He thrash'd them right, he thrash'd them left, their hurdies he attack

would,

With Christopher's own potent knout-in honour all of Blackwood.

V.

There once was a Yankee, and he was very sage,

Who 'gainst the foes of Christopher a bloody war did wage;
Those who his rifle to escape were so exceeding lucky,

Ran off, I guess, and hid themselves in Erie and Kentucky.
The Cherokees and Chickasaws he furiously attack would,

And shoot their chiefs and kiss their squaws, if they spoke ill of
Blackwood.

North. Next time you pay me a visit, James, at No. 991— I'll show you THE PICTURE.

Shepherd. I understaun' you, sir-Titian's Venus or is't his Danaw yielding to her yellow Jupiter victorious in a shower o' gold? O the selfish hizzie !

North. James, such subjects

Shepherd. You had better, sir, no say anither syllable about them—it may answer verra weel for an auld bachelor like you, sir, to keep that sort o' a serawlio, naked limmers in iles, a shame to ony honest canvass, whatever may hae been the genius o' the Penter that sent them sprawling here; but as for me, I'm a married man, and

North. My dear James, you are under a gross delusion

Shepherd. It's nae delusion. Nae pictur o' the sort, na, no e'en although ane o' the greatest o' the auld Maisters, sall ever hang on ma wa's-I should be ashamed to look the servant lassies in the face when they come into soop the floor or ripe the ribs

North (rising with dignity). No picture, sir, shall ever hang on my walls, on which her eye might not dwell

Shepherd. Mrs Gentle! a bit dainty body-wi' a' the modesty, and without ony o' the demureness, o' the Quaker leddie; and as for yon pictur o' her aboon the brace-piece o' your Sanctum, by Sir Thomas Lawrence

North. John Watson Gordon, if you please, my dear James.

Shepherd. It has the face o' an angel.

North (sitting down with dignity). I was about to ask you,

1 No. 99 Moray Place was Christopher's imaginary residence in Edinburgh. No. 6 Gloucester Place was his real abode.

SUBJECT-THE DEFENCE OF SOCRATES.

157

James, to come and see my last work-my master-piece-my chef-d'œuvre

Shepherd. The subjeck?

North. The Defence of Socrates.

Shepherd. A noble subjeck indeed, sir, and weel adapted for your high intellectual and moral genie.

North. My chief object, James, has been to represent the character of Socrates. I have conceived of that character, as one in which unshaken strength of high and clear Intellect― and a moral Will fortified against all earthly trials—sublime and pure-were both subordinate to the principle of Love. Shepherd. Gude, sir,-gude. He was the Freen o' Man. North. I felt a great difficulty in my art, James-from the circumstances purely historical—that neither the figure nor the countenance of Socrates were naturally commanding

Shepherd. An' hae ye conquered it to your satisfaction, sir? North. I have. Another difficulty met me too, James, in this—that in his mind there was a cast of intellect—a play of comic wit-inseparable from his discourse-and which must not be forgotten in any representation of it.

Shepherd. Profoond as true.

North. To give dignity and beauty to the expression of features, and a figure of which the form was neither dignified nor beautiful, was indeed a severe trial for the power of art. Shepherd. An' hae you conquered it too, sir?

North. Most successfully. In the countenance, therefore, my dear James, to answer to what I have assigned as the highest principle in the character, Love, there is a prevailing character of gentleness-the calm of that unalterable mind has taken the appearance of a celestial serenity—an expression caught, methinks, from the peaceful heart of the unclouded sky brooding in love over rejoicing nature.

Shepherd. That's richt, sir.

North. Such expression I have breathed over the forehead, the lips, and the eyes; yet is there not wanting either the grandeur, nor the fire, nor the power of intellect, nor the boldness of conscious innocence.

Shepherd. I'll come and see't, sir, the morn's mornin,' afore breakfast. Fowre eggs.

North. That one purpose I have pursued and fulfilled by the expression of all the Groups in the piece.

1 The morn's mornin-to-morrow morning.

158 SOCRATES' FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS-HIS JUDGES.

Shepherd. Naething in pentin kitlier than groopin.

North. You behold a prevalent expression of Love in the countenance of his friends and followers-of love greater than even reverence, admiration, sorrow, anxiety, and fear!

Shepherd. Though doutless a' thae emotions, too, will be expressed and familiar hae they been to you, sir, through the coorse o' a strangely chequered though not unhappy life.

North. Then, too, James, have I had to express-and I have expressed it—the habitual character belonging to many there-besides the expression of the moment; countenances of generous, loving, open-souled youth; middle-aged men of calm benign aspect, but not without earnest thought; and not unconspicuous, one aged man, James, almost the counterpart of Socrates himself, only without his high intellectual power, a face composed, I may almost say, of peace, the only one of all perfectly untroubled.

Shepherd. That's an expressive thought, sir-and it's original-that's to say, it never occurred to me afore you mentioned it.

North. He, like Socrates, reconciled to that certain death, familiar with the looks of the near term of life, and not without hopes beyond it.

Shepherd. Believed thae sages, think ye, sir, in the immortality o' the sowl.

North. I think, James, that they did-assuredly Socrates. Shepherd. I'm glad o't for their sakes, though they hae a' been dead for thousan's o' years.

North. Then, James, how have I managed his judges?
Shepherd. Hoo?

North. In all their faces, with many expressions, there is one expression-answering to the predominant disposition assigned to the character of Socrates-the expression of Malignity towards Love.

Shepherd. You've hit it, sir; you've hit it. Here's your health. North. An expression of malignity in some almost lost on a face of timidity, fear, or awe, in others blended almost brutally with impenetrable ignorance.1

1 North might have taken some hints for his picture from Plato's Dialogue of Euthyphron, in which Socrates describes his accuser, Meletus, as a person "with long straight hair, a scanty beard, and a hooked nose.

THE ATHENIAN PEOPLE.

159

Shepherd. That comes o' studyin the Passions. I think but little noo o' Collins's Odd.

North. Then, James, I have given the countenances of the people.

Shepherd. A fickle people-ever ready to strike doun offensive Virtue-and ever as ready to shed tears o' overactin remorse on her ashes!

North. In the countenances of the people, James, I have laboured long, but succeeded methinks at last, in personifying as it were the Vices which drove them on to sacrifice the father of the city-to dim the eye and silence the tongue of Athens, who was herself the soul of Greece.

Shepherd. A gran' idea, sir-and natural as gran'-ane that could only visit the sowl o' a great Maister.

North. There you see anger, wrath, rage, hatred, spite, envy, jealousy, exemplified in many different natures. That Figure, prominent in the hardened pride of intellect, with his evil nature scowling through, eyeing Socrates with malignant, stern, and deadly revenge-is the King of the Sophists.

Shepherd. About to re-erect his Throne, as he hopes, on the ruins o' that Natural Theology which Socrates taught the heathens.

North. You see then, James,—you feel that the purpose of the painter on the whole picture, has been to express, as I said, his conception of the character of Socrates-a various and manifold reflection of one image; but the image itself, giving the same due proportion,-where Love sits on the height of moral and intellectual power, and Intellect in their triple union, though strong in its own character, is yet subordinate to Both.

Shepherd. What a pictur it maun be, if the execution be equal to the design!

North. Many conceptions, my dear James, troubled my imagination, before, in the steadfastness of my delight in Love, I finally fixed upon this-which I humbly hope the world "will not willingly let die."

Shepherd. It's the same way wi' poems. They aye turn out at last something seemingly quite different frae the origination form-but it's no sae-for a spirit o' the same divine sameness breathes throughout, though ye nae langer ken the bit bonny bud in "the bricht consummate flower."

160 NORTH'S SKETCHES FOR THE DEFENCE OF SOCRATES.

North. In one sketch-I will make you a present of it, my dear James

Shepherd. Thank ye, sir-thank ye;-you're really ower kind-ower gude to your Shepherd; but dinna forget, sir—see that you dinna forget-for you'll pardon me for hintin that sometimes promises o' that sort slip your memory

North. In one sketch, James, I have represented Socrates speaking and I found it more difficult to give the character of the principal figure-because the fire of discourse, of necessity, gave a disproportionate force to the intellectual expression; while again, I found it easier to give the character of all the rest, who looked upon Socrates, under the power of his eloquence, simply commanding, with almost an undivided expression, in which individual character was either lost or subdued.

Shepherd. Never mind-send me the Sketch.

North. I will-and another. For, again, I chose that moment when, having closed his defence, Socrates stands looking upon the consulting judges, and awaiting their deci

sion.

Shepherd. Oh! sir! and that was a time when his ain character, methinks, micht wi' mair ease be most beautifully expressed!

North. Most true. But then, the divided and conflicting expression of all the other figures, some turned on the judges with scrutinising eagerness, to read the decision before it was on their lips-some certain of the result-looking on Socrates -or on the judges-with what different states of soul! These, James, I found difficult indeed to manage, and to bring them all under the one expression, which in that sketch too, as in my large picture, it was my aim to breathe over the

canvass.

Shepherd. You maun try, sir, to mak a feenished pictur frae that sketch, sir—you maun indeed, sir. I'll lend it to you for that purpose and no grudge 't though ye keep it in your ain possession till next year.

North. I have not only made a sketch of another design, James, but worked in some of the colours.

Shepherd. The dead colours?

North. No-colours already instinct with life. I have chosen that calmer time when, after the pronouncing of the sentence,