the best test of the picture's merit-it is not possible to dwell on the scene with eyes unmoistened. may Sickness and health are also well contrasted in a clever picture by Mr. Solomon, the scene of which is on the sands near Boulogne, beneath the village of Portel. A young English lady, newly married, but an invalid, has had the chair stopped in which she was being drawn, that she make a sketch. Before her are two of the young "matelottes" of the village, glowing with health, and eyeing the lady and her party with interest. The countenance of the foremost expresses strong sympathy, while an air of espièglerie marks that of her whispering companion, as if the young and attentive husband came in for a large share of her observation. The picturesque attitudes and costumes of these girls, who are both remarkably handsome, produce a very striking effect, while the quiet truth of the rest of the composition completes a very interesting picture. Miss Rebecca Solomon has not allowed the events of the Crimean war to pass unnoticed: in a very pleasing work she tells "The Tale of Balaklava" in a lady's boudoir-the narrator being one of the wounded heroes in that bloody fight-the listeners an anxious mother and sister. Mr. Cooke has a spirited scene on the Dutch coast near Schevening "Boats anchoring in a strong breeze from the north-west:" the details are carried out most truthfully, and the general treatment is excellent. "A Mill in the Snow," and "A View in Venice," present fine contrasts in colour. Mr. Cooke has also a fine companion picture to one exhibited last year: "Dutch fishing-boats unloading at low water." Mr. Ansdell's groups of animals are as full as ever of nature and spirit. Two of his pictures, pendants to each other, represent the one, an English gamekeeper with his pointers, the other, a Scottish gamekeeper with setters, both being surrounded by the game of their respective countries; they are admirably illustrative of character. A group of donkeys and a bull-dog, belonging to some gipsies, on a sandy heath near Preston, is equally faithful to nature. Mr. Sant does not venture far this year beyond the domain of portraiture -his only imaginative picture, but that a very pleasing one, being a Scene of Fortune-telling," where a beautiful girl, accompanied by a laughing friend, quite as beautiful, is offering her delicate palm to a wrinkled old Sybil, to learn from her lips the fate which maidens most desiderate. Of Mr. Sant's portraits the most important is a group of the children of the Duke of Marlborough, Lord Almaric and Lady Clementine Spencer; they are watching a bird whose shadow only is seen on the window-sill; the figures are full length and the size of life. Our experience of the studios has been more amongst subject-pictures than portraits, but three which we have seen by Mr. Desanges are admirable specimens of that branch of art. Mr. Desanges is, par excellence, the painter of beautiful women the Lely or Lawrence of our day-and he asserts his claim to that distinction in portraits of Mrs. Palk and Miss Thorold, in which, if we did not so much admire the faces, we should certainly fall in love with the dresses-the perfection of imitative art being reached by his accurate pencil. The full-length portrait, seated, of the Dowager Lady Glamis, is also very cleverly painted. Portraiture has, however, a new votary this year, Mr. M. A. Ward, the newly-elected Academician, having only had time to spare for England a small full-length likeness of General Hearsey, of the East India Company's irregular cavalry. It is an excellent portrait of a fine soldierlike man, most picturesquely arrayed, and as we looked at it the earnest wish arose that the services of such men as General Hearsey were more freely enlisted beneath the banner of the Prophet before the walls of Constantinople. Mrs. Ward has left the Camp for the Boudoir-a very agreeable picture, called "The Morning Lesson," being her present contribution to the Royal Academy. Mr. Frith has done little this year -that is to say, for him: a portrait of a lady in an opera-box, and a pretty scene, called "Love's Young Dream," being his only specimens. Mr. Frost limits himself to a single picture-" A Bacchante and Faun dancing"-in which the colouring, as usual, is very fine. Mr. Goodall, we hear for accident prevented us from seeing his picture has an exceedingly clever picture, "The arrest by two gendarmes of a prisoner in his house in Brittany." Of Mr. Stone, too, we are told, that he has not passed his hours in idleness, "A Wavering Thought" being the subject of a very attractive work. Mr. W. J. Grant put in claims last year for the attentive consideration of subsequent productions. He establishes them now in several very well-painted pictures. "Romeo in the Apothecary's Shop" is the principal of these; it is marked by much originality of conception, and great power of execution. "Hotspur in his sleep, with Lady Percy watching him," is also very clever; and there is a great deal of truth and feeling in a small group of Dr. Johnson carrying home the poor girl whom he found faint and houseless in Fleet-street. Our narrowed space compels us rather to mention names than pictures on this final page-but before we lay aside the pen we must recommend the City-going pedestrian to pause as he passes through Temple-bar, and see how well the every-day life that passes beneath it is represented by Mr. Chambers, whose talents have hitherto been exercised less on land than on water. CHARADES. SHE twined her gentle hand in mine, Murmured of many a joy divine Of hearts for ever true, of love Of earthly ties that, sealed above, Are broken never more. Her grief was sorrow to my soul; I pointed sadly to my Whole, She said my First-whose sullen tone Speaking of duty's calls to one, Of lonesome hours to each Was like her love, so pure, so blest; Is fraught with hues of earth, the best She said my Next-whose infant years II. EVER and ever, in the shade, By haunted ruins thrown, Where Time, with softening hand, hath laid An impress of his own, 'Mid cypress lorn, and elder dank, And kindred ghoules, a grisly rank, My Whole doth spin The specious web of human sin. He weaves my First in all the pride A ROMANCE OF CAPEL-COURT. L MR. PENTWEAZLE'S HOUSEHOLD GODS. MR. TIMOTHY PENTWEAZLE was a grocer, retired from active service. According to his own showing, his wife had contrived, by industry and economy, to save so much that he was at last enabled to "cut the shop," though this did not eventuate till a year after her death. The only fruit of his marriage was one daughter, who united to the name of Mary and her London nature all the requisite admiration for pic-nics, theatres, and Vauxhall. But for all that she was a good, simple-minded girl, who did not try to raise herself above her station-a rare quality among London tradesmen-but carefully attended to domestic affairs; at the same time, however, she possessed just that amount of knowledge of the pianoforte and French of Bow, which the present day considers indispensable for an honest tradesman's daughter. Could any one then upbraid Mr. Pentweazle for meeting his daughter's tastes half-way, by taking her to theatres and public gardens, where he amused himself by observing her childish delight, and dreamed once again of that period when his own heart beat more loudly from his having a new hat on, and when he felt only too happy if the eye of a pretty girl rested upon him for a second longer than was absolutely necessary? Who could upbraid him, if he at times felt he was growing younger in the whirling excitement of Vauxhall or Rosherville, when listening to the inspiriting sounds of the orchestra? Who could upbraid him, if he at times deviated from old customs, and warmed his blood with a glass of good sherry? Who could upbraid him, we ask? He could afford it, and it wasn't every day a holiday. And yet there was one person who put a decided veto upon the third glass of brandy-and-water, if not before; and this somebody was his sister-in-law, a spinster sister of his wife, who on the death of the dear departed had come to take care of his house, and was known by the family under the name of Aunt Price. It will be seen from the above that Aunt Price was what is called in social life an "old maid," which title, however, expresses so little, though meant to convey so much! For, as a general rule, these old maids are very interesting creatures, bearing a resemblance to venerable dusty books, which we kick about unread from one corner to another, until ennui at last induces us to skim the leaves, and discover that the book contains not only very amusing, but also very instructive reading! Although it is by no means our intention to go through this process with Aunt Price, still we must afford her our protection against all those equivocal allusions conveyed in the term "old maid," because her actual character was very different. She was neither prim nor coquettish; she was not jealous of connubial felicity, nor did she resort to the favourite subterfuge, "she could have had plenty of men if she had liked," as an excuse for her spinsterhood; but she said very honestly that no one had proposed, which, however, did not prevent her, we dare say, from bearing a quiet grudge against the whole male sex, and not without some degree of justice too, for she was a woman just of that sort required in many a family; she was even more, for through her decided character and practical resolute way of acting she beat ninety out of every hundred men. But of what service was that? She was not pretty, she was not rich, and so these valuable qualities remained unemployed until she came to preside over her brotherin-law's family, upon the death of her sister. Now, Mr. Pentweazle was not so very far out of his reckoning, when he thought to himself at times that his wife was not really dead, but had transmigrated into a rather younger sister, who knew how to manage him even better than the dear departed had done, which was frequently remarkably unpleasant in his opinion. But such is the way with men! Instead of feeling gratitude, he often thought it a bad arrangement that his wife had a sister at all; and this arose from the simple circumstance that from his peculiar disposition he was always in want of a guardian, for our Mr. Pentweazle was very thoughtless, like all good-tempered men. His purse had been at the service of his friends, until his wife thought it too much of a good thing, and put him on an allowance. He was always ready at any moment to kick over the traces, and for that reason he should have been grateful for finding in the sister the person who kept together what his wife's industry had collected. And he really was so in the bottom of his heart, only at times-at times, we sayhe would have liked a little more liberty, and wished Aunt Price at the But as she did not evince the slightest inclination to pay that gentleman a visit, and some striking instance directly afterwards showed him what an invaluable treasure he possessed in Aunt Price, and how sinful such wishes were, he would be most contrite, treat her with even more indulgence than ever, and make her presents, whenever a birthday or other opportunity intervened, with a disregard of expense, which Aunt Price herself called "most unjustifiable." This little family circle was joined on Sundays, and long winter evenings, by a young tradesman, a special protégé of Aunt Price's, who had found out all her and Mr. Pentweazle's weak points, and pretended that he only came to play a game of cribbage with the old gentleman, or pay his respects to the aunt, while all the young ladies in the neighbourhood openly expressed their opinion that Mary Pentweazle and Mr. George Wilson would form a happy couple some day or other. II. MR. PENTWEAZLE'S EVENING AMUSEMENTS. It was one of Mr. Pentweazle's habits, fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, to spend three evenings of the week at his club. But he visited none of the common publics, in which he might come into collision with the unwashed-no, he attended an hotel where a room was kept for the use of the clerks, stockbrokers, &c., who resided in the vicinity. Here our friend was a welcome guest, for his face always bore the stamp of good-humoured contentment, so that it was difficult to remain an hour in his company without imbibing some of the same feeling from him. Here Mr. Pentweazle had opportunities of conversing with stockbrokers, and listening to their remarks about bulls, and bears, |