Arthur Thomas Malkin's fifth volume of The Gallery of Portraits opens with Jeremy Taylor, and the very first sentence signals the author's method: he notes that Taylor 'did not boast of an exalted lineage' before immediately qualifying that one forefather, Dr. Rowland Taylor, was 'distinguished among the divines of the Reformation for his abilities, learning, and piety.' This pattern of measured praise, often followed by a caveat or a confession of ignorance, recurs throughout the volume. Malkin is as willing to admit what is unknown—'we have no certain knowledge' of Taylor's academical honours—as he is to assert what is documented. The result is a series of memoirs that feel more like judicious historical assessments than hagiography.

Diction of Candid Assessment

Malkin's word choices consistently convey a tone of sober evaluation. When discussing Mrs. Siddons, he writes that 'the reader will be surprised to find how many of [her performed plays] are in plays all but forgotten, and utterly unworthy of her talents.' The phrase 'all but forgotten' and 'utterly unworthy' are blunt, yet they are grounded in the evidence of the play list he provides. Similarly, of Taylor's early career, Malkin reports that Archbishop Laud 'approved of his performance, but thought him too young'—a detail that humanises both figures without sentimentality. The author's diction often carries a moral weight: he notes that Mrs. Siddons 'made it her boast that she had never wilfully disappointed either a manager or the public,' using 'boast' in a positive sense that underscores her professional integrity.

Dialogue and Reported Speech

Malkin occasionally incorporates direct speech, but he does so sparingly and with clear attribution. The most striking instance is Taylor's response to Laud: 'Taylor begged his Grace's pardon for that fault, and promised that, if he lived, he would mend it.' This reported exchange is compact yet revealing of Taylor's wit and deference. Malkin does not embellish; he lets the words stand as a record. In the Siddons memoir, direct speech is absent, but the author paraphrases her self-assessment—'she had always been an honest actress'—in a way that feels like a quotation without being one. This technique allows Malkin to convey his subject's voice while maintaining his own narrative control.

Structure and the Use of Lists

A notable structural feature in the Siddons entry is the extensive table of her London performances from 1782 to 1802, listing plays, characters, and years. Malkin introduces it with the remark that 'the reader will be surprised to find how many of them are in plays all but forgotten,' turning a dry catalogue into evidence for a critical point. This list is not merely ornamental; it serves as a primary source within the memoir, allowing readers to verify the author's claim. Elsewhere, Malkin uses shorter lists—such as the table of contents for the volume—to orient the reader. His prose paragraphs are typically dense with facts, but he breaks them with such tabular material to vary the pace and to let data speak for itself.

Recurring Details and Authorial Presence

Throughout the volume, Malkin repeatedly signals the limits of his knowledge. Of Taylor's fellowship, he writes: 'it is at least doubtful, for no record of the fact exists in the registers of the college.' This scrupulousness appears again in the Siddons memoir, where he notes that 'of Mrs. Siddons's private life it is not necessary for us to speak at length'—a deliberate boundary that respects both the subject and the reader. The author also inserts evaluative asides, such as calling Taylor 'this great ornament of our church,' which reveal his own perspective without overwhelming the factual narrative. These recurring gestures—acknowledging uncertainty, setting limits, offering measured praise—create a consistent authorial persona: that of a learned but cautious biographer.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to the interplay between Malkin's factual reporting and his quiet judgments. The memoirs reward those who read the lists and tables as carefully as the prose, for they often contain the evidence for the author's claims. Malkin's willingness to admit ignorance is as instructive as his assertions; it reminds us that biography, even in the nineteenth century, was an exercise in sifting what could be known from what could not. This volume offers not just portraits but a portrait of the biographer at work.