432 
cott on any very considerable advance in 
the beau idéal of his art ; but we have seve- 
ral beautiful single figures, among which, 
No. 990, ** A Monumental Figure,” by 
Gahagan ; No. 1,044, Hopper’s “ Salama- 
cis, a model, to be executed in marble ;” 
Woodington’s “ Nymph” (1,063); and 
Freebairn’s “ Psyche,” a statue in marble 
(1,051), particularly attracted our atten- 
tion; as did also (1,061) Sievier’s Colossal 
“ Marble Statue of Dr. Jenner,” to be 
erected in Gloucester Cathedral. The 
busts (even if we should have time and 
space to return to them while the subject 
yet retains its interest), at least must wait 
another opportunity; they are too nu- 
merous for impartial particularization at 
present. But Ternouth’s “John Cam 
Hobhouse” (1,040) arrested our attention, 
by its striking resemblance and happy exe- 
cution; as did (1,008) “ Earl Grey,” and 
(1,039) “ Northcote,” by Behnes, and some 
others by the same artist ; while his “ Mrs. 
Fitzgerald (1026), and Hefferman’s “ Miss 
E. W. Hill’ (1028), no less attracted us 
by their beauty. 
But we must absolutely run up stairs to 
the more splendid, but not more noble 
progeny of the easel. 
In the range of five apartments, assigned 
to the exhibition of the paintings, and 
crowded this year, as appears to us, beyond 
former example, not only is the proportion 
of historical subjects much greater than for 
many previous years, but a much larger 
portion of the portraits assume an historic 
character : and of the historical pictures, 
though we shall, perhaps, have the pre- 
sumption to criticize them freely, there are 
several that are most assuredly, consider- 
ing the neglected state in which this the 
noblest branch of the art (the only one, in 
fact, upon which a great and opulent 
nation should condescend. to rest any dis- 
tinguished part of its glory) has been 
suffered to languish, of no ordinary merit. 
One there is by G. Hayter, (No. 127,) 
“The Trial of William Lord Russell,” 
which we do not scruple to pronounce one 
of the most interesting pictures, which, 
from the pencil of any modern artist, we 
remember to" haye seen. The land- 
scapes, as might be of course expected, 
are not numerous:—they are naturally 
attracted to the new Society in Suffolk- 
street, which offers, at once, the pros- 
pect of publicity and profit—of an exhibi- 
tion and a mart ; but if few, they are select. 
Fine Arts :—The Exhibition, Royal Academy. 
[June 1, 
Hofland has two small ones—of which 
“ Windsor—Moonlight” (161) is particu- 
larly beautiful; and Glover has the same 
number (297) ‘ A Waterfall on the River 
Dee,” and (397) “ Pont-nedd Vaughan, in 
Neath Valley,’’—of which the latter, especi- 
ally, glows with his peculiar felicity of sunny 
tint ; though it is marked, also, with that ap- 
parent slightness which results from rapidity 
of execution. Even the R. A. Collins, 
who has not been drawn into the vortex of 
rival attraction, has but three; of which, 
however, his ‘* Fishermen selling Fish on 
the Beach,” and “‘ Getting out their Nets”’ 
(40 and 87), are in his best manner; and 
even 280, though an offering to the ego- 
tistical vanity of patronage—“ A Seat,” is 
in his hands a picture.* Constable, though 
a little too meretriciously sparkling, has also 
three beautiful landscapes ; and André has 
five—some of which, especially ‘* A Com- 
position” (90), are entitled to high com- 
mendation. 
Of the Portraits, though several are of 
more than usual merit, very few sink be- 
low mediocrity—and none are so bad as we 
have sometimes seen upon the walls of 
the Academy. Those of Sir T. Law- 
rence, Sir W. Beechey — of Phillips, 
Shee, and Pickersgill—stand among the 
foremost; we have several, also, from pen- 
cils not yet so familiar with the breath of 
high renown, which nevertheless have no 
small pretensions to such meed. 
With respect to the President himself, 
though we have not seen any one, among 
living artists in this line, we could pre- 
sume to put over his head, we have never 
been disposed to give him all the unquali- 
fied praise fashion has assigned to him. 
We cannot but think that there is, occa- 
sionally, more of splendour than of gran- 
deur about him—more of the superficies 
than of the intellect of the art. 
jects of his pencil come refined from his 
touch, but they are not elevated. We do 
not remember to haye seen a portrait of his 
that looks the hero. This may be, in part, 
the fault of the subjects, but we cannot 
entirely exonerate the artist. The cause, 
however, 
* Till our gentry relinquish their partiality for 
dull portraits of their own chateaux and pleasure- 
grounds—in other words, till they have learned to 
worship the creations of genuine art, instead of 
idolizing their own ostentatious vanity, we shall not 
give them much credit for the liberality of their 
patronage. y 
The sub- 
