ter, artfully conveyed into a packet addressed to him; meets him in single combat; overpowers him; and by the laws of duel, claims the lady who was the prize of the combat, with the lands of his worsted adversary. Marmion is sent by king Henry of England to demand of the Scottish king James, the reason of his hostile preparations; but, when arrived on the borders, wanting a guide into Scotland, he is furnished with one, who proves to be his former antagonist, in the disguise of a palmer or visiter of holy places. In the course of the poem this knight-palmer overcomes Marmion, at midnight, in the character of an Elfin warriour. The forged letters are also intrusted him under his disguise; he is dubbed again, and performs wonders in the battle of Flodden. In that battle Marmion falls, and is brought a little way out of the conflict, to die at the feet of the lady whose hand he had solicited, from motives of convenience. The episodes in the main action, are the punishment of the nun whom Marmion had seduced, by her being immured, according to the sentence of her superiours; and to the laws provided for that transgression,-an intrigue of king James with the wife of an English governour, who is at his court, as a pledge for her husband, and an unaccountable curiosity in Marmion to vanquish an Elfin knight, at midnight, in order to pry into future or distant events. This incident must not be examined too strictly, as to its probability; for we believe that few persons charged with a publick character from sovereign to sovereign, would quit the line of duty for the indulgence of this inquisitive disposition, founded on no higher authority than the chatter of a host, at an inn. The description of the herald sent by king James to meet Marmion, and that of the Scottish camp, previous to its moving southwards, may also be considered as episodes; and together with some excellent specimens of song writing, contribute to diversify the poem. The least pleasing parts, as they stand, are the Introductions prefixed to each canto. Each being half as long, nearly, as the canto itself, and consisting wholly of modern ideas, it has the effect of confusing the mind; it produces too forcible a revulsion, from what is ancient to what is modern; as the canto recalls the imagination from what is modern to what is ancient. We had occasion to mention this inadvertence when reporting on Mr. Sotheby's Saul; but Mr. Scott has far exceeded Mr. Sotheby in this inconvenience. The poet has disposed of his characters with the most laudable attention to morals. Marmion perishes in fight: his paramour, Constance de Beverley, is immured, and dies miserably. King James, losing time and opportunity by dalliance, loses the battle, and his life. The Palmer Wilton, in recompense for the disgrace he had undeservedly incurred, regains his estates and honours, together with his troth-plight, Clara, who gives proofs of unchangeable constancy in her affection for him, notwithstanding she is, for a time, in the power of Marmion, his rival. The versification of this poem has been solicitously constructed. It is varied to relieve the ear, and is generally harmonious and forcible. The conduct of the story is regular; and in short, the author has felt throughout the whole, that he had a character to lose; and was determined that it should not be lost, for want of circumspection. If Marmion had been published before the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," it might, perhaps, have taken the place of that poem in the opinion of the publick. As it is, we apprehend that there may be readers who will discern in this poem more art than in the former; and will imagine that what it gains in dignity, it loses in ease. It is less sprightly, and less fanciful, but it is more heroick, and more stately. We confess, that we regret the dreadful death of Constance, whose attachment merits a better return from Marmion, even while we acknowledge that her transgressions deserve adequate punishment. In quitting her convent she sinned against duty and decorum, against modesty and sanctity; but, it does not appear, whether her seclusion was forced or voluntary. We cannot help wishing that some of the darker shades of her guilt had been softened, and that a less terrible fate might have been allotted to her with justice. A hero who is all perfection, A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw, will never be imagined or adopted by a poet of genius; but the disparagements of that character, which is to raise our sympathy, should be rather defects than crimes. That conduct, which demands the axe of the executioner, is too lightly punished by undistinguished sufferings; the common fate of all, or of many, is no just retribution for uncommon guilt. That criminals of the deepest die have exhibited striking marks of heroism, we allow; but that it would be judicious to select such a one for the hero of a dignified poem, we deny. We feel more resentment and indignation against forgery and the evils it induces, than compassion for the pravity by which it has been committed. Open enmity may become an honest and a respectable foe; but the dark arts of insidious malevolence, are shocking to upright minds. The balance of opinion ceases to vibrate, which vibration marks our tremulous sympathy, when guilt not incident to general nature, is thrown into the scale of a character, whatever be its merits. We, therefore, could have wished the English knight had exhibited failings not so abhorrent to virtue, and that his excellences had been counterbalanced by weakness rather than wickedness. Mr. Scott professes, Not to rhyme to that dull elf, Who cannot image to himself, That all through Flodden's dismal night, That when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 'Twas Wilton mounted him again; 'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd, Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood: He was the living soul of all Yet we cannot help thinking, that, as he was to be the prosperous character of the piece, Wilton might have met the eye more prominently; his previous history might have been more developed, and his original connexion with Clara, which, no doubt, had, according to rule, something extraordinary for its basis, might have increased our interest for him, and for her too. We know too little of his real history, to judge of his merits. We might have learned his character more fully from admissions of Marmion himself, or even from the Abbess, by a few additional stanzas, with scarcely any perceptible digression. To point out specks in a work of merit is invidious; yet, when a few strokes with the pen may amend them, it is due to justice. The speech of the host, in which he describes the appearance of the "wizard strange," is sufficiently learned for Mr. Scott himself, and therefore too learned for this character. His mention of "Pharaoh's Magi,”—his allusion to the wizard's zone, Of virgin parchment thin, Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, Bore many a planetary sign, Combust, and retrograde, and trine, sounds to us rather above mine host's degree of knowledge. Also, if king James assisted in a dancing party with his spurs on (White were his buskins; on the heel His spurs inlaid of gold and steel) we remit him for his reprimand to the boor of Russia, Peter I. who boxed the ears of one of his courtiers in the royal ball room, before all the company, for a like offence against gallantry. Neither can we approve of connecting the late bombardment of Copenhagen with visions foreshowing the invasion of Scotland by Edward I. The interval is too vast, without one connecting link; and the idea it raises in the mind is modern-therefore exceptionable. A royal city, tower, and spire, Reddened the midnight sky with fire; FROM AIKIN'S ANNUAL REVIEW. The Life of George Morland; with Remarks on his Works. By G. Dawe. 8vo. pp. 238. THIS is the third life of Morland which has come before us. In our last volume we announced a pompous quarto by Mr. Blagdon, who made a miserable hodge-podge from magazines and newspapers. In the preceding volume (Vol. IV. p. 504.) we noticed at considerable length a biography of Morland, by Mr. Collins, who challenged our confidence, by asserting that he had been twenty years in habits of intimacy, not only with the artist himself, but with his family and connexions. If credit is due to Mr. Dawe, however, Collins must have been wilfully or ignorantly guilty of many misrepresentations; for several of the anecdotes he tells of Morland, are here flatly contradicted. Mr. Dawe's claim to credit is this: his father was articled to the father of Morland, became intimate with the son from his childhood, and kept up a familiar intercourse with him during the greater part of his life. Some letters from the artist testify to this intimacy. From his father principally, and from other friends of Morland, including his own brother, the present writer has collected his materials. He has made a very entertaining and instructive volume. We shall correct those errours into which Mr. Collins has led us, and subjoin a few anecdotes illustrative of poor Morland's character. Morland was apprenticed to his father, who was a painter in crayons. George gave very early indications of genius. He used to draw objects on the floor, and when his father stooped to pick up the scissars or the crayons, the laugh was very fairly against him. These, and a thousand other monkey tricks, made George the favourite child. His father saw the germs of future excellence in his own favourite art; but he was probably alarmed at a vivacity of disposition which might prove incompatible with the necessary application to attain it; and adopted a mode of education which was very likely to disgust the boy with his profession, and which certainly hurried him into those excesses which overwhelmed him with disgrace and ruin. In endeavouring to preserve the morals of young Morland from contamination, a system of restriction and seclusion was adopted both by father and mother, so severe that he was never permitted to associate with other children, or to engage in their customary amusements. He was kept in perfect solitude, and till the age of eighteen, was never permitted to spend an evening abroad, except at the house of Mr. P. Dawe, the father of our biographer. To this system of restraint his parents added deception. Instead of exciting in him an aversion to immorality, by inspiring him with the love of virtue, they endeavoured to reconcile him to confinement, and deter him from the vices of the town by exaggerated accounts, and bug-bear stories concerning its dangers. These tales could not long be implicitly believed. About his nineteenth year, he began to evade all restraint, and fell into those very errours, from which his parents had endeavoured to deter him by ill-judged means. Like a loose, high-mettled steed, he is now seen "fetching mad bounds." It is now that he gave play to all those passions which eventually impaired his intellects, and destroyed his constitution. So much for his moral education. As to his professional, that also he received from his father. Perhaps it may be thought that with so marked a genius, but little application or instruction would be required. But genius, as it is called, is not instinct. The well-bred pointer will stand, the very first time he snuffs the scent of game, and all that he is afterwards taught is subordinate to that quality, which he already possesses in perfection. But what native genius ever stamped perfection on an untutored artist? "At the age of fourteen, he was articled to his father for seven years, during which his application was incessant. His days were devoted to painting, his summer evenings to reading, and those of winter to drawing by lamplight. It was during this happy period of uninterrupted study, as yet undisturbed by the passions and cares of life, that he gained nearly his whole knowledge, acquired correctness of eye, with obedience of hand, and those principles which laid the foundation of his future excellence. This, therefore, was not, as has been imagined, a natural endowment; nor is it necessary to recur to occult and inexplicable causes, in order to account for that ability which was the result of long and persevering application, united to a quick conception, a retentive memory, and activity of mind; assisted also by considerable means for study, and directed by a parent who had some knowledge of the art. From an over anxious regard to his morals, he was not permitted to study at the academy. He, nevertheless, once, about his twentieth year, unknown to his father, showed some of his drawings to the keeper, and obtained permission to draw as a candidate for becoming a student; yet, whatever some of his biographers have advanced to the contrary, he drew there only three nights; though he occasionally attended the lectures. "He paid some attention to the anatomy of the human figure, and executed many drawings, both of the skeleton and muscles. He also drew from small casts of several antique statues. Some of these productions, including the only one he ever made at the academy, which was from the statue of Meleager, are in the possession of the writer of these memoirs. "The anatomy of the horse he studied from the excellent work of Stubbs, whose prints he copied in Indian ink, and wrote the names of the bones and muscles on his drawings. He likewise made clay models from Gainsborough's horse, and other casts of a similar kind. What he knew of perspective was acquired from the Jesuit's treatise on that subject." If one considers the total seclusion from society in which this youth was brought up, "no competitor to emulate, no companion to cheer him in the toilsome path of study," it will be acknowledged, that his love of the art he pursued was almost unquenchable. In the extract above given it is said that Morland never drew at the academy more than three nights. Mr. Collins, on the contrary, states that in very early life he became ac quainted with some loose and vulgar students at the academy, and that these fellow students, in their way to and from Somerset House, enticed him to frequent a gin shop near Exeter-change. Mr. Collins also tells us, that Morland, while in his father's house, used to supply his extravagances by the sale of his paintings, which he used to lower from his window, in a drawer suspended by a string to his companions in the street. This story, however, is wholly unfounded; for Morland had no companions. So just was the eye of our young artist, and so remarkable the facility of execution, that he began his chalk drawings from plaster casts, without previous sketching, and seldom had occasion to make alterations. During his residence with his father, he painted little from nature; but from a daily practice of copying the best masters, he acquired the power of imitating them. Mr. Dawe says he was so complete a master in the executive part of his art, that it might be called his native language, in which he could express whatever he conceived. That Morland, however, did not always rely upon the accuracy of his conceptions, is evident from several anecdotes which occur in this volume "When surrounded by companions, that would have entirely impeded the progress of other men, he might be said to be in an academy, in the midst of models. He would get one to stand for a hand, another for a head, an attitude, or a figure, according as their countenance or character suited; or to put on any dress he might want to copy; and the pictures which he painted about this time, contain the portraits of his companions, as well as of the children in the neighbourhood where he lived. Morland's wife and sisters were almost his only female models: hence arose his want of variety in this respect. "When painting his juvenile subjects, he would invite the children of the neighbourhood to play about in his room, and made sketches of them whenever any interesting situations occurred; justly observing, that to take them thus, in their unconscious moments, is the best mode of studying their peculiar attitudes, and to catch a thousand various graces, of which it is impossible to conceive a perfect idea in any other way. Grown persons may be placed in appropriate postures; but with children this is not practicable. The writer has in his possession one of Morland's sketch books, containing several of these studies from children. They are touched with wonted spirit, and form a sort of middle style, between his laboured minuteness while with his father, and the looseness of his latter drawings. "He copied as much as possible immediately from nature. When he painted the Cherry Girl, he had an ass and panniers into his parlour; and while employed on stable scenes, he often scattered straw about his room. If he wished to introduce a red cloak, or any other garment of that sort, he would place a person at the window to watch till some one passed that appeared likely to suit his purpose; on which he sent for the passenger to come in, while he made a sketch, and mixed his tints, and he, seldom failed to reward the person thus called upon liberally. What he could not copy immediately from nature, was supplied by a retentive memory, and acute observation of the scenes in which he mingled.” Morland never let slip an opportunity which he could turn to his professional advantage. Just as he was about to begin his four pictures of the Deserter, a serjeant, drummer, and soldier, on their way to Dover in pursuit of deserters, came in for a billet. Morland seeing that these men would answer his purpose, treated them plentifully, while he was making inquiries on the different modes of recruiting, with every particular attendant on the trial of deserters by court-martial, and on their punishment. then took them to his house, where he gave them plenty of ale, wine, and tobacco, and caroused with them all night, employing himself busily in sketching and noting down whatever was likely to serve his purpose. He The Dutch and Flemish artists were those from whom Morland principally copied whilst at his father's house. He was however, by no means neglectful of modern masters of the British school. Of Gainsborough's celebrated picture of Pigs, he took many copies, as well as of Sir Joshua Reynolds's Garrick between tragedy and comedy. He likewise copied Fuseli's Night-mare, and in later life made an excellent burlesque of it. Whilst confined to the roof of his father, almost the only recreation which Morland enjoyed, was a Sunday walk with Mr. Philip Dawe. On these occasions he fully enjoyed his short-lived liberty. These were the |