kind of winter days in London; the smoke of fossil coals forms an atmosphere, perceivable for many miles, like a great round cloud attached to the earth. In the town itself, when the weather is cloudy and foggy, which is frequently the case in winter, this smoke increases the general dingy hue, and terminates the length of every street with a fixed grey mist, receding as you advance. But when some rays of sun happen to fall on this artificial atmosphere, its impure mass assumes immediately a pale orange tint, similar to the effect of Claude Lorraine glasses,-a mild golden hue, quite beautiful. The air, in the mean time, is loaded with small flakes of smoke, in sublimation,-a sort of flower of soot, so light as to float without falling. This black snow sticks to your clothes and linen, or lights on your face. You just feel something on your nose, or your cheek, -the finger is applied mechanically, and fixes it into a black patch!

England is rich in pictures. The whole Orleans gallery, and many other collections, came here during the revolution. These treasures have been divided and scattered all over the kingdom. We have not yet seen any thing of them; there has not been really sufficient light during the short days. The British school of painting has not existed above forty years. Sir Joshua Reynolds may be considered as the found,

der of it, and was the first president of the Royal Academy. He exalted an inferior branch of the art above its usual rank,-portrait-painting became under his hand historical. He seems as if he had surprised nature in action, and a characteristic action, and had fixed it on his canvas at one stroke, with perfect resemblance, but a resemblance which moves and thinks. It is impossible to imagine any thing more perfect than his children, with their playful, graceful, awkwardness, the arch simplicity and innocence of their smile. His colouring, which does not appear to have ever had much strength, fades away, and disappears rapidly ;-many of his pictures are now only black and white. He is said to have been fond of trying experiments in colours, and thought he had found the secret of rendering them more lasting. Sir Joshua Reynolds, far from being "gueux comme un peintre," lived, like Rubens, in affluence; receiving the best society of London,-the highest, the most learned and agreeable; and left after him a fortune of L.50,000 sterling, raised on the vanity of his countrymen, rather than on their love for the arts. They might have praised his talents, but would not have rewarded them, if he had not painted their portraits. His price, in the last part of his life, was 200 guineas for a full-length. His discourses at the Royal Academy, which

have been published, do him as much honour as his pictures. This great example could not fail of being followed, and all the English artists are portrait-painters. It must be acknowledged they excel in that line. I have visited some of them. Mr Lawrence and Mr Philips have a bold, free, and vigorous manner; Mr Owen a correct design, and good composition. There are many others of great merit. Mr Nollekins is a sculptor, (of portraits likewise): we saw in his workshop a funeral group, so excellent as to make us regret that his talents were not always so employed. It commemorates a woman who died in child-bed. She is sitting on the ground, her back supported by a standing figure of a woman, who bends over her, and points. above; the dead child lies on the lap of the dying mother, who holds its hand in hers. Pain of body and anguish of mind,-the terrors of death itself,-are vanishing with life, leaving only a kind of heavenly serenity, the faint expression of which seems also ready to abandon the earthly form. All is simplicity in the attitude; truth and feeling in the expression. We saw there also a fine Venus by the same artist ;-the heads of Fox and Pitt in marble,very like we are. told; neither of them looking like great men; but the countenance of Fox is at least that of a good-natured man; the other looks harsh and

proud. The ex-minister, Mr Canning, was sitting there for his bust, to be placed, I suppose,

by the side of his master's.

The English are accused of having neglected the fine arts, and acknowledge very readily the truth of the charge. One of their artists, Mr Shee, has published a well-written pamphlet,his view of the evil, and its remedy. He wants, if I recollect rightly, that government should appropriate a certain sum for the purpose of purchasing pictures annually, painted by artists, natives or not, residing in England, chosen by a committee of fit judges. Government has at present, I believe, other calls for its money. But there is a society lately formed for the same object; they have provided some convenient rooms in Pall Mall, lighted by sky-lights, for the reception of modern pictures; the public is admitted at two shillings a head, and a person is always on the spot to treat with those who wish to buy any of the pictures. Those purchased remain there till the end of the exhibition, which lasts about four months. The purchaser of any picture has his entrance free the remainder of the time. A very considerable revenue, raised by this means, is applied to the purchase of modern pictures for the society. This institution will certainly create a great emulation among artists; and those who have superior talents will be enabled to quit the

sordid portrait, and to be historians and poets without fear of starving. I must own, however, that I have seen very few pictures there that were above mediocrity; bad design,-ignorance of the human form and anatomy,-colouring poor and purplish. The heads, however, are fine in general and these striking countenances, thus starting out of the canvas, put me in mind of the man in "Le Tableau Parlant," who thrusts his living head through a hole in a picture. Landscapes of merit are much more common than historical pictures. There is more originality, more knowledge of nature in this branch of art,more beau idéal,-more poetry, here than in France.

The exquisite perfection of English engravings. had given me a corresponding idea of the art of painting; but this elder branch is much inferior to the other. Landscapes, especially, are engraved here with a degree of finish,—a softness,—a richness of colouring, if I might be allowed the expression, which it seems impossible to surpass. This art having become a great article of trade, furnishes an early reward to talents; bread first, and fame afterwards. The little proficiency made in the arts, the sciences, and all that requires much study, great labour, and sacrifices, by most of those who are born to an independent fortune,