148 — Letters from the United States of North America. [ Ave. 
in matters of well-bred pleasantry. He should not‘have meddled with’ 
Cervantes—other people may say what they like, but I say that/MrvL. 
is much too well-bred, much too refined, and much too “ Ladylilieraft- 
ish” for Cervantes. His portraits are very beautiful—and therefore it 
is, that when he escapes into history he must make portraits or nothing. 
But as he cannot hope to find portraits for such cattle as Don Quixote 
and Sancho Panza, he, according to my thought, cannot hope to give their 
humour as it should be given; such is*my idea. Look at the Lady 
Duchess that people talk so much about. Is there any sort of character 
in the face—any sort of expression? I say there is not; Isay itis 
only a portrait—a fine, still portrait; a good one, to be sure, but only a 
portrait after all. To me she tells no part of the story: she neither 
appears to ‘enjoy the joke, nor to understand it. Look at the face of 
Sancho—what a job for Leslie! It was too much for him—no,; I should 
not say that ; for Leslie and Sancho are not of the same breed and never 
willbe ; I should rather say it was below Leslie, for so it was. L. wants 
breadth of humour, but he has no lack of wit, archness, and roguery. 
He knew this, or if he did not know it, he felt it, and so he’ put 
Sanclio’s head ‘in profile,* a downright evasion of the catastrophe ; the 
fore-finger on the nose, too—the low trick of a low comedian, whose 
humour lurks in his fingers, who believes that gesticulation is drollery. 
If a head of Sancho were to be done by Hogarth or Wilkie, would they 
retreat into profile, think you—in profile and shadow; or would they 
give expression to a face like that of the Squire, by stretching the fore- 
finger alongside o’ the nose? The Negro girl—her visage of genuine 
breadth is admirable. It is worth all the rest of the picture, which for 
elaborate finish, drawing, and beauty of arrangement, is indeed a 
masterpiece. 
Newron,—also with you, and coupled with Leslie in almest every 
critique of the day; “God knows why—for no two persons were 
ever more unlike: Mr. N. being a very indolent, rash, gifted, and 
showy painter, quite remarkable for genius, hurry, and flourish; while 
Mr. L. is remarkable for severe finish, labour, study, and detail. Mr. N. 
is called a “laborious, tolerable painter—a shadow of Leslie,” by one of 
your critics :{ what can be more absurd! I would sooner call him 
a lazy, in-tolerable painter. The critic says, moreover, that Mr. N. 
has done his best already. It may be so, and I much fear it is so; 
for Mr. N. being very ambitious, and lacking true industry, began 
to talk in his beautiful art before he had begun to reflect; began to 
compose extempore before he had mastered the alphabet. In other 
words, he began to publish pictures before he was able to draw a hand 
ora foot. Speaking of feet, I remember a pair by him, which he is 
never tired of playing with and repeating; they are those of a girl, 
sitting with one foot over the other. One would suppose, from the 
resolute pertinacity with which he sticks to that particular pair of feet, 
that he never intended to try another pair—never hoped to get above 
them. _ N.B.—a pair of hands are the same. His portrait of Sir Walter 
Scott is one of the best things of our age—So I say. I never saw Sit 
* In the last Sancho, he has hidden the face entirely, and only shewn the left eye. 
But sucha left eye! it is worth a whole face forty times over, unless the whole face 
were equal to that one eye — X.Y. Z. tat 
+ It isnot generally known, perhaps, that Leslie was born in London (of American 
parents), and that he has lived here the greater part of his life. —X.Y¥. Z. Asmar 
+ In the European Magazine, N.S, No. I. 
ee 
