with what they are imitating, and therefore make it exactly like, and yet exactly unlike at the same time. The figures look like those which we see in that pretty toy called Noah's ark. We next arrive at the King's Closet. Here the work which at once fixes and absorbs the whole attention is Titian's splendid picture of himself and Aretine. The first observation that occurs to me in regard to this admirable work is the magnanimity of the artist in thus under-painting himself, as he evidently has done, in order to throw out and aggrandise the portrait which accompanies his own, and occupies the centre of the canvass. This portrait, of Aretine, is one of the most delicate and ethereal, and yet most intense and poetical, that he ever painted. It has, by an admirable judge, been aptly compared to "a lambent_flame;" and such, in fact, is the effect it produces on the spectator. It seems to flicker before the eye with an apparent motion,— so instinct is it with the very life of mind. You may look at it till you see it, or fancy you see it-which amounts to the same thing, under twenty different shades of expression. Aretine is represented at an advanced age, but with all the vivacious quickness of youth in the general expression of the eyes and mouth, added to that highly rectified spirit of intellect, if I may so express myself, which is never seen in the human face till a certain period of life, and never seen at all but in the faces of those whose pursuits have been more than ordinarily intellectual. It is a full front face, very thiu and shrunken, but lightly touched all over with the carnations of bodily as well as mental health. It is remarkable, too, that Sir Joshua Reynolds seems to have chosen it as the model from which he has made out his strange head of Ugolinoin his picture of that name, from Dante. At least my memory greatly deceives me if there is not a remarkable resemblance between the two heads-both in shape, position, and general character. If I am right, this may account for that work being so complete a failure as it is. There are two striking Carlo Dolces in this room, on the same side with the Titian; and a holy family, said to be by Raffaelle; but the casual visitor will do well to devote all the time that is allowed him on this side to the above exquisite work. The Carlo Dolces are unnatural and affected both in colouring and expression; and the Raffaelle, if it be one, is so extremely imperfect as to be of little value. But at the opposite end he will find a most charming Guido-full of all the beauties of this artist's style, and not without his faults-if they must be called so. The lovely work I allude to is a Cleopatra placing the asp to her bosom, and looking up to Heaven,-more, it must be confessed, with the air of a Christian saint than of an Egyptian queen. The defect of this picture is an absence of tragic expression: unless, indeed, we are to regard these things as helps and hints to the imagination, rather than as objects intended to satisfy and set it at rest. And this, in fact, is the light in which I conceive that they ought to be regarded; and if so, the best works of this painter may be pronounced perfect in their kind, and more purely poetical than those of any other master. The "Silence," of A. Caracci, which is also in this room, is a picture that I have never been able to estimate so highly as its celebrity seems to demand.

In the King's State Bed-chamber we meet with several very interesting works. Over the door is a Cupid cutting his bow, by Parmegiano,

something similar to that at Cleveland-house, but inferior; and near it, to the left, is a capital portrait of a young man, said to be by the same artist-admirable for its truth, force, and spirit. Here is also Vandyke's well known picture of Charles the First's three children, with the great dog; a curious and interesting portrait of Elizabeth when princess, by Holbein; and a portrait by Titian, which is not strikingly good.

From hence we pass into the King's Drawing-room, which is perhaps the richest room in the palace-particularly in gallery pictures. Here are two splendid works by Guido; one of them among the finest I have ever seen, and the other admirable, as a single figure. They are Venus attired by the Graces, and Andromeda chained to the rock. The first is a noble work-touching from its exquisitely graceful and harmonious sweetness, and at the same time striking, from the grandeur of style in which it is conceived and executed. Each of the attendant Graces might be a Venus, if the Venus were away; yet there is a high and ethereal air thrown over her, which by contrast sinks them into comparatively inferior beings. It is evidently, also, the celestial Venus that Guido is picturing: the ideal purity of his mind could conceive of no other; and in this respect his pictures, even when their subject is of the most voluptuous kind, as in the one before us, may be looked at almost as pieces of sculpture. Nothing can be more striking in this way than the contrast between his females and those of Titian. The colouring, too, of his flesh is as ideal as the expression of his forms and faces. The flesh of the Venus, in this picture, is nearly equal to Titian's; and yet you feel no disposition to touch it as you do Titian's. There is a Cupid in this picture, leaning idly against the knees of the Venus, in the centre of the canvass, which is another striking proof of what I mean. It is nearly as fine an embodying of premature intellectual power, super-induced on all the freshness and simplicity of carly youth, as that figure of Christ, in Raffaelle's admirable Holy Family, which I described at length in my notice of the Cleveland Gallery. The chief merit of the other picture" in this room, the companion to the above, is in the figure of the Andromeda; which is designed with infinite grandeur as well as freedom. The colouring of the flesh is not good; but it seems to have been injured by varnish, and has a brown hue all over it. The other re

markable works in this room are a Holy Family, by Rubens; in which the face of the Virgin fixes the beholder, and will not let it wander to the other parts of the picture; there is a kind of fascination about the eyes, which is singular; also an excellent picture by Lucca Giordanothe Wise Men's offering; and a Virgin and Child, by Murillo, which is very indifferent.

In the next room, which contains Queen Anne's state bed, there is a forcible head by Spagnoletto; and a portrait of Mary Queen of Scots, which one cannot help being vexed with, because it is not beautiful! And in the four following apartments there is nothing calling for particular notice, unless it be the picture of Duns Scotus, finishing his translation of the Bible. This picture is forcibly executed; but it is altogether unpoetically conceived; and it cuts a very strange figure in a room full of royal portraits. The last room is the Queen's Presencechamber. It contains a capital portrait of Duke Albert of Saxony, on

a great grey horse, by Rubens; and one of Vandyke's noble equestrian portraits of Charles the First.

I confess that I have compressed my account of the pictures in this gallery within narrower limits than I might have done, in order that I might have space left for some notice of the splendid frame-work in which they are inclosed, and the unrivalled living picture which lies immediately within their view. But as I find that both these have been just done to my hands, and in a manner better than I could hope to do them, without repeating the same images and thoughts, I shall venture to transcribe the two passages to which I allude; especially as they form part of a work which has been so recently published, that it is not likely to be yet in the hands of many readers.* The following refers to the particular view that I spoke of, as seen from the windows of one of the apartments through which we passed: "From the terrace, which I have said runs round two sides of the Castle, there is a noble view of this luxuriant domain, over which it seems to preside like a queen; looking out upon all with an air of quiet dignity, and being looked up to by all as if for countenance and protection. You know how fond I am of forming imaginary unions of this kind; and you will easily believe that I could not help, or rather that I did not try to help, pursuing my inclination on this occasion. As I paced the terrace, or seated myself listlessly on its parapet, and looked forth on the rich pageant of natural beauty that lay spread out beneath me, I amused myself by fancying a union of the above kind, by endowing all before and about me with an imaginary life and consciousness, and giving to each and all a separate and appropriate set of feelings, habits, and duties. The Castle itself I had before converted into a matronly beauty; I now raised her to the rank of a maiden queen (the Elizabeth) of a smiling and happy realm. The thousand various trees and shrubs that clothed the eminence, formed the court dress of this stately beauty, terminating at the terrace, which seemed to clasp her waist as a zone; the flower-painted meadows that stretched all around, were the rich tapestry of her presence-chamber, over which the sky hung like an azure dome; the majestic elms that grew on every side, swept as they were by the passing wind, seemed bowing their heads in token of a courtly homage; the beautiful river, that came winding round at the foot of the eminence, seemed pressing near to pay her willing tribute, and kiss the hem of her royal garment, and then to glide away, prouder and happier than before. The rest of the scenery I likened to the more distant spectators, who were silently watching their turn to approach her, or modestly contented to wait within the ken of her eye and the light of her countenance. The most conspicuous object among these is the exquisite gothic hall of Eton College, which rises at a little distance like a religious temple. For this I could find no appropriate similitude. The best I could do was to liken it to a beautiful devotee, vowed and dedicated to unearthly thoughts, and with 'looks commercing with the skies,' yet choosing to place herself in the presence of majesty, in order occasionally to remind it that there is a kingdom not of this world." The other passage which I shall quote from the same work, relates to the associations

* Letters on England, by the Count de Soligny. 2 vols.

connected with Windsor Castle: "I cannot take a final leave of this interesting spot, without letting my thoughts recur for a moment to the scenes which have glorified and graced it in times past; and which scenes and times no concurrence of circumstances can ever bring back to us. Here the genius of chivalry reigned in the fullest pomp of its power, and revelled in its gayest and most gallant lustre; and here the shadow of it still presides, but over a shadowy realm, a vacant altar, and a neglected shrine. Here, in consequence of a happy accident in the loss and finding of a lady's garter, at one of the royal festivals that were so frequently given in this place-here was offered that fine homage to the influence of female charms, the institution of the Garter order of Knighthood. Here, in these courtly halls, or echoing courts, or in the fancy-peopled solitudes belonging to them,either beneath the pillared shade' of the stately elms, or in the open champaign adjoining, as the mood of his spirit might direct-here the gallant and chivalrous, yet tender and melancholy Surrey used to wander listlessly about, meditating love-lays that might win to his arms the lovely Lady Geraldine, who was the first object of his youthful passion. Here that other princely lover, as romantic and poetical as Surrey, but infinitely less fortunate-the double captive at once to love and policy-his body even a closer prisoner than his mind-here the amiable monarch of Scotland passed the whole of his youthful years, from their first early spring, at thirteen, to their final close at thirty. Here he used to lie in his bed and read Boetius's Consolations of Philosophy, till he could half forget that he was either a monarch or a captive; and here, when the philosophy of reason failed to comfort him, he flew to the still better philosophy of poetry and love, and found what he sought. Gazing from the window of his prison on the gardens beneath, he saw the beautiful Lady Jane Beaufort, wandering among the flowers, the loveliest of them all; and in his situation, to see such a lady was to love her; and with his elegant and romantic mind, to love such a lady, was to feel that he had need be something more than a king, to deserve and win her so he became a poet; and he did win her and his liberty together, and made her his queen; and a devoted and happy pair they remained, till the basest of conspiracies, to which he fell a victim some time after, tore them asunder; when this romantic love had an end worthy of its beginning, by the lady throwing herself as a protecting shield before the person of her lord, and receiving on her tender body the murderous blows that were directed at his but receiving them in vain! Here, on these lordly terraces, one of which was erected by herself, the truly royal Elizabeth, that queen of queens, used to walk for an hour daily, meditating on the glory and happiness of her realm, and doubtless mingling thoughts of love and pleasure with those of duty and good government.

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Finally, and to pass over all intermediate recollections, here, on this same terrace, the most worthy and respectable, but least chivalrous of monarchs, George the Third, used to walk every Sunday, in company with his subjects, frequently entering into familiar conversation with the meanest of them; and here, confined to one set of apartments for a series of weary years, he remained an unconscious prisoner, blind, helpless, and a maniac, obliged to be treated as a wayward child by his own offspring, and commanded by his own servants!

"I will confess to you, that, in quitting Windsor Castle, and recollecting that I should probably never look forth from its lordly terrace, or pace its majestic courts again, a feeling of regret came over me, that I never before experienced in quitting a spot of this kind; and as royal palaces are, in general, far from being rich in associations among which my mind delights to dwell, I must attribute this feeling to the peculiar character of the present one, and to its necessarily throwing back the imagination to the most poetical times which modern Europe has ever known."

GREEK SONG.-THE

VOICE OF SCIO..

A VOICE from Scio's Isle,

A voice of song, a voice of old,
Swept far as cloud or billow rolled,
And earth was hushed the while.

The souls of nations woke!
Where lies the land whose hills among
That voice of victory hath not rung,
As if a trumpet spoke ?

To sky, and sea, and shore,
Of those whose blood, on Ilion's plain,
Flowed from the rivers to the main,
A glorious tale it bore!

Still by our sun-bright deep,
With all the fame that fiery lay
Threw round them in its rushing way,
The sons of battle sleep.

And kings their turf have crown'd!
And pilgrims o'er the foaming wave
Brought garlands there; so rest the brave,
Who thus their bard have found!

A voice from Scio's Isle,

A voice as deep hath risen again!
As far shall peal its thrilling strain,
Where'er our sun may smile!

Let not its tones expire!

Such power to waken earth and heaven,
And might and vengeance, ne'er was given
To mortal song or lyre.

Know ye not whence it comes?
-From ruined hearths, from burning fanes,
From kindred blood on yon red plains,

From desolated homes !

'Tis with us through the night!

'Tis on our hills, 'tis in our sky

-Hear it, thou Heaven! when swords flash nigh,
O'er the mid waves of fight.