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the spirit of devotion seems pouring forth its aspirations to the Great Give of all things : had we a private chapel, it should fill a compartment of the altar. We hope Mr. Hunt will often favour us with such high works of art, as Devotion of last year, and Piety of this. 109, the Day of Rest, a lad asleep in a church, is beautifully treated; but we cannot help thinking that such subjects are not calculated to do good ; we speak now in a moral point of sense.' 169, Grapes, surpassingly excellent, superior to the fruit of Van Huysum. 184, Fetching a Light, is a beautiful Rembrandtish picture. 195, A Poor Shivering Laddie, makes you cold to look at him. 237, A Flycatcher, should decorate the room of the Entomological Society. 251, the Barber, if we may judge by the looks of the boy, is a very barbarous man. 255, A Lover of Art. 286, Very Sleepy; and 347, a Ticklish Subject, are the perfection of water-colour painting.

J. M. Wright possesses great comic powers. He is the Hogarth of the Society. How we were delighted with his picture of the Burning Shame! Would he always do his best, what might he not be ?: 79, Village Choristers Rehearsing, is full of genuine humour ; it only wants more finishing.

John F. Lewis is always excellent. 146, a Fiesta Scene in the South of Spain; Peasants, &c. of Grenada dancing the Bolero, is as sunny and delightful as such a subject should be; the glorious Christian principle of making happy and being happy, is here illustrated with the pencil of a

We suspect that Mr. Lewis has some design against the clergy of the Holy Catholic Church, for he always represents a jolly Friar Joh. ogling a pretty black-eyed brunette. We are told that this is not at all in accordance with the practice of the Catholic priesthood, who are exemplary in their moral discipline. The lady is the same arch-looking damsel that we remember last year and the year before ; she seems a great favourite of the artist, a prima donna in his studio, we suppose. 269, The Sacristy of a Cathedral in Spain - Devotional Peasants, &c., is treated with the reverence such a subject demands ; friar John is properly excluded. 316, A Spy of the Cristino Army brought before the Carlist General-in-Chief, Zumalacarregui, is one of the most powerful of Mr. Lewis's masterly productions. You have before you the horrors of civil war, with all the malignant passions engendered by so unnatural a warfare: we never saw any thing so demon-like as the look of the General.

Cattermole, though not so tremendously awful as last year, is yet very powerful. 120, the Horn of Egremont is an appalling picture: the sounding bugle has conscience-struck the guilty band. The dropped cup, the trembling limbs, the frenzied looks, all say-See to what mental misery crime can reduce that noble creature, man !

No. 83, The Widow, by J. W. Wright, is one of the finest drawings in the exhibition ; it is replete with feeling of the highest order. The lady is wholly absorbed in grief, while the lovely child, unconscious

its bereavement, is playing with a butterfly. 173, Cottager's Family, very clever, but the figures too refined. 303, A Young Lady, possesses mind as well as beauty. We hope Mr. J. W. Wright will favour us with a large historical picture; be is every way equal to the task.

* 192, Scene from Macbeth, by Frank Stone, is very powerful; you almost
imagine you hear the child say, “ Thou ly'st, thou shag-eared villain !"-
The lady' is well-imagined, but somewhat too young. 240, Lady and Du-
enna; and 298, Spanish Girls, are very ably depicted.

We congratulate the Society on their acquisition of W. Lake Price. · 38,
Othello relating his Adventures, is a capital performance; the painted wir..
dow, the furniture, the costume, all are in unison. 24, the Farewell.
The Elizabethian Staircase, &c. by this gentleman, too much remind us of
the early works of the great Cattermole.

216, Lady Jane Grey going to Execution, by Chisholm, is extremely talented; the clergyman is full of feeling : and 238, by the same gentleman, is every way worthy of his great powers.

Joseph Nash has wonderfully improved. 20, In the Cathedral of Bruges, the architecture is what it ought to be, broad and efective; the figures are

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equal to Cattermole, without servile imitation. 46, is not so successful; Falstaff is not Shakespeare's Jolly Knight. 294, is better, but in our opinion not at all equal to No. 20.

Richter has a great vein for humour, sometimes painfully so, as in his Tight Shoe. 305, the Young Zoologist, and 323, Reflection, though very clever, are not equal to what we have seen, and never shall forget.

Stephanoff has some elaborate drawings. 225, the Triumphal Entry of Don Quixotte and Sancho ; and 231, The Antiquary in his Sanctum, are ably conceived, and beautifully executed. The arch smile of the neice has never been surpassed.

In concluding our critical labours, if those can be so called, which are the offspring of love and gratitude ; great love of art, and gratitude to those intellectual spirits, who have annually furnished so many sources of real enjoyment, we have endeavoured to avoid, what has ever appeared to us, an anti-christian spirit, the love of finding fault. This is our first attempt at criticism ; perchance it may be our last ; but, be it what it may, we have endeavoured to do as we would be done by. In taking leave of this National Society permit us to breathe forth the wishes of our heart, and say. most fervently,

Semper Floreat. May, 1837.

'R. C.

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No booming gun peal'd o'er the grave,

Where lay in calm and peaceful sleep,
Upon the marge of Ocean's wave,

An ardent lover of the deep;
No melody in pensive sound

From that sad tomb arose to Heav'n;.
But for his loss, by all around,

The tributary tear was given.
No sculptur'd marble there is seen,

No last memento of the brave;
But mem'ry ever views it green-

And lowly flow'rets deck the grave :
And Fancy oft shall plume her wing,

And fly across the dark blue sea,
Whose sad and gentle murmuring,

Shall wake up fondest thoughts of thee.
That stranger land will soon forget

Thy death, thy tomb, thy very name
But kindred hearts will treasure yet

Thy virtuous acts, thy honour'd fame.
Yet for awhile, still slumb’ring lie

Death's silent sleep shall break at last,
Then we shall meet thee-where no sigh

Shall linger over friendships past.
Sweet be thy sleep, lost Mariner !

The winds may blow above thy breast
But tempests raging from afar,

Shull ne'er disturb thy quiet rest.
The ocean weeds, too soon entwind,

May hide from view thy lowly grave:
But thou for ever art enshrin'd,
Amongst the unforgotten brave.

S. J. * The above lines were suggested by the death of Capt. Richard Partridge, of the Orion,” from fever, at Jamaica.





(May to October, both inclusive.)



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