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FAMOUS PAINTINGS IN THENATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY OF ENGLAND
The National Portrait Gallery is an ex
tension of the National Gallery itself. It
was opened a year ago. The building,
presented to tne Government, now holds
one of the most remarkable collections in
existence. Many of them have been taken
from the old permanent exhibitions in the
South Kensington and Bethnal Green
museums, many have been loaned or pre
sented from private collections. Here we
have the heroes of war, of literature, of
science, of painting and of the stage— hung
amicably in effigy according to the period
of their activity. There the noble Duke of
Monmoutn stares into the face of his con
queror, William of Orange; there Warren
Hastings and Burke and Sheridan coufab
uiate; queens and actresses, and kingß and
commoners are reduced to colored illus
trations from the vivid history of the past
Upon entering the gallery we come in
to the great hall sacred to the Chief Jus
tices and Lord High Chancellors, enor
mous portraits, imposing in size and in
gorgeous colors. Here are scarlet robes of
office, and gold chains,and ermine mantles,
and ponderous locks, and the beads under
the great curled wigs have a monumental
seriousness and dignity as becoming these
pillars of the state. There is only one por
trait really interesting from a painters'
point of view and that is one of John,
Lord Campbell, Lord Chief Justice, Lord
Chancellor, and author of the "Lives" of
many of his distinguished brothers in
office. The artist is Thomas Woolnoth.
The color of the head is singularly fresh;
the paint has the broken vivid effect of a
sketch, in which the eyes, small and liquid,
twinkle with a pale-blue merriment; the
hair is his own and is shaggy and disor
dered; the hand in his coat, the sword he
carries, even the frills at neck and sleeves,
contribute to the animation ot the portrait.
Everywhere the light falls and glitters
slightly in little sharp ] oints or subdued
Lord Lvndburst, son of John Singleton
Copley of Boston, has a grim and lofty
countenance, superior to the ills and mis
eries, the faults and failings of poor earth
The first Lord Dennian, one of the Coun
cil of Queen Caroline, looks more like a
Roman pontiff than a British statesman.
His robe is as red as that of a cardinal.
Around his neck is a small piece of trans
parent lawn, cut in small oblong strips,
and in the background is a suggestion of
columns and a rich blue sky, like the col
onnade of St. Peter's and a bit of an Ital
In the rotunda at the head of the stairs
we rind Queen Caroline seated in a large
chair, with a surprised and expectant ex
pression. She looks like a fishwife mas
querading in royal robes and as though
discovery of the deception was imminent.
A red plush bat with a disheveled feather
is clapped down low over her forehead, her
red plush gown is creased in great folds
over her crossed knees, her hands and
arms are brawny and red.
Opposite hanus the well-known profile
of her royal lord, King George IV. That
fresh and vigorous study was made for the
head on the coinage by Sir Thomas Law
A careful portrait of Queen Victoria by
Angeii, copied from the original in Wind
sor Cattle, occupies the place of honor.
la the next room there is an absurd
little portrait of Admiral Nelson, who
conies mincing forward, "on the light,
fantastic toe," balancing like a dancing
master, in very tight knee breeches, and a
long, gold-braided scsrlet coat and his
cocked hat pulled rakisnly awry.
One of the most interesting collections
is that presented by Frederick Watts, em
bracing many of the celebrities of the last,
naif century. An entire room is given
over to them and a lew hardly les3 inter
Here is Walter Scott, by Landseer, and
poor young Keats, with his melancholy
profile, bending over a book, painted after
his death by his friend, Joseph Severn. Here
also is Lord Byron in his youth, and in the
guise of the "Corsair," with a theatrical
and sentimental expression. In the cor
ner, in a dark room, a miserable portrait,
WHERE SWEET FLOWERS MOST TRULY REFLECT GOD'S GRAGIOUS SMILE
iJp on Butter street, drawn modestly
back a step or two from the pavement,
is a small house with the simple sign,
"Fruit and Flower Mission."
All day and neariy all night feet, light
and heavy, glad and sorry, pass this un
assuming place, and eyes, seeing or un
seeins.', meet the sign.
Every Thursday bright-faced girls come
out from the house Jaden with heavy
baskets, and in twos and threes they go in
all directions. For many years there has
been a fruit and flower mission and every
■week the girls have gone out with baskets
on their arms and sweet charity in their
hearts. Yet of the great hosts of com
fortable people in the City a very few un
derstand the importance and the breadth
of the flower-mission work. The poor and
the sick know.
It may be that you, whose eyes rest on
. these words now, have passed the little
cottage as I used to, with tha idea that it
was a fad of wealthy young ladies who
needed no assistance, and wished to keep
the affair exclusive. I had a vague picture
in my mind of butterflies fluttering down
to the mission with a small bunch of flow
ers, and much purple and fine linen, eat
ing lunch and exchanging society gossip,
and sending a basset of flowers by a mes
senger-boy to a hospital.
With the authority of a great newspaper
behind me to balance my lack of social
prestige, I visited the Fruit and Flower
Mission on distributing day.
First, I tripped going down an abrupt
step and gracefully presented myself in the
basement Lead first. Two women in big
aprons and sleeve protectors, who were
sorting flowers at a big table, smiled like
old friends, and were "so glad I came.''
If I would go upstair?, they said, the sec
retary would tell me all about the work.
In the front rooms, upstairs, there were
perhaps a dozen yonng ladies, all in shirt
waists and round hats and all Dusy. Such
a cabbie. Such a pleasant, busy gabble,
too. Such an intentness in filling "my
basket" with just tue right articles. Where
was the purple and fine linen and where
the elegant ease?
The secretary and two older ladies were
flying about iike mothers at Christmas
time, dealing out supplies and listening to
the appeals of the poor who had applied in
person for relief.
The name of the charity is a pretty one,
but I think it misleading. The fruit and
flowers are there, but only as the dessert
after the more substantial relief. Great
bins of flour and oatmeal can hardly be
called fruit or flowers, nor can canisters
of tea and coffee, barrels of sugar, sacks of
potatoes, bottles of beef extract and port
wine, shelves full of clothing and rows of
shoes. Ail these and more are in the
MRS. SIDDONS, BY SIR W. BhECHEY, R.A.
but full of a quaint interest, we find
Charles and Mary Lamb, two funny, bent,
little old people; Mary with a cap and
bobbing curls, and both dwarfed as pig
mies and with apple-red faces.
The beautiful tread of Leigh Hunt and
the badly painted portrait of Thackeray
are the only ones that take the attention
away from the noble collection painted
and presented by Frederick Watts. Tne
first is of Dante s Gabriel Rossetti, with
PHILIP KEMBLE, BY GILBERT STUART.
storerooms of the mission, and the baskets
the girls carry are heavy with the neces
saries of life, and invalid dainties. The
handful of flowers on the top is only a
touch of beauty to crown the whole.
The aim of the Flower Mission is not to
make steady pensioners, but to have a
constantly changing field. The motto
should be, "To help over hard places."
The purpose is to help those who are ill,
while they are ill; to take strengthening
food, cheerful books, warm clothes and
bright flowers into the sickrooms qi the
poor. Could you imagine a sweeter
After showing me all the stores and ex
plaining that they were bought with mis
sion money instead of being, as I thought,
contributed by merchants, the secretary
told me something queer.
The Flower Mission nee^s more flow
ers. Think of that. In this land of flow
ers, where, if you plant a pine knot, roses
will grow from one end and peaches from
the otuer, it is difficult to gather in half a
dozen basketf uls once a week without pay
ing for them.
"People forget the Flower Mission, 1 ' the
secretary said a little sadly as she turned
away lrom the table.
I think it is not all from forgetfulness or
carelessness, but from ignorance. People
do not Know how gladly the mission will
welcome the blossoms. I felt guilty, re
membering how I had snipped off my
sweet peas and dropped them on the
ground to keep them lrom going to seed.
Would I like to go visiting with two of
the girls to see how they worked ? Yes,
indeed, and 1 wanted to carry a basket. So
my basket was loaded, and with two girls
1 started on my first mission of charity in
San Francisco. One of the girls was a
young matron, but that doesn't matter- If
you come from the mission you are a girl.
My basket was heavy. It was large, too,
and i was awkward in the managing of it,
and had to be helped on the dummy.
"Nevermind," said the young matron,
"it is awkward till you get used to it, and
the handle makes your arm. black and
blue, but that is nothing."
We transferred to the little horsecar and
went out Fifth street to some side place,
where we were to leave the first basket.
On the way I learned that no promiscuous
work is done, but that all cases are inves
tigated by the Associated Charities. "Of
course," the young matron added in her
decided way— such a kindly way, too—
"some of them are not worthy, but they
are sick and miserable and that is all we
I was going straight past a big uely
house which might long ago have been
a mansion, but the girls called me back,
ran up the broad steps, opened the door
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 76, 1896.
golden-red beard and full lips and melan
choly eyes. Mathew Arnold, with his
hard, cold, strong and noble head, pales
beside a beautiful portrait ol Lord Tenny
son, darfc and rich in color, the head
' modeled against a background of smooth,
i dark laurel leaves; the eyes, under droop
i ing eyelids, have a mysterious and
I thoughtful melancholy. King Arthur or
Lancelot might have had such eyes.
Robert Browning comes next, with a
without ceremony and then went up and
up to a room in the rear.
The door opened and a broad German
"Ach, ja, the dear girls," welcomed us.
In this small room lives, cooks, eats and
sleeps an old woman who will die one day
from the cancer eating her breast. Some
German society pays her rent and for the
rest the Flower Mis-
sion basket conies
I thought the very
poor would be very
dirty. They often aie
and I have thought
that in tbeir place I
might be just so. But
this little den was the
essence of neatness.
The stove, tiny and
old, shone and twin
kled, and the floor
was fit to use for a
table. The first thing
the invalid noticed
after answering the
inquiries of the girl 3
was the flowers. They
were oid- fashioned
flowers unknown to
me except by the
English she told us
how they crew in her
garden lone ago when
she was young and
Out of the basket ■
came a package ofl
coffee and one of su-H
gar, a little bag ofl
flour, a layer of pota-M
toes and a giass ofl
Not one mite of avel
on the face of the old I
woman — only a sim-B
pie friendliness on I
both sides. Did sheH
want any thing in p3r-M
ticular for next w eek ?H
Yes, she would needH
more rags for ban-B
dages. "All right," l
the young maid said,
"I'll hant some for you, and some moTe
flannel, too, bo you will not catch cold."
The next place was near. We went
through one house into another in the
rear. A young girl gasps with asthma and
the air is enough to make a well person
gasp. Here, too, the mission girl 3 were
welcomed as friends and told all the af
fairs of the family.
Tort vine and beef extract were part ol
head like a lion, great locks of iron-gra y
bair falling over a Jove-like front. The
head of the father in the Laocoon group
flashes into the memory, and this head
has a touch of the same immortal pain.
Then we have Cardinal Manning, thin and
fine and grave, with a network of lines
around his eye?, a face worn to a shadow
by a long life of thought and labor; the
hands, that are tbin and fine and veined
and sunken, are no less characteristic.
At the entrance is a portrait of Cardinal
Newman, painied by Miss Deane. There
is a slight indecision about the drawing.
It is a matter of doubt whether the Car
dinal is standing or sitting down, but the
gentie severity of the oid head is very
John Stuart Mill has almost the sam»
characteristics as Cardinal Manning, the
same emaciated, worn face, the sunken
eyes, the thin, bent nose, and the line of
the mouth fine and ascetic and reserved.
The portrait of Carlyle by Watts hangs
below one of the same subject by Sir John
The Watts portrait is like a Socrates,
the Millais is like a Diogenes — both are
indubitably philosophers, but about the
portrait by Watts is an indefinable
loftiness, as there is about the thick
lipped, stub-nosed, big-browed physiog
nomy of his Athenian intellectual an
cestor. Millais represents him with
white, rough hair around a lean, deeply
colored countenance, with protruding lips
and jaw and strange, fierce blue eyes
under straight overhanging brows; his
long, cadaverous, claw-like hands grasp
ike two arms of a chair. The painter has
apparently seized a moment when he
has just given vent to an amiable senti
ment and regrets it.
Next to him we find Lord Lytton, the
romantic aulhor of "Lucile" and one time
Minister to France. He is the ideal of a
schoolgirl; perhaps the hard, bitter head
of the philosopher next to him adds to the
force of the impression. He has a senti
mental, dreamy countenance. His large
eyes and the ring on his elegant and
graceiul hand are of a deep, deep blue.
In the other rooms on this floor are Gains
borougns and Sir Joshua Reynolds galore,
not any of them speciall}' remarkable.
Most of the portraits have more of his
torical than artistic interest. There are
whole regiments of officers — admirals and
generals — standing with their hands on
their swords, black storms raging in the
background and miniature gory battles
being fought out behind them.
On the first landing are two beautiful
portraits, one of John Philip Kemble as
the noble Dane, the other of his sister,
Mrs. Siddons, reading aloud to an imag
inary audience. The one of Hamlet is
striking. The fine, dark head of Kemble
must have needed but little manipulation
to have made him the ideal of the gloomy
In another room we have two smaller
portraits, one by Gilbert Stuart, the other
the well-known portrait of Mrs. Siddons
by Beechey. The two heads have a strong
family lifceness, the eyes very large, long
and black as velvet, the nose very deli
cately aquiline, the mouth strongly cv rved
and very rich in color. The one of Mrs.
Siddons is taken before the period of her
greatest triumphs, but after that mar
velous performance as Portia in "The
Merchant of Venice" with Garrick as Shy
lock. Garrick himself glooms very fat
and fierce from under an adjacent frame.
Now the heart begins to beat, as every
portrait becomes more and more familiar.
Here we have the Right Hon. Mr. Pitt,
Prime Minister, a beardless youth of 25.
Here are Sheridan and Burke and
Warren Hastings fighting out their old
Ne.'.r them hangs Charles James Fox in
a canary waistcoat, with a large shovel
hat, and a precious old scoundrel he
Here we have a portrait of the Hon.
Miss Darner, who married the son of Lord
Milton, but, the old chronicles inform u--,
"the union was not happy, as she was
suddenly left a widow," which is certainly
a suggestive bit of information.
What a company we have here: Wesley
the basket's contents, and jelly and a
book. For this invalid there was a bnnch
of long-stemmed roses of creamy tint, and
as she held them close she told how last
week's flowers had lasted five days. "I
was in tlie country a week once," she told
us. "and I could have brought home a
plant, but it would die in this dark place."
WITH FLOWERS % AND SYMPATHY.
Up the street a little farther and another
dive into the rear. In the other places
there were no small children, but in this
two tiny girls with big blue eyes, too old
for child eyes, looked gravely at us and
brightened only a little at sight of the
candy the young maid had in her pocket.
May the maid from the mission never lack
the sweets of life to share with the little
sisters who have nonel
NELL GWYNNE, BY SIR PETER LELY.
and Hannah More trying to frown down
the gay and smiling Lady Hamilton,
George Eliot and Elizabeth Fry, and Mary
Somerville and Christina Rossetti and
Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Sarah
KING HENRY VII, FROM AN OLD PORTRAIT.
A few months ago this was a happy
family, with a strong hand to labor. First
a baby boy died and the father grieved
deeply — so deeply it seemed to tell on his
health. Then he took a severe cold, which
turned into quick consumption, and in six
weeks he had found his little son.
Now the two girls and the mother and
the coming infant
have a hard struggle
before them for a
month or two until
the mother is again
able to work. They
were about to be
turned into the street
on account of failure
to pay the $6 for their
miserable rooms, and
the little one whose
eyes are to open on a
world of sadness and
struggle would have
been still more desti
tute but for the mis
The girls brought a
and promised a nice
heavy basket every
Thursday for several
One of the little
girls talked to the
young maid about
her father and how
lonely it was at din
ner time because he
didn't come. "I
know he won't ever
come," the little voice
went on. "He's gone
to where baby broth
er is, but I'm lone
Take these three
cases as a sample of
the work of the Fruit
and Flower Mission
and think whether
the charity is a small
or narrow one. The
girls who take the
basKOts are not poor.
Is it not true charity
that takes them in
person, rain or shint,
among the sick every Thursday?
It is easier to throw a dollar at the poor
than to take o:ie day out of every week to
minister to them. Does it seem a small
thing to go once a week? Try it yourself,
you who are above want. Give one day
out of seven to serving your brothers
whose need is great; give it year after
year, admitting no excuse, and then an
swer whether it is a little tiling to do.
Austen, and Miss Agnes Strickland look
ing like one of the noble and virtuous
royal dames she loved to chronicle.
On the topmost floor we have a con
fusion of royal portraits and authors and
"Oh, yes," said the maid from the mis
sion, "we go every Thursday. The week
would be all wrong if we did not. Of course
all who belong do not go; there are al
ways some in a society who shirk, but
the real workers of the mission are very
Before I tell of the hospital work I must
lay before you the needs of the mission.
There is money on hand from a bequest,
but the principal is being U3ed all the
time and the expense is considerable.
The mission needs fruit. It is a shame
that now, while fruit is rotting on the
ground and being dumped into the bay or
fed to hogs, the Fruit and Flower Mission
has to send canned fruit and jellies to the
sick or the poor. It is doubly a shame be
cause the charity n eed cost the donor
Wells-Fargo will take free of all charge
any boxes addressed to the mission and
will return the boxes afterward. Think
of that when your fruit is going to waste,
and take time to pack a few boxes. Your
purse will not be the emptier for a thought
of others. If the time is too precious set
the half-grown children at it and kill two
birds with one stone. It will help the sick
and it will be teaching the children the
beautiful lesson of unselfishness, of giving
of their abundance to the unfortunate.
Children are naturally loving and if you
tell them the story of sick children in darfi
rooms who need those juicy pears and
peaches, they will trot their little legs
weary and take a tender note in their
voices as they pack fruit for "poor, sick,
little girls and boys."
Wholesale fruit merchants when over
stocked might send many a box, and it
would buy them a penny's worth of para
dise without in the least decreasing their
profits. The fruit would go to a class who
could not buy it.
Half- worn shoes and outgrown garments
for children are always in demand. And
baby clothes. This is a tender subject,
but truth is tender as well. Helpless
childhood in need is one of the greatest of
wrongs. The mother whose baby has
gone away and left the dainty garments
to be bedewed with tears ha 3no riebt to
lay them away so long as other babes as
pure and innocent yet as hers are coming
into the world to find no covering. The
little clothes seem sacred, and they are
sacred — sacred enough for an angel's mis
sion. Give them away ! Take them your
self, if you will, and in drawing the
scented folds over the body of some child
born into poverty and sm feel the pain in
your heart melting into a broader mother
love for all little ones.
Books and cheerful magazines and pa
pers are needed always; and remember
that Walls- Fargo will carry them free.
ladies of the courts of James and Charle
Here is another big portrait of a very
small and frightened looking Warren
Hastings, taken from the Government
House in Calcutta. He has very delicate
sensiiive features, and is a very siender,
little man, with a mild and timid expres
sion; he shrinks into his chair in all the
simplicity of black knee breeches and a
checked waistcoat and a very limp frill.
Perhaps he looks more diminutive through
the overpowering grandeur of his neigh
bor, Sir Arthur Onslow, who is some nine
feet tall, with all the dignity of velvet
robes and gold trimmings.
On another wall King James II is ren
dered by Sir Godfrey Kueller— pose King
James, two months after the commence
ment of his reign, with his insolent head
held high, in a kind of bitter gayety.
Among all the royal personages we find
the Kine.ueorge Washington, Gilbert Stu
art's portrait, with a dignity of courage
and a nobility of feature remarkable even
in this august assembly.
Horace Walpoie gives a satanic glance
at Philip Stanhope, the epistolary Lord
Chesterfield; there are so many Allen
Ramsays and Hudsons and Raphael
Menys and masterpieces from the hand of
Sir Peter Lely that we pass them by with
hardly more than a glance.
Here are the poor little children of un
happy Jameß II and Mary of Modena;
Prince James, the little "Chevalier de St.
George," the "Old Pretender" and his
sister. He is a very young prentender at
this time, with his hand on a magnificent
greyhound, and the other little gloved
list held out to the diminutive Princess
Louise, his little frerh face very grave, his
head held with a high childish self-posses
sion. Poor iittle picturesque, tragic
There is Catherine of Braganza, who
seems to have consoled herself for the neg
lect she suffered from at the court of King
Charles by having her portrait painted
with great spirit and frequency. She is
here represented as Queen Cleopatra In
the act of dissolving a pearl. Near her
hangs her rival, the popular "Nell
Gwynne," with her attractive, intelligent,
Here all ranks are leveled and we find
Nance Oldfleld, the immortal Lady Betty
Modish, smiling with a delicate brilliancy
over the head of the Duke of Marl borough.
And, Betty, give this cheek a little red,
one would sot, sure, be frightful when one's dead!
The young, rosy cheek needed no red
at the time of this portrait; there were no
suggestions then of the grewsome day
when, white as marble, she would be con
signed to Westminster Abbey all in Brus
sels lace and gloves as she had com
The Duke of Marlborough is painted as
a young man, before Blenheim and Ouden
aide and Ramillies, but next to this por
trait is an apotheosis commemorating the
surrender of Flanders and Brabant, with
a remarkably fat angel, accompanied by
rotund little cupids depositing a laurel
crown and flowers on his curling wig.
Henry VII is a fine old Flemish portrait.
It is not hard to see where the highly
original Aubrey Beardsley extracts his
strange inspirations. The King wears the
badge and collar of the "Toison dOr,"
and the long, thin, bony countenance is
drawn with the marvelous accuracy of the
It would be impossible even to niention
the great originals, who smile or frown or
gravely stare from, the walls, Addison and
Pope, to Congreve and Gay; Peg \Voffing
ton from her paralytic bed, and Queens
Elizabeth and Mary, and the two Roberts
of Essex and Leicester; lords and ladies,
writers and actors in a continuous frieze.
And outside the bells are ringing for
the wedding of Princess Maud. Trafalgar
square is deserted, save by the statues;
even the beggars have gone up to reap a
harvest from the crowds who await the
royal procession; and from the blade old
tower of St. Martin in the Fields the bells
sound in memory of Nell Gwynne, who
sleep peacefully beneath the sunken pave
ment. Van Dyck Brown.
London, July 25.
The next Thursday, armed with two
baskets full of spoils from the garden, 1
again sought the mission with entirely
different ideas and sure of a welcome.
The same girls were going with fruit,
flowers and books to the City and County
Hospital. Six baskets of flowers were
taken and the fruit and books sent ahead.
One basket was especially beautiful with
roses. It came from two young lady
florists up on Sutter street, who are very
kind. Do you believe in signs ? I do. I
think those roses were a sign of great
future success for those florists. I confess
I was a little skeptical about the good of
hospital visiting with flowers. The bigotry
of ignorance !
Without any sentiment, but with
cheery friendliness, the girls went from
bed to bed giving a pear and a few pieces
of candy to each patient and offering the
books and flowers. Evsry face turned to
them; eyes which were closed opened and
brightened; every hand re ached for the
offered flower. Perhaps when well these
men cared nothing for flowers, and, con
sidered merely as flowers, perhaps they
cared nothing for them when ill, but there,
with the friendly face and the friendly
word, the flower was a symbol. It was a
sign that "somebody cares." Many a
workingman will, in the future, see in the
heart of every flower that grows a
pair of brown eyes that looked at
him as the maid from the mission hoped
he would be welt by next week. Every
man, except the very ill and the two who
were cross, took a flower, and three who
were overlooked called the girls back. As
long as they were passing up and down,
the wan faces followed them. The manner
of the patients was the same all over the
place. The girls are welcome and they
know it. "They are glad to see us," ex
claimed the young matron, "though they
do not gush. Poor men, I don't want
them to be overwhelmed with gratitude
for a little thing like this. The way some
of them look up and say 'than* you'
would pay for more than we can do."
No girl would go out there we«k after
week and walk miles up and down the
wards, loosing at pale and dying faces aad
offer smiles and encouragement, just for
effect. The patients know tiiis. They
grow used to the faces and look for them,
and when they are getting better they are
glad to confide it to the decided little
matron and hear her hearty, "I'm so
As I rode home with my two big empty
market baskets the funny boy may have
grinned at me for going about looking like
a peddler. I would rather carry baskets
for the Flower Mission than wear the
robes of a society queen.