directe des chances de perte, ce qui fait qu'une grande fortune ne peut, en general, se former que très lente ment. 2. Quant à l'heritage, la vie moyenne de l'homme est, selon M. de Laplace, de 43 ans : (et, comme il s'agitici de la classe aisée, il faudrait, pour etre exact, elever un peu ce nombre.) Les parents possedant leurs biens jusqu'a l'âge moyen de 43 ans, leurs enfants de 21, de 25, de 30 ans, restent sans existence politique.'

Now, if we combine this statement with the calculation, that, if the age of eligibility were twenty-one, there would be in France, 14,817 eligible men; but, if it be thirty, they will be reduced to 11,082,-we shall perceive very strongly the effect of the limit in diminishing the number of possible representatives. We agree with M. de Las Casas in the conclusion he comes to; but we must say that his arguments are not exactly of that kind which are wont to convince us. We think the French restriction absurd, because, in our opinion, age has nothing to do with the matter: a fool of forty is certainly a more contemptible thing than a fool of twenty-one: there is a probability, that the heart, when the finer edge of the feelings is worn off, will be more sensual, that the desires will become more selfish, and that the mind, having been longer choked up and smothered with evil weeds, will have become effete, but, nevertheless, the man who has been schooled, or rather who has schooled himself, in the paths of thought and meditation, who has cut himself off from sordid feelings in the spring-time of his life, cannot degenerate in after-existence. The very act of being and seeing, which to others is an accumulating mass of false impression and a sensuous abandonment of the light of nature, is to him a series of steps in his progress to wisdom and to truth. M. de Las Casas seems to have omitted a strong feature in his case, viz. that none will apply themselves to politics as a study, but those to whom there is no immediate interest to study at all. Politics must be studied; they can be studied only in practice, and a man must be in some degree an acting politician, before he can be a thinking one. We could wish the converse were equally true. There is a note at the end of the volume containing a tolerably accurate account of our representative system: it is as well the French should be a little enlightened on this point. Of the University of Cambridge the author says, 'Le vote est sous l'influence du Ministère :'-this is a singular proof how custom makes a law.

CATALOGUE RAISONNÉ

Popular Premises examined, a Philosophical Inquiry into some of the Opinions of Christians and Philosophers, on Deity, Doctrines, the Human Mind, &c. By Richard Dillon. 18mo, pp. 90. London, 1828. ALTHOUGH we do not agree with the author upon many of the points which he has discussed, yet we hesitate not to say that his book is clear, clever, pointed, and (what is no small praise) brief and comprehensive. It is well worth the perusal of all who take interest in the abstruse doctrines which he has here investigated with considerable talent and acumen;occasionally, however, tinged with dogmatism, though not with illiberality.

A plain and short History of England for Children, in Letters from a Father to his Son. By the Editor of The Cottager's Monthly Visitor.' 18mo., pp. 261. London, 1829.

Hints designed to promote a profitable Attendance on an Evangelical Ministry. By the Rev. William Davis, Minister of the Croft Chapel, Hastings. 18mo., pp. 71. London, 1828.

AMONG other vices, the author is peculiarly severe in reprehending those who go from chapel to chapel for no other purpose than to pick up gossip and criticise the officiating clergymen. To those who thus err, we strongly recommend a perusal of Mr. Davis's hints.

The Cambrian Quarterly Magazine.

WE are much pleased with this attempt to rescue our aboriginal literature from the oblivion into which it has fallen. The writers are evidently men of ability and research, whose enthusiasm, though we may not enter into it, we shall admire, and whose learning, though it may run into tracks in which we are not habitually interested, we shall be glad to profit by.

The Censor.

THE publication of The Etonian' has stirred up the emulation of several of our other large schools; and, though nothing has yet been produced which can at all compete with that clever book, the attempt, at least, is worthy of attention and encouragement. The present periodical is a novelty in its kind. It is written, we understand, by boys of the first and second forms at one of the metropolitan seminaries, and has been printed by permission of the master. Of course, the youths will not be allowed to neglect their accidents for their periodical; and, this danger being guarded against, we dare say the practice which it will give them in English grammar and composition will be useful to them in after-life.

Roman Catholic Question. Ridgway.

SUCH liberal extracts have been made from this pamphlet of Mr. Blake's in the reviews and other newspapers, that we have no excuse for eviscerating it ourselves. But for this circumstance we could not have denied ourselves the pleasure of introducing to our readers what strikes us as the most plain, temperate, honest, and clever exposition of the question which is to be found among all the volumes that have been written upon this tedious and interminable con

troversy.

NEW MUSIC.

I see them on their Winding Way, dedicated to Mr. G. Ford of the Leicester and Stratford Theatres, the words taken from an unpublished Poem by the late Bishop Heber, the Melody and Accompaniment by B. Hime. Latour.

AN advertisement upon the first page informs us, that 'the symphony is from a celebrated march in imitation of a band at a distance; upon hearing which, the late Bishop Heber wrote the poem from which the words are taken.'

This symphony and march commences exactly as the old tune in 'The Beggars' Opera,' 'When the heart of a man is depressed with cares,' and which same air is popular in the Lancers' Quadrille. However, new or old, the song is well imagined, well harmonised, and deserves to be well thought of and well encouraged, as a spirited, appropriate, and clever adaptation. The composer is the same gentleman who wrote the ballad, Lassie, let us stray together,' (noticed in the Athenæum, No. 63, p. 8.,) in which notice, by a typographical error, his name is spelt Horne instead of Hime. Nel Silenzio, the admired Chorus in Meyerbeer's 'Il Crociato in Egitto, with brilliant Variations for the Piano-forte. By Henry Herz. Op. 23. Cocks

and Co.

Parks and Palaces. Ridgway, THIS is a lively and clever brochure, upon a subject which comes home to the bosom and packet of every one. The exposure of Messrs. Nash, and Soame, and Bruton, is very amusing and satisfactory.

variation: First varia. 'Brillante e leggier.' Second varia. Sempre staccato ed energico; an ingenious arrangement of triplet.s Third varia. 'Ben marcato, ina il Basso leggiero;' an excellent exercise for the left hand. Fourth varia. Piu lento e molto espressivo;' difficult but exceedingly tasteful. Fifth varia. Vivo e alto brillante.' Finale. An allegro vivo, in 6-8 time, forming a highly finished rondo of seven pages. The whole is a composition of the highest class.

A Selection of the most admired Airs from Rossini's Opera of Semiramide; arranged for the Piano-forte. By N. B. Challoner. In two Books. Mayhew and Co. We have noticed before, with peculiar satisfaction, the very concise and useful arrangements (especially to teachers) made by Challoner, of Mozart's Seraglio,' and,Rossini's 'Il Barbiere,' in which the principal advantages were the unusually familiar style of adaptation, without injuring the effect of the various movements chosen; and Semiramide' is published as a sort of continuation, with the same attention to usefulness, thus fitting the whole of the works to the hands of incipient performers better than any other arrangement published. The first book contains the lively chorus Belo si celebri :' the beautiful gem Di tanti regi,' the spirited movement Trema il tempio." The grand march Ergi omai,' and the graceful allegretto Ese ancor libero,' which resembles Di tanti palpiti;' and Carafa's Aure felice.' And the Second book presents the prayer Al mio pregar.' The allegro La madre rea;' the andante Giorno d'orrore,' and the subsequent allegro Tu serena,' (which last three movements constitute the duet sung by Pasta and Brambilla, with such enthusiastic applause,) these are followed by the expressive andantino Serbami Ognor, and the whole concludes with the vivace, Al gran cimento,' forming an appropriate finale.

An Invitation, written by Shakspeare. The Music composed and respectfully inscribed to Miss Drinkwater, by Walter Turnbull. Power.

IT might have been expected that Shakspeare's words, 'Come live with me and be my love,' would have animated a musical writer to some ingenuity of modulation, or, at least, a little novelty of melody; but, alas, no such thing! the piece is as homely as the compounded names of the author, composer, and the lady, to whom it is dedicated.

We recommend our readers to visit, when they have a few minutes' leisure, the rooms of Mons. Edouart, a profilist, in the Regent Circus, Oxford-street. The title assumed by Mons. Edouart is one which by no means sufficiently indicates the spirit and beauty of his figures, which he produces by the aid of a pair of scissors from a bit of black paper. Among the portraits

of many distinguished persons, those of Mr. Irving, (the clergyman,) and of Mr. Simeon of Cambridge, struck us as peculiarly forcible and accurate. Mons. Edouart, for the sum of a few shillings, furnishes his visitors with likenesses of themselves, which, considering the simplicity of the means he employs, are really exquisite. He will be happy also to show his collection or any part of it gratis, to any one who may visit bis apartinents; and half an hour may ie very agreeably spent among these productions of ingenious and facile skill.

SONNET.

FROM CALDERON.

THESE flowers that were a glory and delight.
Awakening at the paleness of the morn,
At eve shall be a spectacle forlorn,
When sleeping in the lap of the chill night.
These tints, this rainbow, edged with snowy white,
Aud gola and purple, challenging the sky,
Are an example to mortality

What one day in its limits may unite.

The roses have been born that they might bloom,
And, only blooming that they might wax old,
Found in a bud their cradle and their tomb:
E'en such do men their destinies behold:
Birth and the grave are compassed by one day;
Ages are hours when they have passed away.

SKETCHES OF HUMAN LIFE.

No. I.

Charles-Altered as you say you are, you at least retain your love of walking. You do not seem to become weary of traversing these old

avenues.

Edward.-No; I have been too short a time in my country, not to take pleasure in objects which remind me so vividly that I am no longer an exile. This elastic turf seems to fill my limbs with a new life; and I wander, as in a half-conscious dream of serene rejoicing, among these broken vistas, and under the shadow of these green and tufted glens.

Charles. It is well that you have not lost your affection for these things, as you say that you are comparatively indifferent to many in which you formerly delighted.

Edward.-Aye, Charles, I am indeed changed. Fourteen years of labours and perils, sickness, captivity, and sometimes despair, have done their work upon me. When I left the land in which we had both of us passed so many happy hours, my courage sank. I had not strength even to write to you; and I went on through a thousand circumstances of difficulty and danger, without being able to oppose to them more than a shadow of that energy which I had formerly been master of. Innumerable prospects such as this which surrounds us, fleeted continually before my mind. For the present I was nothing more than an inert heap of corporeal atoms; I lived only for the distant and the past. And, while all those intermediate years seem to me now but unimportant and unmeaning, that which occurred before them still presents itself to my feelings as the only real the only substantial portion of my existence, as all that concerns my true and inner being Frances was but fifteen, and my age was double this; yet how exquisitely was her character adapted to mine, her agile and brilliant, though not frivolous, youth of heart to my graver and severer humour. She was to me like the black-bird

amid the dark foliage of yonder tree, filling it with a soul of melody. Only three days before I was unexpectedly called away across the sea, we met in these very gardens. We walked together, and our footsteps were as irregular as our thoughts. I feared to look at her, except with stolen and side

long glances. She fixed her eyes upon the ground,
while we talked, in imperfect and difficult accents,
about any thing which might be farthest from the
emotions of each. At last, I caught the glimpse
of a tear growing through those long lashes.
My hand touched her's, and I felt the drop
fall warm upon it. I spoke and she scarce.y could
falter a reply; and that evening I left her with a
more exulting and winged sense of happiness
than I had ever known before-than I have known
since. Charles, I am now grey and blasted, not
young in years, and very old in spirit; yet even
all, the changes wrought by time and misfortune
do not appear sufficient to explain the difference
between what I am now conscious of within
I am now
myself, and the man I then was.
crushed, motionless, and solitary; I was then a
being of joyous exertions and bounding aspira-
tions, and linked, as it seemed to me, in the pro-
foundest and most delicious sympathy with one
so fair and youthful, in whose mind the blossom
was so tremulously beautiful, and the stem so

straightly firm, that love for her was of itself

power, and liberty, and virtue.

Charles.-What circumstance put an end to her

affection?

Edecard.-I know not. I wrote to her from abroad, but received no answer. And, though I have always in some degree consoled myself with the notion that my letter may have miscarried, I never had sufficient confidence to write again. I can now form no conjecture as to what may have become of her. She may still be rich, and gay, and lovely; or the low sod and the narrow

a few minutes.

excusable for resorting to them than you who are so secure of gaining attention and applause, if you would only trust to your genuine self. Even my vanity, if I thought its gratification so necessary as you seem to think it, would be hurt at the notion of my being admired or loved for any thing but what belongs peculiarly to myself.

Frances.-Well, my dear, at your age it is very natural you should think this. I think I can reBut 1 member the time when I too thought so. am grown wiser now.

Sophia.-Yet you sighed even while you said you had grown wiser. Wisdom surely does not make us unhappy.

Frances. The gardens are filling. We have no more time, my dear, for moralising.

Sophia.-Yet see how the lamps have burst into a broken blaze; and how exquisitely is the music arranged to sound in concert with the rippling of the water, and the breathing of the trees, as if they were the voice of the whole landscape; and this mingling of a thousand gay colours and fantastic shapes around us is as splendid and strange as if all the clouds of sunset had taken wing, and flown hither from the west. There is a mystery too in the flood of disguised faces which I should be sorry to exchange for a full knowledge of the features the masks conceal.

Frances.-There, again, I entirely differ from you. To be sure, I can guess pretty accurately as to most of the people at all worth knowing; but, when I am in doubt, there is nothing I long for so much as to discover the secret.

Sophia.-Well, I will be as inconsistent as you wish. Who is that tall, affected-looking man, dressed as a troubadour?

Frances.-Do not speak so loud, when you give such very barbarian opinions, Fatima. What you call affectation is the very dew and bloom of unequalled accomplishment. That is my friend Frederick. See he is looking through the moving crowd with an air of careless superiority. He will find us out at a glance. Aye, I thought so, here he comes. Now, prithee, coz, do not spoil my game, either by openly declaring yourself, or by withdrawing from conversation with him.

Frederich.-Most queenly shepherdess, and most graceful Sultana, may a poor Troubadour ask the name under which he may be allowed to celebrate your beauties.

Frances.-You may call me Amoret, and my companion is named Fatima.

Frederick-That voice belongs, methinks, to one who has not always worn a peasant's garb ?

Frances. You mistake the note of the thrush for that of the nightingale, Sir Troubadour. I am here in attendance upon the Sultana, like the moon. yonder cloud that waits upon Frederick-Say rather, like a seraph accompanying a mortal.

Frances-Nay, master Giraud D'Alençon, do not speak in whispers. I have no secrets from

my

mistress.

Sophia.-I know these masks, Frances. There is my sister, I will join her, and you may find us, when you will, in the alcove, beside the waterfall.

Frederick-Now, cruel Frances, for you cannot disguise yourself from me, will you permit me to converse with you more freely?

Frances.-Sec, we are watched by yonder pair in black. What can they require from us?

Edward.-Charles, it is, it is her voice. I inust speak with her, were it but for a moment. Detain that masker, who is by her side; and I will address her.

Frances. Well, sable spirit, what need you with a country Amoret?

Edward. This black vesture is less a disguise to me, than that rustic garb to you, Lady.

Frances.-Good Heavens! do I not know that voice? I do not understand you, Sir.

Edward.-Frances, Frances! it was not always

thus. I remember a time, when no disguise could have prevented you from recognising me, when nothing I could have said as to myself would have been unintelligible to you.

Frances-Tis strange. It must have been long ago; for 1 profess I have, at present, no notion what you mean. Edward-How false, and heartless, and trivial sounds that voice! How has it been sharpened and hardened by the evil discipline of the world! Lady, take off that mask. Aye, there are indeed the features I have loved to look upon. But the flower is petrified, and its fragrance has departed. You have shown what I asked, but would gladly have missed to see. Look here, Frances, is there ought in this face that you can recognize? Frances. Can this be life? Edward! O my

God!

Edward.-Yes, Frances, I am indeed one long lost to you, and to my country; yet even now too soon returned to find you thus.

Frances. Your sudden re-appearance has agitated me so much that I must now leave you. We soon shall meet again.

Edward. And can indeed the bright and freehearted being I remember be dulled and withered into this wretched hollow idol of the world's vanities? Then is all time destruction, and all change but death.

Frances. How can I save myself from this importunate spectre of the past? I will wed Frede

rick to-morrow.

NOTES ON LISBON. No. V.

HOUSES.

THE houses of Lisbon are all built of stone, found in great plenty in the neighbouring quarries, (when first taken from the quarries it is merely a clay, but soon becomes exceedingly hard by exposure to the air.) These stones are only squared, or rather smouthed, (for they are seldom used in a square or any regular shape,) on the side which forms the exterior of the wall; and, as

the mortar they use is uncommonly strong, they bind into a solid mass of masonry, the mortar, when thoroughly dry, becoming harder than the Astone itself. They use a great deal of timber in the framework of their houses, for the purpose of be able to stand the shocks of earthquakes, binding or tying the whole together, so as to to which they are so subject. Contrary to our mode, the whole frame of the house is first erected by the carpenter, and the mason is then called in to fill up the interstices. This and the great thickness of the walls considered, (from 2 to 3 feet,) I am led to think that even such another earthquake as that in 1755, would not be attended with such serious consequences. Indeed, the mischief then occurred chiefly among the churches, which, from their lofty walls, unsupported roofs, and no intermediate floors to bind the walls, must necessarily fall in on any violent concussion; and it being a Saint's day, and the hour of high mass, when that dreadful event happened, all the churches were filled, and it has been computed that upwards of 60,000 persons perished in them alone.*

While speaking of earthquakes, I shall state the effect one had on me. About eight o'clock in the morning, on the 4th of June, a slight shock of an earthquake was felt in Lisbon, which, in a few seconds, was followed by another considerably more violent; so much so, that those who were asleep were awakened by the rocking of

* I saw in Lisbon (in 1815) an old lady who was in one of the churches at the time. While attempting to escape, two falling columns coming in contact by their tops, caught her hair, and detained her safe, beneath the pointed arch thus formed, till she was the next day extricated. She told me every other person in

that church perished.

their beds, the rattling of doors, windows, &c. The alarm was extreme: in several parts of the city, families ran out of their houses, praying more sincerely than I believe they generally do; however, no further evil ensued than frightening the women and children, and breaking a few windows. The sensation experienced by myself and a gentleman who was with me at the time, was rather singular. We were walking in Goldstreet, which stands on a flat, nearly level with the Tagus, and very near it on a sudden I felt a universal faintness come over me, and my knees and feet were seized with a weakness similar to that caused by excessive fatigue; at the same instant my friend complained of the same faintness and lassitude. It, however, went off in a few idea of the cause; nor was it till we were told of minutes, and we neither of us at the time had any for our strange sensation. From what we exthe earthquake that we were enabled to account perienced, I am confident that, had the houses been falling round us, we could not have escaped destruction, for we were in progressive motion, and yet the weakness, faintness, and even sickness, forced us to stop for at least two minutes, totally unable to move; and those two minutes would have been quite enough to have buried us and all Lisbon.

To return to my subject. The method of tiling rains of winter. The tiles are curved, and are their houses is well adapted to keep out the very placed the reverse way, alternately into each other, and the intermediate hollows are filled up with a thick paste of mortar, which, when dry, is impervious to the rain; and the roof has a very neat and pretty appearance, the tiles and mortar forming stripes of white and red. In many instances I have seen this effect beautifully diversified: the birds and the wind carry on to the roofs of the houses, various kinds of seeds of mosses, lichens, grasses, &c., which soon take root in the mortar, and the houses then present roofs of broad alternate stripes of light green and red, the coup-d'œil of which is uncommonly elegant.

The houses are generally from five to seven stories high; some few are carried to the fatiguing height of ten. The houses of the nobility or of rich individuals, however, seldom exceed two, sometimes have only one. Every separate floor is considered as a distinct house, and, as such, contains a distinct family; and it very frequently who occupies either of the others. Each gehappens that those on any one floor cannot tell nerally consists of a large sitting-room, a diningroom, kitchen, pantry, and one, two, or more small rooms fit for china closets, servants' bedrooms, &c. The bed-rooms for the family are, in general, what they call alcoves; that is, they are rooms lying in the centre of the floor, communicating with the outer rooms by glass-doors, through which they receive the only light they have, as, from their internal situation, they are totally deprived of the benefit of any window of their own; and the only way there is to ventilate them is by throwing open the doors, as, with very few exceptions, they have two doors, one opposite the glass-door, leading towards the kitchen, for the convenience of the servant, who must otherwise pass through the sitting or dining-room to make the beds, &c. These gloomy chambers are, however, by no means so close and uncomfortable as might be imagined; on the contrary, I rather think, provided they are ventilated every day, they are cooler than if they admitted the sun. I know not from what cause, unless it be from the filth of the streets, and the laziness of the people, but surely Egypt was never more sorely vexed with vermin than Lisbon is every summer;

Instead of having bells or knockers to each floor, there is one general knocker at the gate door, at which you give as many distinct knocks as the number of the floor the person resides on you intend to visit; that is, one for the first floor, five for the fifth, six for the sixth, and so on.

fleas, bugs, and flies swarming in tens of myriads, and I much doubt if, in the whole city, there is one house free from the two former. The latter, from its nature, is equally a visitor of the palace and the cot.

In Lisbon house-rent is always paid six months in advance, lodgings the same; so that it is impossible the landlord can ever lose his rent. There are only two periods in the year in which either house or lodgings can be procured, (generally speaking,) which are on St. John's day (in June,) and at Christmas. Those who intend to remove, must one month (exactly) before the expiration of the six months, put a square piece of blank white paper in each window; if they neglect to do that, it is supposed they intend to oblige them, as by not putting up the Escrites, as remain where they are; indeed the landlord can those blank pieces of paper are called, they prevent him from letting to others.

But in most instances the landlord will not receive his rent in advance, but prefers a Fiador, that is, some person who shall become security for you, not only as to the payment of the rent, but also that you shall make good all damages done to the premises. A short lease or agreement to this effect, is drawn up by the landlord, and signed by you and your Fiador, in which, amongst other things, it is always stipulated that you shall not drive any nails into the walls, and that you shall not let the house to any other person without the landlord's consent. The former of these restrictions is very necessary, as, in general, the walls are very neatly, and, in many instances, very elegantly painted with various subjects, such as groups of figures, allegorical representations, fruit, fish, and flowers, particularly the latter. In some of the houses of the higher orders, I have seen rooms painted in groups of figures, in a style that would hardly be tolerated in England. In this kind of room-painting they are very clever, the execution, particularly in the houses of the rich, being masterly and exquisite.

In most of the large houses, the entrance-hall, the staircases, and some of the rooms are wains coated about breast-high, with what we call Dutch tiles; but instead of each tile having a different subject, the whole of them, when united, form but one picture, (generally drawn from some subject in the Old or New Testament;) the tiles are very large, about 18 inches square, and if one They certainly have a very neat and cool appearshould get broken the whole set of course becomes spoiled, as it leaves a hole in the ballad.

ance.

The ground of them is white, and the figures, landscape, &c. blue.

With the exception of the houses of a few English families, none are to be met with that have a single fire-place, except in the kitchen. This is very well in summer, but during their rainy season, (or winter,) it is miserably uncomfortable, being damp, cold, and shivering.

It is impossible to conceive a more ludicrous picture than might be sketched by suddenly transporting an English cook into a Portuguese kitchen. No range or grate of any kind, no coals, no other cooking utensils than a few stew-pans, and a frying-pan; the fire, a few pieces of wood on the hearth, (which, to avoid stooping, is built in a large chimney, over an arch, and about waist high; under the arch the wood and charcoal is generally kept,) or else charcoal lighted in little circular grated holes, built up with brick-work for the purpose. With such means it would be no easy task to cook an English dinner; but as the Portuguese scarcely ever dress their meat in any other manner than by stewing, these answer the purpose better than any other; as every stew-pan can have its little separate charcoal fire, at a very small expense.

A friend of mine, an English merchant, who

what they call capas, that is, capable, or what is called They are very particular that the Fiador should be in the city of London a good man.

THE BRITISH INSTITUTION.

ON no occasion during the year-neither on the devotion of a 'valuable' column in a daily journal to an exposé of the secrets of the prison-house, from the pen of an artist certainly less favoured by fortune than by genius-nor on the proclamation of a hostile manifesto, in an autumnal number of "The Fashionable Magazine'-not even when the open portals of the Royal Academy saloons invite the thronging population from the east and west to an exhibition of the universal range of national art-does the state of the highest and most interesting branch of painting in England, of that branch which, it may be almost said, deserves exclusively the name of fine art,' present itself so forcibly to the reflection, as on the annual opening of the establishment dedicated expressly to its use, its promotion, and encourage

ment.

Many are those who lament the dearth of productions, really deserving, by their qualities, without regard to their pretensions, to be called historical: all admit the fact of the scarcity of such works; and most are ready to assign a cause to which the low ebb at which that branch of the art at present stands, may be ascribed. Does the evil arise from a fatal predilection for specimens of Dutch excellence in the first patron in the realin? Is it to be attributed to the taste for the low and the little in a ton-setting courtier and peer? Is the cause of the mischief to be traced to the indolence and pusillanimity of patrons submitting their own better judgments to the guidance of common-minded counsellors, to whom the works

Each of the causes enumerated may have, and doubtless has, its influence. Most of them, however, can have but a partial operation,-an operation nearly insignificant, and such as might be neglected altogether, without danger of their working any important mischief, were matters but right with regard to the two last items of the account. Were the taste of the public refined and cultivated, the caprices of court and fashion might be set at defiance; but, in such a case, would the historical productions of the day satisfy the people?

sound and real incentive to the patronage of art, the only one which can benefit the arts, is-the love of art for its own sake, independent of its professors,-the gratification of contemplating those noble efforts of genius, to whatever age, country, or school they may belong, which cannot be regarded without exciting wonder at the powers of mind of man, and an exalted feeling towards the source whence he derives his endowments. The possessor of a collection of paintings who discards his old masters, if he have any real and valuable specimens, for the purpose, as it is called, of patronising art, and to make a modern gallery, gives a proof, it may be conceded, of a benevolent disposition, but by no means of a love of art. He does as the scholar who parts with his Hesiod, Homer, Eschylus, Virgil, orace, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Chaucer, Milton, Shakspeare, Spenser, but preserves, perhaps, the Waverley novels, the works of Byron, Southey, Coleridge, and Moore, fills the rest of his shelves with the ephemeral productions of the modern ten thousand.

of art are objects of traffic and profit, rather than of intellectual gratification? Are the professors of history the victims of the envious and interested wiles, and undue advantages, used by the painters of portraits? Is the pursuit of the highest branch of art condemned to beggary by the growth, among men of power and influence, of the extraordinary and absurd notion that portrait-painting itself is a high branch of art, because Titian and Raphael, Rubens and Vandyke, elevated the character of all they touched, even while they condescended to paint resemblances; or because, under the Promethean pencil of the actual President of the British Academy, a Pygmalion in modern painting, the canvas itself may become animated; or because, with a skill not less admired, but with a taste far more questionable, the same President succeeds so happily in portraying the meretricious characteristics of the day, that, on regarding his representations of patrician elegance,' it would be difficult to assign the share in the composition, either of the original or the picture, due respectively to the arts of a Victorine and a D'Egville, to the atmosphere of Let it not be supposed, however, that we are Almack's, to the effects of a season of languor- adverse to the encouragement of modern artists. working dissipation, or to the sacrifice of all ex- We protest merely against the adopting, in this pression of sentiment and individuality of cha-case, the vile English principle of making a party racter to the acquisition of the air and manners and a job of every thing: but, while we encourage of the ton? Or does the state of depression in and applaud what aspires to excellence and apwhich historical painting has sunken proceed proaches the eminence, we must still admire that from a deficiency of taste in the public? Or, which has long since attained the summit, and finally, is it to be charged to the want of merit in served as a beacon to guide others in their course. artists ? Would to God, indeed, that we had our English Luxembourg! and would to God we had something truer and loftier than the works of West to fill it with! Would to God that our men of talent, in whom education and habits presuppose a refined taste, and who have had opportunities of cultivating their judgment, would shake off the trammels of fashionmongers, and reflect, and judge, and act for themselves; or at any rate that they would use their common sense, and be persuaded that it would be as reasonable to ask the opinion Paraof a publisher as to the merits of a new dise Lost,' as to defer to the judgment of a pictureThe artists reply in the affirmative; the advo-dealer, merely because he is such, (for we do not cates of the people, in the negative. We will not see why such a person may not withstand the inundertake to decide between the two parties: we fluence of his calling, and unite the advantage of prefer taking for granted-and the position his experience with a taste for the elevated,) in can scarcely be denied us-that some little deciding on the sentiment, expression, and comamendment is required on both sides. The wants position of an historical work of art. of the people of England are ultimately, if not directly, omnipotent. Did there exist a general desire for the contemplation of exalted works of art, a universal conviction of the beneficial effects resulting from a familiarity with them, the Government would ere long be under the necessity of providing the means of gratifying the wish. To inspire the public, therefore, with a desire so laudable, should be the first and grand object of all who love at once the arts and their country, who desire to see the former cherished by their nation, and the latter improved by the grace-imparting influence of the former. For this end, the surest and most obvious means are to familiarise the people with the productions of supreme excellence, by exhibitions of the masterpieces of ancient art, and of modern works which, if not equalling the best that former ages have left us, will not quite shrink from the comparison. We have been led to make this observation, almost too obvious to require stating, by the outcry which is too generally raised by artists themselves, and those who engage in the advocacy of modern art, with a spirit savouring somewhat of party-feeling, against the acquisition and exhibition of the works of the masters of past times,-an outcry which, as far as regards the grand interests of the arts, and not the mere employment of individual professors, is perfectly senseless.

It is misrepresenting the subject altogether to make the mere benevolent desire to favour the followers of an art the motive for patronage: the funds spent on that principle would better come under the denomination of charity. The only

Would to God, finally, that the ennobled, the powerful, the opulent of the land would disdain the slightest odour of jobbing, that they would encourage art for the love of art and in sympathy for the artist, and not for the sake of opportunities of benefiting a servant, a dependant, a family-retainer, or a political partisan, or of the opportu nity of mutual interchanges of obligations, civilities, and patronage, with persons of equal station and power with themselves. Then may our artists work with confidence, not to propitiate a particular taste, but to produce what is excellent, in the assurance that excellence will be appreciated and meet its reward. Then may we look for works of art worthy of our works of utility. Then, instead of the mass of our people being simultaneously the best informed and the coarsest in Europe, may we expect to see them vie with the most urbane in all that gives charm to the outward man, as they excel them already in the most solid acquirements. May we live to see the day when we shall have a Luxembourg under such circumstances! With this vow turnwe to the productions of those who, had we such an establishment, would be candidates for the honour of hanging its walls with their works.

The exhibition at the British Gallery is composed much as usual, as regards the style and class of the works it contains. All appetites seem to have been consulted: there is wherewithal to set the imaginations of the poetical wandering; there is much to satisfy the connoisseur in the niceties of the art; there is abundance of sport for the schoolboy; both consolation and monition for

lovers; the sensualist also may have his feast; and there is matter, moreover, for the man of piety, and a theme of congratulation for the republican; nor are kitchen-folk or Quakers entirely neglected.

No. 1, Mr. Northcote's Adoration of the Shepherds, by its place in the collection, by the venerable age of the artist, and by the nature of the subject, first claims attention. There is a want of energy in the design, and of force in the colouring, for both are tame; but these are felt to be deficiencies rather than positive faults, while the picture has nothing that can offend the most fastidions. The chasteness and simplicity of the composition and treatment have a certain charm, which excites respect for tae work and the artists.

No. 32, St. George and the Dragon, Mr. G. Hayter, is a small spirited picture, in every way legendary, in subject, landscape, composition, and colouring.

No. 50, Love at Naples, T. Uwins, a silly title, but a well-treated subject. The figures are graceful and handsome, and the colouring, both of the costume and of the landscape, warm and rich. There are several other very agreeable pieces by Mr. Uwins, which we shall take occasion to notice hereafter.

No. 56, The Moon rising over a wild mountainous country, F. Danby. The art offers no greater difficulty than the attempt to represent the effect of moonlight. We have never yet seen an effort of the kind at all satisfactory. This is more successful than usual, partly, perhaps, because too much is not attempted. The character of wildness and mystery thrown over the rugged summits of the mountain range, speaks powerfully to the imagination; and the volcano in the distance sending forth its flames, but calmly and without agitation, bas a wonderful effect. We far prefer another production of Mr. Danby's, viz.

No. 67, Sunset. This is a painting replete with poetry: the effect is glorious; the gorgeous sunset, the illumination of the prow of the solitary galley, the ensign drooping in the calm, the reflection of the rays on the dark waters, the broad lights and shadows on the golden sand, the pair seated on the beach in richest apparel regarding the glorious spectacle and sharing the repose the spirit and love of all around them, the arm of the one reclining gently on the shoulders of the other, all so full of sentiment and of harmonious feeling-the composition is altogether most happy.

No. 78, The Hookah Bearer, H. W. Pickersgill, is a

very clever picture of a black slave: natural, animated, and spirited in design, and effectively painted. No. 77, Cattle-boat crossing a River, J. Dearman, although a small picture, is a delightful and brilliant effort in the manner of Cuyp.

The two Naval Pieces, ordered by the Institution for Greenwich Hospital, we fear, must be pronounced to be failures:

No. 62, Battle of St. Vincent, G. Jones, is one of these, and represents Nelson and Captain Berry boarding the Sa Joseph from the San Nicholas, another enemy's shi just captured. A more heroic exploit is not recorded in ancient or modern history; yet there is nothing levating or grand in the picture of Mr. Jones. The dificulties of the subject, however, are said to be grat; and it seems agreed to make allowances on that account. We will not prove an exception to the general practice still less will we do so with regard to,

No. 150, His late Majesty, after the Victory of the 1st of June, 1791, presenting Earl Howe with a Sword. Mr. Briggs, we think, would have done better had he declined undertaking a subject so little to his taste.

No. 155. Native of Missolonghi, painted at Rome. Hollins is a delightful single figure of a Greek girl reclining on a couch. The head is superbly beautiful, and realises the general idea of the style of a Greek head: the expression is powerful, it speaks of

"The land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime.' In more sober reality, it is the habitual physiognomy which would be looked for in a female not devoid of all the softer feelings of her sex, but inured to scenes of horror and ferocity. The costume is gorgeous, and richly and powerfully coloured, while the back-ground harmonises delightfully with the ease and repose of the figure.

No. 166, The Disconsolate, G. S. Newton, is one of the most delightful productions of that popular artist. It is full of feeling and sentiment. A picture without a face, however, is scarcely orthodox, and certainly not a subject for imitation.

The middle and south rooms, and many pro

ductions of merit in that we have noticed, we must reserve for a future occasion. We shall content ourselves with showing that we have not overlooked Mr. Etty's Hermaphroditus, which is a beautiful work and in a style a little more refined as to form than some of that artist's previous works. In the south room, the most striking picture is,

No. 472, Satan, J. Partridge, a conspicuous work, although, in assigning it a place in the gallery, the character of the subject, rather than the display of the picture, has manifestly influenced the hanging. It was natural to put in the dark room, as that at the south end of the gallery, is denominated, one, whose de ds, being evil, would love darkness rather than light. Not so the picture, we suspect. This we shall notice hereafter the obscurity of the situation and the approaching dusk prevented our seeing it properly.

MISCELLANEOUS NOTICES.

Consanguinity of European Monarchs.-Köningswärd, the author of Harald Härfagers Aftkomlingar på Europas Throner; Stockholm, 1828,' has demonstrated by a set of tables, drawn up with very great care and accuracy, that the various thrones of Europe are occupied by sovereigns descended from one single family, whose common ancestor was Harald Harfäger (the beautiful-haired). This monarch was born in 883, and died in 934, after a reign of 49 years, during which he had five successive wives. From this intelligent work t appears, that, independently of the direct descent of the Swedish dynasty, the shades of descent are as follows:-The King of Bavaria in the 29th degree; Sweden, 31st; Naples, 31st; Wurtemberg, 30th; Denmark, 29th; Great Britain, 28th; Netherlands, 29th; Sardinia, 28th; Prussia, 28th; Saxony, 28th; the Emperor Don Pedro, 30th; Austria, 30th, Russia, 29th; King of France, 31st. During an interval of 350 years, the sceptres of Bavaria and Prussia, (or Brandenburg,) have changed hands more rarely than others; they have been held by Denmark has been ruled by 13; France by 14, only 12 sovereigns during that period, whilst (exclusively of the times of the republic and consuls,) Russia and Turkey by 24 each, and the Papal States by 39*. No European throne has been longer possessed by one regular dynasty than that of Denmark, where the son has invariably succeeded the father.

tons.

one million two hundred and fifty-five thousand two hundred times larger than the moon; whilst its volume exceeded the conjoint dimensions of all the planets of our solar system.

POPULATION OF FHE HUNGARIAN TOWNS.Our statistical readers will thank us for affording them an opportunity of rectifying, by means of the authentic details given by a native work of recent date, the inaccurate information hitherto conveyed on this subject by most geographers.

Free Towns:-Pesth, 46,646 inhabitants; Debreizin, 40,695; Presburg, 35,135; Szegedin, 31,716. Towns not free and Market Towns:Keeskemeth, 31,339; Vesarhely, 25,002; Miskolez, 21,393.

Transylwaniaw-Cronstadt, 30,000; Clausenberg, 18,210; Hermannstadt, 16,500.

RUSSIA. The Russian empire presents a superficies of about 360,000 square geographical miles, with a population which may be estimated as little short of 50,000,000; so that there are one hundred and thirty-eight inhabitants to each square mile. It would appear from recent returns, the accuracy of which there seems no reason to impugn, that its effective regular force consists of 622,270 men; this is independent of the irregular corps, as well as the stationary force, such as the veteran regiments, and 76 garrison battalions. From these facts we gather that the regular military strength of Russia, when considered in reference to her gross population, is nearly in the ratio of 1 to 83, and the total amount of her armed force in that of 2 to 50.

ST. PETERSBURG.-The number of students matriculated at this university, during the autumn of 1828, amounted to 195; independently of 116 pupils, who were educating in the school of the nobility. In the year 1825, there were not more than 43 in all.

THE PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY.

THE first general meeting of this Society for 26, for the purpose of a trial of new compothe present year, took place on Monday, January sitions, and the assemblage of the dungs and flints, (as they say of the tailors,) that is, the outs and ins, the conforming and non-conforming members of the late Opera band (now alas no more!) was rather interesting. Those whose sense of honour and propriety has led them to refuse to take service' unTRADE, REVENUE, &c.-Comparative State-der the disgraceful regulations proposed to them, ments.-Maritime force of Great Britain, 18,631 held their heads proudly high, as they circulated vessels, 2,141,000 tons; France, 14,530 vessels, their pamphlets upon the subject, while the poor 700,000 tons; United States of Amr. 1,423,000. dungs seemed to avoid communication, and to feel ashamed of their situations. However, if their feelings and sentiments did not harmonise, they endeavoured that their instruments should; and the performances of the evening commenced with an overture, composed by Henry Griesbach, who placed himself with his score at the piano-forte, and, with the leading of F. Cramer, produced an interesting and clever instrumental composition. It is written in the key of E flat, and consists of two movements; a maestoso as introduction, and an allegro for conclusion. This is Griesbach's sccond production of the overture species, his first having been performed at the trial night of the 31st of January, last year; and both exhibit good writing, without any striking novelty of modulation or effect.

Trade. Great Britain, per ann., 44,100,000. impts; 58,823,000l. expts.; France, 23,112,970. imports; 25,419,500l. exports; Amer. 19,418,000l. imports; 19,275,0007. exports.

Revenue.-Great Britain: per head, 21. 148. 2d.; France, 11. 58. 4.; Netherlands, 17. 18. 9.; Prussia, 14s. 3d.; United States, 10s. 1d.; Austria, 88. 9d.; Russia, 5s. 3d.

Debt.-Great Britain: per head, 361. 5s.; Netherlands, 26 108.; France, 61. 28.; Austria, 17. 188.; United States, 17. 88. 9d.; Prussia, 11. 48. 4d.; Russia, 17s. 8d.

Representation.-France elects 430 members, or 1 for each 74,418 souls; United States 187, or 1 for 60,129 souls; Netherlands, 110, or 1 for 55,845 souls; Great Britain, 658, or 1 for 35,455 souls; Norway, 75, or 1 for 14,000 souls.

COMET OF 1811.-A recent letter from Dorpat mentions that Professor Lamberti, of that University, has calculated, that the comet which remained so long visible in the year 1811, was 573 times less than the sun, but seventeen times larger than Jupiter, twenty-five thousand one hundred and four times larger than the earth, and

* England, during the last 350 years, has seen seventeen legitimate sovereigns ascend the throne: independently of the intruders, Oliver and Richard Cromwell.

This was followed by Onslow's very clever overture Du Col-porteur,' conducted by Bishop, and led by Mori. A beautiful and highly interesting andante in C common time, leads into an allegro agitato, in the minor of that key, in the 2-4 time, and the conclusion (which returns to the major) is worked up with the highest skill, and produced a delightful effect, appreciated and acknowledged by the whole assemblage, listeners and performers.

Cipriani Potter then produced a long and elaborate sinfonia of his composition, which was carefully led by Spagnoletti, and consisted of a