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seet above the cross, for the accommodation of Mr. Homer, Il more correct: for as each flying buttress was completed. an artist who passed many successive weeks on that lofty Il you saw it one degree of shadow from the last, in chronoloI station, in making an accurate panoramic view of the sur- | sical graduation-and you could trace the last seven years

rounding metropolis. Few persons perhape could be found 1 work, from black to grey, and from grey to wbite, in dissufficiently intrepid to have ventured to gratily curiosity at || tinct succession. such a risque, or climbed to that appaling height, amidst But, for all this, it had never entered my head, that ladders and scaflolding poles, tottering in every breeze, || Regent Street, so late white as the kernel, had changes, even for a purse of cold.

dark as the shell of the cocoa nut. We have often felt a desire to see the sketches from this And louk you farther, Mr. Editor, if the smoke will bird's eye view of London without the means of gratilying permit you. Let me ask, how in the name of wonder, do our wish; but we, in common with others, may expect such ingenious wights as Ward and Wilkie, Cooper and a greater treat than this in the ensuing spring.

| Leslie, contrive to paint their pure, clean, delectable A building is now erecting on the border of the Regent's cabinet pictures, in this mighty cave of Vulcan, where tion of a panoramic painting of this I ste

nic painting of this steam enxines of a thousand times greater horse power, scene. Let this be executed with the truth, force of elect, than all the horses ever pulled from the days of Noali, are and aerial perspective, which characterise the works ex-sending forth their myriads of blacks, thicker by millions hibiting in the neighbouring Diorama, or those illusive than ever darkened the shores of Alrica, in everlasting scenes which we have visited with so much deliv!

have visited with so much delight, the warring against their art. The thing appears to me, no works of Messrs. Burford in Leicester-square and the || less than marvellous. Strand, and it cannot fail to repay the enterprising artist || Wilkie, I am reminded, paints at Kensington : he is so for his labour.

much the wiser. But, what then ? Jackson has recently The building is circular, and the interior is one hundred | perfected a female head, as pure, as clear, and precious, as and thirty feet in diameter-a space thirty feet wider than the living tint upon the tairest carnation that ever united the whispering gallery within the doom of St. Paul's. Here with the chaste expression of an English beauty : and this then is a field for the display of this imitative art.

he accomplished in the midst of London smoke.

These said blacks however, are apt to try the temper of

a metropolitan painter : for it is no laughing matter let me PANORAMA OF EDINBURGH.

tell you, when, after laying on the last touches to the Some years since, the large circle at Leicester Squarel, bosom of a beauty, and retiring the whole length of your represented a panoramic view of Edinbro', taken as we re- | room, to view the effect of the hall length labour on your collect from the Calton Hill. Another view of this very easel, after screwing your head on the right, and then upon picturesque city has been recently made, and is now in your left shoulder, like Minerva's owl, getting your eyes preparation at the premises of Messrs. Burford in St.

vertical, to take an approving squinney at your all but George's Fields, which will represent the modern Athens

finished performance, and laying down your palette with from a much more interesting point of view.

omplacency, as Sir Josbua was wont to do, to take a pinch of Strasburgh, on re-approaching, to be hurried, (for all your piety) into an exclamation with my Lady Macbeth, “ Out d-d spot!

Those, however, who will persist in the practice of paintARTISTICAL SCRAPS.

ing in London, must experience this misery for their pains. It is their aflair, and none of mine; for I, who paint, like

Alexander Pope, only for my pastime, spoil my canvas To the Editor of the Somerset House Gazette.

when and where I please.

I am not so great a Mohawk, for all this independence SIR,

though, good, Mr. Editor, not to have some bowels of com

passion for your persecuted sufferers from these incursions From thirty to forty years experience has confirmed mell of the blacks; and if I were monarch of the United Kingin this, that in England Spring and Summer are the sea- || dom, and despotic as I would be, I'll be crucified if I would sons for wit. If you and I who scribble here in London || not expel them my kingdom. I should issue my mandate, smoke, towards the autumnal equinox should be more than || Be it known to all machinists, mechanics, manufacturers usually dull, those who live wide away, may be content of beer, sausage choppers, &c. &c. who use or employ to bear with our prosing-for now that the harvest is those infernal machines that blacken, and despoil my fair gathered into the granary, what is left to think about, but l cities of London and Westminster - henceforth, to use no sea-bathing, and partridge shooting? All else is as a dead | other fuel than wood or coke, on pain of my displeasure." letter, my worthy Mister Hardcastle.

Sir, I'd grub out the nuisance with a vengeance. Is it Nothing is left us for a theme. London is desolate as || bearable, that his Majesty's metropolitan subjects, should, Balbec or Palmyra. Sir, the very grass is growing on the to a pure, unsophisticated country nose, even after a jourcoach way of our old squares, and in new Regent Street, || ney of fisty miles, sinell as smoky as a Kumford Conjurer, there is naught going on, but the whitewashing of the llor a Ha

n, but the whitewashing of the Il or a Hamborough goose! dirty dingy fronts from the top to the bottom of the houses, The whitest of all things in nature, I think it is agreed, from one end to the other, and on both sides of the way; ll is snow. The whitest of all things in art, is the shirt of a yea, from the palace of the king, in the south, to the || Flemish boor, by the younger Teniers. This, no man who church, in the north.

has eyes would venture to dispute. Last week, or it may have been the week before, I was Where he procured this white, with what he prepared it, passing down this new street, and, behold, I could not | or how he used it, bas puzzled many a seeker alter nosbelieve my eyes, until accidentally meeting an architect, trums. But, who having this precious white, with the an old friend, he assured me, that it was even so.

still more precious vehicle, would attempt to make any What! you will enquire of course. Why whether the || thing of it in London smoke? Sir, the experiment would white stucco four years ago, could possibly be the black | be as absurd, as to expect to walk from Temple Bar to the stucco, which so many busy hands were newly whitening ? || Tower on a muddy day, without a splash upon your white It is true, that I noticed the growing effects of London pantaloons. smoke, as the restoration of Heny VII.'s chapel pro Il Sir Joshua Reynolds, if I mistake not, was of opinion, ceeded year by year, in Westminster. No letter could be that this incomparable artist, painted his white linen at

once. He might perhaps; for the same illustrious com- || seek abroad, that they cannot find at home? Buildings, mentator upon art, has observed, “ A thousand years may || statues, paintings, books : for none of these, have such pass, and another Teniers not appear.".

senseless curmudgeons regard. Is it foreign manners, What is the reason of this ?

R. they seek? your heavy ledger men have manners of their

own. French cookery they abhor. Venison and turtle,
are best of London manufacture; and so for foreign wine-

Sir, all the choicest stores fill the English bins.
TO THE

Is it that these gentry would run away from themselves ? EDITOR OF THE SOMERSET HOUSE GAZETTE. || Ye gods! they are too heavy, dull, and unwieldly for that.

--A, well might your men of substance try to shake off SIR,

their shadows. ABOUT a month ago I met an old school-fellow on the eve Lately I met with an old acquaintance just returned of taking his departure for the continent, who I discovered from a continental tour, entirely of another cut, with had got a route sketched out for him by at least a dozen of whom it would be delectable to travel. There are here and his acquaintance, most of whom are men of habits, pretty | there, men so happily constituted, so naturally intelligent, nearly compatible with his own. Now, Mr. Editor, any one that all they see, and all they hear, in their foreign peramof these would suffice for a man whose object in travelling bulations they turn to rich account. With such, a youth was mere every-day pleasure and amusement. But this who would desire to see the world, should hope to wander. wiseacre, not content with any separate chart, had been With such, a fond father should seek to send a hopesul son; wasting all the summer season in taking a bit from one and

for from a travelling associate like this, is acquired the a scrap from another, to plan such a scheme as no ignora faculty of seeing from all the windows of the understandmus perhaps ever attempted before. He is now abroad, ing. I passed an evening in the company of this gentleman, with as long a catalogue of what is to be seen in France, and am invited to meet him again at a friendly dinner. Holland, Flanders, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, as It is in such society, that wine, though drank in moderawould furnish materials for ten folio volumes, as closely ||

sh materials for ren folio volumes, as closely I tion, acquires its richest zest: when the mind expanded printed as Johnson's Topographia;' but if he sees as much, | with benevolence, enjoys the charm of conversation, with or brings back more information of the cities, towns, public ten-fold delight, and the heart feels the genuine joy of buildings, manners, habits, or customs of the people than social intercourse. Professor Gruithausen, the German astronomer, bas re Should you think this short epistle worthy a spare cocently discovered in the moon, I'll cheerfully submit to the lumn in your paper, I will attempt another, in which I bastinado.

will endeavour to contrast by a sketch of what I may The fact is, that this old school-fellow of mine, early in || gather from the descriptive powers of this tourist, who is life, made too much money in trade, and turned his back ||

and turned' his back ll a gentleman of a cultivated mind, and an amateur of art, too late in life upon his ponderous ledgers. His cranium, with the know-nothing accounts of your middle-witted poor man, is empty as a drum, and his memory as hollow | men, with money-getting understandings. as a pop-gun, which being charged with any new idea, dis

S. S. charges the last, and leaves it empty as before. This you will say is very pitiable.

But where is the wonder, Do you not daily see in this opulent age, many a good man's table surrounded by such ?

NORTH AMERICAN ARTISTS. Your venison eating, turtle loving, claret bibbing, hock

(Continued from p. 363.) licking, champaigne smacking gentry, with no more mentality in their conversation, no more sentiment in their compositions, than you would discover in a corresponding number of his Majesty's Beef-eaters.

STEWART, PORTRAIT PAINTER. I should inform you, lest you should think me slander

Mr. Stewart is an American. He was a long time in this ous, that this opulent friend of mine has already, to use his country, many years ago,-painted the principal nobility, own phrase, made tbree grand towers on the continent, in | and ranked, even then, among the first masters. He is old company with some wealthy plodders of his own cut; but now, but unquestionably at the head of American painters. discovering at length, that there was no discovering any In fact, they all bow to his opinion as authority. Some nothing worth knowing in each other's society, he and they tion of his prodigious power may be gained from this fact. have cut accordingly, and he is now bound on this intellec

The best portrait in the Somerset Exhibition, this year, tual voyage, “ solus and alone."

that of Sir William Curtis, by Sir T. Lawrence, and that “ Mine Gote Almighty! what a world we live in--what which is least after his own style, is exceeding like the picmid one ting andt anoder-what sights do I not see in the tures of Stewart, so much so, indeed, that I should have city,' exclaimed an old German, one of our late sovereign's | thought it a Stewart, but for two or three passages, and the household.

peculiar touch of the artist. There is, however, more 66 Well! what do you see there?” enquired the sovereign. breadth in Mr. Stewart's picture than those of Sir. T. " See! andt it bleaze your Majesty, noting in the world

Lawrence. but much less brilliancy and gracefulness. pote MIDDLA MINDED MEN mid MONEY GETTING UNDER

Mr. Stewart hardly ever painted a tolerable woman. STANDINGS.

His women are as much inferior to those of Mr. I bave thought of this pithy saying of the worthy old Sully, and, of course, to those of Sir T. Lawrence, as his German a thousand times.

men are superior to the men of almost any other painter. To a man of mind, it is scarcely credible, that any one His manner is dignified, simple, thoughtful and calm. possessing fortune, and leisure-the power of doing what || There is no splendour,-nothing flashy or rich in the painthe lists, can ever be listless. Yet, shall you meet vast || ing of Stewart, but whatever he puts down upon canvass is herds of human beings, endued with wealth, independence, like a record upon oath, plain, unequivocal, and solid. and health, with no more perception, capacity, or taste, for those pursuits which alone dignify man, than if they

· LESLIE, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. ad been formed by nature to bear only the outward signs of humanity.

Mr. Leslie was born in this country, (a circumstance not Comfortable codgers like these, might as well remain | generally known ;) went to America in his childhood; atwhere they made their darling wealth, for what do they | tracted some attention there, while he was a clerk in a bookstore, by a few spirited sketches of George Frederick spared from the more laborious occupations of life in drumCooke, and some other actors; was persuaded to return to ining for a militia company, and in fixing axe-helves to this country and study this art of painting as a profession. Il axes; in which two things he soon became distinguished. He has been here twice, (in the whole, from ten to a dozen | By and by, some revolution took place in his affairs; a new years,) and has now a reputation of which we, his country ambition sprang up within him; and, being in a strange men, as well as the Americans, have reason to be proud. Il place, (without friends and without money-and with a His portraits are beautiful, rich, and peculiar: his compo- | family of his own) at a tavern, the landlord of which had sitions in history, graceful, chaste, and full of subdued been disappointed by a sign painter, Mr. H. undertook the pleasantry. There is nothing over-charged in the work of siun, apparently out of compassion to the landlord; but in Mr. Leslie. If any thing, there is too strict an adherence || reality to pay his bill, and provide bread for his children. to propriety. His last picture, “ Sancho BEFORE THE || He succeeded, had plenty of employment in the “proles. Duchess,” though very beautiful, is, nevertheless, rather || sion” of sign-painting; took heart, and ventured a step tame as a whole. This, of course, proceeds from his con- || higher-first, in painting chairs; and then portraits. stitutional fear of extravagance and caricature, which is | Laughable as this may seem, it is, nevertheless, entirely cvident in almost everything that he has done, or, perhaps || and strictly true. I could mention several instances of a it would be better to say, from his exceedingly delicate like nature; one of a tinman, who is now a very good por

hat is classical." But that must be got over. All trait painter in Philadelphia, U.S.A. (named EICKHALT): classical taste is a bad one, where men are much in earnest, another of a silversmith, named Wood, whose miniatures or disposed to humour. Whatever is classical, is artificial, nd small portraits are masterlyand another of a portrait and, of course, opposed to what is natural. One is marble, I painter named JARVIS, whose paintings, if they were known the other, flesh; one, statuary, the other, painting. No here, would be regarded with astonishment-all of whom great man was ever satisfied with what is classical.

are Americans. But, as they are not known here, and have not been here to my knowledge, I shall pass them

over, and return, for a minute or two, to Mr. Harding. NEWTON, PORTRAIT AND HISTORICAL PAINTER,

Mr. H. is now in London; has painted some remarkably Mr. Newton is an American, but born within our Cana

good portraits (not pictures); among others, one of Mr. das; a nephew of Mr. Stewart, (already mentioned,) and a

John D. Hunter, (the hero of Hunter's Narrative.) which man of singular and showy talent. He has been pursuing

is decidedly the best of a multitude ; one or two of H.R.H. his professional studies in London for several years, and be

the Duke of Sussex, the bead of which is capital: one of gins to be regarded as he deserves. His portraits are bold

Mr. Owen, of Lanark; a portrait of extraordinary plainand well coloured, but not remarkable for strength of re

ness, power, and sobriety; and some others, which were semblance, or individuality of expression. But, then, they

shewn at Somerset House, and Sutlolk Street. are good pictures, and, of the two, it is higher praise eyen

Mr. H. is ignorant of drawing. It is completely evident, r a portrait painter, to allow that he makes good pictures, ll

that he draws only with a full brush, correcting the parts than that he makes good likenesses. It is easy (compara

by comparison with one another. Hence it is, that bis tively) to make a resemblance, but very difficult for any

heads and bodies appear to be the work of two different man to make a picture which deserves to be called good.

persons-a master and a bungler. His hands are very bad; All portrait painters begin with getting likenesses. Every

his composition, generally quite after the fashion of a betouch is anxious, particular, and paintully exact; and it is

ginner; and his drapery very like block-tin; or rather, I a general truth, I believe, that as they improve in the art,

should say, that this was the case; for there is a very visible they become less anxious about the likeness, and more

improvement in his late works. about the composition, colouring, and effect. Thus, the

Thus much to shew what kind of men our American relaearly pictures of every great artist will be found remarkable

tions are, when fairly put forward. There is hardly one for their accurate resemblance, and the later ones remark

among the number of painters, above-mentioned, whose able for everything else rather than for that quality. Their

life, if it were sketched, as that of Mr. H. is, would not aplikenesses fall oft'as their painting improves.

pear quite as extraordinary; and as truly American, in that Still, however, (the last remarks have no especial appli

property which I have chosen to call a serious versatility. cation to Mr. Newton.) some of this gentleman's portraits

I would have made the paper shorter, but the informaare not only good pictures, but striking likenesses.

tion that I have given, was wanted ; does not exist in any In history, it is hardly fair to judge of lim; for what he

accessible shape to any other man living, perhaps; and may has done, though admirable on many accounts, are rat

be depended upon. Let that excuse the length of my comindications of a temper and feeling which are not yet fully

munication. disclosed, than fair specimens of what he could produce, were he warmly encouraged. His "* author and auditor's is the best that I know of his productions, and a capital

For the Somerset House Gazette. thing it is. The last, which was lately exhibited at Somerset House, is rather a tine sketch, than a finished picture. It is loose, rich, and showy; wanting in firniness and signi

THE COMPLAINT OF OLD LONDON BRIDGE. ficance; and verging a little on the caricature of broad

A Vision. farce ;-broad pencil farce, I mean. For this, of course, he is excusable, with Moliere for his authority. It is a very

Our sapient Common Council Men, good picture, to be sure, but not such a picture as Mr.

Hlave past a stern decree, Newton could have produced: and, therefore, not such a

That London's ancient gothic bridge picture as he should have produced for the annual exhibi

Should shortly cease to be. tion. He did himself injustice by it.

One eve reflecting on this act,
1 sought old Thames's marge,

The waning moon shone titlully,
c. HarpixG, PORTRAIT PAINTER.

On wherry, punt, and barge, This extraordinary man is a fair specimen of the Ameri Which calmly congregated were can character. About six years ago, he was living in the All by the river's side; wilds of Kentucky, had never seen a decent picture in The quays were hushed, no sounds were heard, his life; and spent most of his leisure time, such as could be Save the hoarse murm’ring tide.

The antique bridge but dim descried,

A cunning monk my founder was, By Luna's pallid beam,

Skill'd in masonic lore, Seem'd like a baseless fabric wild,

He bade me curb the angry tide, Seen in a troubled dream.

And stretch from shore to shore. Its hoary side now glimm’ring faint,

Five hundred years alone I stood Shew'd like a castle wall;

To add to his renown, Whilst its dark narrow arches were,

In all the pride of gothic art, Most like to portals tall.

Old Thames's mural crown. I stood long musing on this scene,

But rivals have sprung up of late Like one transtix'd by spell,

Which mock me to my face, I thought, and had that bridge a tongue,

And I to them tho'rear'd of Eld, What wonders might it tell !

Pardy, must now give place. Scarce had the thought pass'd through my mind,

1, who so long have stemm'd the flood, When lo! I seem'd to hear,

And eke the flux of time, A deep ton’d voice, borne on the wind,

Must vale my crest to upstarts, which Whicli murmur'd in my ear

I'd flouted in my prime. “ Frail child of earth attend to me,''

Seest thou yon unsubstantial thing. I It said, or seemed to say,

Throngh which the moon doth gleam, " I am the Genius of yon bridge,

'Tis like a mighty skeleton Which soon must pass away.

Stretch'd o'er the rippling stream. I mark'd thee once as o'er the flood,

Or like unto that spectral bark, (Then chain’d by frost,*) thou past,t

Through which the sun did peer, With what deep rev’rence on my face,

Where death and nightmare, sail'd Thine cager eyes were cast.

Seen by the 'aunciente marinere.' No civic bribe, or orphan fund,

This morn|I heard a dreadful sound, Hath e'er corrupted thee,

Loud thundering in my ears, Thy hands are pure from venal gold,

Of driven piles whereon to found Thou shalt my poet be.

My future riyal's piers. To thee I will unfold my thought,

'Twas like the sound the culprit hears For thou art not of those,

When on the scaffold high Who wish my downfall, and have brought,

They rear the fatal tree of death, My being near its close.

The morning he must die. Those city cormorants who feed

What revolutions have I seen, Like chickens in a coop,

Since first iny head was rear'd, Ven’son, and turkey, sav'ry chine,

What generations of mankind And green fat turtle soup,

From earth have disappear’d. Are wash'd down by the choicest wines

Your Edwards, and your Henrys, too, The gen'rous south can boast;

I've seen with kingly pride, Free of expense these gourmands dine,

Begirt with mail-clad barons fierce. The public is their host.

In triumph o'er me ride.

Even captive kings have o'er me past, How different from the hardy race,

Led by their victors bold, Who stretch'd me o'er the flood,

To grace their triumph: 'England will A truss of straw compose their beds

No more such scenes behold. Their pillows logs of wood !

And I have tuneful Chaucer seen, Then locks and bolts were useless deemid,

And all the pilgrim throng, Their doors were aye unbarr'd,

Who yode** with him to Becket's shrine, Each man his castle could protect,

They still live in his song. His valour was its guard.

Eliza, of the lion port,' Few foreign dainties grac'd their board,

My fancy still recalls,

Full oft she past me with her court,
Roast beef was ever there;

To seek fair Greenwich halls. 11
Plum-pudding too, and wassail strong,
In which to drown old Care.

What sports and pastimes have I view'd,

And cke what pageants sheen, Their weak descendants pass o'er me

The noble and his vassal then
Like spectres pale and wan,

Alike enjoy'd the scene.
How alter'd from the hardy, brave,
And ruddy Englishman.

I The Southwark cast-iron bridge.

On Monday, 15th of April, the first pile of the New London

Bridge, was sunk in the bed of the river. • On Candlemas Day, 1814.

** Yode, went. * A grammatical error for the sake of rhyme-Pope has done the || + Elizabeth was born in the ancient palace which stood in same, but' Great wits may sometimes gloriously offend,' &c. Il Greenwich Park,

In feudal times, when hardy mirth

peror of Austria, at Vienna. The undaunted and reproachNe'er ended without blows,

ful expression in the countenance of the archbishop is adLaid on with right good English will,

mirable, and the colouring brilliant. Which never gender'd foes.

" The Einbarkation of the Queen of Sheba,' by Claude.

On canvass, 4 ft. ll in. high, 6 ft. 7 in. wide. A work of Were all the deeds of sin and shame

the first class, breathing the inspiration of a great mind, I've noted to be told,

and glowing in all the lascinating richness of luxuriant naWith horror they would thrill thy frame;

ture. There is a sparkling freshness about the pictures of And make thy blood run cold.

this artist, a natural soul-inspiring effect, that always yields

superior delight to the observer, like the first gleam of the When Rival Roses shook this Isle,

spring aft ra murky winter. My battlements oft bore,

" The Marriage of Rebecca," by Claude, companion to The sever'd head, and mangled limb,

the Queen of Sheba. On canvass, 4 ft. Il' in. high, 6 st. On spikes besmear'd with gore.

7 in, wide. A classical composition, grand, easy, and na.

tural; the foliage touched with a magical effect, and the And I have heard beneath me glide

whole picture serene, clear, and transparent, exhibiting the At midnight's awful hour,

sweetness of colour and harmony of execution, that captiWith muffled oars, the traitor barge,

vates the eye of refined taste. Bound for yon bloody tow'r !

" Ganymede," Irom the Colonna Palace at Rome, by I've seen when graceless bigots strove,

Titian. On canvass, 5 st. 8 in. high, 5 ft. 8 in.wide. A

design full of the imposing grandeur and sublimity of style, Inspired with frantic zeal,

that invariably distinguishes the work of this child of naAnd creeds were urg'd with penal fire,

ture; the roundness of style and fleshy tints of the figure, With halter and with stcel.

are in the most felicitous imitation of life. I've witness'd Monarchy once quell'd,

66 The Rape of the Sabines,by Rubens. On canvass, By the Republic's sword ;

5 ft. 8 in. high, 6 ft. 7 in, wide. A bold masterly design of This in its turn I saw expell’d,

a subject replete with incideat for the noblest exertions of And Monarchy restor’d.

the pencil; the grouping is exquisite, and the expression

in the female tigures full of truth and nature; the colourWhen the red scourge o'er London rag'd

iny glowing in the extreme : a magnificent specimen painted Of all consuming fire,

in the best time of the master. I heard the crash of house and tow'r

An Italian Sea-Port, Evening," by Claude. On canAnd battlement and spire.

vass, 3 st. 3 in. high, 4 st. 3 in. wide. The sea-ports of this

magical and fascinating painter are generally divested of I mark'd when yon proud monument,

all locality, being a combination of rich materials selected From earth did first arise,

from studies after nature. The present painting is a gem Which like a boasting bully bold,

of the first order. Lifts its tall head and lies.

" Landscape, Morning," by Claude. On canvass, 3 ft.

4 in. high, 4 ft. 5 in. wide. A companion picture to the I've seen grim Death triumphant ride,

Il last, every way worthy the association, painted with a freeI've heard the shrieks of woe,

dom and finish that is only equalled by the brilliant colourWhen Pestilence stalk'd through the streets,

ing and heavenly serenity of the whole. And laid its thousands low.

** Saint John in the Wilderness,' by Annibal Carracci;

from the Orleans collection. On canvass, 5 st. 4 in. high, • But soft, I scent the morning air,'

3 st. 1 in. wide. A sublime picture, in the first and most Let what I've said be penn'd;

dignified style of art ; a powerful illustration of wbat may More might I add, but time would fail,

be done with a single figure, when inspiration combines So here shall be an end.”

with science to perfect the productions of art.

" Susannah and the Elders," by Ludovico Caracci ; As ceas'd those tones, from Paul's high fane

from the Orleans collection. On canvass, 4 ft. 8 in. high, The mighty deep ton'd bell, Peal'd on the drowsy ear of night,

112 ft. 7 in. wide. More distinguished by breadth of light

and shadow, and simplicity of colouring, than sublimity of The day's departing knell.

thought; there is a solemn stillness of effect about the Percy.

coinpositions of this master that divest them of much of their attractive excellence.

" The Embarkution of Saint Ursula, by Claude : from THE ANGERSTEIN COLLECTION.

the Barbarini Palace. On canvass, 3 ft. 8 in. high, 4 ft.

11 in. wide. Partaking of the usual excellencies of this " Christ raising Lazarus,by Sebastian Del Piombo; Il artist, classical, rich, and clear, with the happiest concepfrom the Orleans collection. On canvass, 13 ft. 6 in.)

vass, 13 ft. 6 in. high, I tion of effect. 9 ft. 5 in. wide. Sebastian was the pupil of Michael Angelo " The Woman taken in Adultery," by Rembrandt. On Buonarotti, and many of the subjects he painted were the wood, 2 ft. 9 in. high, 2 st. 3 in. wide. A picture in the compositions of his unrivalled master. The figure of Laza most vigorous style of this astonishing artist, peculiarly rus in this picture is attributed to Buonarotti, but the striking in expression and effect of light and shadow, with whole production ranks in the very first class of art. Bold,

rt. bold, ll a great variety of figures, finely grouped; a rich, golden grand, and natural, with great harmony of tone and force | hiie pervades the painting, that displays the great skill of of effect.

the master. 66 The Emperor Theodosius refused Admittance to the "A Bacchanalian Triumph,by Nicolo Poussin. On Church at Milan, by Archbishop Ainbrose," by Vandyke. can vass, 4 ft. 8 in. high, 3 ft. 11 in, wide. An elegant comOn canvass, 4 st. 10 in. high, 3 it. 9 in. wide. A magnifi position, in which the ancient fable is treated with an uncent picture, rich in all the powerful characteristics of this 119ual degree of spirit and taste; the figures are finely congreat master, and not inferior to the celebrated picture of trasted, and the grace and beauty of the drawing exquisite.the same subject by Rubens, now in the gallery of the Em Westmacott's Historical and Critical Catologue.

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