On our presentation, the Queen spoke to us immediately in German, with the simplicity and good-nature so pleasing from persons in so exalted a station. I have often been received in the same manner by persons of very illustrious rank:-it is only the little great who fancy they must remind one of their position by haughty behaviour. She condescended to conduct us into her closet, which commands a most charming prospect. From the window, the eye glides first on a terrace of rich soft velvet turf, in the midst of which rises a fountain; and further, is seen the magnificent scenery of the park, which surrounds the castle on all sides. The Queen dismissed us most graciously, and Lord Howe had the goodness to accompany us round the castle.

You may easily imagine that the furniture and decorations of the royal apartments,-the silk hangings, and velvet and gold,-were of the most costly description. But I was more interested in the St. George's Hall, where the state dinners and the grand meetings of the knightly orders are held. It is finely proportioned, and fitted up in the later Gothic style. The ceiling, of carved oak, adorned with innumerable coats of arms, has the genuine effect of richness and solidity so characteristic of the middle ages. In the smaller saloon, where the Knights of the Garter meet, are busts of three of the greatest heroes of England,-namely, of Nelson, in bronze, and of the Dukes of Marlborough and Wellington, in marble. As works of art, the value of the first two is not considerable.

Among the armour shown is that of Prince Rupert and the wellknown Earl of Essex; but what is far more valuable, at least to an artist, is a shield, presented by Francis the First to King Henry the Eighth at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. It is the work of Benvenuto Cellini, and on account of its rich ornaments of figures, masks, and arabesques, is one of the finest specimens existing. It bears in all its parts much resemblance to the finest shield in the collection of Prince Charles of Prussia. Unfortunately, a very thick glass is a grievous obstacle to the enjoyment of this excellent work of art.

The third saloon, which particularly attracted my attention, is called the Waterloo Hall, and is intended to serve as a memorial of that series of mighty political events which closed with the battle of Waterloo. It contains the portraits of the sovereigns and other remarkable persons who took part in them, executed by the celebrated portrait-painter Sir Thomas Lawrence, by command of King George the Fourth. The Emperor Francis of Austria is placed on one side, with the King of Prussia on his right hand, and on the left the Emperor Alexander: near the King are Prince Hardenberg and Cardinal Gonsalvi; by the Emperor's side are Count Nesselrode and Pope Pius the Seventh. On the opposite side, the centre is occupied by King George the Fourth. The other principal personages are King William the Fourth, the Dukes of York and Cambridge, the Duke of Wellington, Blucher, Platow, the Archduke Charles, Prince Schwartzenberg, Lords Castlereagh and Liverpool, and the old Duke of Cumberland, who is, I presume, placed here for the sake of symmetry.

A long suite of apartments is devoted to the reception of a collection of pictures, which are not yet all placed. Wherever the walls are visible, their plain whitewash forms a strong and disagreeable contrast to the excess of splendour that appears everywhere else.

At all events, another colour should have been chosen, as white is extremely unfavourable to the effect of the pictures. The works of one master generally hang together in one room. That containing twenty-one pictures of Van Dyke was to me one of the most interesting of the whole. As a portrait-painter, he was undoubtedly the greatest master of his time. His composition is almost always agreeable, often significant; his attitudes natural and convenient, the drawing of the head and hands refined, and the keeping excellent. To these merits may be added great clearness and warmth of colour, and a free yet delicate handling; so that his portraits are in a high degree elegant and attractive. As he passed the last ten years of his life (1631 to 1641) with little interruption in England, there are nowhere so many of his masterpieces to be met with as in this country. Another apartment is devoted to Rubens; and there are many fine pictures of the older German and Italian schools: several are said to be by Holbein, with whose name, by the by, they make much too free in England. The half-length picture of Henry the Eighth, for instance, appears to me extremely doubtful; though it is hung so high that it is difficult to form a decided opinion. That of the young king Edward the Sixth is certainly too feeble and unmeaning for Holbein. Even the portrait of his great friend and patron, Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolk, is undoubtedly not genuine. Among some fine pictures of the Italian school are some which appear unworthy of a place in such a collection as that of the King of England.

*

As we were rather fatigued with the view of so great a number of pictures, we were quite ready to do justice to a dejeûner à la fourchette; after which, Lord Howe accompanied us to St. George's Chapel, a Gothic structure of the time of Henry the Seventh; and on coming out we found an elegant open carriage, with two small brown horses, here called ponies, sent by command of the Queen to take us to a cottage belonging to her, situated near the celebrated Virginia Water. The varying sunshine and shower, as we drove swiftly through the noble park, afforded the finest possible variety of light. I shall never forget the exquisite green of the grass and foliage, as the sunshine broke over them while they were still wet from the rain. The eye really revelled in the enchanting beauty of the colour.

At five o'clock we were again on our return to London; and as we had four beautiful horses, we soon saw the metropolis lying like' a dark cloud before us. At eleven we went to another* party at Lord Francis Egerton's, still more numerous and splendid than the first. Notwithstanding the spaciousness of the apartments, they were more thronged than was agreeable. When the tame Tyrolese raised their wild song, the company streamed towards them, and left me to enjoy at leisure the contemplation of my beloved pictures. Much as I like the sound of these songs in their native Alps, they always seem to me coarse and screaming in a confined space, and in the presence of an elegant town company. At an early hour I returned home and retired to rest, satisfied with the consciousness of a well-spent day.

* The doctor had on a former occasion enjoyed his lordship's hospitality.

VISIT TO SIR ROBERT PEEL.

June 21.

What a rich and interesting life I lead here! Not a day passes on which my feelings are not excited by the contemplation of exquisite works of art, or by communion with remarkable men.

On leaving Eastlake's, I drove to Sir Robert Peel's house. The site is well chosen; for though situated in the most fashionable part of the town, and close to the House of Commons, the scene of his achievements, it has many of the advantages of rural retirement, and enjoys a delightful view of the Thames.

Sir Robert is a stately man, of prepossessing manners, and highly refined and cultivated. Of his refinement and cultivation I found a striking proof in his tasteful collection of pictures of the Dutch and Flemish schools, a string of faultless pearls; with the eye of a confirmed connoisseur, he knows how to distinguish in each the peculiar merits which make it deserving of a place in such a collection. Such pictures must be seen twice; for surprise and admiration, on first beholding them, are too powerful to allow a tranquil enjoyment. Through a kind word from the Duke of Cambridge, I was afforded this second opportunity; and I will endeavour to give you some idea of the collection. It consists of rather more than sixty pictures ; and the manner in which they are placed shows that the owner does not look upon them as mere decorations for his rooms, as is too frequently the case here, but that he is desirous of enjoying each separately, in the true spirit of a lover of the arts.

The room in which this collection is arranged is of an oblong form, with windows at the two extremities, so that the pictures all enjoy the advantages of a strong side light. Every picture is placed in a situation to be seen with perfect convenience, none being hung so high as to remove its beauties from the eye's reach.

First in the list must be mentioned Rubens's celebrated Chapeau de Paille. This picture, a half-length portrait, represents a young girl of the Antwerp family of Lunden. The broad brim of a black Spanish beaver hat throws a shadow over the face, which, however, is well seen, owing to the strong sunlight by which the picture is illuminated. This has afforded Rubens an admirable opportunity of showing his skill in the treatment of the clear obscure. The painting was formerly known in Belgium under the denomination of "het Spaansch Hoedje," which in later times has been changed into its present very incorrect name of Chapeau de Paille. The head is painted so con amore, and the expression is so beautiful and full of animation, that I can easily believe the tradition which says, when Rubens painted the picture he was in love with the original. He was so attached to it, that he never could be induced to part with it; and even his widow preserved it till her death, when it was purchased by the Lunden family, in whose hands it remained till 1817, when it was sold for sixty thousand francs. At the death of the purchaser it was disposed of by auction to Mr. Nieuwenhuys, for thirty-five thousand nine hundred and seventy Dutch florins. The purchase was made on joint account with two English picture-dealers, by one of whom the painting was offered to George the Fourth, but declined. It was then exhibited in London, and upwards of twenty thousand persons visited the exhibition. In 1823 it was

bought by Sir Robert Peel, who is said to have given three thousand five hundred pounds for it, the highest price, probably, that ever was paid for a half-length portrait.

There are two other pictures by Rubens; one, a Bacchanal, with eight figures, equal in passion, and depth, and clearness of colouring, to any of his works, but surpassing any I have ever seen in the taste and decorum with which the subject is treated, and in the exquisite beauty of one of the nymphs. After the death of Rubens, this painting was bought by Cardinal Richelieu, and afterwards passed into the hands of Lucien Bonaparte. It was bought by Sir Robert Peel for eleven hundred pounds. The third Rubens is a slight but spirited sketch of the celebrated Lion Hunt in the Dresden Gallery.

Sir Robert possesses likewise two Rembrandts, one a male portrait, the other a landscape. The former is one of the few pictures by that master in which we see united a correct conception, and a fine feeling of nature, with careful industry in the execution.

The collection is particularly rich in pictures of the Dutch school; indeed, there is scarcely one of the most eminent masters of whom a specimen is not found here.

[Dr. Wagen gives a critical catalogue of the paintings composing this beautiful collection, but want of space precludes its insertion here.]

The room in which all these treasures are preserved is one of those constantly inhabited by Sir Robert Peel; so that he and his family contract a daily intimacy with these masterpieces, and, in obedience to the impulse of the moment, may allow their attention to repose upon the picture that more immediately captivates them.

In the room leading to the gallery, Sir Robert called my attention to several full-length portraits by Sir Thomas Lawrence, one of whose chief patrons he appears to have been. The Duke of Wellington, Canning, and Huskisson are the most distinguished of the men with whose portraits that of Sir Robert Peel himself is most worthily associated. In every one of the heads you immediately recognise the work of an excellent portrait-painter; but in the general conception of the pictures there is frequently something overstrained, particularly in that of Canning.

CHEQUERED LIFE.

ALAS! how joy and grief are mixed
Through all life's chequered hours!
How piercing thorns are ever fixed
Beneath the loveliest flowers!

As to the wildest words of mirth,
The echoes whisper low;

E'en thus there is no bliss on earth
Without its mocking woe.

182

MEMOIR OF THE REV. ROBERT HOGG.

a

POETS and philosophers ever have been, and ever will be, persons of extraordinary appearance: an exterior stamp brands them as distinct species, and, in the great family of man, severs them from the common herd. A born poet is expected to be lame, rickety, or awry; and should he haply possess the use of his limbs, some organic defect must act as a countervailing infirmity, and mark him from the many. Hence, if he be not half blind, he must occasionally be whole mad; or, at least, if he keep caste, he must affect the one or the other at fit seasons.

Philosophers are different altogether. "Unkempt hair," soiled linen, and a constitutional aversion to soap and water, are the grand requisites which characterise this erudite species of the body politic. No matter to what school the individual appertaineth, a well-shaped garment is his abomination; and to the thorough-bred savant shocking bad hat" is indispensable as an air-pump.

a

Generally, poets and philosophers are, after their kind, good and jolly souls. They eschew their potations, eat, drink, and get merry, like ordinary mortals; and, bating an incurable prolixity and desperate attachment to quotation, in every-day society the men pass currently enough.

Two luminaries of the same name, but opposite species, have not long since paid the debt of nature. James Hogg, the shepherd, was extensively known. His native talent, his oddities, and the accidental circumstances which threw him among those who elicited and fostered the rough uncultivated sparklings of his genius, obtained for the Ettrick bard considerable notoriety; while the philosopher, sui generis, the more remarkable personage of the twain, sank to the grave "unhonoured and unsung."

Robert, or, as he was more familiarly called, Robin Hogg, was the son of a dissenting minister, and educated for the profession of his father. That he was a man of both talent and acquirements, his subsequent appointment to be assistant astronomer in the observatory of Armagh, with a small country congregation a short distance from the same city, would sufficiently establish. In Cockle Hill, as his meeting-house was named, his ministry commenced and closed: there the noiseless tenor of his way passed on, and to the grave he carried the respect and affections of his people.

Robin's outer man was rather remarkable. He was a stout, burly, plain-looking personage, dressed in black clothes of a very peculiar cut, with a broad-leafed hat, and silver shoe-buckles of large dimensions. His walk was a singular sort of swing his thumbs were generally inserted in the waistband of his nether habiliment, and, as he rolled along, no stranger would pass on without turning to have a second look at the astronomer.

Robin, like his namesake the bard, was utterly ignorant of the world. His situation as a man of science frequently introduced him into the upper orders of society; but, from his own confessions, Hogg always approached those of higher rank with alarm and distrust, and ever felt a relief when the professional interview had terminated.