Signor Efferati compelled to repeat "La Camicia rossa": and he probably would have been kept repeating it to this very moment had not the happy thought occurred to him, on the occasion of his ninth recall, to slide off into the "Star-spangled Banner"-which, being received with a very handsome enthusiasm, tended to let the patriots down gently from the heights of patriotism whereto they had been exalted by their own thunderous backing of Signor Efferati in the chorus and by their interpellated yells and shouts in regard to Italy redeemed! It was one o'clock in the morning when at last the patriots consented to go away; and they went then only in response to an urgent appeal to them to go-made by Signor Efferati at the express request of the manager-coupled with a gradual turning out of the gas. As the last of them vanished, the Signor and Signora, by a common impulse, precipitated themselves into each other's arms and wept freely upon each other's shoulders tears of the purest joy. Not only had they achieved a magnificent triumph: by this triumph, as their prophetic souls correctly informed them, their musical conquest of America was assured! IX. Two years later-in which period the prophecy of that happy moment had been abundantly fulfilled-the members of the Efferati Family, bearing their sheaves with them, stood upon the deck of an Italian steamer and watched the Jersey Highlands sink away slowly into the bosom of the West. With a magnificent gesture towards the retreating continent, and with a noble fervor, Signor Efferati spoke: "It has won my heart, Vittoria, this America! It is superb!" He paused for a moment, and then in exalted tones continued: "In my anger, in the wild turmoil of that ungoverned passion which is the heritage of my fierce race, I once crushed this meritorious country beneath the ponderous burden of my curse. Behold! That curse now is lifted! America shall continue to prosper! I desire that it shall be blessed!" TH BY LAURENCE HUTTON. Second Paper. HACKERAY, like most Anglo-Indian infants, was sent, when he was about five years of age, to the mother-country for mental and physical nourishment. An aunt, with whom he lived, discovered the child one morning parading about in his uncle's hat, which exactly fitted him. Fearing some abnormal and dangerous development of the brain, she carried him at once to a famous physician of the day, who is reported to to have said, "Don't be afraid, madam; he has a large head, but there's a good deal in it!" His brain, when he died, fifty-three years later, weighed fifty-eight and a half ounces. In 1849 or 1850, Charlotte Brontë wrote of Thackeray: "To me the broad brow seems to express intellect. Certain lines about the nose and cheek betray the satirist and cyn an exquisite bliss.' God grant that on that Christmas eve when he laid his head back on his pillow, and threw up his arms as he had been wont to do when very weary, some consciousness of duty done, and Christian hope throughout life humbly cherished, may have caused his heart so to throb when he passed away to his Redeemer's rest!" "And, lo," said Thackeray himself once, of the most beautiful character in all fiction, his own Thomas Newcome"And, lo, he whose heart was as that of a little child had answered to his name, and stood in the presence of The Master!" WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. ic; the mouth indicates a childlike simplicity-perhaps even a degree of irresoluteness in consistency-weakness in short, but a weakness not unamiable." And Mr. Motley, writing to his wife in 1858, said: "I believe you have never seen Thackeray; he has the appearance of a colossal infant, smooth, white, shining ringlety hair, flaxen, alas! with advancing years; a roundish face, with a little dab of a nose, upon which it is a perpetual wonder how he keeps his spectacles." This broken nose was always a source of amusement to Thackeray himself; he caricatured it in his drawings, he frequently alluded to it in his speech and in his letters, and he was fond of repeating Douglas Jerrold's remark to him when he was to stand as godfather to a friend's "We think of Thackeray," wrote Dr. John Brown, of Edinburgh, "as of our Chalmers; found dead in like manner; the same childlike, unspoiled open face, the same gentle mouth, the same spaciousness and softness of nature, the same look of power. What a thing to think of his lying there alone in the dark, in the midst of his own mighty London; his mother and his daughters asleep, and, it may be, dreaming of his goodness. Long years of sorrow, labor, and pain had killed THOMAS CHALMERS. him before his time. It was found after death how little life he had to live. He looked always fresh with that abounding silver hair, and his loving, almost infantile face; but he was worn to a shadow, and his hands wasted as if by eighty years." The cast of Thackeray's face was made by Brucciani on that sad Christmas morning, at the request of Dr., now Sir, Henry Thompson; and a cast of his right hand was made at the same time-that honest, faithful, beautiful, wasted right hand, which "never writ a flattery, "In height and breadth and in general configuration," wrote Julian Charles Young, "Dr. Chalmers was not unlike Coleridge. I have, since I knew Coleridge, sometimes thought that if Chalmers's head had been buried from sight, I could easily have mistaken him for that remarkable man. His face was pallid and pasty, and, I rather think, showed slight traces of small-pox. His features were ordinary; his hair was scanty, and generally roughed, as if his fingers had often passed through it; his brow was not high, but very broad, and well developed. His skull, phrenologically speaking, argued great mathematical power, but showed deficiency in the very qualities for which he was conspicuous, namely, benevolence and veneration." Concerning Coleridge, Young wrote: "His general appearance would have led me to suppose him a dissenting minister. His hair was long, white, and neglected; his complexion was florid; his features were square; his eyes watery and hazy; his brow broad and massive; his build uncouth; his deportment grave and abstracted." Charles Cowden Clarke, in his Recollections, spoke of Coleridge as "largepresenced, ample - countenanced, grandforeheaded," and said that "the upper part of his face was excessively fine. His eyes were large, light gray, prominent, and of a liquid brilliancy. The lower part of his face was somewhat dragged, indicating the presence of habitual pain; but his forehead was prodigious, and like a smooth slab of alabaster." Leigh Hunt likened his brow to "a great piece of placid marble," and added that even in his old age there was something invincibly young in the look of his face." "This boylike expression " he considered 'very becoming in one who dreamed and speculated as Coleridge did when he was really a boy, and who passed his entire life apart from the rest of the world with a book and his flowers." Nor signed the page that registered a lie." Thomas Chalmers was another man of great heart and of great head. He died, as we have seen, as Thackeray died, with out warning, but without pain or conflict. He was discovered sitting half erect in his Carlyle's portrait of Coleridge is peculbed, his head reclining quietly on his pil- iarly in the Carlylian vein. "Figure a low, the expression of his countenance fat, flabby, incurvated personage, at once that of fixed and majestic repose. He short, rotund, and relaxed; with a watery had responded cheerfully when his name mouth; a snuffy nose; a pair of strange was called. Thackeray heard the sum- brown, timid, and yet earnest-looking mons evidently in a moment of physical eyes; a high tapering brow; and a great distress. But his Adsum" was just as brush of gray hair-and you have some ready, and no doubt it was quite as will faint idea of Coleridge." ingly uttered. Coleridge himself was not more flatter ing to Coleridge. In 1796 he wrote to John Thelwall: "My face, unless when animated by immediate eloquence, expresses great sloth, and great, indeed almost idiotic, good-nature. 'Tis a mere carcass of a face, fat, flabby, and expressive chiefly of inexpression. Yet I am told that my eyes, eyebrows, and forehead are physiognomically good." Mrs. Sara Coleridge, in her Memoir, gave a long account of Coleridge's death and burial, in which she said that "his body was opened, according to his own urgent request"; but, as usual in such cases, she did not allude to the making of any cast of his face or head." Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge, however, the son of Derwent Coleridge, who is preparing a life of his illustrious grandfather, writes, in a private note: "My mother used to tell me that the bust in her possession was by Spurzheim, and was taken from a death-mask; but with regard to Spurzheim, she must have been in error, as he died before Coleridge. Lord Coleridge says that the bust in his possession is by Spurzheim, and was taken from a cast of the poet's features; but whether he falls into the same error as my mother did, I cannot say. It is, of course, possible that Spurzheim took a life cast from Coleridge's face." Mr. Ernest Coleridge is inclined to accept the authenticity of the mask in my collection. It certainly bears a strong resemblance to the two busts of which he writes, as well as to the portrait by Allston, now in the National Portrait Gallery in London. And it is very like the face of Mr. Ernest Coleridge himself. Carlyle said that "Wordsworth's face bore marks of much, not always peaceful, meditation; the look of it not bland or benevolent so much as close, impregnable, and hard." S. C. Hall wrote that "his eyes were mild and up-looking; his mouth coarse rather than refined; his forehead high rather than broad"; while Mr. Greville put it rather more tersely when he described him as "hard-featured, brown, wrinkled, with prominent teeth, and a few scattered gray hairs." Leigh Hunt said, in his Autobiography: "Certainly I never beheld eyes that looked so inspired or supernatural [as Wordsworth's]. They were like fires half burning, half smouldering, with a sort of acrid fixture of regard, and seated where Hazlitt spoke of his "intense high, narrow forehead, Roman nose, cheeks furrowed by strong purpose, and a convulsive inclination to laughter about his mouth, which was a good deal at variance with the solemn and stately expression of the rest of his face." And Sir Humphry and Lady Davy, who were at Wordsworth's funeral, were both struck by the likeness of his face, in the deep repose of death, to that of Dante. The expression, they thought, was much more feminine than it had been in life, and it suggested strongly the face of his devoted sister, with whom so many of his years had been spent. Haydon, in his Journal-April 13, 1815 wrote: "I had a cast made yesterday of Wordsworth's face. He bore it like a philosopher. He sat in my dressing-gown with his hands folded; sedate, solemn, and still." And then Haydon described how, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. through the open door, he exhibited the unconscious poet undergoing this unbecoming operation to curious but disrespectful friends of them both. This was when Wordsworth was forty-two years of age, and thirty-five years before he died. Sir Henry Taylor, in his Autobiography, spoke, shortly after the poet's death, of "a cast taken of a mask of Wordsworth." He considered it admirable as a likeness, and added that it was so regarded by Mrs. Wordsworth. He saw "a rough grandeur in it, with which, if it was to be converted into marble, posterity might be contented." But he does not say whether it was a life-mask or a deathmask, and he does not refer to the Haydon mask as such. In no other work, in no biography of Wordsworth, and in no account of his last hours, is any allusion to the mask to be found. The face here reproduced is, without question, that of Wordsworth. It suggests the Wordsworth of middle age; it strongly resembles the portraits painted by Haydon; it is much too young in form and expression for the senile Wordsworth of the well-known Fraser Gallery; and there is little doubt of its being the work of Haydon alluded to above. Haydon is known to have painted several portraits of Words worth, one of which exhibits him in a Byron collar, and another shows him with eyes rolling in fine frenzy over the composition of a sonnet on one of Haydon's own pictures. Haydon also introduced Wordsworth as a devout disciple in his large work called "Christ's Entry into Jerusalem," painted in 1818. Mr. John Gilmer Speed, in his Memoir of Keats, presents an engraving of "John Keats from the Life-Mask of Haydon in 1818," and pronounces it the most satisfactory of the likenesses of Keats that he has seen. In no other of the Lives of Keats is any allusion made to this mask; it is not mentioned in any of the published letters to or from Keats, or in The Correspondence and Table-Talk of Haydon. Mr. Sev ern, shortly before he died, told Mr. Richard Watson Gilder that he believed the cast to have been the work of Haydon, and that he prized it as the most interesting, as it is the most real and accurate, portrait of his friend in existence; and through him were procured the few copies of it in this country, one of which is here reproduced. Mr. Gilder considers it much more agreeable than a death-mask would have been, for it not only escapes the haggardness of death, but there is even, so it seems to him, a suggestion of humorous patience in the expression of the mouth. "In this mask," he adds, "one has the authentic form and shape-the very stamp of the poet's visage." And he calls attention to the fact of its remarkable resemblance to more than one of the members of the Keats family whom he has met. Charles Cowden Clarke, who does not seem to have been aware of the existence of the mask, said that the best portrait of Keats is the first done by Severn himself, that which is engraved in Hunt's Lord Byron and his Contemporaries. Lord Houghton, in his Life of Keats, quoted the description given him by a lady (probably Mrs. B. W. Procter), who watched Keats in the Surrey Institute in London, listening to Hazlitt's course of Lectures on the British Poets, in the winter of 1817-18. "His countenance," she said, "lives in my mind as one of singular beauty and brightness; it had an expression as if it had been looking at some glorious sight. His mouth was full and less intellectual than his other features." Leigh Hunt drew his portrait more care |