528 
self; that is, he represents female beauty 
more as we like to see it, than Sir Thomas 
does. Both aspire to elegance, and seek to 
breathe it round the forms they pourtray— 
to exhibit them in an atmosphere, as it were, 
of refined accomplishment. They do well; 
the subjects of their pencils breathe in such 
anatmosphere, are surrounded with objects 
that harmonize with it, and aspire, at least, 
to all its fascinations ; and in a picture,— 
where the accomplished lady of high 
birth and fortune must beam the same fasci- 
nating smile upon the humblest gazer, as 
upon the most select favourite of the cote- 
ries of fashion, they become permanent and 
real graces. But in the idealism of these 
graces (and the portrait painter must have 
his beau ideal, as well as he who dips his 
pencil avowedly in the iris tints of fancy, 
and exhibits the forms of genii, nymphs 
and goddesses !) — In the quest of this ideal- 
ism, the two artists pursue not exactly the 
same track. Ifthe beauty of the one be 
more splendid, it appears more artificial ; 
the other is more soft and natural. There 
is more of fashion in Sir Thomas Law- 
rence’s beauty, more of grace in Sir William 
Beechey’s: at least, if we should admire 
beauty more as represented by the former, 
we’ should be more likely to fall in love 
with it as represented by the latter. But, 
whether the ladies are more desirous of 
being loved or admired, is an enigma, 
perhaps, for the solution of which the politic 
artist should refer to their dress-makers. 
We return, in the mean time, to our more 
ambitious theme, historic picture. 
Of the two upon which, from a first sur- 
vey, we ventured, in our last, to pronounce 
judgment, we should observe that Etty’s 
Combat (notwithstanding the Prussian blue 
of the sky) improves upon us at every visit ; 
while with Westall’s Mary Magdalen at the 
Tomb, the eye was satiated on the first sur-- 
vey, and it palls upon repetition. Nor is 
the estimation of this artist much redeemed, 
either by his portrait of Lord Byron (41), 
to which he has given some portion of the 
mock sublime of his own peculiar idealism ; 
or by the glaring contrast of colours, in his 
TE? Allegro (64). The principal figure is but 
a jolly round-faced laughter-living lounger 
in super-gay apparel. As for the “ Goddess 
fair and free,’ there is nothing about her 
even to make her live in our remembrance ; 
and “ loathed melancholy” is a mere “‘ mob- 
led” common-place tragic muse—such as 
we have seen- a -hundred times in -se- 
Fine Arts :—The Exhibition, Royal Academy. 
[July-1, 
condary paintings, and in secondary 
prints. 
But Hilton’s great picture (105), Christ 
Crowned with Thorns, must be spoken of 
in different terms. It is a production that 
does honour to the English school; and 
especially, when compared with the former 
specimens of the same artist (“‘ Nature 
blowing Bubbles,”’ for example ; exhibiting, 
in the selection from living artists, at the 
gallery of the British Institution), may be 
regarded as a proud example of the pro- 
gressive state of the Arts—whether we con- 
sider the composition, the drawing, or the 
colouring. 
The story is well told; the point of time 
well chosen; the figures have their dis- 
tinctive characters and their obvious part 
in the action: no one seems to be intro- 
duced merely to fill out the canvas. We 
are never disposed to inquire, what does 
that mean? or what is he doing? Every 
attitude speaks for itself. You know, not 
only what they are about, but what they 
are thinking. They have brought forth 
their victim from the tribunal. The searlet 
robe has been thrown, in mockery, around 
him—one of the brutal rabble is bindmg the 
crown of thorns upon his brow—another 
gross and satyr-like being is half-kneeling, 
in malicious mockery, and presenting him a 
bulrush for a sceptre ; another, not quite so 
rugged, is bending in the mock-courtesy of 
pretended homage; while the centurion 
behind, with his fierce malevolence of 
aspect, is directing the tragic: mummery, 
and the very action of his hand seems to be 
repeating, “‘ He said he was King of the 
Jews!” Behind all, the executioner, with 
his hammer, is preparing the cross: you 
see only the back of his bald head; but even 
that is speakingly characteristic. The era- 
niologist might trace in it the organs of his 
profession. 
In the grouping of these several habe 
ters and the few standers-by (no one of 
whom is a mere still-life beholder )—there is 
no confusion—nothing apparently out of 
its place; yet, nothing seems as if it had 
been drilled and rehearsed :—there is not 
the least infection of what may be called 
theatrical. The colouring, also, is good, and 
in admirable keeping with the subject— 
only that the brawny arm of the centurion 
has a tint, we think, of yellowishness rather 
more than is accordant with the truth of 
nature, or the general cast of the form and 
physiognomy. The comparative and--in- 
sulated 
