effect in the objects that surrounded him, alike lay claim to the most unlimited praise.

With these is to be recorded P. Sandby, excellent in architecture and landscape.

Happy were it for us, if we could with equal triumph remove the charge brought against us by other nations, of deficiency in historic painting. It cannot be denied that emulation, the great source of excellence, is less active in this than in the former departments (the cause of which has been already assigned), and that works in the higher provinces of this class, do not constitute the prominent feature of our school.

The pencil of Sir James Thornhill first disclosed the steps of our returning art. The cupola of St. Paul's, and the ceiling of Greenwich hospital, exhibit an ample display of composition, of well arranged and diversified groups; the shipwreck, and the conversion of St. Paul, cannot be slightly estimated in this respect: but he made no effort to enter on any forcible or high expression of mind; all is comprised in general forms. His talents are to be compared, in kind, to those of Pietro da Cortona; but the ceiling at Greenwich may fail in keeping its place, in degree, at the side of that of Barberini, because the Roman painter, like the insect that forms the device of his patron, had extracted more rich and various sweets from the fragrant garden in which he was nursed.

After Thornhill we look in vain for specimens of epic art worthy of notice, almost until the period of the Royal Academy; since whose institution, amidst

the zealous and frequently successful efforts of artists, have been witnessed the ineffectual struggles of historical painting to stem the tide of public neglect. The patronage of our gracious sovereign has, indeed, in a single instance, given employment to historic art; and it is to the exertions made under that illustrious patronage that the fame of British painting owes much of its consequence in all parts of the Continent. Liberal signs of encouragement have also been shewn by the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, &c.; but as these unfortunately are, alike, insulated examples, all have failed of exciting emulation where it was chiefly to be expected,-unless the present be the long-desired, auspicious moment of their influence.

The historical efforts of Reynolds discover beautiful but vague combinations, and impressive but desultory grandeur; these are gems of historic talent which, had they been matured by an easier disposition to the encouragement of the arts, would, no doubt, have risen to a much higher degree of excellence; at the same time it would partake of infatuated partiality to assert, that the compositions or the conceptions of Reynolds would ever have equalled the Homeric poem of the Capella Sistina, or the no less Homeric drama of the Vatican.

In subjects of sportive fancy his productions neither

envy the past, nor fear a future age. In this province, and in domestic or familiar history, the native and characteristic powers of our English painters have been chiefly shewn. At the head of the latter

stands HOGARTH, a painter unequalled in the graphic comedy and farce (if the term may be pardoned) of nature. His eulogy has been so often written, and lately so amply displayed by a learned and noble author, that it would be here superfluous; but it may be allowable to remark, that in the conspicuous prominence of the intellectual and moral properties of his art, in the wit, humour, and patriotism of his scenes, his powers in other professional points have been chiefly overlooked. The picture of the Boys playing on the tomb-stone, at the same time that it lays claim to some of the highest moral historic merits, is an instance of the most skilful, and it may be added, grand composition. In the series of Marriage à la Mode, several of the subjects are painted with a breadth, force, and clearness of colour, which have seldom been surpassed; the Breakfast-Table is the most striking instance of these merits.

Immediately after this great painter, none are to be mentioned in his school, who are not eminently surpassed by the artists now living. In the exhibitions of late years have been seen specimens of genuine humour, worthy to confirm our pre-eminence in a branch of historic art, in which we have once stood so unquestionably without a rival. In compositions of familiar, serious, moral, the present day affords also numerous instances of merit, which will not bow the crest to the interesting naïf pencil of Greuse, or of other foreign painters of the same class; the examples of this kind are the most numerous of any in the class of history in our exhibitions.

In these provinces, therefore, we have much to boast; and, in the class of higher history, the excellent but rare specimens which have been produced during an inferior state of encouragement, authorize a doubt whether our deficiency be not greater in number than in strength.

OTWAY'S ORPHAN.、

"Each salutation may slide in a sin
Unthought before."

YOUNG.

THE plot of this celebrated tragedy, though generally supposed to be invented by the author, is taken from a fact related in a very scarce pamphlet (of which, I believe, only two copies are now to be found) entitled The English Adventurer, published in 1667. The following are the particulars :

The father of Charles Brandon, afterwards duke of Suffolk, retired, on the death of his lady, to the borders of Hampshire. His family consisted of two sons, and a young lady, the daughter of a friend lately deceased, whom he adopted as his own child.

This lady, being singularly beautiful, as well as amiable in her manners, attracted the affections of both the brothers. The elder, however, was the favourite, and he privately married her; which the younger not knowing, and overhearing an appointment of the lovers to meet the next night in her bed-chamber,

he contrived to get his brother otherwise employed, and made the signal of admission himself (thinking it a mere intrigue): unfortunately, he succeeded.

On a discovery, the lady lost her reason, and soon after died. The two brothers fought, and the elder fell. The father broke his heart in a few months afterwards. The younger brother, Charles Brandon, the unintentional author of all this family misery, quitted England in despair, with a fixed determination of never returning.

Being abroad for several years, his nearest relations supposed him dead, and began to take the necessary steps for obtaining his estates; when, roused by this intelligence, he returned privately to England, and for à time took obscure lodgings in the vicinity of his family mansion.

While he was in this retreat, the young king (Henry VIII.) who had just buried his father, was one day hunting on the borders of Hampshire, when he heard the cries of a female in distress, in an adjoining wood. His gallantry immediately summoned him to the place, though he then happened to be detached from all his courtiers; where he saw two ruffians attempting to violate the honour of a young lady. The king instantly drew on them; and a scuffle ensued, which roused the reverie of Charles Brandon, who was taking his morning's walk in an adjoining thicket: he immediately ranged himself on the side of the king, whom he then did not know; and by his dexterity soon disarmed one of the ruffians, while the other fled.