the Revolution; nor was it better attended to during the uneasy reigns of William, Anne, and her successor. The first, however, produced Sir Godfrey Kneller, and the latter Hogarth, who was soon followed by Sir Joshua Reynolds, the acknowleged founder of the English school of painting, and the father of the Academy. Gainsborough, Wilson, and West, bring us down to Sir Thomas Lawrence, on whom, as well as on his distinguished contemporaries, the author gives his opinions at length. Take as a specimen his character of the President:

Had his genius taken another direction, would Sir Thomas Lawrence have become a great historical painter? His friends assure us that he would. All that can be said is, that he is the richest artist in Europe, and the most original of all portraitpainters. Sir J. Reynolds perhaps considered the historic style in a secondary point of view, as far as regarded himself, but he has left behind him some works of imagination which are still admired, and even more frequently cited than his portraits in the history of his talent. In his Count Ugolino, the son who is embracing the knees of his father is certainly a very poetical invention; and who would fail to admire his Holy Family? Sir Thomas Lawrence has reserved all his imagination for his portraits. I should like to see some of them suddenly placed before a groupe of our artists. I am sure their astonishment would equal that of Count Manfred, in the Castle of Otranto, on seeing his grandfather's portrait walk out of the frame. But surprize would soon give way to criticism, in spite of the warm admiration excited by the first impression. Who, indeed, can help admiring the skill which Lawrence displays in creating a real atmosphere for his back-grounds, which are sometimes obscured in cloudy vapour, and sometimes, as it were, animated by a ray from the sun itself! Amidst this aërial space, living countenances, like the portraits of Titian and Vandyke, are smiling with animated gaiety, or wrapt in calm meditation. Lawrence is more happy in his attitudes than correct in his drawing, and so harmoniously do the hue of his figures and texture of his draperies blend with the shades of his sky, verdure, or any other accessory object in the picture, that one would be almost tempted to suppose he had invented for his sitters a colouring adapted to his own particular style. It must be extremely difficult to combine so much poetry of feeling with such truth of expression. Yet, if I were an artist, I should certainly find something to object to in the tints of that very atmosphere in which Lawrence's portraits seem to move. I should condemn the vague, undecided execution, and the somewhat affected expression of his heads. Indeed I have not properly defined the nature of my admiration, if it seems any thing more than the surprise excited by a complete novelty of style. Yet I have seen some French and Italian artists led away, like me, by the first impulse of astonishment. Moreover, I even doubt whe

ther

ther Sir Thomas has not, like Reynolds, sacrificed too much to effect, and whether his fresh and brilliant colours will not fade as rapidly as those of his master.'

The distinction which Dr. Pichot draws between Wilkie and Teniers is animated and just:

• Wilkie's style must not be confounded with the imitation of the Flemish school in general, nor even with that of Teniers; though the title of the Scotch Teniers has occasionally been applied to Wilkie. He is not fond of exercising his pencil on the burlesque orgies of the tavern, the gross scenes of the guardbouse, or the filthy and tattered garb of beggary. There is always a touch of caricature in the pictures of the Flemish masters. The heroes of the Dutch school produce a laugh, because they are buffoons; Wilkie's characters only excite a smile, because they are true to nature. Wilkie's domestic scenes deserve to be as popular as the history of the Vicar of Wakefield. His interiors compared with historical pictures are what Goldsmith's novel is to the pompous recitals of the epic muse. Teniers, who was endowed with great facility of talent, produced a vast number of works; but if Wilkie has produced less, it is because he is select in his choice, while Teniers never shrunk from any subject whatever. Wilkie's pictures are at once remarkable for simplicity and correct drawing; but perhaps, owing to this very correctness, we do not always find the freedom of touch and freshness of colour which distinguish the pictures of Teniers. The latter frequently brings out only one striking trait of the countenance; but Wilkie expresses every little gesture of his figures. The works of the latter have been so multiplied by engravings, that it would be superfluous to describe here the moral and dramatic pictures of The Reading of The Will, The Village Politicians, The Rent Day, &c. It is difficult to say whether these highly original productions are most worthy of admiration for their general effect, or the exquisite finish of their details. Every time we look at one of Wilkie's pictures we discover some object which we had not seen, or had not sufficiently observed before, but which is nevertheless perfectly in its place. Even when all his figures are animated by the same sentiment, what variety of expression does he display! There are some sensations which Wilkie has succeeded in pourtraying, and which perhaps no other painter would so much as attempt; as, for example, sneezing, and the mingled feeling of pain and alarm, unaccompanied by grimace, which is evinced by the child in the Cut Finger. It is curious to visit Wilkie's painting room, when he is arranging his materials for a new picture. He procures a box of a size corresponding with that of the picture he is about to commence, and he places within it chairs, tables, and every minute article of furniture, according to the rank of the characters he intends introducing into his picture. He then arranges in this miniature apartment a groupe of little manikins, and closes the door, having contrived an aperture through which his eye commands a full view of the interior.'

This is a contrivance to which it is said many eminent artists have occasionally resorted.

The view which Dr. Pichot gives of English society, betrays a very limited acquaintance with it. His observations on our constitution are superficial; and, indeed, if they had partaken of a graver character, we doubt if they would have been entitled to much attention, after his frank acknowlegement that Bentham's theories are more interesting to him than Blackstone's Commentaries! His sketch of Lord Erskine is loose and unsatisfactory. He is just to Sir James Mackintosh; and of Mr. Scarlett, as a speaker, he happily says, that the learned counsel often begins a sentence better than he ends it.' Mr. Brougham is thus described:

I cannot always recognise the spirit of genuine philanthropy in the churlish liberalism which characterises the political speeches of Mr. Brougham. This ungraceful orator possesses as much, or perhaps more, knowlege than Sir Samuel Romilly or Sir James Mackintosh, but he wants their taste and purity of style. His manner sometimes smacks of the tavern, even on the most solemn occasions. He is vehement and energetic: his irony is bitter, and When he defends a bad his invective severe, even to excess.

cause, (and it would appear that he has a peculiar predilection for such,) the boldness of his manner before the Judges borders on menace.. This, it is true, may be merely the confidence of superiority, but in the sanctuary of the laws it has an air of insolence, When he interrogates a witness whose evidence embarrasses him, he often disdains the artful precautions of his profession. He fixes his eye on him with an appalling look of contempt: there is gall in the very tone of his voice; and when he succeeds in confounding the object of his attack, his malignant smile injures the effect of his triumph. His speeches in the House of Commons produce similar impressions. The effect of his most eloquent addresses is marred by bad taste and coarseness.'

We trust that our French neighbours will not suppose, that this is any thing like an accurate portrait of one of the most extraordinary men of our times. The statesman never existed, whose liberalism was less churlish' than that of Mr. Brougham, for it extends to every human object that can come within the grasp of his mighty mind. To say of him, that as a lawyer he seems to have a predilection for bad causes is a mere sottise. It must, doubtless, be Mr. Brougham's ambition, as it is that of all honorable minds, to defend, to the best of his ability, every client who solicits his protection. Perverse, indeed, must the aspirations of that advocate be, who, in order to display the triumphs of oratory over justice, would wish his clients to be uniformly in the wrong. Dr. Pichot, accustomed to the tame servility

of

of the French bar, may be forgiven for mistaking Mr. Brougham's manly boldness for insolence; and when he says that the effect of the learned gentleman's most eloquent addresses is marred by bad taste and coarseness' it is manifest that he has written on a subject with which he is utterly unacquainted.

The second volume is occupied chiefly with an analysis of the works of our principal poets, and with critical observations upon them. It is not without interest even to an English reader: but as we have already summed up our impressions with respect to this part of the work we shall here content ourselves with extracting the lively description which the author gives of the commencement of his acquaintance with the poetry of Lord Byron:

In 1815, for the first time, I heard the name of Byron pronounced; for the first time I read some of those brilliant descriptions of modern Greece, and of those emphatic appeals to the Hellenists, who then seemed deaf to the accents of his eloquent voice. It was in the climate of the south of France, where there is certainly something of oriental in the pure and balmy atmosphere; something, moreover, of the aspect of the Greek soil in the pompous ruins of antique architecture, its subverted cippas, its columns serving for land-marks, its most sacred vestiges converted to the vilest uses; and, finally, in its temples, which, like the Maison Carrée de Nismes, and the portico of the ancient theatre at Arles, vie with the temple of Theseus, and the marbles of the Parthenon.

It was an epoch of political re-action; when nothing was to be seen around but exaggeration and anarchy. Where was the Frenchman, young or old, unshaken by the general commotion? For my part, I readily confess, that the exalted poetry of Byron filled me with unaffected transport, because it was singularly in harmony with the atmosphere of disorder and passion in which I lived. Those accents of frightful energy, those images of sometimes exaggerated pomp, those repinings expressed with a tone of menace, those characters thirsting for all kinds of extremes, seemed no more than natural to my thoughts. Now that the tranquillity of the political world, and the weight of a few additional years have rendered me more impartial, that poetry still to my view does not seem forced, because exaggeration has not only become the general character of our epoch, but principally because, as I have just now said, it is the true expression of the impassioned soul of Byron. In the emphasis of such a man, there is neither pretence nor rhetoric. While explaining the motives of my enthusiasm, I believe I have not explained them for myself alone. Atala and René were calculated to excite me at the conclusion of the great republican fermentation, as the Giaour, Harold, Conrad, and Lara, excited me after the last shock of the revolution and the counter-revolution in 1815.

By

By a singular coincidence, the individual who communicated to me the first writings of Lord Byron was a mulatto physician. de la Trinité, who, for a considerable time, had attended the school at Montpellier, after having taken his degree at Edinburgh. He was gifted with one of those strong organisations, one of those physiognomies to which the verses of the poet apply:

"Child of the sun; soul of fire.”

Feeling himself doubly isolated by his origin and features, he experienced on a first introduction a degree of embarrassment. But as a frank deportment re-assured him, and he was invited to some discussion in the light of an equal, his temperament displayed itself: he talked like a superior, and the assumption did not misbecome him. He reminded me of Othello forgetting his African complexion, and feeling himself worthy to command at Venice, and to love Desdemona. He was more inclined to borrow his allusions from the somewhat oriental poetry of Byron than any other, and one quotation led him to spout the greater part of a poem. When he quoted

"The cold in clime are cold in blood," &c. (Giaour.)

it might readily be perceived that he also concealed " a soul of fire" in his bosom. If, in these poetical intercommunications, we were not alone, he grew impatient at being understood by no one but me; he wrote down the verses which he had declaimed, and I, with the lucky or unlucky facility of which I have never lost the habit, translated them with a pen as rapid as his own. These shreds of translation, strung together afterwards, have been published and reprinted five times; such a charm and energy does Byron retain beneath the veil of a version which imperfectly transmits the brilliant images of his poetry.'

In the course of his tour the author proceeds to Scotland, where he becomes a Jacobite, if, indeed, the Waverley novels had not made him one long before. His notices of the

literary coteries of Edinburgh are amusing. He visits Sir Walter Scott, by whom he is very kindly received; and he has recorded some of the conversations which passed between himself, the Baronet, Lady Scott, and Mr. Crabbe, who happened to be with the family at the time. Is there not some indelicacy in thus reporting to the public ear the badinage of a breakfast-table?

Several of the minor details of the work are grossly incorrect. For instance, the author says that there are in London upwards of ten thousand legal practitioners, including barristers, solicitors, attornies.' The legal practitioners in England altogether do not exceed half that number. This is only one of many other errors which might

be