it continued very tolerable; and in the two latter folios of 1664 and 1685, when I confess it to have become, what it has frequently been called, "an abominable libel upon humanity."

It will readily be granted that, as a work of art, it is by no means skilful, even for that time. They certainly had better artists. Seven years earlier, CHAPMAN'S Homer had been published, with an engraved head of that translator, of the very finest character. It is too well known to our collectors, to demand any particular praise in this place. I can only regret, that the portrait of Shakspeare was not equally fortunate. Chapman's engraver would have left nothing to desire, unless indeed the vain wish that Vandyke could have painted ONE destined to a kindred immortality.

We all know that mere likeness does not rest upon excellence in art. A great painter in his work has many other points that attract him. He is to compose a picture. He may aim at the expression of the general character, and slight the detail. He may consider too attentively grace of position, and turn out of hand

a finished performance, which, when compared with his sitter, is only the "romance of real life." In nearly all families, you find some inferior portrait which is there preferred to the finer picture. The one, they will tell you, is reckoned a capital performance of the great master of the time, but the other is the exact resemblance of their relation. In the one you think of the painter, in the other of the sitter. Vulgar art is fitted to satisfy vulgar taste-it besides exaggerates the points in which resemblance consists. I am not saying that such abortions of art should be preferred-I am only shewing that likeness may be found, where nothing else exists for which the picture is desirable.

I feel tempted to select one striking instance of the important truth above explained; and I solicit the indulgence of such as may think it digression, to leave the Dutchman, for Sir Joshua Reynolds. The great painter of our country, full of the spirit of Michael Angelo, conceived and executed a sublime portrait of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse. He used

freely the mighty impersonation of the prophet Joel in the Capella Sistina. The subject excited his imagination, and inspiration informs the whole of his composition. But as a likeness of Mrs. Siddons, it confessedly fails. Yet I do not believe that this was intended by the artist -mere identity was lost in the magnificence of his design; and perhaps from the late Mr. Harlow's picture of her as Queen Katherine, the most correct notion may be acquired of the features and expression of Siddons. When Reynolds modestly inscribed his name upon the hem of her garment, he bestowed greater longevity than he received.

"The actor only shrinks from Time's award,
"Feeble tradition is his memory's guard."

The picture will in distant times astonish those, who never heard of the actress; and one general impression of unappropriated grandeur will be all the result of this amazing portrait.

To return at length to Shakspeare and his first engraver. The catalogues tell us that Droeshout engraved, besides the head of our

poet, portraits of John Fox, the martyrolo gist; Richard Elton; John Howson, Bishop

of Durham; and Lord Mountjoy Blount. That he was also employed upon Haywood's Hierar chy of Angels, and executed a print of Dido stabbing herself, for Stapylton's octavo Virgil.

The head of Shakspeare is confessedly inferior to some of these works. It has been therefore supposed that he engraved after a very coarse original, if indeed he did not work from personal recollection, assisted by such hints as might be given by those who desired this embellishment for their book. Some ten years ago I was shewn a picture, which appeared to be painted by the very artist who supplied Droeshout with the likeness of Shakspeare. The figure is a half-length. The dress of the person is like that of Shakspeare the ruff is in form the same. On the left hand, at the top of the canvass, is painted anno 1602, ætat. 25. On the right, in the taste of the Shepheard's Calendar, is this quibbling emblem-Sperando, ferendo, vivo, vinco. He wears moreover " seal-ring, probably of his grandfather's," the

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arms on which are plain enough for a herald to interpret. Distance is nothing with such painters. If their subject had a heap of coins

before him, you step up to the picture, as you would to the table, and may peruse the evidence of many a king's reign. Who this person was I know not, but I owe him my attentions, for thus shewing me the exact manner in which Shakspeare was painted. Here were therefore no volunteer infidelities, as Mr. Steevens subsequently asserted, on the part of the engraver-we may rest assured that the engraving was scrupulously faithful to an indifferent original; I mean indifferent only as to its style of art; for as to its resemblance, we may be confident it was deemed perfect by those who best knew the man, most regarded and most regretted him. "The stage," in language no less true than complimentary, "despair'd day but for his volume's light." To Heminge and Condell, therefore, it was essential to perpetuate his countenance his countenance with his works. Though his hasty but immortal compositions

had none of his own care, to that of his fellows