LADY Helena Carolina Cooke, is the elder daughter of the present Earl of Kingston, and wife of Philip Davies Cooke, Esq. of Gwysaney, in Flintshire, and Owston Hall, in the county of York.

The noble family of KING, which has thrice been elevated to the honours of the Peerage, was anciently seated at Feathercocke hall, in the county of York, and the first of its members we find upon record in Ireland, was

Sir JOHN KING, knt. who, for the assistance he afforded Queen Elizabeth in reducing the Irish to obedience, obtained as reward the Abbey of Boyle, in the county of Roscommon, and after the accession of King James, that Prince conferred upon him extensive territorial possessions, and several employments of trust, profit, and honour. On his appointment, Aug. 1st 1618, to the office of Muster-Master-General, and Clerk of the Cheque of the armies and garrisons in Ireland, Sir James received the honour of knighthood, and was summoned to the privy council. On the 15th July 1624, he was constituted, among other great officers of state, a Commissioner of Justice in the province of Leinster and Ulster, during the absence of the Lord Deputy Falkland, then on a journey through Ireland, for the better adminstration of justice, and the preservation of the peace. By commission, dated Hampton Court, Dec. 9th, 1625, he was authorised by Charles I, (together with Sir Francis Aunesly, Sir Wm. Parsons, Sir Thomas Dutton, and Sir Thomas Phillips,) to make a general review of the state of the army in Ireland, in order to improve its condition, and redress all frauds and misdemeanors. He married Catherine, daughter of Robert Drury, Esq., nephew of Sir William Drury, Lord Deputy, and died in 1636, leaving, with other issue, a fourth son, Edward,

VOL. VI.-NO. IV.

the intimate friend of Milton, with whom he was educated at Christ Church. It was on the occasion of the unfortunate shipwreck of this youth, on his passage from Ireland, that the poet wrote the beautiful poem of Lycidas. Sir John King was succeeded in his estates, and in the office of Muster-Master-General, by his eldest son,

Sir ROBERT KING, kut., who distinguished himself in 1642, by his signal success against the Irish, particularly at the decisive battle of Ballinrobe-a victory mainly won by the gallant conduct of himself, and the troops under his command.

By his wife Frances, daughter of Sir Henry Folliot, first Lord Folliot, of Ballyshannon, he left, with other issue,

JOHN, who received the honour of knighthood, and although an active Cromwellian, was, by Charles II., for his zeal in restoring the monarchy, elevated to the peerage by patent, dated September 4th, 1660, in the dignity of Baron Kingston. This peerage, after being successively inherited by his lordship's two sons, expired at the demise of his grandson, JAMES, fourth lord, without male issue, in 1761.

common, and a privy councillor. This gentleman married, in 1722, Isabella, sister of Richard Viscount Powerscourt, and, dying in 1740, was succeeded by his eldest son,

Sir ROBERT, who was elevated to the peerage of Ireland, June 13th, 1748, as Baron Kingsborough; dying, however, unmarried, in 1775, that dignity expired, while the baronetcy devolved upon his lordship's brother,

Sir EDWARD, who was created Baron Kingston, of Rockingham, July 13th, 1764, Viscount Kingsborough, November 15th, 1766, and EARL OF KINGSTON, Aug. 25th, 1768. His lordship wedded, in 1752, Jane, daughter of Francis Caulfeild, Esq., of Donamon, in the county of Roscommon, by whom he had issue, three sons and three daughters; he died in 1797, and was succeeded by his eldest

son,

ROBERT, second Earl. This nobleman married, in 1769, Caroline, only daughter of Richard Fitzgerald, Esq., of Mount Ophaly, in the county of Kildare, by whom he had, with other issue,

GEORGE KING, third and present Earl, who was born April 28th, 1771, and married, May 7th, 1794, Helena, only daughter of Stephen, first Earl of Mountcashel, by whom he has issue,

EDWARD Viscount Kingsborough, born in 1795, Robert, born in 1796—James, born in 1799-HELENA, of whom presentlyAdelaide.

Lady HELENA CAROLINE, the elder daughter, whose portrait forms this month's illustration, was married, on the 5th Dec. 1829, to Philip Davies Cooke, Esq. Mr. Cooke is the representative of two very ancient families, the Cookes of Owston, and the Davieses of Gwysaney, the former his paternal ancestors, and the latter those of his mother, Mary, daughter and co-heir of John Davies, Esq., of Llanerch and Gwysaney, in the county of Flint. For a detailed account of these families, see Burke's History of the Commoners, vol. ii. page 276.

THERE was something so peculiarly characteristic, and (for lack of a better word) interesting, in the personal appearance of Charles Lamb, that the want of an adequate portrait of him is greatly to be regretted.

It is a remarkable fact, that we have no tolerable portraits, much less any adequate ones, of nine-tenths of the distinguished men of our own day. Though, upon the whole, Art was never in so creditable a condition among us as it has been during the last quarter of a century- and especially the portrait department of it-yet we may look in vain for any thing like worthy effigies of the men who have illustrated that period to a degree never before equalled in our annals. And this while the press literally teems with imaginary portraits, culled from every possible source, and executed in a manner that leaves nothing to wish for except the only thing worth wishing for at all in a portrait-the truth! At the moment, we do not call to mind a single worthy representation of any one of our great poets or prose writers, only excepting Boxall's portrait

of Wordsworth, engraved in mezzotint by Bromley. The only means which the general public have, whereby to judge of the outward appearance of their most popular writers and instructors, are the various series of mere ébauches, which have appeared in certain of the periodical works of the day: and even of those, half have been, in a great degree, as "imaginary" as the "Byron Beauties" or the "Gallery of the Graces;" and of the other half, many have been mere caricatures, and not a few, mere "historical recollections" of what the originals were, before any body cared any thing about them!

Of Lamb there have been three or four miserable attempts at portraiture: the last (that in Fraser's Magazine) the most miserable of all. By many degrees the best-or rather the least unsatisfactory—was one that appeared in the Suffolk-street Exhibition, some five or six years ago, by an artist named (I think) Meyer. There was a general resemblance to the form and look of the facewhat is called by courtesy a likeness;"

but as to the high and various intellectual characteristics of it, they were wholly wanting, no less than the general and individual expressions; and in their place we had one of those amiable nonentities, so aptly described as "portrait of a gentleman." Let those who have ever seen Charles Lamb "in his habit as he lived,” conceive him figuring, in a public exhibition, under the above designation!

Those who have not seen him, and who nevertheless know enough of him, through his exquisite writings, to feel an interest in these desultory recollections, will doubtless expect me to describe his person. But I fear that when I have done so as distinctly as I can, they will know not much more about him than they may have learned by looking on the would-be effigies of him alluded to above. But at least they will learn something different; so I will make the attempt.

I do not know whether Lamb had any oriental blood in his veins; but I cannot help thinking, that by far the most marked characteristic of his head was a Jewish look, which pervaded every part of it, even to the sallow and uniform complexion, and the black and crisp hair standing off loosely from the head, as if every single hair was independent of the rest. His nose, too, was large and slightly hooked, his chin rounded and elevated to correspond. Thus much of form merely. For intellectual character and expression, a finer face was never seen, or one more fully, however vaguely, corresponding with the mind whose features were marked upon it. There was something Rabbinical about it, yet blended with a mingled sadness and sweetness, which gave to it an effect quite peculiar, yet in all respects pleasing. There was the gravity of learning and knowledge, without the slightest tinge of their usual assumption and affectation; the intensity and the elevation of genius, without any of its pretension or its oddity; there was the sadness of high thought and baffled aspirations, but none of the severity and the spirit of scorning and contempt which these are so apt to engender. Above all, there was a pervading sweetness and gentleness of general expression, which went straight to the heart of every one who looked on it; and not the less so, perhaps, that it bore about it an air, a something, seeming to tell that it was,not put on for nothing would be more unjust than to charge Lamb with assuming any thing, even a virtue, which he did not

feel, but preserved and persevered in, spite of opposing and contradictory feelings within, that struggled (in vain) for mastery. It was something to remind you of the painful smile that disease and agony will sometimes put on, to conceal their pangs from the observance of those they love.

I feel it a very difficult and delicate task to speak of this peculiar feature in Lamb's physiognomy, and the more so that (from not having seen or heard it noticed by others) I am by no means sure of meeting with an accordance in the opinions, or rather the feelings, of those who knew him as well, or even better than I did. But I am sure that the peculiarity I speak of was there, and therefore I venture to persevere in alluding to it for a moment longer, with a view to its seeming explanation. The truth then is, that Lamb was what is by no means so contradictory or so uncommon a character as the unobservant may deem it: he was a most gentle, amiable, and tender-hearted— misanthrope! He hated or despised men with his mind and judgment, in proportion as (and precisely because) he loved and yearned towards them in his heart; and, individually, he loved those best whom every body else hated. He generally through life had two or three especial pets, who were always the most disagreeable people in the world-to the world; and to be taken into his favour and protection, you had only to get discarded, defamed, and shunned by every body else. If I may venture so to express myself, there was, in Lamb's eyes, a sort of virtue in sin and its ill consequences to the sinner. He seemed to open his arms and his heart to "the rejected and reviled of men,” in a spirit kindred at least with that of the Deity.

Returning to the description of Lamb's personal appearance - his head, which I have endeavoured to characterise, might have belonged to a full-sized person; but it was set upon a figure so petite, that it acquired an appearance of inappropriate largeness by the comparison. This was the only striking peculiarity in the ensemble of his figure. In other respects, it was well formed, though so slight and delicate as to bear the appearance of extreme spareness, as if that of a man air-fed, instead of one rejoicing in an avowed predilection for roast pig! Its only defect was, that the legs were even too slight for the slight body; and this was observable only from the peculiar costume of the owner.

Lamb had laid aside his snuff-coloured

suit before I knew him; and during the last ten years of his life, he was never seen in any thing but a suit of uniform black, with knee-breeches, and (sometimes, not always) gaiters of the same to meet them. Probably he was induced to admit this innovation by a sort of compromise with his affection for the colour of other years;-for though his dress was "black" in name and nature, he always contrived that it should exist only in a state of rusty brown. I can scarcely account for his having left off his suit of the latter colour, especially as he had stuck to it through the daily ordeal, for twenty years, of the Long Room of the East India House. He abandoned it, I think, somewhere about the time his friend Wordsworth put forth his ideal of the personal appearance of a poet; which may perchance have been drawn, in part, from Lamb himself,-so exact is the likeness in several leading particulars.

"But who is he, with modest looks,

And clad in homely russet brown,
Who murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own!

"He is retired as noontide dew,

Or fountain in a noonday grove;
And you must love him e'er to you

He will seem worthy of your love, &c. *" Now Lamb did not like to be taken for a poet, or for any thing else; so, latterly, he always dressed in a way to be taken, by ninety-nine people out of every hundred who looked upon him, for a Methodist preacher! the last person in the world that he really was like! This was one of his little wilful contradictions.

I was not acquainted with Lamb at the time when his house was the favourite resort of some of the best literary talkers of the day-Coleridge, Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt, &c.; and many of our best-known writers Godwin, Procter, Sheridan Knowles, &c. &c. So that I have little to say of his powers of conversation, in those wit combats and discussions which such meetings engender. And as to the "mixed company" that you sometimes met at his house at Islington, just before he took shelter from it in the forced retreat to Enfield, I cannot say that I ever saw him shine in that sort of olla podrida of mingled oddity and commonplace. It might be an "entertaining miscellany" to him; but it was not one in which he was tempted to publish any of of those exquisite Eliaisms, of which his mind and heart were made up. On those

Sce A Poct's Epitaph,' in 'The Lyrical Ballads.'

occasions he was every thing that was kind, gentle, and liberal in his welcome; and his sister used to bustle about like a gentle housewife, to make every body "comfortable." But you might have been in the apartments of any other clerk of the India House, for any thing you heard that was particularly deserving of note or recollection. What Lamb may have been when he found himself in the congenial company of the Hazlitts, Hunts, Coleridges, &c. of seven years before, "unmixed with baser matter," I can easily conceive, but have no means of knowing, except from the testimony of Hazlitt, who always spoke of his conversational powers on those occasions, as at least up to the mark of the rest of the company, however high that might be pitched. But in ordinary society he was, if not an ordinary man, only an odd and strange one, displaying no superior knowledge, or wisdom, or eloquence, but only that surest criterion of a man of genius, -a moral incapacity, as it were, to subside into the conventional cant or the flat com. mon place of ordinary society, even to please the most conventional and common place of his guests. He would do any thing to gratify them but that. He would joke, or mystify, or pun, or play the fool; but he could not prose, or preach, or play the philosopher. He could not be himself (for the benefit of others I mean), except when something out of himself made him so; but he could not be any body else but himself, to please a king. The consequence was, that to those who did not know him, or knowing, did not or could not appreciate him, Lamb often passed for something between an imbecile, a brute, and a buffoon; and the first impression he made upon ordinary people, was generally unfavourable, often to a violent and repulsive degree. Hazlitt has somewhere said of him in substance (with about an equal portion of truth and extravagance, but with an exact and characteristic feeling of the truth, in spite of the extravagance), that he was always on a par with his company, however high or however low might be its level. But somehow or other, foolish or ridiculous people have an instinct, that makes them feel it a sort of personal offence if you treat thein as if you fancy you are no better than themselves. They know it to be a hoax upon them, manage it how you may; and they resent it accordingly.

Now Lamb was very apt to play fast and loose with his reputation in this way; and I verily believe that he would much rather have been thought a fool than a philosopher,

a wit, or a man of letters-at least by ninetenths of the world; and that to be "a noticeable man" at all, was any thing but desirable in his eyes.

There was no doubt a profound feeling of the truth in this; for in the vocabulary of the ordinary world, "a man of genius" seldom means any thing better, and often something worse, than an object of mingled fear, pity, and contempt. At all events, it is certain that any one who knew Lamb only by his public reputation for genius, and who thought of him only in that vague and indefinite point of view in which nine-tenths even of the " reading" public think of a celebrated author, would have been strangely disappointed in him on a personal intercourse, unless he (Lamb) happened to see something in the party which attracted his attention, or had heard any thing of them beforehand, to excite his interest or curiosity.

The truth is, that the Charles Lamb of private life, could be known and appreciated by his friends and intimates only; and he shone, and was answerable to his literary and social reputation, only in a tête-à-tête, or in those simple colloquies over his own table or by his own fire-side, in which his sister and one or two more friends took a part, and in which every object about him was familiar as the "household words" in which he uttered his deep and subtle thoughts, his exquisite fancies, and his humane philosophy. Under these circumstances he was perfectly and emphatically a natural man, and there was not the smallest vestige of that startling oddity, strangeness, and occasional extravagance which subjected him to the charge of affecting to be singular and "original" in his notions, feelings, and opinions. In any other "company" than that to which I have just referred, however intellectual it might be, he was unquestionably liable to this charge; though he as unquestionably did not deserve it for affectation means or supposes a something assumed-put on-pretended-which Lamb was both morally and physically incapable of. His strangeness under the latter circumstances was as natural to him as his naturalness under the former; and the cause of it was that he was not at ease-not a free agent-not his own manbut

Cabin'd, cribbed, confined;

Bound in to saucy doubts and fears,

that were cast about him by his "reputation" -which trammelled and hampered him with claims that he had neither the strength cordially to repudiate, nor the weakness cordially

to embrace; and in struggling between the two inclinations, he was able to exhibit nothing but the prominent and superficial points of his mind and character-its mere 66 compliment extern," as moulded and modified by a state of society so utterly at variance with all his views and feelings of what it might be, or at least might have been, that he shrank from the contemplation of it with an almost convulsive movement of pain and disgust, or sought refuge from it in the solitary places of his own thoughts and fancies. When forced into contact with "the world's true worldlings," being anything but one of themselves, he could not show like them, and yet feared to pain and affront their feelings by seeming too widely different: and between the two it was impossible to know beforehand what he would do or be under any given circumstances he himself being the last person who could predicate on the point. The consequence was that, when the exigency arrived, he was anything or nothing, as the temper of the moment might impel him; he was equally likely to outrage or to delight the persons in whose company he might fall, and more likely than either to be regarded by them as a mere nonentity, claiming no more notice or remembrance than a strange picture or a piece of odd-looking and obsolete old china.

What an exquisite contrast to all this did his intercourse with his friends present! Then, and then only, he was himself :-for assuredly he was not so when in company with his own thoughts, unless when they were communing with those of his dearest friends of all, his old books-his "midnight darlings," as he endearingly calls them somewhere, and in a tone and spirit which prove that he loved them better than anything in the living world, and cared not who knew it. Yet it does not follow that he was more happy even in their company than in that of any other of his friends: nor do I believe that

he was.

In fact there was a constitutional

sadness about Lamb's mind, which nothing could overcome but an actual and personal interchange of thought and sentiment with those, whoever they might be, whose tone of thought and feeling was in some sort correspondent with his own. And though in his intercourse with his beloved books he found infinitely more of this correspondence than the minds of his most choice living friends could furnish, yet in the former there was wanting that reciprocal action which constitutes the soul of human intercourse. He could listen to them with delight; but they could not listen with delight to him in return.