Portraits in Plaster: From the Collection of Laurence Hutton |
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artist authentic beautiful believed Ben Caunt Bentham body bones Booth Brougham brow Burr bust Canova Charles cheek Clark Mills Coleridge collection contemporary copy countenance Cromwell Curran Dante dark dead face death death-mask described died Dion Boucicault EDWIN BOOTH engraving Ernest Hartley Coleridge existence expression eyes Flaxman forehead Garrick gentleman George Combe hair hand Haydon head Henry Jeremy Bentham John Kean Keats later LAURENCE HUTTON Lawrence Lawrence Barrett Leigh Hunt life-mask lips living face London look Lord loved Malibran Marat mould mouth Museum Napoleon never Newton nose Oliver Cromwell once original mask pain painted painter perhaps personal appearance Phren plaster cast poet possession present reproduced resemblance Richard Brinsley Sheridan Richard Weld Rossetti Roubilliac Samuel Hunter Christie says Schiller Scott sculptor Shakspere Shakspere's Sheridan Siddons skull smile story taken Tasso Thackeray Thomas tion trait Washington wax mask Wordsworth wrote
Popular passages
Page 183 - Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day — so warm, that every window was wide open — and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.
Page 174 - Disraeli has one of the most remarkable faces I ever saw. He is lividly pale, and, but for the energy of his action and the strength of his lungs, would seem to be a victim to consumption.
Page 92 - Then all was quiet, and then he must have died — in a moment. Next morning his man went in, and opening the windows found his master dead, his arms behind his head, as if he had tried to take one more breath. We think of him 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...
Page 91 - 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 own heart so to throb when he passed away to his Redeemer's rest...
Page 110 - Never have I had such irresistible and perpetual urgings of future greatness. I have been like a man with air-balloons under his arm-pits, and ether in his soul. While I was painting, walking, or thinking, beaming flashes of energy followed and impressed me.
Page 105 - His face was rather long than otherwise ; the upper lip projected a little over the under; the chin was bold, the cheeks sunken; the eyes mellow and glowing; large, dark, and sensitive.
Page 92 - ... began to toll, and Thomas Newcome's hands outside the bed feebly beat time. And just as the last bell struck, a peculiar sweet smile shone over his face, and he lifted up his head a little, and quickly said, " Adsum! " and fell back. It was the word we used at school, when names were called; 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.
Page 174 - Erebus, and has the most mocking and lying-in-wait sort of expression conceivable. His mouth is alive with a kind of working and impatient nervousness, and when he has burst forth, as he does constantly, with a particularly successful cataract of expression, it assumes a curl of triumphant scarn that would be worthy of a Mephistopheles.
Page 99 - But certainly I never beheld eyes that looked so inspired or supernatural. They were like fires half burning, half smouldering, with a sort of acrid fixture of regard, and seated at the further end of two caverns. One might imagine Ezekiel or Isaiah to have had such eyes.
Page 160 - ... himself, a little man, but full of spirits, with eyes, hands, feet, and frame for ever in motion, looking as if it would be a feat for him to sit for three minutes quiet in his chair. I am no great observer of proportions, but he seemed to me to be a neat-made little fellow, tidily buttoned up, young as fifteen at heart, though with hair that reminded me of "Alps in the sunset...