himself, the very victim of irrational impulse; with no pity for the trials of his neighbour, and nothing but frantic despair under his own.

It is likely, the more pleasing side of the picture was truthful to his original nature, ere the feelings, manners, and conduct, necessary to his rise from a very inferior condition into one of

VOL. XXXIV.

I

distinction, had been changed by the pride attendant on his too rapid success. "Lowliness" had doubtless been, in the first instance, his " young ambition's ladder," however he might afterwards turn his back upon it,

-

"Scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend."

And, assuredly, it may be asserted, there is no profession which is more subject to anxieties and vexations, trying to the mind and temper, or to alternations of pride and humiliation, subversive of content,-than that of the architect. Mr. Soane had these, it is to be presumed, to much more than a common amount; and he had also domestic afflictions of an unusually severe nature. The nervous system had been constantly worked upon by the conflicting operation of violent excitements for many years; and, without supposing that he was ever to be felicitated on the strength of his mild patience and good temper, we may give him credit for having had his patience and his temper (such as they were) tried to a degree, which proved at all events, that there was a constitutional power of resisting "wear and tear," marvellous to contemplate. The actual character of the man will, I suppose, be rightly judged by an estimate deduced from the two extreme sketches I have given; illustrations of which, in detail, may possibly appear as I proceed with my narration. To complete my portrait, or, rather, to make it a "speaking one," I must refer to his voice, which had a singular undulation of high and low; retaining a remnant of the "big, manly," with the "childish treble;" and curiously rising and falling, up towards a squeak, or down to a mild guttural, with no especial reason for the variety. But the most singular peculiarity in its delivery was manifested when under the excitement of anger; for, just in proportion to the teeming fulness of his wrath, would be the diminishing quality of his tone. He would truly illustrate Nick Bottom's expression of speaking "in a monstrous little voice," and of "aggravating his voice so as to roar as gently as any sucking dove, or as 'twere any nightingale." Of course, fury, in its last excess, was signified by a terrific silence!

"His words were great, because they were so small,
And, therefore, greater, being none at all."

What the tongue failed to do, was made up by the fiery eye and quivering lip; he looked daggers, though he spoke none. When, on the contrary, anxious to exhibit the amiable in all its condescending sweetness, the eyes and mouth would exactly appear as shown in Lawrence's portrait, which is also equally true in the slight side-ways inclination of the head; and then the voice would meander and fluctuate with the most soothing variety of intonation. Mathews (who knew him well) would imitate him with an accuracy exceeding that of any other imitation of which I could judge; for he gave the expression of countenance as well as the voice and action, and used to say, that, had it been consistent with delicacy, he would have introduced the imitation on the stage.

115

CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE.

WE are compelled, this month, to say less than is our wont, of the current literature lying attractively before us. June brought forth fewer striking novelties than its predecessor; but the growth is still suggestive of more critical garrulity than we are able to bestow upon it. What little we can say we must say at once, without further introduction. First, then, of History and Biography.

At the present time, when the future government of India is the foremost question before the senate of Great Britain, we can hardly imagine a more important contribution to literature, than the collection of Mr. Tucker's papers, which has just been given to the public. They treat of almost every subject now under discussion, in connection with the administration of the British empire in the East. There is nothing wild or speculative about them. They are the result of half-a-century of experience, either as a resident in India, or a member of that moiety of the home-government of the country, known as the Court of Directors; and the opinions they contain are for the most part as sound, as the language in which those opinions are expressed, is lucid and forcible. The papers, indeed, are eminently well written. They have nothing of the dry-as-dust official style about them. They have not the mark of the red tape on every sentence; but there is, on the other hand, a freedom and vigour about them which excites interest and fixes attention. And they have even a greater charm than this about them; for the stamp of sincerity is on every page.

Whatever Mr. Tucker said, he said earnestly and from the full heart. Mr. Kaye says of him in the preface to the present work, that he was "honest to the very core." It may be doubted whether an honester man ever lived. When that famous contention arose between the Court of Directors and the Board of Control, which ended at last in the submission of the latter, no one ever doubted that Mr. Tucker would have gone to prison, rather than have put his hand, even ministerially, to a paper, of the contents of which he so entirely disapproved. He did not form his opinions hastily --but when he had once formed them he supported them with a manly energy which was proof against all assaults and all temptations, and which was often triumphant in the end. The welfare of India was ever uppermost in his thoughts. He was not one of those administrators, who think of nothing so much as "screwing up the revenue," or one of those politicians, who think that the native princes of India only exist to be deposed, and that their territories are only good to be confiscated. There was ever in Mr. Tucker's mind a permanent sense of justice. It animated his writings; it regulated his conduct. But, for all this, he was eminently a practical man. He believed that there was no such thing

"Memorials of Indian Government; being a selection from the Papers of Henry St. George Tucker, late Director of the East India Company." Edited by J. W. Kaye.

as unrighteous expediency; summum jus summa prudentia was his motto. He was one of those statesmen who dare to do right, and leave the issue in the hands of Providence, convinced that, even humanly speaking, the highest wisdom consists in a conformance with the highest principle. He resisted every act of unrighteous usurpation or uncalled-for aggression, and when, in such cases, he vaticinated disaster, disaster was in the womb of time. Mr. Tucker's protests against the war in Afghanistan—that great criminal atrocity which now, in every debate on the India question, is denounced with equal virulence by men of all gradations of party, are among the most vigorously written state papers with which we are acquainted. On many accounts, they demand perusal at the present time, and on none more than because they place clearly before the public the great fact, that the East India Company had nothing to do with the war, except the miserable necessity of paying for it. Mr. Tucker, who died full of years, with "All that should accompany old age,

As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,"

thick around him, retained all his intellectual vigour and power of expression to the last, and some of the ablest papers he ever wrote were written by an octogenarian hand. But we have before us, at the same time, records of the life of one who lived, in the possession of all his faculties, beloved and respected, to a still greater age-Henry Bathurst, Bishop of Norwich.* Few men were better known in their day-and that not a very remote one -than this most liberal of prelates. He was a man, it might almost be said, sui generis. The writer of this memoir, with very pardonable filial partiality, compares him with Fenelon. There are, doubtless, some points of resemblance; but the parallel is not complete. We know no one to whom we can fairly liken Bishop Bathurst but himself. His was eminently a loveable character; in all his domestic and social relations, he shone pre-eminently as one whose geniality won all hearts, who charmed the outer circle of the "great world," into which he freely entered, as irresistibly as he enchained the affections of those who clustered around his own fireside. As a bishop, he was not distinguished by any great amount of biblical erudition. He was not an eminent theologian, but he was a man of good parts, endowed with a fine classical taste, and an ample fund of good sense. He might never, perhaps, have obtained a mitre, if it had not been for his family connections. Doubtless many abler men go mitreless all their lives. But such a bishop was of eminent service to the church in his time, and his example will long be a service to it. He was the most liberal of prelates; they called him the friend of the pope. For some time he stood out alone, from the Bench of Bishops, as the one supporter of the Catholic Relief Bill. On this account he was held in high estimation by the Whigs, and bitterly reviled by their opponents. He was, in other respects, especially in matters of

"Memoirs and Correspondence of Dr. Henry Bathurst, Lord Bishop of Norwich," by his Daughter, Mrs. Thistlethwayte. London, 1853.

ordination, far more liberal than his brother prelates; and there were those who rejoiced in the occasion afforded by certain of the social and convivial propensities of the kind-hearted old bishop to censure him upon other accounts. But, after all, the worst that could be said of him was, that he enjoyed a rubber of whist.

The

We cannot afford to dwell, at any length, upon the character of Bishop Bathurst, or upon the incidents of his life; but we must say a few words regarding the book itself now before us. The memoir is written by Mrs. Thistlethwayte, the favourite daughter of the bishop. It is written with great modesty. The bishop is left very much to himself, to appear as his own autobiographer. correspondence contained in the volume is ample and interesting. It illustrates sufficiently both the public and the private life of the venerable prelate; nor is the interest confined entirely to the good bishop himself. It is very much, indeed, a family memoir, and there is very much in it of family romance. Many of our readers doubtless remember the melancholy fate of Rosa Bathurst - the bishop's grand-daughter who was drowned in the Tiber; and some of our oldest friends may remember the mysterious disappearance of her father, Benjamin Bathurst, the diplomatist, who was lost on his way home, after a mission to Vienna-in all probability assassinated by the myrmidons of the French government. The ample details which are given of these two calamitous events, are full of romantic interest. And we must not omit to state that the appendix to this memoir of Bishop Bathurst, unlike most appendices, into which bulky documents of little interest-mere make-weights or stuffings-are thrown, is made up of varied and most interesting matter. We may especially indicate certain "colloquia," written by Joseph John Gurney, in which Dr. Chalmers is the principal talker-partly in Edinburgh and partly in Norwich. These are sufficient to impart a lively interest to any work, and they greatly increase the attractiveness of the present, which could well afford to stand without them. The memoir, besides the correspondence of the Bishop of Norwich himself, contains letters from the late Duke of Sussex, Mr. Coke of Holkam, Lord Grenville, Lord Holland, Roger Wilbraham, Joseph John Gurney, Dr. Hampden, and others; and numerous anecdotes of the distinguished characters of his time-and Bishop Bathurst's time fell little short of a century. The volume is, altogether, full of interest, and provocative of amusement. It is pleasant and gossipy for those who abjure anything that is not light reading, whilst for those of a graver sort there is much of a graver kind.

There are two or three books of travel or personal adventure on our table, deserving more extensive notice than we can afford to bestow upon them. We conceive that Mr. Galton's volume of African travel is, in the highest degree, honourable to the writer. Mr. Galton, we believe, received the gold medal at the last meeting of the Geographical Society, and we are certain that he well deserved it. As it was his vocation to amuse himself, he went Narrative of an Explorer in Tropical South Africa," by Francis Galton, Esq. With coloured Maps, Plates and Woodcuts. London, 1853.