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mediately following each other (7, 8, and 9). The first," Cupid sheltering his darling from an approaching storm," is not good for much, to be sure; for Etty, though he delights in Cupids, always makes them of the cart-breed, and dresses them in figured muslin scarfs bought in OxfordStreet, and wings stolen from Pidcock's menagerie of strange birds: but still there is a poetical feeling and fancy about his works, which would redeem greater mistakes than these. No. 8. "The Fortune-teller,' by Leaky, is a very sweet, silent, and unaffected little picture; such an one as Robert Bloomfield would have produced, if he had addicted himself to painting instead of poetry. There is not much force either of expression or colouring; but there is not any exaggeration of either. The story is naturally, and therefore plainly and pleasingly told. If it does not stir the imagination, like a strain of lofty music, it does what is, in many cases, infinitely better, by

"Piping a simple song to thinking hearts."

The next picture, No. 9. "The Gazette," by R. Farrier, is still better in the same class. The subject of it is too feelingly described, (I suppose by the painter himself,) to be lost in an exhibition-catalogue. Let us pay him the compliment of extracting it into our C. P. books:

“A nation's greenest laurels are entwin'd With cypress that o'erhangs the social hearth,

And casts a shade, too deep to be dispell'd By all the glare of victory :-poor recompense!

A public triumph for a broken heart!

MS.

This is indeed a very delicate and touching little picture, full of the simple and quiet pathos of nature and of truth. There is no violence of action, no extravagance of passion. The poor pale and bereaved daughter is sitting silently beside her neglected wheel; and the aged mother is holding her hand, and looking in her face, watching the "natural tears" as they take their course, but too wise, as well as too kind, to interrupt them. The expression of the daughter's face is exquisite; and the

picture is really a very sweet little work.

B. I don't know how it is; but I think that a work of this kind produces a much more beneficial, as well as permanent effect, when met with in a lively and bustling scene like that by which we are surrounded, than when we see it alone, and have an opportunity of dwelling on its character at leisure.

A. This is natural, and as it should be. A little stray snow-drop, withering on its broken stem, in the midst of a bed of gay, flaunting tulips, is a more touching symbol of grief and decay, than the same flower fading away by itself in a secluded corner. But be pleased to remember, that we are not in the Forest of Ardennes, and consequently have no time for moralizing. Let us pass on to that delighful out-of-door scene by Collins (33). It breathes a pleasant coolness all about it, that almost counteracts the heating effect of yonder "Portrait of a Gentleman ;" and smells of the country more sweetly than that knot of elderly ladies do of lavender water. This "View of Clovelly, North Devon," (60,) by the same artist, is equally natural and effective. Certainly, for purity and truth of effect, we have no one superior to Collins, in the very limited sphere to which he chooses to confine himself. Do look, in passing, at these breathing, speaking, and thinking portraits, by Lawrence. I never see a picture by this admirable artist, without lamenting that he should be nothing but a portrait painter; but I greatly question whether he would thank me for my commiseration. His mind is, I dare say, by this time, "subdued to the quality of what it works in:" a happy consummation, which has, no doubt, been hastened by the circumstance of his being able to gain more by half-a-dozen dashes of his pencil, in his present line of employment, than he could by as many hard days work in any other. What might not his magic pencil have made of such subjects as these:-"Ariel released by Prospero,' (72); "Caliban teased by the Spirits of Prospero," (76); and "Manfred and the Witch of the Alps," (108),-all by the generally pleasing, sometimes poetical, but always feeble

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and unimpassioned Howard? Tru-
ly,
delicate Ariel, "to make gape
my
the pine, and let thee out," by em-
ploying two sturdy, strong-backed
porters to split it in two, is to per-
form the job rather after the fashion
of a carpenter than a magician; and
that all-intellectual being, the Witch
of the Alps, (to couple whose name
even with thine, as a kindred spirit,
is not to profane thee,) is but poorly
typified by a pretty simpleton in a
muslin morning-gown. I wish we
could have shown you better exam-
ples than these are of what Howard
is capable of; but his subjects have
here been beyond him-and whom
are they not beyond? They are, in
fact, beyond his art!

There is great skill of composition,
much knowledge of colouring, and
finishing almost equal to Wouver-
man's, in these battle-pieces by
Cooper (120 and 124); but what can
this artist find in such subjects to at-
tract and fix him, as they seem ex-
clusively to do? Why does he not,
as he may, strike out a line of paint
ing that would be new to this coun-
try, and certainly much more valu-
able, as well as various, than this
which he has chosen-a line which
should be to this country exactly
what that of Wouverman's was to
his? These everlasting battles are
as tedious in painting as they are in
poetry, and are totally unfit for ei-
ther, except as an occasional contrast
to something else. If we must have
something connected with battles and
blood, let it be such as this by Mul-
ready" The Convalescent" (135).
The expression of the wounded sol-
dier, come out into the fields to
breathe the fresh air, after his long
confinement, is exquisite. The rest
of the picture is not near so good;
and the quarrelling boys are quite
out of place.

B. There seems something in this little picture, (141,) though it is difficult to tell exactly what, without an explanatory key. That fat gallant, of a "certain age," stooping to pick up the dropped fan of the infinitely indifferent lady, is very richly done; and the half-satisfied, halfpleading air of the youthful suitor (for such he seems to be) on the other side, is exceedingly good. What does the picture profess to be?

A.

[July

young American artist, of great pro"The Rivals," by Leslie, a mise, who seems to possess a very elegant taste, a pleasant fancy, and an easy and clever hand. I am sorry names, that this is the only picture to find, on referring to the list of he exhibits this year. It is a plea"May-day in the reign of Elizabeth," sant one; but greatly inferior to his and his "Sir Roger de Coverley and Country." We must do Mr Howard the Spectator going to Church in the trait of Edward the First, from the the justice not to pass over this " Porbest existing documents.' " It is a masterly and characteristic work. very sober, and, at the same time, speaking scene by A. E. Chalon, But look at yonder sparkling and from "Les Precieuses Ridicules." That impudently confident air of the Mock-Marquis speaking his own digiously pretty admiration and wonridiculous impromptu, and the promon Dieu! voila qui est poussé dans derment of Cathos, exclaiming, "Ah! le dernier galant!" are delightfully spirited and true; but the deprecating look of Madelon is not near so good. To those who are not acquainted with the scene in question, it will naturally be supposed that Mascarille is making violent love to her, and that she is coying it, as in duty bound.

larly noticed this picture of ThomI quite forget whether we particubut repeat the passage of the Temson's when we were here before. Do pest from which it is taken, and then say who shall dare to put such a scene on any canvas, less transparent tist, Imagination, is accustomed to and etherial than that omnipotent aruse on such occasions:

"Fer. Where should this music be?
i' the air or the earth?

.

I hear it now above me!

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Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye
And say what thou see'st yonder.
advance,

Mir. What is it? a spirit ?"

Such scenes as these are not to be
realised on mortal canvas; and I
question whether it is not worse than
idle to attempt it. The best that can
be done, is to give us something in
exchange for Shakespeare; and who

would part with his gifts in exchange for any thing else that can be offered? By the bye, this realising the pictures, which our imagination has attempted to create for itself, has been more successfully practised by Daniel, in his Indian views, than by any one else that I remember. He is the only painter who does not give us something different from what we happen to expect, under circumstances that we have never actually witnessed any thing like. In the scenes which he professes to represent, we expect a sky and atmosphere of molten gold-a soil with the heat almost visibly steaming up through itlank, attenuated figures, that seem to be melted away to mere anatomiestrees with their leaves receding up to the top of their long, thin stems, as if to get as far as they can from hot earth, and catch a breath of cool air;-all these we expect, and are not disappointed. In fact, there is a unity and consistency of effect in Daniel's Indian scenes, which evince a true feeling for what is required from his art, and an admirable skill in producing this desideratum.We must not quit this room without looking at this scene from Lear, by H. H. Briggs. It strikes me as being one of the very best scenes of the kind I ever remember, as far as relates to individual expression, especially in the two daughters-for the Lear himself necessarily baffles all attempt at delineation. The impudently scornful boldness of the one daughter, and the dull, dogged mixture of wickedness and stupidity in the other, are capital. I confidently anticipate from this picture, that Mr Briggs will, before long, produce something much better than we have yet had from him.

B. I'm afraid, if we are to see any of the other spring exhibitions today, we must not give any more time to this room, or do more than take a very hasty glance at the others.

A. There are two or three pictures in this next room that I must point out to you, as among the very best in the collection. Bayham Abbey, by Collins, (208,) we must merely glance at, as we would at a lovely little view presented to us for a moment, by the road side, through an opening in the hedge-row; the charm

ing" Portrait of Miss Stephens” we must greet with a delighted smile of recognition, as if we were passing her at a crowded "at home!"; and Pickergill's Cupid somewhat in the style of Sir Joshua's Puck,-we may give a familiar nod to-which we should not dare to do, if he came near to our ideal of the god who bears that name. But Clint's por trait of Miss Foote, as Maria Darlington, (251,) we must not pass over so cavalierly. "Miss Foote" it may be, perhaps; but not "as Maria Darlington," certainly, or as any other of her stage characters. In fact, if this is really a likeness of Miss Foote herself, farewell that beautiful vision which has haunted me for years past, and may I never see the portrait of a stage beauty again! for this is no more like my Miss Foote, than

B. Pray whose is this clever and pleasing picture of the Dancing Bear? (264).

A. Thank you for stopping me, even though you use a dancing bear for the purpose, for I should never have been able to stop myself on that theme; but really, when one has been treasuring up an ideal image of this kind, to have it assailed and put to flight by a common-place reality, like the one before us, is

B. But these three portraits in character, (272)-pray who may they be?

A. Why, those are Mrs Davenport, Blanchard, and Miss M. Tree, by the same artist; and, to say the truth, they in some degree make up for his failure in Miss Foote-for 1 must hope that it is a failure. Miss Tree's likeness is a pleasing, but by no means a spirited one, of that gentlest of ladies-that half-realization of the Violas, the Ophelias, and the Imogens of Shakespeare; and the other two portraits are still better. But let me now direct your attention to this, in many respects, admirable picture by Rippingille, (276,) “ A Recruiting Party." There are two or three figures in this picture not unworthy of Wilkie; and one that, for exquisitely natural and appropriate expression, has not been surpassed even by him. I mean the female standing behind the lad who seems on the point of accepting the

proferred bounty. She is urging him not to accept it; but by her air, manner, and look, it is evident she has lost that claim to be heard which she once possessed. This figure is altogether one of the happiest conceptions, happily executed, that ever I remember to have seen. The cunning, hard-featured, glib-tongued sergeant, is also capital. The picture is too much crowded, and there are ill-painted as well as superfluous parts in it; but it is a work of great talent, and among the very best in the present collection.

Descend we now this (to me,) magic staircase, (passing by the lowerrooms, which are filled with portraits, and consequently offer nothing of particular interest, except to the painters and the painted)-and let us make the best of our way to PallMall, where we shall find a miscellaneous collection from the old masters; unless you think we shall not be giving either a fair chance, in thus transferring our attention immediate ly from one to the other.

B. Why, the said old masters will, at all events, not have reason to complain; and the modern ones have had their meed of admiration from us, and we cannot resume it, even if we would. The latter, too, cannot accuse us of being critical towards them, unless the seeking for nothing but subjects of commendation be criticism; and I don't think it is so defined in any dictionary extant.

A. Why, the truth is, in asking you to accompany me on this occasion, my object has been to promote our mutual amusement; and it is for this reason that I took you to the Modern School of Art first. Au reste, as to the character of an instructor, I utterly disclaim it; and as to what the artists themselves may think of my remarks, if they should happen to over-hear them-if they are pleased by any of them, I shall be gladand if they are angry; I shall care very little about the matter. But yonder is

The British Enstitution. The building is, as you sec, a very unpretending one; but I can promise you that it has "that within which passeth shew." If the present age had nothing to congratulate itself on

exclusively, except the possession of the works of the old painters, in the state in which they exist at this moment, that alone would be a sufficient subject for pride and exultation. A century ago these works did not exist in that mellowed perfection which they do now; and, what is much more to the purpose, they were not then duly appreciated: for what we do not know the value of, we do not virtually possess. And a century hence, it is appalling to think that these glories will probably have changed, or passed away; for, in point of age, the greatest of them must be considered as having reached their grand climacteric, and as verging towards decay. But whether it is to happen one century hence, or ten, certain it is, that one day or other, the wonders of Michael Angelo, the glories of Raphael, the splendors of Rubens, and the ineffable expressions of Correggio, will exist but in words, and their names will have become at once" a beauty and a mystery," ," like those of Apelles, Zeuxis, Timanthes, and Parrhasius. When this time shall arrive

B. But, my good friend, see-we are arrived at the door of the gallery; so a truce to your reflections, and let

us enter.

A. You do quite right to "interrupt me in my expedition," when I embark in such speculations as the aforesaid; for though I have a great notion that they are my forte, (and in fact they are as it regards myself,) yet I am perfectly willing to believe that they are my foible, as it respects others. At all events, to look at the works of these painters, is even better than to talk or think about them.

This collection is, in all respects, strikingly inferior to many that have preceded it: in the highest class of the art, it offers very few examples indeed that are worth particular attention. But yet, as a whole, it is very rich and valuable; and in some of the secondary classes of the art, it presents examples of absolute perfection. I take these two landscapesthe one by Both, (129,) and the other by Cuyp, (128,) to be as fine, in their way, as Correggio's Madonnas. Indeed they are, to the expression of external nature, exactly what these latter are to that of mind, as seen in

the "human face divine." There is an ineffable something radiating from both, which it is as impossible to describe, as it is not to feel. Here are two others, by the same masters, (155, 156,) which are truly exquisite. The moonlight view, in particular, by Cuyp, is the most successful attempt I have ever seen in this very difficult line. This collection is more rich in landscapes than in any other class of pictures; and accordingly we have the rough rurality of Hobbema; the elaborate truth and crispness of Ruysdael; the tender sweetness of Paul Potter; the brilliant lightness of Pynacker and Wynants; and the feminine softness and richness of Wouvermans and K. Du Jardin, in all their perfection. We have also an opportunity of advantageously contrasting these with the rich wildness and force of Salvator, and the classical ideality of Gaspar Poussin. But our time warns us, that we must be content to admire all these silently as we pass along, and must pay our more particular regards to works of a higher and rarer, but perhaps not a more delightful and useful class. And, first, if you would gain a perfect notion of what the Venetian school aimed at, and was capable of, (I mean in single figures of this kind,) let me desire you to look, or rather to gaze, at that exquisite creation by Paul Veronese, (173,) "Woman playing on a lute." Woman, indeed! By luckily leaving out the article, the catalogue-maker has accidently hit on a fit mode of describing this lovely picture, which has sufficient of ideality to keep it from seeming a portrait; and yet enough of individuality to prevent it from escaping into the world of imagination, which is not its fit home. It addresses itself to the senses alone, and is intended to do so; but it addresses them through the medium of the imagination, and therefore does not disturb or corrupt them. This is, as a single figure, the best work of Paul Veronese that I have ever seen; the flesh is equal to Titian's, and there is a sweetness and a grace about the attitude and expression, added to a total absence of all pretence and affectation, which are the very perfection of the art, in works of this peculiar class and school. I

VOL. XI.

don't know when I have seen a picture that has made so strong and delightful an impression upon me as this has. I shall possess it all my life, just as actually, to all valuable purposes, as if I had bought and paid for it, and had it harging up in my study.

You must know, I have been here several times before; so that we do not need to look about for the pictures that seem to me most worthy your attention, as I can take you up to them at once. And see if you would study the effects of high genius employing itself on insignificant trifles, you have here an opportunity of doing so, in this very curious and striking little picture by Correggio, "The Mule," (63). The objects, you see, merely consist of a loaded mule, and two muleteers in conversation together; and yet, from this simple subject, the hand of genius has contrived to elicit, or rather has not been able to avoid eliciting, a grandeur and a gusto, that a common hand could not have produced from the highest and most imaginative one. Something of the same kind is observable in this sketch by Rubens, (111). It consists but of a few scratches and marks of the pencil on the bare canvas; and yet it includes more life and spirit than half the modern works that have cost weeks and months to elaborate and complete them. Probably this is one of those sketches which Rubens used to put into the hands of his pupils to copy, and dead colour in, and which he afterwards gave the finishing touches to. Nothing but the supposition that this was his practice, with respect to a vast number of the pictures which pass under his name, can account for the existence of such a multiplicity of them as are to be met with in different parts of Europe. This copy, by the same master, of Titian's celebrated picture, the Discovery of Calisto, is chiefly valuable for the curious specimen it affords of a mixture of the two, so different, and indeed totally opposite, styles of these masters. By Rembrandt, we have nothing very striking in this collection, except these two or three admirable portraits, and this gorgeous effect of light, in Belshazzar's feast, (21). The picture is, no doubt,

D

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