deep sea. Such a burial might be in keeping with the life and death of a sailor whose home that element is: but with the painter we associate the warm hearth, and comfortable fire gleaming upon his casel, and conversazzione on art. How apt are some people to exaggerate the pathetic, and think it fine, and fine feeling too, all the while being nothing more than ridiculous. Nor is exaggeration of the merits of an artist beneficial to his after fame; the strained bow recoils; we are apt to undervalue when the cold fit comes.

We were never

of those who thought Sir David a giant in art, and have often criticised his works with some severity; and see no reason why his death, which we lament, should excite a maudlin sympathy, or disarm criticism of truth. In this age we deal in complimentary superlatives, so that it is difficult to fix any in a true position. Sir David Wilkie was an admirable artist; but neither in design, nor manner of treating his subjects, was there conspicuous the "vivida vis ingenii." He appeared always to be cool, and to a great extent judicious, at his easel; never hurried into an enthusiasm that should take with it his subject and the spectator. Good sense, talents, and unwearied labour, from an early age led him to a less faulty style of painting than we had before seen among us. He captivated by his finish and great truth of character. Nature was at once recognised; and his arrangements were clear and artistical. We always thought him very judicious in giving a proper space for his figures to act their parts in; they did not crowd in upon the canvass; nor leave too large a space "to let." In these respects he was highly beneficial to Art; for after him, the undefined, ill-painted scenes of familiar life only disgusted. He brought this class of art into high respectability. If he was not a good colourist, he avoided offending by an unnecessary display, and this was characteristic of his judgment. He had not, however, a true and strong feeling for beauty. He would often introduce positive deformity when the beautiful would have answered the purpose of his story quite as well. In his celebrated pic

ture of the "Blind Fiddler," we do not remember one graceful, modederately graceful, figure; the boy with his mocking imitations is absolutely

hideous in his grimaces; if compelled to have the picture before us, we could not resist the painting him out. In his" Rent Day," the figures are half of them deformed-the farmer at the table has a hump. back, or his shoulder is out. The "Blind-man's buff" is all hips and elbows, quite disagreeable to the eye when it has caught this peculiarity.

Now, we think it should be a maxim in art to deal as much as possible in beauty-never to introduce deformity, unless the subject demands it, and then to let the manner of treating it, or the attraction of other parts, take off the unpleasantness of it. And herein the painter will often be called upon to distinguish between infirmity and deformity. Raffaele's genius was very remarkably shown in his power over the necessity of his subject; making beauty conspicuous as a whole, where some of the parts were necessarily otherwise. And even these, as we may term them, originally bad parts, how does he put upon them some mystery, or some divine operation, to which the mind is so powerfully directed, that it too is absorbed in awe and expectation to dwell upon the defect as infirmity or deformity. So it is in the figures at the "Beautiful Gate," where beauty is throughout the picture; and in the miserable cripple we fancy we see one ready to start up into strength and beauty, even such perfection of form as we see all around him. And such is the case in the demoniacal boy in "The Transfiguration." There is the awfulness of a mystery beyond human means to comprehend, and the presence of a potent evil, above human, that the great subject of the Transfiguration can alone annihilate. Now, Sir David's early practice lying in the looking for and accurate delineation of peculiarities of character, was against his natural perception of the beautiful, if it was ever much in him. We have hitherto been speaking of his earlier style, upon which, after all, his fame will rest, for he did not succeed, with very few exceptions, (one of which was his "Benvenuto Cellini and the Pope,") in the attempt to incorporate with his own the manner of the Spanish and Italian painters. There was, too, a lack of prominent object in his story. It is not enough to say, this shall represent such and such an event; what power, what feeling, is the event

itself to tell? if it is nothing but pictorial device, and display of mechanical art, there is, after all, but a splendid poverty.

Painters often overwork themselves, and are, in consequence, subject to hallucinations. It has often been exemplified, and fictions built upon the malady: it deserves to be treated tenderly, for it arises from overlabour in the service of mankind. It is apt to seize upon some oddity, some misconception, wherein the eye has ceased to be true to the judgment, but strangely caters to the hallucination. In his later pictures, Sir David Wilkie's manner of representing hair must have arisen in some deception of this kind. It is even conspicuous in his head of Cellini; but the most remarkable instance of it was in the small portrait of a boy, some three or four years old, that every eye but his own thought the strangest thing imaginable. And latterly, in his portraits, the flesh was apt to be pinked up into innumerable little swellings, as if the subject were gouty. We are persuaded he required rest and recreation out of his art. This he had probably obtained; and had he lived, we should have seen these his eccentricities amended. The public, then, have great reason to regret his loss; he certainly advanced art, by removing indefinitiveness and inac curacy, and substituting precision and clearness; so that honour will ever attend his name, and his country, Scotland, has, and ever will have, reason to be proud of him. But we would not so detract from the praise due to the artists who survive him, as some

do, by lauding him as superlatively great, as if he were exclusively the English painter. Scotland may be justly proud, and more deeply grave; but with the presence of British art before us, we would say, with the author of Chevy Chase:

"Now, God be with him, said our (queen,)

Sith 'twill no better be;

I trust I have within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee."

Turner's eye must play him false, it cannot truly represent to his mind either his forms or colours-or his hallucination is great. There were a number of idolatrous admirers, who, for a long time, could not see his exhibited absurdities; but as there is every year some one thing worse than ever, by degrees the lovers fall off; and now we scarcely find one to say a

good word for him. And yet, though there is perhaps a greater absurdity than ever in one picture-his "Buonaparte"-yet, on the whole, we do sincerely think Turner improved; there is more of the palpable and intelligible poetry, less obscured by the inconceivable jumble of colours, and, with the exception of the "Buonaparte," less of the blood-red, into which he delights to plunge his hand -a practice which might have entitled him to the address of the unknown author in the Rathologia:

Ζωγράφων ᾧλῶς,

are

Αἵματι μὴ χρῶσαι φεισάμενος παλάμηνο We have a right to suppose that the dreams of a sick poet have a dash of his genius; so it is with Turner's there dreamy performances; glimpses of bright conceptions in them, not indeed distinctly discernible, yet they may be so perhaps to himself. They are like the "Dissolving Views,” which, when one subject is melting into another, and there are but half indications of forms, and a strange blending of blues and yellows and reds, offer something infinitely better, more grand, more imaginative than the distinct purpose of either view presents. We would therefore recommend the aspirant after Turner's style and fame, to a few nightly exhibitions of the "Dissolving Views" at the Polytechnic, and he can scarcely fail to obtain the secret of the whole method.

And we should think, that Turner's pictures, to give eclat to the invention, should be called henceforth "Turner's Dissolving Views."

absence of landscape-composition landscape. There are but few that even pretend to be more than views. Nor has Mr Lee come up to the promise his last year's landscape gave. There is a new attempt by Creswick to represent some of the sweet scenes

As usual, we have to lament the

A

of green repose, of nature's river scenes, and to a great extent successful. little composition, where nature has failed him, would have wonderfully improved some of these scenes. Mr Roberts's pictures are quite an exhibition of themselves, and, we doubt not, would look better without the accompaniment of works of a distracting nature. He has less, this year, of the French-polish; but we still think a little more strong roughness, or dryness, would be an improvement. His execution is admirable, and his effects happy.

It is said that we excel in portraits; many in this exhibition are admirable; yet would it not be very desirable that they should have a room to themselves? They sadly injure other pictures; the masses of colours in them are so large, and often so vivid, that pictures of subject and of many parts are greatly injured by the juxta position. Surely the portraits themselves would look better separated; and there would be a fairer field for composition, as thereby the merits of each artist would be better distinguished, and the candidates for a sitting would at one glance be able to judge what painter would be best suited to their individual likenesses.

It is somewhat singular that this country should have so few marine painters. How seldom do we see one picture that would remind us that Vanderveldt visited our coasts. The insignificant pieces of this kind that are occasionally exhibited, generally represent small vessels, a sea of no great character, and gaudy skies. How unlike Vanderveldt and Backhuyen! It is said that the French artists excel us in this line of art-a line which might have been considered particularly adapted to the feelings of Englishmen. Stansfield, indeed, paints coasts, and the waters that wash them, with considerable effect; but his pictures are scarcely sea-pieces.

It is time to go round the rooms. -No. 6. "A Magdalen." W. Etty, R. A. There is not here the deep feeling of penitence of a Magdalen. Was the title an after-thought? Mr Etty's "Dance," No. 33, from the shield of Achilles, is very gracefully grouped; the easy flowing dance is well expressed; and with the exception of the faces, which are not of the same flesh and blood as the bodies, the more extraordinary, as Mr Etty is so good a colourist. One would almost imagine the tumblers had with their heels been wanton, for the maiden's faces are certainly black and blue. Mr Etty seems to forget that those maidens had not worn stays; he is generally, in this respect, too faithful to his model. On the whole, it is a fresh and very pleasing picture.

C.

No. 8. "The Schoolmaster." W. Cope, This is Goldsmith's schoolmaster, and very characteristic. The grief of one boy, and sulky dislike of the other, and searching look of the master, who knows them all and loves

them all, though severe and stern to view, are most truly given. Nor is his 507, "Goldsmith's Age and Whispering Lovers," in shelter of the hawthorn bush, less good.

No. 10. "An English Landscape Composition." Sir A. Calcott, R.A. This picture has surprised us. It is well painted, or it would not have been from the pencil of so able a painter. As a composition it is very poor; indeed, a scene without interest, a ditch-like river with large cows in it, and trees on the banks. We, as lovers of English landscape, protest against this representation of it. We have rich and green valleys, and here all is poor and weak; for the deep tones of nature we have a sickly hue, as if all had been dipped in milk and mustard. His "Italian Landscape Composition," No. 166, is very good, has some sweet tones, but as a composition there is not much in it, nor is it very indicative of Italian landscape. The trees are not good; they are not touched by the fresh air. His " Dort," 282, is cold and spotty.

No. 12. "A View of Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire." C. Fielding. This is to our view a very unpleasant picture. It has no one character, no repose; sky and earth seem under an influenza, dull and dingy; the blue, grey, and brown, mingle inharmoniously.

No. 20. "Vallone dei mulini Amalfi." C. Stanfield, R.A. The greater part of this is a mere ditch of dry mud; walls and buildings appear as if built out of it. In lines it is artistically composed, a part of his art which Stanfield well understands. But what could charm him in such a subject? His "Isola Bella, Lago Maggiore," is very sweetly painted; but has he not omitted the poetry of that fairy island, and lake reflecting the Alps? His "Pozzuoli looking towards Baiæ," No. 313, is a sweet picture, and well composed. Mr Stanfield still adheres to his peculiar colouring, drab lights and blue shadows; it readily makes up the effect of his pictures, but the colours are not pleasing and cannot be true.

No. 46. "Welsh Guides; North Wales." W. Collins, R. A. We should have passed this picture unnoticed, had we not found it to be by Collins. We know the scene well, Llamberris; in nature it is grand. It would be scarcely possible to treat it more tamely; the figures are pretty, and

would better suit still tamer outlines. It is unfortunate, too, in its colour. Nor do we very much admire his -104, "Prayer;" a family about to leave their native shores, imploring Divine protection. We have an antipathy to the mock pathetic-it is teaboardish; the single lantern never could communicate such light to the figures; there is a good quiet tone in the background.

No. 51. "The course of the Greta through Brignal wood." T. Creswick. "O Brignal banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green." Mr Creswick is here true to nature and to the poet, for the woods are green; it is a charming picture, the very stones seem conscious of repose. We would suggest that a little more positive shade would improve it, and doubt if there be not too much small work in every part, but particularly in the water towards the foreground. This is evidently painted on the spot; the left hand side of the wood wants character and communication with the opposite. It was probably so in nature, but by the very look of the trees on the left, nature had here been mutilated. His 180. "A River scene," is equally good. His best is-No. 496." The Tees." It is very beautiful, a fine secluded scene; in the same character with his others. We think, with less minute work, less hair-like linings in the water, somewhat more massing and bolder execution, and a little more attention to composition, we strictly mean artificial arrangement, Mr Creswick will make a first-rate landscape painter in the line he has chosen. We would impress upon him that trees have naturally a leaning to each other, "consociare amant."

No. 59. "The Lady Glenlyon.". F. Grant. This is excellent, as all his portraits are; they have always power and simplicity, and his colouring is ever appropriate; he has successfully studied Vandyck.

No. 62. "The Play Scene in Hamlet. D. Maclise, R.A. This is perhaps the most striking picture in the Exhibition; it is very fine, and yet has very great defects. The story of the murder is very finely and originally told; the play is enacted on a platform in the centre; the king turns away his head, yet you see that, by an irresistible power, he will again look towards the scene, however slight that look, the murderous act will fas

ten upon it, for there, too, is an awful "handwriting upon the wall." The light of a lamp is intercepted, by the hand pouring the poison into the sleeping kings' ear, and there is the large shadow of the transaction awfully dedepicted on the wall. Mr Maclise had no precedent for this-it is original, and evinces great genius. Parts of the picture are so beautifully coloured, that we are surprised Mr Maclise does not generally pay more attention to this part of his art. If the principal figures should be Hamlet and Ophelia, the picture is a failure, but they are perhaps only among the incidents. The Hamlet is an ungentlemanly ruffian, who never would have waited for the play, but would have taken a pleasure in killing the king upon suspicion. He is not the philosophic, the doubting, the delaying Hamlet. As to Ophelia, she is little better than a barmaid of an inn, and we are at first sight reconciled to her drowning. The queen is good ; she shows she was not cognizant of the deed. Old Polonius is too mean, his advice to his son will ever stamp him the gentleman. grouping is most masterly; we like not the brown figure behind Opheliawho is he? Take it, with all its faults, and they are such that we cannot but think Mr Maclise will easily remedy, it is a very fine picture-it is in a new style, and as a new style we hail itwe mean new in comparison with general exhibitions, not as particularly distinguishing it from others by the same painter: we remember last year his very imaginative picture of the Sleeping Beauty, and having unbounded fertility of invention, clearly proving that Mr Maclise has all the materials of a poet painter.-His" Return of the Kuight," No. 273, is very powerful; the armour quite shines, and there is a tale told in that twilight of pleasing romance.- We think his "Origin of the Harp," from Moore's Melodies, a decided failure, very hard, and not possessing his usually good workmanship.

The general

No. 71. "Ophelia," "There is a willow," &c. R. Redgrave, A. This is a very interesting figure, but not quite Ophelia. - His 169, "Landscape," is truly the gloomy glade, very true in effect; the fretting of the water not quite so good. The little picture, according to the poetry, is necessarily very dark; it is nevertheless well

coloured.-No.244. Cinderella. "That minx, said the step-sister, to think of trying on the slipper!" This we should call good, if we were not disappointed to find it by Mr Redgrave. Good as

it is, it is not equal to his powers; and this is a subject we should have thought admirably suited to him. The colour of the elder sister's bosom, who had tried on the slipper, is very little like that of flesh. Nor is Cinderella herself very good; we are sorry to see so exquisite a workman as Mr Redgrave take to white woodeny faces.- His "Bad News from Sea," is rather hard. Remembering Redgrave's pictures at the two last exhioitions, his “Mrs Courtly,” and “Sir Roger de Coverley's courtship," we confess our disappointment this year.-He is preeminent in the "Elegant Familiar," especially where there is much character; we trust he will be careful how he quits a line in which he so much

excels.

No. 72. "The tired Soldier, resting at a road side well," F. Goodall, is a very sweet and pleasing picture, the only one of the artist in the Exhibition.

No. 79. "Devonshire scenery." F. R. Lee, R. A. This is the worst picture we have seen by this able painter; it is crude in colour, wants shade, and is too smoothly painted. The subject is not worth painting, and it is so painted in colour and effect, as to make it the least interesting. Nor are we more pleased with his "Highland scenery-a Snow Storm passing off;" it is distraction-bad conventional colouring, not well set off, weak, and even unpleasant in effect; it is dismal only where it should be grand.

His 368, "Desolation," is equally poor. —His “ Watering place," No. 484, is a place odious to see-a scene with. out effect to render it pleasing; it fairly comes under the class of vulgar landscapes. How unlike are his pictures this year to those, or at least to one of last year!

No. 84. "Faith, Hope, and Charity." H. Howard, R.A. Though "the greatest of these is Charity," it is difficult to find any that can cover the pictorial sins of Mr Howard. It is a very vile affair; very much below the merit of Angelica Kauffman. But what shall we say of his No. 94?

"Aaron staying the Plague." Such an Aaron staying the plague, and inflicting himself, with reverence

be it spoken, yet we can have no reverence for Mr Howard's pictorial effigies. The Plague is a very amicable blue devil, who goes off when he is bidden, with blue worsted mittens at his finger ends, bursting into blue flame. The principal figure is horrid -there is no disease, no positive plague, but that personified by the demon, unless the fallen squalling child be meant as an infliction. Aaron has odd sort of epaulettess put on the wrong way. In colour and composi

tion it is vilissimo-were it not the handiwork of an R. A. we should not criticize it—and it occupies a conspicuous place.

W. Mul

No. 91. "The Ford." ready, R. A. This is clever, but not with very much meaning. Mr Mulready has fallen into a reprehensible style of colouring; it is exemplified in this little picture, though less so than in some others in former Exhibitions-it is by far too hot.

No. 96. "Otters and Salmon." E. Landseer, R. A.; wondrously executed. Landseer has seven pictures, all most exquisite; what can be more delicate than the pair of "Brazilian monkeys," No. 145; more powertul than No. 255, where the colouring is most judiciously adapted to set off the "One Brown Dog." So in No. 266, the clear red background, for black and white of the creature, and bit of green chair for variety, and at the same time to make the red tell, all make the dog.-But of all his pictures we prefer No. 431, "The Sanctuary."

"See where the startled wild-fowl scream. ing rise,

And seek in marshall'd flight those golden skies.

Yon wearied swimmer scarce can win