well-known damsel. The beautiful face and form of Elizabeth Linley, the wife of Sheridan, are preserved in a little sketch. Close by is the very charming picture of the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland walking in a garden. The varied powers of the painter show to advantage in this picture. The figures, though small, possess great animation; the landscape, though brilliant, is completely subordinate to the group in front. The picture shows at once that the portraits are the main point. Near is a picture of the first Countess Spencer, a far less lovely one than that of the second Countess, which we have noticed above. It possesses some interest from the dress of the lady; her ridinghabit gives her so much the appearance of a man that, though rather later in date, the humorous description of the Spectator is quite applicable to her. As applicable indeed to the present day is the objection which naturally presents itself against these occasional perplexities and mixtures of dress, which is, that they seem to break in upon that propriety and distinction of appearances in which the beauty of different characters is preserved; and if they should be more frequent than they are at present, would look like turning our public assemblies into a general masque'rade.' In a collection like the present, one must however expect to find many of the pictures interesting rather from the characters of the persons portrayed than from intrinsic artistic merit. The line of celebrated statesmen, about whom so much of the interest of the history of the century centres, is well represented. Walpole is painted several times. The portrait of him, No. 247, is vapid and disappointing. No. 283, in the robes of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, gives more idea of the power of the man. No. 284 pleasantly exhibits this statesman's delight in the amusements of a country life. The most characteristic portrait of all is in the curious picture of the House of Commons, the joint work of Hogarth and of Thornhill. The canvas includes the Chair with the Speaker, Arthur Onslow, seated; to him Walpole is speaking: he turns towards the Chair, and his face is in exact profile, with the shy look and treble chin, marking the nature of the man and his love of good living. Not far from this picture is a portrait of the first Lord Fox, notorious for his unscrupulousness in politics. He wears in this picture a look of surprise, as if for once he had found an honest man. Close by is Lord North as a young man, goodnatured-looking, but not so portly as he became in later years when he was so much in the habit of dozing on the Treasury Bench. The portrait of a Speaker of the House of Commons of Lord North's day is appropriately near. Sir Fletcher Norton was a very different man from the easygoing Premier; contemporary verse celebrated the best remembered event in his life by describing him as the man

'Who lately, to the world's surprise,

Advised his monarch to be wise.'

The advice was given on the presentation of a Bill of Supply, when the Speaker improved the occasion with some remarks on the desirability of a judicious use being made of the money thus liberally granted. These observations, however well deserved, were, as may well be imagined, not very acceptable to George III. The portrait of another contemporary of Lord North's, Lord Sandwich, is here painted by Gainsborough, a more pleasing remembrance than the bitter lines by Churchill, describing how he

'Wrought sin with greediness, and sought for shame
With greater zeal than good men seek for fame.'

The Pitt family is represented by its best-known members. The first of the name who was celebrated, Governor Pitt, the grandfather of the first Lord Chatham, looks out from the canvas with an almost truculent vigour, which not even the smoothness of Kneller could soften away. His firm look is that of one of those men who 'graved out the channels through which the enterprise of England has flowed out over the world.' As one looks at the determined set of the face, one sees whence Lord Chatham inherited his strongly marked features. 'The great Commoner' was not fortunate in his painters. The picture belonging to Lord Lyttelton, by Hoare, though carefully painted, gives little idea of the force of the man. The action in Earl Stanhope's picture looks almost exaggerated, but the face and attitude possess more character. The second William Pitt was painted by Gainsborough, and two pictures, the smaller apparently a mere replica of the larger portrait, are on the walls. The face, bright, intelligent, acute as it is, fails to express the vast power of mind which William Pitt possessed; possibly in following a natural desire to soften down some of the harshnesses of the features, the artist has obliterated a portion of the character. The portrait of Lady Hester Greville shows it was from his mother that William Pitt derived his nose-a feature in which he is so unlike the commanding Roman outline of the first Lord Chatham, or Governor Pitt. Close by hangs C. J. Fox, by Reynolds: the buff and the blue' are in the coat and waistcoat. The swarthy features, the dark complexion, recall his ancestor Charles II. The impression the picture leaves on the mind is more that of the painstaking man,' as C. J. Fox humorously described himself, than of the man given to gambling in his youth, devoted to politics in after life- a fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame.'

Lord Bute, the unpopular minister of George III. was at least fortunate in being painted as we see him here. His picture, by Reynolds, is a noble one. So fine a portrait of so second

rate a statesman, at once inspires the wish that the skill had been employed on a worthier object. Lord Rockingham was, in this respect, equally fortunate. So was the Right Honourable Charles Townshend, who, by his mismanagement during Lord Chatham's illness, was the unintentional promoter of American independence. Later political celebrities are also commemorated. The portrait of Curran, by Lawrence, is associated with the singular story that the rather ordinary features of the sitter so discouraged the artist, that he was inclined to give up the work in despair. At last some casual circumstance caused Curran to show his great and varied ability in conversation; his eyes brightened, the rough-looking ordinary man flashed out with all the inspiration of genius. I never saw you till now,' said the painter, 'you have sat to me in a mask; do give me a sitting of Curran the orator.' Curran's features, redeemed from harshness only by their expression, confirm the correctness of this anecdote. The mild incapacity of Addington is well represented in a very clever picture. Of Canning, the brilliant orator, the great humorist, the bold statesman, there is unfortunately only a very inadequate representation.

In passing along the galleries, one feels how imperfect such notice as this must of necessity be. How many are the pictures from one point of view or another deserving mention! How vast is the list of noteworthy men! A mere list of the most distinguished names would more than exhaust our remaining space. The long line of distinguished men of letters is headed with Steele, Addison, and Congreve, all painted by Kneller: either the long flowing wigs cause the three to look like members of one family, or else Kneller's frequently vapid pencil failed to mark the individuality of the men. Yet, even as thus represented, we may trace the greater refinement of the sprightly face of Addison and Steele's burly form is sufficiently indicated. At the foot of the staircase is another group. Conspicuous among them are several portraits of Alexander Pope. The skill of the painter has disguised the deformity which distressed the poet during life, and even added bitterness to his naturally acrid disposition. The hard lines, like small cords, as described by Reynolds, surrounding the mouth, in No. 136, announce both sickliness and satire. No. 154, with the dog' Bounce' by his side, is more pleasant; perhaps the presence of his canine companion had soothed his master's temper. Near are two other friends, who devoted much of their time to the endeavour to brighten the poet's days, Martha and Teresa Blount; pretty bright girls, they look kindly from the canvas as they did by the river at Twickenham. It was to Martha Blount that Pope gave the fan which he painted with a design of his own composition from the story of Cephalus and

Procris, decorated with the motto 'Aura Veni.' Close by, hangs the portrait of another lady better known to fame-far worse treated by her poetical lover-Hester Johnson, more frequently known as Stella.' The picture is hung near that of Swift, the cause at once of her unhappiness and her celebrity. The early portrait of the Dean appears well authenticated, as far as its pedigree goes, but it possesses but little character. The picture from the Bodleian Library possesses the stamp of more power. Neither, however, fully represent that natural severity of face -the description is by a contemporary writer-' which even his 'smiles could never soften, or his gaiety render placid and se'rene,' but both portraits are greatly dashed with sadness-that sadness well-deserved, much of it self-inflicted, which gathered in deepest gloom round the later days of this powerful yet miserable man. Was the motive taken from his own self-consciousness, was it melancholy or remorse, which dictated the lines

'For such a fool was never found,
Who pulled a palace to the ground,
Only to have ruius made

Materials for a house decayed?'

It is pleasant to turn to the portraits of a very different person. Few men of mark of any age, few men of letters of any age, are better known to us than Samuel Johnson. The vast abilities, the vaster erudition, the kindliness of heart, the surly manner, the great scope of mind which occasional narrownesses only appear to enhance, all are portrayed to the life in the Chronicle of Boswell. Familiar in our mouth as household words' are the dicta of the Doctor,' and if we occasionally laugh at the eccentricities of the man, if we catch ourselves smiling at the trivialities by which his judgment was sometimes warped, we never fail to close the volume which records alike his greatness and his failings without an increased feeling of reverence. Several portraits are exhibited here. No. 556 representing him devouring a book, and 557 seated at a table, possess perhaps the most generally received ideas of the man; but the most interesting, to our mind, is No. 564, giving the noble contour of the head without the disfiguring wig; the gesture, the raised face, and bent fingers, as if speaking, show the eager disputant. The portrait of Boswell, the Doctor's' biographer, is appropriately hung close by; his wife and children surround him. Near also are many of the well-known men of the age. Chambers, the architect of Somerset House: the ability shewn in the river front of that building will, it is hoped, be better appreciated when it is better seen, from the new embankment. Goldsmith, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, showing how well the

painter understood the poet's character, with his clever forehead and weak chin, the very portrait of

'Oliver Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,

Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll.'

Doubts are thrown on the authenticity of the other portrait of Goldsmith, said to be by Hogarth. It is possible that it may be the work of that artist, and the features resemble the poet; the action also, the haste and hurry with which he is at work, the cap pushed awry in the fury of composition, all appear likely to be traits recorded by an acute observer. Not far off is the portrait of Edmund Burke, an early work of Opie, and not without that roughness of manner which characterizes this painter's earlier works. The portrait is marked by vigour; yet it is impossible to regard it without a feeling of regret-of regret over a mind which time appears rather to have narrowed than matured-to which experience brought rather the inferior art of discovering difficulties, than the manner of surmounting them-of the man in short

'Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.’

The picture of Edmund Burke's brother Richard, painted by Reynolds, is near his better-known kinsman. Yet, though the fame of the elder brother is more widely spread among us now, Richard Burke had many friends in his day. The bright gay face enables us fully to understand this. It fully bears out Goldsmith's description of his powers and misfortunes:

What spirits were his! what wit, and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all.'

We must close our catalogue; yet the doing so feels like leaving a party of our best friends. We know the pleasant remembrance will abide with us, but the pleasant attraction of their society draws us to them. How reluctant we are to turn away, and how varied the company is! There are the arch features of Mrs. Gwyn, poor Goldsmith's Jessamy Bride' and her yet lovelier sister, Mrs. Bunbury. There is Wilkes with his daughter in the open air: the father sits-the daughter (her looks favour 'papa') stands holding his hand. The celebrated cast in his eye is disguised by the look being turned upwards. How surprised Wilkes would be if this picture caused him to pass in this generation, which has forgotten his factiousness, almost forgotten his wildness and follies, as a domestic man. This picture is by Zoffany. We must not forget to notice the brilliant Romney of Gibbon, which looks, however, far more the militia