of Queen Victoria, where all that was graceful and charming, all that was beautiful and dignified, all that was easy and unaffected, were combined with as much fidelity by Mr. Leslie as if a mirror had reflected the fair originals?

The scene of Mr. Leslie's unexhibited picture is, of course, Hampton Court:

Close by those meads, for ever crowned with flow'rs,
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs;

and in one of the rooms of the palace, graced by "great Anna's" portrait, the dire event, which the poet and the painter have celebrated, takes place. "Hither," as in the poem,

The heroes and the nymphs resort,
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court;
In various talk the instructive hours they pass'd,
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
One speaks the glory of the British queen,
And one describes a charming Indian screen;
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;
At every word a reputation dies.

Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat;
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.

But the action of the story is further advanced than in the above description. The battle of ombre has been fought; the coffee has

Sent up in vapours to the baron's brain

New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain;

66

the "two-edged weapon" of Clarissa had done its office, and the wretched sylph been cut in twain that "fondly interposed" to save the sacred hair." In short, the adventurous baron has ravished the cherished Lock, and Belinda is lost in the first stupor of her grief. But as it is necessary for a painter to tell all his story at once, Mr. Leslie anticipates events, and, on the very champ-clos of conflict, has introduced the demand for "restoration." Sir Plume is there,

With earnest eyes, and round, unthinking face,

rapping his amber snuff-box, and nicely conducting his clouded cane. All in vain, however, for before him stands the inexorable baron, and again we seem to hear the well-remembered words:

It grieves me much" (replied the peer again)

"Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain ;
But by this Lock, this sacred Lock, I swear
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew),

That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear."
He spoke, and speaking in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.

Shock, too, is present, so that the dramatis persona of the poem all witness the tragedy. What a pity that the public should have to wait a whole twelvemonth before they do the same!

It has usually been a characteristic of Mr. Leslie to subordinate those details which every one was aware he was able to represent, had he been so minded. On this occasion, where the picture is all the better for local

illustration, he has departed from the rule. Thus the high relief of the wainscoting the frame of the full-length portrait of Queen Anne (a miniature of Grinling Gibbon's famous carving, and as sharply and clearly defined as the original), the carpet, the looking-glass, the chandelier every accessory, indeed, is as true as the most literal pre-Raphaelite could paint it. And with this addition: that however marvellous the skill which depicts inanimate objects, these are the very last things to attract the eye; they insensibly aid in giving truth to the scene, but it is only when the actors have told their story that we turn and see that we are very much indebted to the "properties" for assisting the illusion.

Mr. Frost's unfinished picture-Time being the delinquent here-is "The Lady," in "Comus." He has not presented his subject under the ordinary dramatic aspect, but has chosen rather to idealise that passage in the masque which begins with these lines:

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity,
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.

"The Lady," a perfect emblem of the virtue thus highly consecrated, forms the centre of a group of angels who throng around and float above her, while the base of the pyramid is supported by earth-born creatures and spirits of the lower deep. For truth of expression, for harmony of colour, for grace of composition, and for beauty of form and face, this latest work of Mr. Frost may challenge competition anywhere. It contrasts greatly with the majority of his own productions, not as affecting the merit of what he has already accomplished, but only the manner of his art; for, instead of the nude to which we have been so much accustomed, almost all the figures here are closely draped. It was with regret we listened to the assurance that not even the "four days' grace" could suffice for the requirements of Mr. Frost's subject.

Mr. Egg has been busy with the two great incidents in the career of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham (Dryden's "Zimri"); the extravagance of his life, and the misery of his death. These pictures are necessarily pendants to each other, and, being unable to finish both, Mr. Egg was unwilling to separate them. Report speaks very highly of the manner in which the two opposite subjects have been treated.

The works which we have just enumerated are, with all their beauties, phantoms, so far as present enjoyment is concerned: let us turn, then, to the realities that await us in Trafalgar-square.

We have no hesitation in assigning the first place in the Exhibition to Mr. M. A. Ward's magnificent picture of "The Execution of Montrose. This noble work, the result of seven months' constant application, has been painted for one of the corridors of the new House of Commons, where it will form the first of a series of subjects of national interest. The leading incidents in the brilliant but brief career of "the gallant Græme" are sufficiently well known, but for the readier appreciation of Mr. Ward's picture we may summarily recal them. After the betrayal of Montrose into the hands of General Lesley, he was brought to Edinburgh, where sentence of attainder had already been passed against him. He was met at the Water-gate by the magistrates of the city, and, by their direc

tion, was placed, bareheaded and pinioned, on a high seat in a cart, and thus led by the executioner to the common gaol, his officers walking two and two before the cart. Two days afterwards he was brought before the Parliament to receive his sentence, for trial there was none, the enumeration of all his alleged offences, bitterly urged against him by the chancellor, being substituted for proofs of his guilt. Montrose replied that he had always acted by the royal command. He was then sentenced to be hung on a gallows thirty feet high, his head to be fixed on a spike in Edinburgh, his arms on the gates of Perth and Stirling, his legs on those of Glasgow and Aberdeen, and his body to be buried by the hangman on the Burrow-Muir. Montrose heard this barbarous sentence with a countenance wholly unchanged. The clergy of the Covenant then came to torture him; they told him that his punishment here was but a shadow of what awaited him in the next world. He repelled them with disdain, being prouder, he said, to have his head placed on the prison-walls than his picture in the king's bed-chamber, and he wished he had flesh enough to be dispersed through Christendom to attest his loyalty. On the 20th of May, 1650, the noble prisoner was led out to execution. He appeared on the scaffold in a splendid dress, as if he were going to a court festival, and calmly addressed the people in explanation of his dying unabsolved by the Church. The executioner then attached to his neck Dr. Wishart's Latin history of his military exploits, but he smiled at the inventive malice of the act, and declared that he wore it with more pride than the Order of the Garter. When he had finished his devotions, he asked if any more indignities were to be practised, and then, cheerfully submitting to his fate, perished by the hangman's hands at the age of thirty-eight.

The moment which Mr. Ward has chosen is that when his hero has paused in his ascent to the scaffold to address the eager multitude. He is arrayed in a rich costume of scarlet and silver, and short cloak of crimson lined with white; the ribbon of the Garter is across his breast, he wears white silken hose, and a plume of feathers waves from his hat. All these details of costume are strictly accurate, a full description of them being given by contemporary writers. The figure of Montrose is erect, his countenance full of dignity, sweetness, and exultation for the cause in which he is about to die. The grace of the polished nobleman, the refinement of the accomplished scholar, the courage of the enterprising soldier, the loyalty of the faithful subject, all shine out in Mr. Ward's portraiture, and complete the ideal of this devoted cavalier, whose gallant bearing and cruel fate evoke irresistible tears. After Montrose, the attention is fixed on those who are close to him. On one side is the grim executioner fastening the book of Montrose's exploits round his neck; on the other a stern fanatical clergyman exhibits the Declaration which the noble loyalist addressed to the Scottish people; a little apart from this last stand a striking group, the two principal figures in which are a sour Puritan, with a pocket Bible in his hand, ready to turn to any text that may confound the Amalekite, and a hard, unrelenting soldier of some rank in the Parliamentary force, who gazes wholly unmoved upon the mournful preparations; it is difficult to say which of these two is most indifferent to the fate of the brave marquis. Sympathy, indeed, is manifested by only two persons of all the crowd assembled to see Montrose put to death: an aged

Highlander and his daughter have struggled to the foot of the scaffoldthe old man, one of the clan Græme, waves his blue bonnet decked with the laurel, the cognisance of his chief-the girl clings to her father, and a rough halberdier raises his weapon to silence this demonstration of the clansman's affection. All the rest of the witnesses to the act are silent, cold, and watchful, while conspicuously placed, though shrouded from recognition by their disguises, Argyll-the inveterate foe of Montroseand his young bride, look down upon the scene. Little thought Argyll then, that within exactly eleven years the "Maiden" would clasp him in her deadly embrace in reward for all his treason. The place of Montrose's execution was in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, and Mr. Ward has depicted the locality with the closest antiquarian fidelity, introducing the market-cross, the tower of St. Giles's cathedral, and all the quaint buildings which at that time surrounded the square. The weather that prevailed is another accident of which he has taken advantage; dark clouds, heavily charged with rain, drive over the city, while a gleam of sunshine, breaking through them, raises a seething steam from the crowd which produces an excellent atmospheric effect. The drawing of this fine picture is remarkably vigorous and free, the colouring harmonious, and the composition admirable. Mr. Ward had already done much to render his name famous in the annals of art, but he has now secured a position second to that of no contemporaneous rival.

Nor is the "Montrose" the only subject in which Mr. Ward has been engaged he has a second picture which also is full of interest, and will, at the present moment, command particular attention. The subject is "The Acquiescence of the Empress Josephine in her Divorce from Napoleon." The scene takes place at night in the palace of St. Cloud, in the presence of the principal members of the imperial family. Josephine, seated at the foot of the council-table, with all the tokens of a heavy grief impressed on her fine features, but patiently submissive to her husband's will, is preparing to sign the paper containing the renunciation of her happiness which Regnauld de Saint Jean d'Angely places before her. Queen Hortense (the mother of the present Emperor of the French), yielding to passionate sorrow, is weeping on her mother's shoulder: the Viceroy Eugène stands beside her with downcast eyes suppressing deep emotion: Napoleon, at the opposite extremity of the table, eyes Josephine askance, endeavouring to scrutinise her feelings while his own closely-compressed lips attest that he too feels the severity of the trial: Caroline Bonaparte, regally attired, sits proud and impassive, unmoved by the sight of her sister-in-law's sufferings: Murat, her husband, the "Roi Franconi," is conspicuous for his dress and ornaments, but no sentiment of chivalry is visible on his face to stir him to protest against the wrong he is called upon to witness: Talleyrand is there with the inscrutable countenance that never changed: and, lastly, among the most prominent personages, St. Jean D'Angely seriously performing the solemn task which his master has assigned to him: the rest of the canvas is filled with the inferior witnesses of the event, exception being made as to station, in favour of Madame Letizia, Napoleon's mother, whose features are only partially seen. Mr. Ward has happily concentrated the interest in this painful drama upon the principal actor in it; the pallid face and tear-swollen eyes of Josephine tell all her melancholy story, and

at once awaken our deepest sympathy; but force of expression reigns throughout the picture. The colour is rich and effective, though we have some doubt as to certain tones of green and blue, which appeared to us as too strikingly opposed to each other, those hues by candlelight being rarely distinguishable apart.

We

We are happy to perceive that Mrs. Ward is still pursuing the avocation of her husband, and with manifest improvement in her style. Her treatment of an interesting annual ceremony at the village of Langley"The Crowning with Flowers of the most Deserving Little Girl in the Parish," is marked by originality as well as by grace and feeling.

A passage in the prison-life of "The Man with the Iron Mask" has employed the pencil of Mr. Charles Landseer. It is one of the incidents recorded by Mr. Ellis, in his "History of the Unfortunate Matthioli," illustrative of the jealous care with which he was guarded. The story is told with great truth and feeling, and painted with the most careful attention to character, costume, and general detail.

Mr. Hart has two pictures this year, of an opposite kind, but both painted in a masterly manner. The first is an Oriental subject—" Solomon Meditating in his Garden;" the other an Italian one-" A Dominican Preaching.' To Mr. Hart it almost exclusively belongs to represent the departed glory of Israel in the persons of her monarchs, her prophets, and her high priests; the forms of her ancient worship are familiar to his mind, and the splendour of her ceremonial has found in his pencil its most adequate exponent. There is no vagueness in his treatment of the royal sage; the positive character of the race, and the individuality of the man, are marked with equal precision, while all the adjuncts of costume and locality are in the most perfect keeping. The figure of the king is majestic, his countenance noble, and of grave but not austere expression; his thoughts wholly occupy him, and there is little difficulty in interpreting them by his own well-remembered words: "Then I looked on all the works that my hand had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun!" Mr. Hart has been very successful in combining detail with general effect; his work will bear the closest examination, and loses none of its breadth when more distantly surveyed; the Oriental character of the whole subject is admirably rendered, in the atmosphere of that sunny clime as well as in the rich prcduce of its soil.

"The Dominican Preaching" is, as we have said, in striking contrast with "Solomon ;" the latter is deeply meditative and calm-the former all energy and excitement. If the features of the Frate predicatore were not so regular and so finely cut, we should have fancied it had been Mr. Hart's intention to depict the enthusiastic martyr Savanarola, but his well known portrait presents a very different face. But the spirit which animates Mr. Hart's "Dominican" is identical with that which led the victim of Alexander the Sixth to the stake; his the same fiery zeal to denounce the vices of the clergy of his time; his the same boldness of thought and fearlessness of language. The preacher's gestures are emphatic without violence, the expression of his countenance earnest without distortion. There is nothing more of the subject than the monk, except a slight indication of the locality; but the head of the Dominican is a