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It　is　superfluous　to　record　that　the　painter　of　〃The　Battle　of

Trafalgar〃；　of　the　〃Victory　being　towed　into　Gibraltar　with　the　body

of　Nelson　on　Board〃；　of　〃The　Morning　after　the　Wreck〃；　of　〃The

Abandoned〃；　of　fifty　more　such　works；　died　in　his　seventy…fourth

year；　〃Mr。〃　Stanfield。He　was　an　Englishman。



Those　grand　pictures　will　proclaim　his　powers　while　paint　and　canvas

last。　　But　the　writer　of　these　words　had　been　his　friend　for　thirty

years；　and　when；　a　short　week　or　two　before　his　death；　he　laid　that

once　so　skilful　hand　upon　the　writer's　breast　and　told　him　they

would　meet　again；　〃but　not　here〃；　the　thoughts　of　the　latter　turned；

for　the　time；　so　little　to　his　noble　genius；　and　so　much　to　his

noble　nature！



He　was　the　soul　of　frankness；　generosity；　and　simplicity。　　The　most

genial；　the　most　affectionate；　the　most　loving；　and　the　most　lovable

of　men。　　Success　had　never　for　an　instant　spoiled　him。　　His　interest

in　the　Theatre　as　an　Institutionthe　best　picturesqueness　of　which

may　be　said　to　be　wholly　due　to　himwas　faithful　to　the　last。　　His

belief　in　a　Play；　his　delight　in　one；　the　ease　with　which　it　moved

him　to　tears　or　to　laughter；　were　most　remarkable　evidences　of　the

heart　he　must　have　put　into　his　old　theatrical　work；　and　of　the

thorough　purpose　and　sincerity　with　which　it　must　have　been　done。

The　writer　was　very　intimately　associated　with　him　in　some　amateur

plays；　and　day　after　day；　and　night　after　night；　there　were　the　same

unquenchable　freshness；　enthusiasm；　and　impressibility　in　him；

though　broken　in　health；　even　then。



No　Artist　can　ever　have　stood　by　his　art　with　a　quieter　dignity　than

he　always　did。　　Nothing　would　have　induced　him　to　lay　it　at　the　feet

of　any　human　creature。　　To　fawn；　or　to　toady；　or　to　do　undeserved

homage　to　any　one；　was　an　absolute　impossibility　with　him。　　And　yet

his　character　was　so　nicely　balanced　that　he　was　the　last　man　in　the

world　to　be　suspected　of　self…assertion；　and　his　modesty　was　one　of

his　most　special　qualities。



He　was　a　charitable；　religious；　gentle；　truly　good　man。　　A　genuine

man；　incapable　of　pretence　or　of　concealment。　　He　had　been　a　sailor

once；　and　all　the　best　characteristics　that　are　popularly　attributed

to　sailors；　being　his；　and　being　in　him　refined　by　the　influences　of

his　Art；　formed　a　whole　not　likely　to　be　often　seen。　　There　is　no

smile　that　the　writer　can　recall；　like　his；　no　manner　so　naturally

confiding　and　so　cheerfully　engaging。　　When　the　writer　saw　him　for

the　last　time　on　earth；　the　smile　and　the　manner　shone　out　once

through　the　weakness；　still：　　the　bright　unchanging　Soul　within　the

altered　face　and　form。



No　man　was　ever　held　in　higher　respect　by　his　friends；　and　yet　his

intimate　friends　invariably　addressed　him　and　spoke　of　him　by　a　pet

name。　　It　may　need；　perhaps；　the　writer's　memory　and　associations　to

find　in　this　a　touching　expression　of　his　winning　character；　his

playful　smile；　and　pleasant　ways。　　〃You　know　Mrs。　Inchbald's　story；

Nature　and　Art？〃　wrote　Thomas　Hood；　once；　in　a　letter：　　〃What　a　fine

Edition　of　Nature　and　Art　is　Stanfield！〃



Gone！　　And　many　and　many　a　dear　old　day　gone　with　him！　　But　their

memories　remain。　　And　his　memory　will　not　soon　fade　out；　for　he　has

set　his　mark　upon　the　restless　waters；　and　his　fame　will　long　be

sounded　in　the　roar　of　the　sea。







A　SLIGHT　QUESTION　OF　FACT







It　is　never　well　for　the　public　interest　that　the　originator　of　any

social　reform　should　be　soon　forgotten。　　Further；　it　is　neither

wholesome　nor　right　（being　neither　generous　nor　just）　that　the　merit

of　his　work　should　be　gradually　transferred　elsewhere。



Some　few　weeks　ago；　our　contemporary；　the　Pall　Mall　Gazette；　in

certain　strictures　on　our　Theatres　which　we　are　very　far　indeed　from

challenging；　remarked　on　the　first　effectual　discouragement　of　an

outrage　upon　decency　which　the　lobbies　and　upper…boxes　of　even　our

best　Theatres　habitually　paraded　within　the　last　twenty　or　thirty

years。　　From　those　remarks　it　might　appear　as　though　no　such　Manager

of　Covent　Garden　or　Drury　Lane　as　Mr。　Macready　had　ever　existed。



It　is　a　fact　beyond　all　possibility　of　question；　that　Mr。　Macready；

on　assuming　the　management　of　Covent　Garden　Theatre　in　1837；　did

instantly　set　himself；　regardless　of　precedent　and　custom　down　to

that　hour　obtaining；　rigidly　to　suppress　this　shameful　thing；　and

did　rigidly　suppress　and　crush　it　during　his　whole　management　of


that　theatre；　and　during　his　whole　subsequent　management　of　Drury

Lane。　　That　he　did　so；　as　certainly　without　favour　as　without　fear；

that　he　did　so；　against　his　own　immediate　interests；　that　he　did　so；

against　vexations　and　oppositions　which　might　have　cooled　the　ardour

of　a　less　earnest　man；　or　a　less　devoted　artist；　can　be　better　known

to　no　one　than　the　writer　of　the　present　words；　whose　name　stands　at

the　head　of　these　pages。







LANDOR'S　LIFE







Prefixed　to　the　second　volume　of　Mr。　Forster's　admirable　biography

of　Walter　Savage　Landor；　｛1｝　is　an　engraving　from　a　portrait　of　that

remarkable　man　when　seventy…seven　years　of　age；　by　Boxall。　　The

writer　of　these　lines　can　testify　that　the　original　picture　is　a

singularly　good　likeness；　the　result　of　close　and　subtle　observation

on　the　part　of　the　painter；　but；　for　this　very　reason；　the　engraving

gives　a　most　inadequate　idea　of　the　merit　of　the　picture　and　the

character　of　the　man。



From　the　engraving；　the　arms　and　hands　are　omitted。　　In　the　picture；

they　are；　as　they　were　in　nature；　indispensable　to　a　correct　reading

of　the　vigorous　face。　　The　arms　were　very　peculiar。　　They　were

rather　short；　and　were　curiously　restrained　and　checked　in　their

action　at　the　elbows；　in　the　action　of　the　hands；　even　when

separately　clenched；　there　was　the　same　kind　of　pause；　and　a

noticeable　tendency　to　relaxation　on　the　part　of　the　thumb。　　Let　the

face　be　never　so　intense　or　fierce；　there　was　a　commentary　of

gentleness　in　the　hands；　essential　to　be　taken　along　with　it。　　Like

Hamlet；　Landor　would　speak　daggers；　but　use　none。　　In　the　expression

of　his　hands；　though　angrily　closed；　there　was　always　gentleness　and

tenderness；　just　as　when　they　were　open；　and　the　handsome　old

gentleman　would　wave　them　with　a　little　courtly　flourish　that　sat

well　upon　him；　as　he　recalled　some　classic　compliment　that　he　had

rendered　to　some　reigning　Beauty；　there　was　a　chivalrous　grace　about

them　such　as　pervades　his　softer　verses。　　Thus　the　fictitious　Mr。

Boythorn　（to　whom　we　may　refer　without　impropriety　in　this

connexion；　as　Mr。　Forster　does）　declaims　〃with　unimaginable　energy〃

the　while　his　bird　is　〃perched　upon　his　thumb〃；　and　he　〃softly

smooths　its　feathers　with　his　forefinger〃。



From　the　spirit　of　Mr。　Forster's　Biography　these　characteristic

hands　are　never　omitted；　and　hence　（apart　from　its　literary　merits）

its　great　value。　　As　the　same　masterly　writer's　Life　and　Times　of

Oliver　Goldsmith　is　a　generous　and　yet　conscientious　picture　of　a

period；　so　this　is　a　not　less　generous　and　yet　conscientious　picture

of　one　life；　of　a　life；　with　all　its　aspirations；　achievements；　and

disappointments；　all　its　capabilities；　opportunities；　and

irretrievable　mistakes。　　It　is　essentially　a　sad　book；　and　herein

lies　proof　of　its　truth　and　worth。　　The　life　of　almost　any　man

possessing　great　gifts；　would　be　a　sad　book　to　himself；　and　this

book　enables　us　not　only　to　see　its　subject；　but　to　be　its　subject；

if　we　will。



Mr。　Forster　is　of　opinion　that　〃Landor's　fame　very　surely　awaits

him〃。　　This　point　admitted　or　doubted；　the　value　of　the　book　remains

the　same。　　It　needs　not　to　know　his　works　（otherwise　than　through

his　biographer's　exposition）；　it　needs　not　to　have　known　himself；　to

find　a　deep　interest　in　these　pages。　　More　or　less　of　their　warning

is　in　every　conscience；　and　some　admiration　of　a　fine　genius；　and　of

a　great；　wild；　generous　nature；　incapable　of　mean　self…extenuation

or　dissimulationif　unhappily　incapable　of　self…repression　too

should　be　in　every　breast。　　〃There　may　be　still　living　many

persons〃；　Walter　Landor's　brother；　Robert；　writes　to　Mr。　Forster　of

this　book；　〃who　would　contradict　any　narrative　of　yours　in　which　the

best　qualities　were　remembered；　the　worst　forgotten。〃　　Mr。　Forster's

comment　is：　　〃I　had　not　waited　for　this　appeal　to　resolve；　that；　if

this　memoir　were　written　at　all；　it　should　contain；　as　far　as　might

lie　within　my　power；　a　fair　statement　of　the　truth〃。　　And　this

eloquent　passage　of　truth　immediately　follows：　　〃Few　of　his

infirmities　are　without　something　kindly　or　generous　about　them；　and

we　are　not　long　in　discovering　there　is　nothing　so　wildly　incredible

that　he　will　not　himself　in　perfect　good　faith　believe。　　When　he

published　his　first　book　of　poems　on　quitting　Oxford；　the　profits

were　to　be　reserved　for　a　distressed　clergyman。　　When　he　published

his　Latin　poems；　the　poor　of　Leipzig　were　to　have　the　sum　they

realised。　　When　his　comedy　was　ready　to　be　acted；　a　Spaniard　who　had

sheltered　him　at　Castro　was　to　be　made　richer　by　it。　　When　he

competed　for　the　prize　of　the　Academy　of　Stockholm；　it　was　to　go　to

the　poor　of　Sweden。　　If　nobody　got　anything　from　any　one　of　these

enterprises；　the　fault　at　all　events　was　not　his。　　With　his

extraordinary　power　of　forgetting　disappointments；　he　was　prepared

at　each　successive　failure　to　start　afresh；　as　if　each　had　been　a

triumph。　　I　shall　have　to　delineate　this　peculiarity　as　strongly　in

the　last　half　as　in　the　first　half　of　his　life；　and　it　was　certainly

an　amiable　one。　　He　was　ready　at　all　times　to　set　aside；　out　of　his

own　possessions；　something　for　somebody　who　might　please　him　for　the

time；　and　when　frailties　of　temper　and　tongue　are　noted；　this　other

eccentricity　should　not　be　omitted。　　He　desired　eagerly　the　love　as

well　as　the　good　opinion　of　those　whom　for　the　time　he　esteemed；　and

no　one　was　more　affectionate　while　under　such