fitt grio.
ROYAL ACADEMY.
SECOND NOTICE.
Ix the brief descriptive summary of the exhibition given last week I find I have made some important omissions which it may be as well to indicate before proceeding to a more thorough description and criticism of the works already pointed out. In the North Room will be found Mr. Arthur Hughes's "Bedtime" (598), refined in feeling, but too obviously purple in its general tone of colour, and a powerfully drawn and vigorously painted picture by Mr. W. F. Yeames, called "Rescued" (631), a sailor clambering up a rough wooden pier with a child on his shoulder that he has saved from drowning, while the mother leans frantically forward to
snatch her darling. Beneath this, but in a position which, combined with the artist's studied and singular avoidance of every quality that makes a picture tell in an exhibition, renders its discovery a matter of difficulty, is hung Mr. Clark's " Preparing for Sunday" (633). Two old men, with flute and violoncello, are practising the parts they will have to perform on the next occasion when the services of the village choir will be required. The figure of the mechanic leaning against the window and absorbed in the music is capital in intention. Good, also, is the child who swings absently a crab-shell at the end of a string in time to the air—an unconscious but animated " metronome." Here, too, is " The Jester's Text" by Mr. Marks (643), a fool whose pulpit is the sun-dial, moralizing on the flight of time to the amuse- ment of my lord and his guests. Mr. Brett's wonderfully elaborate study, " Champdry" (650), with some gigantic marigolds in the foreground, and Mr. A. W. Hunt's " Debatable Ground" (684), a landscape of great beauty, though curiously prismatic in colour. Returning to the East Room we may find in Mr. Mulready's "Toy Seller" (73) one of the most signal instances that Academy exhibitions have ever presented of the misappli- cation of great powers. Years of labour have been devoted to the production on a large scale of a s4bject which, if worth painting at all, might certainly have been painted with great& chances of success on a small canvas. A life-sized figure of a Negro, seen to the waist, offers a parchment rattle to the notice of an infant, who shrinks alarmed from the swarthy stranger, and nestles to his mother's bosom. The scene takes place outside a habitation, which may either be a palace or a cottage, for we merely get a glimpse of two large square stones, one of which is intro- duced as a convenient resting-place for baby, while the white surface of the other serves as a foil to a sunflower. It is rumoured that Mr. Mulready has ceased to need or to care for popular applause, and intends henceforth to paint solely for his own gratification, and by giving up an indefinite time to this work to realize as far as possible his idea of perfection in painting. Pity that he has not chosen a worthier theme, as not only is the subject unworthy of him, but it is not even well portrayed. The atti- tude of the negro is rigid and lifeless, the expressions of mother and child are deficient in subtlety and animation, and the landscape background is more Mulreadian than natural, as a glance at those stone-coloured tree trunks, with their false foliage forms, will sufficiently attest. At the same time, there are parts which, for refined delicacy of execution, are scarcely surpassable by any living painter—witness the masterly modelling of the nose and ear of the negro, and the intricate drawing of his bony corrugated hands. The work is manifestly unfinished, the canvas being left bare in many parts, and the flesh-painting of the other figures is, I hope, considered incomplete by Mr. Mulready ; at present it is raw in colour, and the unmodulated lights give an appearance of wetness that were better omitted. The execution of the whole is thin and unsolid, being tinted rather than painted. "The Young Photographers" (78), by Mr. Hardy, is a clever picture, showing some children playing at taking a portrait (with a make-believe camera) of a pretty little girl who is " posed " for the occasion, and holds her cat in her lap; but it is not equal in conception or execution to "The Sweep" (108), by the same painter, which seems to delight artists and public equally. It is a scene which appeals to every one, for who does not remember at some time watching with breathless and half-defined awe, as these little ones are watching, the ascent of the poor sooty urchin up the mysterious and darksome chimney ? and Mr. Hardy has treated it in a most appreciative and gently humorous manner. Mr. Hook follows in the path which won him fame, and few would wish him to do otherwise while he paints so charmingly. There are few artists whose works we should sooner miss than his, possessing, as they do, the peculiar charm of combining perfect freedom from convention, with true and great art. In like manner his execution is so facile, and looks so easy of attainment, as to make one think the mechanical part of painting is mere child's play, -yet who paints light and air so well, or depicts so truthfully the bronzed and ruddy fisherman or farm labourer? "The Acre by the Sea" (81) is the least pleasing of Mr. Hook's three pictures : "The Trawlers" (357) is per- haps the best. In the former the sea may be faithfully represented, but it seems deficient in gradation, and in what Mr. Ruskin calls "the Turnerian mystery of the farther waves;" but water was never more truly rendered than in "The Trawlers," and for imitative truth of colour and surface there is nothing finer in the rooms than the haul of soles, plaice, garnet, and dog- fish, which the fishermen have made, and which, wet and gasping, flap helplessly about the deck. In "Sea Air" (378), a woman with an ailing child, seated in a cart, is being conveyed along a winding road to the sea- shore ; limekiln are scattered about the green and undulating ground, and the fishing-boats lie off the distant beach. Mr. Whistler's ice-bound "Thames" (114), and "Alone with the Tide" (670), are painted with a truth of tone and power of handling that give evidence of having been studied direct from nature. The murky, mournful, gloomy feeling of the first, and the expression of solitude in the second scene, in which a young girl reclining amid the rocks which peer out of a waste of sand is the sole living object, are deserving of all praise. Mr. Horsley's " Checkmate— Next Move" (126) is a crisply painted sunny interior of an old Tudor drawing-room, such as may be seen at Knowle or Haddon. A middle-aged knight and his lady are playing at chess; the lady has the game in her hands, and takes a complacent pinch of snuff as she watches the effect of her last move on the countenance of her opponent. Near to the deeply-mullioned window is a young lady at her tambour-frame, to whom a gallant is making love, and a page arranging some glasses turns from his occupation to watch them from behind a screen. This is just one of the subjects in which Mr. Horsley is at home—in the " Prodigal Son" of last year he was somewhat out of his depth—here he is courtly, sprightly, and amusing. Two other pie- tures in a similar pleasant vein of thought will be found in the Middle Room, "A Hunting Morning" (276), a second reminiscence of the oft-painted Haddon Hall, and " Keeping Company" (325), in which a handsome young rustic is walking shyly, but admiringly, at a distance from the object of his love, who conceals her embarrassment by playfully swaying her handkerchief to and fro. Mr. Elmore still retains the same preference for a class of sub- jects scarcely within the province of the art of painting, which he has before shown in the " Invention of the Stocking Loom" and the " Marie Antoinette" of last season. In the " Invention of the Combing Machine" (185) we see a man seated by the fire turning round to watch a girl comb- ing her golden locks. The expression of his face is more earnest and thoughtful than what in similar circumstances would be found in the features of a mere idle gazer ; but that is all that the pencil can depict. We require the aid of the catalogue to inform us that this is Joshua Heil- van, of Alsace, whom 'seeing his daughter comb her hair is struck by the idea he has long sought in vain—an idea which, by subsequently perfect- ing, results in the invention of a machine which repaid the author, by its general adoption, for all his previous fruitless efforts. Apart' rom this ob- jection there is little to be 'found fault with in Mr. Elmore's able picture, which is simply and soundly wrought in -every part. The attitedeof the girl arranging ha hair is particularly graceful, and the sefiezion of her face in the glass proves that she is (in the language of•the pollee reporters) " a young lady Of considerable personal attractions?' Mr. Webster's " Roast Fig" (142) is liltely to -prove as great a favourite with the public as any of his previous works. The artist has, In making the prime motive of his picture "something to eat," hit on that element of success 'which, whether in an lidelphilaree or an Academy picture, is sere to tell. Who has not noticed the 'flutter of enjoyment with which the densely crowded pit of a theatre bails the raising Of a curtain that displays elaborate preparations for a conifortable meal, or a favourite low comedian 'luxuriating in a repast of beans and bacon? The beat, the -stifling atmosphere, the persistency of the fat old gentleman who for the last three 'hours 'has been taking proof impressions of the spare form of his neighbour-with his own more pliable body, are alike 'forgotten in the glee created by seeing a buffoon utter coarse witticisms with his mouth fall of victuals. So it is with Mr. Web- ster's "Roast Pig." The critics even forget their duty, and-the public fall into raptures. The -writer of the Times' notice seriously speculated as to -whether roast sucking-pig was not alter all one of the greatest boons of existence, and an elate -visit to the Exhibition I heard a gentleman of mature age declare in the most emphatic manner that the dog which Mr. Webster has introduced into 'his picture was superior to anything ever panted by Landseer! Without going so far as this enthusiastic admirer, may say thatthe dog is a very well painted dog, and that he takes almost as lively an interest in the advent of the baker's man, who may be seen through the open window bearing the smoking and cherished luxury, as do the human actors of the scene. And the dog's expectations of enjoyment are far more likely 'to be realized of the two ; he, at least, is certain of the bones ; but there are no less than ten hungry folks, of whom seven are decently-sized children (with proverbial appetites), who have to dine fsfrthal small lump of meat "The Bunch of Blue Ribbons" (144) is a pretty and well- drawn study of a girl arranging the same in her hair, isrldr.E. T. Poynter. The painter's name is new to me, but we may confidently look for some great things by him one day if he continues as he has commenced. Mr. A. Johnston becomes more insipid and insufferable every year. Humanity has no Interest for him beyond its capacity of receiving sharply-touched Tights and strongly-defined shadows. He thinks perpetually of tricky and dainty execution, and seldom or never of the minds or hearts of the beings be has to represent. In 3ciim Anderson, my Jo" (158) there is a plen- tiful lack of sentiment, scarcely redeemed by the glossiness of the light on the old man's forehead. Mr. Johnston is not more successful when desding with the countenance of Burns himself than he is when illustrating his poetry. The truth of this statement may be tested by an inspection of " Burns and Highland Mary" (295). The painter, a compatriot of the author of " Tam o'Shanter" and " Holy Willie's Prayer," has failed in imparting any more interest to his features than can be gained by flickering lights and neatly-defined shadows. Of Mr. Frith's portrait of st homes 'Creswick, Esquhn, B.A." (10), I can only say that it bears a striking resentblance to the original, and that it is very well painted. Be- tween this and Mr. F. R. Pickersgill's " Return of the Crusader " (178), a dilapidated gentleman, the calves of whose legs multitudinous wanderings have not tended to develop, is hung a tiny and sweetly-painted figure of "Juliet" (180), by Mr. F. Smallfield. The daughter of the 'house ofCapulet 19 extinguishing a lamp as she views the departing form of 'her Romeo, and the cold beams of morning break through the aperture of the window by which she stands, exclaims, " My only lave sprung from my only hate," d.c. The next picture calling for special remark is Mr. Millais' " Ran- som ;" but, as it is one which cannot be dismissed with a few brief sen- tences, and one which, whatever its demerits, does not deserve to 'be tagged at the end of an article, its consideration must be reserved urttl
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