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Updated: May 1, 2025
It was the custom, of Sir John Pringle, at the delivery of Sir Godfrey Copley's annual medal, to give an elaborate discourse, containing the history of that part of science for the improvement of which the medal was conferred. Upon the present occasion, the president had a subject to enlarge upon, which was perfectly congenial to his disposition and studies.
As seen in the engraving of that instrument, the signature looks precisely what we should expect and desire in the handwriting of a princely merchant, whose penmanship had been practised in the ledger which he is represented as holding, in Copley's brilliant picture, but to whom his native ability, and the circumstances and customs of his country, had given a place among its rulers.
Not so with his most famous contemporary, Benjamin West, whose life was filled to overflowing with the contrast and picturesqueness which Copley's lacked. West was born in 1738 at a little Pennsylvania frontier settlement. His parents were Quakers, and to the rigor and simplicity of frontier life were added those of that sect.
I have before me the eleventh edition of Esther Copley's "Cottage Comforts," 1834; it embraces all the points which demand attention from such as desire to render a humble home comfortable and happy. The leaves have never been opened.
Of the commander, Lord Heathfield, Sir Robert Royd, Sir William Green, and some twelve or fifteen others, the artist made careful portraits. The story told by Elkanah Watson shows Copley's strong sympathy for America.
Nevertheless she was sorry that the party from down the river broke up as they did when the time to go home came. She found herself in the Copley's launch again, with Chess' sisters and the members of the house party the Copleys were entertaining at their island.
Yet in the best of them there is a real painter's feeling for his material; the heads have a soundness of construction and a freshness in the carnations that recall Raeburn rather than West; the poses are graceful or interesting, the costumes are skilfully arranged, and in addition he understands perfectly the character of his sitters, the men and women of the transition period, shrewd, capable, but rather commonplace, without the ponderous dignity of Copley's subjects or the cosmopolitan graces of a later day.
Apparently, he had relaxed and was holding his bat carelessly, so Phil tried to push over a swift, straight one. With a smash Copley landed on the horsehide, driving it toward right field. "Ah!" gasped the spectators. "Go!" yelled Larkins. "Score on it, Whiting! It's a two-bagger!" Out there in right garden Rodney Grant was sprinting after that ball almost as it left Copley's bat.
And the way he can touch a bat with his mitt and deflect it on the third strike without being detected by the umpire is wonderful. He's great for kicking up a rumpus in a game; but he enjoys it, for he'd rather fight than eat." "He hadn't better try anything like that on Rod Grant." "Oh, I don't know," murmured Rackliff. "Copley's a scrapper, and he can handle his dukes.
He has seen just such noses and just such eyes and just such mouths, but he never saw exactly such a face before, and his business is with that and no other person's, with the features of the worthy father of a family before him, and not with the portraits he has seen in galleries or books, or Mr. Copley's grand pictures of the fine old Tories, or the Apollos and Jupiters of Greek sculpture.
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