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and chip, and creeper, and woodlouse shall be given. But the men who have painted their pictures in this way have taught the eye of the picture-lover and picture-buyer to demand a truth; and the good old days of the good "brown tree," the distance actually mean and mechanical, while pretending to be suggestive and imaginative, the shams of the posture and imposture-school that "lead the eye" away from what the eye hungers and thirsts for, or it is no eye at all--and the whole idolatry of melodrama, intellectual as well as vulgar-these good old days are done. The young reformers have done this, and the best thanks we can pay take the form of a vos quoque. You are not perfect, gentlemen reformers; and some of you have to learn to draw, and most of you have to learn to please. Do not place over-absolute faith in your apostle, John Ruskin. He writes such noble and eloquent English, that men more accustomed than yourselves to struggle through language to its meanings are often swept along in the golden flood; but keep your feet, gentlemen, keep your feet. He is so rich in illustration-his pages are the brightest of Mosaic --that you may well conceive that you are being taught when you are only being delighted (for he will always please, though you may not, except in his way), but be not you dazzled. Above all things, when he takes one of your pictures, and preaches an exquisite sermon thereupon, showing that you have all the gifts and graces in the world, do not be flattered beyond what is fit; and remember that as no woman was ever successful in arguing a man into loving her, so no lecturer will ever preach the world into the earnest belief that it is pleased when it is not. You must please on your own canvass, not via the golden mouth of Chrysostom Ruskin. And when that gifted man allows himself, as in the notes of this

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year, to rank a careful, brilliant,

and faithful" record of one of the grandest ceremonials of a religion which is a history of mankind, as inferior to a "not first-rate" picture of a bit of a Yorkshire road, with a few ears of corn and some well-imitated wet, you must really use your own common sense; and, while honouring the artistic perceptions of

Mr. Ruskin, be allowed to regret his repudiation of what we may call moral perspective.

There is no picture, this year, which people agree to call "great," and at once hurry to, as the work to be talked of at dinner, or in the pauses of the quadrille. There is nothing-or little of the genteelly sentimental school. There are many pictures with stories in them—indeed an unusual number-we do not mean historical pictures, although there are some of these, but works with a meaning and a purpose. There is, curiously, a lack of pictures connected with the war, nor do Crimean heroes look nobly down upon you from every other frame. The Hebrew Lord Mayor of London, painted by a Hebrew artist, is in the post of honour; and he holds out his rich robe, as has been uncivilly said, as if he was nationally anxious to shew all the beauty of the pattern. Another Hebrew, a De Rothschild, and his lovely daughter, confront his lordship. We have a Duke or two, a King Leopold, Lord Lucan, and some lawyers; but the best portraits of the year are the late Mr. David Cox, the artist, by Sir J. W. Gordon; and a Sir Colin Campbell, by Mr. H. W. Phillips. Mr. Stanfield has a grand abandoned wreck; Mr. Roberts the Christmas Day in St. Peter's-which Mr. Ruskin, praising it, subordinates to the bit of wetted road, as mentioned, Landseer has a noble dog rescuing a child from the sea, and some does licking the wounds of a stag-the usually courtly artist calls the work, Highland Nurses, and dedicates it to Miss Nightingale; and, then, there is Mr. Hunt with his "Scapegoat," a painful subject with an inimitable back ground-he went to the Dead Sea for it. Mr. Millais has several noble works, the finest being "Autumn Leaves," a twilight scene, with girls at a bonfire; and the most touching being a child, with a wounded arm, slumbering on the tomb of an old crusader-a fierce fight rages outside the church, and the soldier who has laid down the pet of the regiment to rest, has placed his coat upon it, before hurrying back to the battle. Mothers' eyes glisten as they look at this gem. Death of Chatterton, by Mr. Waller, is a most conscientious work,

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with the truth of a Pre-Raphaelite, but without his pedantry; while a new Pre-Raphaelite, Mr. Burton, an Irishman who does credit to his country, has painted a fatal duel-a cavalier has fallen by the hand of a Puritan rival, and the teterrima causa, a loving woman, bends over the former in misery-and has painted it most thoughtfully. If to these notes we add that Baron Marochetti has ventured on tinted marble in the sculpture den; that Greek forms of female loveliness have been sedulously and beautifully reproduced by reverent hands; that the bust-portraits are numerous and many of them excellent the William Russell of the Crimea, by Tussaud, the Samuel Warren, by Earle, being noticeable ; and the English Attorney General and others, by that best of jolly and genial Irishmen, John E. Jones, being singularly good--and that Macdowell's exquisite grace, and Munro's original vigour are well illustrated, we had better close the list, for there are thirteen hundred and seventy-six works to talk about, and it is late in the month.

Touching the Poison, there has seldom been a criminal case since that of Thurtell and Weare, in which the intense interest taken by the nation in the investigation has been so entirely apart from any interest in the sufferer or his supposed assassin--for so the latter must be spoken of, the trial still pending as we write. They were both members of "the betting fraternity," an institution of the country which numbers its exceptional list of honourable men, but which, as a mass, represents folly, cunning, and dirty rascality. The man who was poisoned (that he was so is distinctly sworn to by the first medical talent in England, and the fact may be taken as established) was at best a weak and, as is also proved, a vulgarly immoral man, and the accused person was a sporting surgeon. Yet the ex

citement which the case has caused is extraordinary. The late Premier of England is daily on the bench, as is a late witty Colonial Secretary, who has once been so carried away by the interest of the trial, as to forget that he was a mere spectator, and to ask, aloud, of one of the officials whether a document contained a certain signature. Demands for admission were

poured in by the thousand; and happy is the man who is permitted to sit, day by day, in that stifling court, to watch the process by which it is to be discovered whether a country surgeon destroyed another betting man. The subject is the theme in all circles, and even the necessarily disgusting medical evidence is rechauffé, from day by day, and each step by which law is supposed to be gaining upon crime is carefully marked. A strong array of legal talent musters on both sides, the keen, shrewd, resolute Attorney-General being pitted against the eloquent Shea, and the juniors being nearly all men of mark. No point will be lost on either side; and if, as the lawyers say is the case, a trial by jury be the most perfect machine for disengaging truth from falsehood and error, it will seldom have been more satisfactorily worked than in the investigation now pending. Perhaps even more important than the result of the case itself are the deductions that will be drawn from the medical evidence which has been brought out. Never, since the great Öyer of poisoning, have the various means of destruction which science places within the reach of the chemist been laid open more completely to the public eye; and it is far from improbable that certain disastrous results will ere long be found to have arisen from the broadcast sowing of a knowledge better withheld from the non-professional world. Should the balance of evidence leave an impression on the public mind that a certain poison is not to be detected, we may have hereafter to regret that every syllable uttered by the witnesses has been reported so accurately and divulged so extensively. But the immediate interest of society is with the decision; and this, in suspense while these lines are being written, will be given before they are read. It is undesirable to enter more accurately into the case while it is incomplete, but it is impossible to pass it over while enumerating the elements which May has introduced into our social interchange of opinion.

And now, touching these Pyrotechnics, the last scintilla of which will have burned out before publishing-day. The subject occupies us very much; but we are proud to say

that London is not thinking so much of Catherine wheels and Roman candles as of another matter. For once we have perfect confidence in the government. It is matter of regret that some fatal accidents have already happened at Woolwich, and indeed more lives, it is stated, have been lost in making the peace fireworks than were sacrificed at the Arsenal during the whole war. But as regards the result of the labours at the factory we are quite calm. The government has plenty of money, and, moreover, has taken up this firework show rather obstinately as a matter of its own, and will therefore do its best to make that show a worthy one. Whether the directors have a new plan of their own, or whether we are to have a set of "Temples of Concord," modelled upon the idea of 1814, at which the best artists of the day assisted, we do not care. If the government adheres to precedents, the pictures of the old show are in the windows in Fleet-street; the effect looks fine, and our fathers declare that it was splendid. But this we leave to the authorities. What we particularly want to know is, whether London is to be given up that night to the rabble--we mean the dangerous classes-who, it is stated, are organizing for riot and burglary. There is a Latin saying about the memory of past labours being pleasant, and it will be very gratifying, on the 1st of June, to read that we have disquieted ourselves in vain. But at this present writing there is nothing vain in the matter. On that night it is idle to expect that a servant will remain at home to protect your house. If your amiable wife and excitable daughters-to say nothing of young Pickleherring, home from the Rev. Dr.Swishtail's wish to see the fire-works, how are they to go without you to escort and protect them through the mob? Argal, the house must be left to itself. As for the police, nobody expects anything from them. Even the lesson of last year was lost upon them; and on the Trinity Sunday, when the demonstration was expected on account of the stoppage of the

"Sabbath music," they permitted the

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roughs" to rush about Kensington Gardens, breaking the trees, and charging all decent persons. This was the non-interference policy. If that is to be practised on the 29th of this May, woe to London. Another cause of our trouble is concerning the illuminations. Nobody wants to light up at all; and as the shows will with everybody be the Parks, why, if you please, should we illuminate without a chance of spectators? But the government seems to wish it," and this will be hint enough, and more than enough, for the patriotic glaziers and their accomplices, the "roughs." On the whole, therefore, we are looking forward to this national rejoicing with most uncomfortable anticipations; for while we are being crushed and trodden on in the Parks, we shall be reflecting that our houses are being pillaged and our windows smashed. "May the event prove better than our thoughts;" but we have a notion that we shall be made to remember the Peace rejoicings pretty much as King Herod intended that his subjects should remember his decease, that is, by virtue of some excessive private disagreeables. never mind-up with the rockets! Let us have Catherine wheels in honour of Russian hereditary policy, likely to triumph in Circassia if not elsewhere; Jack-in-the-boxes for constitutional statesmen, who pop up with education schemes, and then disappear; Maroons to imitate cannon for fleets whose commanders do everything but fight; Roman candles for Austria and the glorious concordat; and Serpents-but no, we must not be personal. But "when we have wearied ourselves with base comparisons,” it is probable that we shall see a very grand sight; and it speaks well for our gentlemanly and liberal character as a nation, that having so very little to be thankful for, we shall have testified our gratitude by so overwhelming a manifestation as that we are now preparing with the fear and trembling

aforesaid.

London, May 20th.

But

753

INDEX TO VOL. XLVII.

Age of the Earth, the, 580.

Aird, Thomas, the Poetical Works of, review-
ed, 676.

Amber Mouth-piece, the, 309.
American Sailor Authors, a trio of, 47.

Balancing the Books, a tale of New Year's
Eve, by Jonathan Freke Slingsby, 1.
Barry, Michael Joseph, Lays of the War,
noticed, 247.

Browning, Robert, Men and Women, review-
ed, 673.

Bunbury, Selina, Our Own Story, noticed,
379.

Burgomaster, The, a visit to Rembrandt's
Studio, 730.

Butler, Rev. William Archer, Lectures on the
History of Ancient Philosophy, reviewed,
635.

Captain's Room, Bowl of Punch in the, 447.
Carleton, William, Fair Gurtha or The Hun-

gry Grass, a Legend of the Dumb Hill, 414.
Cassell, Walter R., Poems by, noticed, 253.
Cavalier, the, and the Puritan, by Thomas
Hood, 342.

Cavalier Songs, a handful of, by G. W.
Thornbury, 210.

Chaucer's Poetical Works, edited by Robert
Bell, reviewed, 611.

Clarke, Marshal, Governor of Vienna and
Berlin, Memoir of, 100.

Cloak and Feather Ballads, by G. W. Thorn-
bury, 606.

Club Talk in London, 767.

Cole, John William, Memoirs of British Gene-

rals distinguished during the Peninsular
War, noticed, 242.

Collins, John, the Fall of Man, reviewed, 670.
Colloquies of Erasmus, Readings from the,
435.

Cooper's Sea Stories, noticed, 47.

Creasy. E. S., History of the Ottoman Turks,
reviewed, 591.

Cromwell, Richard, the Protectorate of, and
the Dawn of the Restoration, by M. Guizot,
translated by Andrew Scobell, reviewed,

714.

D'Albret, Jeanne, Queen of Navarre, the
Life of, noticed, 123.

Dana, R. H. jun. Two Years before the Mast
noticed, 50.

Darragh, the, 566, 682,

Doctor in the Witness Box, the, 178.

Dramatic Writers of Ireland, Notices of:—
Carleton, William, 370.
Clarke, Lady, 26.
Corkran, J. F., 370.
Coyne, Joseph Stirling, 368.
Croly, Rev. George, 359.
Edgeworth, Maria, 25.
Glengall, Lord, 26.
Grattan, Thomas Colley, 363.
Groves, Rev. Edward, 27.
Jones, Frederick E., 32,
Kenney, James, 15.
Knowles, James Sheridan, 371.
Lanesborough, Lord, 27.
Lover, Samuel, 364.
Morgan, Lady, 25.
Power, Tyrone, 26.

Shee, Sir Martin Archer, 30.
Valentia, Lord, 26.

Dublin, History of the City of, by G. T.
Gilbert, M.R.I.A., reviewed, 320.

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Gurtha, Fair, or the Hungry Grass, a Legend
of the Dumb Hill, by William Carleton,
414.

Hamilton, Sir W., Discussions on Philosophy

and Literature, reviewed, 635.
Hiawatha, Lonfellow's Song of, reviewed,

90.

Hood, Thomas, Twilight Musings of an Old
Man, 109; The Cavalier and the Puritan,
342.

Irish History, Missing Chapters of, No. II.,

55.

Irwin, Thomas, Versicles by, reviewed, 671.

Jacobite Songs, a Handfal of, by G. W.
Thornbury, 279.

Jones, Ernest, The Emperor's Vigil, and the
Waves and the War, noticed, 247.

Kadisha, or the First Jealousy, Part 1, 549;
Part 2, 696.

Kars, 381.

Kilmaine, General, Memoirs of, 464.

Langdale, Hon. Charles, Memoirs of Mrs.
Fitzherbert, reviewed, 481.

Lilliesleaf, noticed, 123.

Notes upon New Books:-Rachel Gray, by
Julia Kavanagh, 121; Lilliesleaf, 123;
The Life of Jeanne D'Albret, Queen of
Navarre, 123; Home Education, by the
Rev. Norman Macleod, 237; The Lady of
Fashion, by the author of the "Flirt,"
238; The Memoirs of British Generals
distinguished during the Peninsular War,
by John Wm. Cole, 21st Fusiliers, 242;
Laura Gay, a novel, 246; Lays of the
War, by Michael Joseph Barry, 247;
The Emperor's Vigil, and the Waves and
the War, by Ernest Jones, 247; The
Wanderer in Arabia, by G. T. Lowth,
250; The History of Sir Thomas Thumb,
by the author of Heartsease, 252; Poems
by Walter R. Cassels, 253; Scottish
Heroes in the Days of Wallace and Bruce,
by the Rev. Alexander Low, A.M., 376;
Our Own Story, by Selina Bunbury, 379;
The Chess-player's Annual, by Charles
Tomlinson, 379; Madeline Clare, by
Colburne Mayne, 380.

Novels and Novelists, 195, 286, 536.

Octave of Poets, an, 667.

Ogilvy, Mrs. D., Poems of Ten Years, re-
viewed, 680.

Opening Session, the, 349.

Ottoman Turks, History of the, by E. S.
Creasy, reviewed, 591.

Lobo Rodriguez, Leaves from the Portuguese Padiology; or a few remarks about the toys

Olive, No. VI. 67.

London, Club Talk in, 747.

Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, reviewed, 90.
Love in Curlpapers, 32, 165, 270, 474.
Low, Rev. Alexander, Scottish Heroes in the

Days of Wallace and Bruce, noticed, 376.
Lowth, G. T. The Wanderer in Arabia,
noticed, 250.

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of grown-up men and little boys, 659.
Panurgus Pebbles, 216.

Philosophy, Ancient, Lectures on the His-
tory of, by Rev. William Archer Butler,
M.A. late Professor of Moral Philosophy
in the University of Dublin, reviewed, 635.
Philosophy, Speculative, Historical Develop-
ment of, from Kant to Hegel, 635.
Philosophy and Literature, Discussions on,

by Sir W. Hamilton, Bart., reviewed, 635.
Physic and Physicians, Ancient, 405.
Platonic Philosophy, 635.

Poetry, Early English, 611.

Poetry of Creation, the, by Nicholas
Michell, reviewed, 669.

Poetry: The Sally from Coventry, by
George Thornbury, 210; Death of the
Cavalier Poet, 211; The Old Park Gates,
211; The Three Troopers, 213; Tom of
Ten Thousand, 214; The Aloe, 235;
The Calves' Head Club, 279; The White
Rose over the Water, 280; The Fight in
the Hawking Field, 281; The Gentleman
in Black, 282; Old Sir Walter, 283;
The Jacobite on Tower Hill, 285; After
the Battle, 318; Burial of Moses, 462;
Spring, 463; Kadisha, or the First
Jealousy, 549, 696; Dick o' the Diamond,
606; The Town Gate, 608; The Jester's
Sermon, 610; The Burgomaster, a Visit
to Rembrandt's Studio, 730; Moonlight,
744; Sonnet, by James Edmeston, 747.

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