a contrast in the subject underneath, by C. W. Cope, the

"Surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate."

We remember Mr Coxe's "Union House," exhibited last year, and acknowledge his hand here. It is a surly porter indeed, and his pampered dog, looking in contempt upon the group of want, the elder of whom in her misery shrinks shocked as she evidently hears the imperative abuse of

nomen."

If times were altering in Goldsmith's days, could he now be allowed a day's sojourn, would he not think he had himself been prophetic, when he lamented the change? Could he see monopolists of wealth systematically at war with "rural mirth and manners ?" Could he see the Trains hourly starting, and the agriculturist threatened with every innovation and ruin? Would he not again exclaim, and quote his own prophetic lines, made ere there was an "up or down train" in motion :

"But times are altered, trade's unfeeling

train

Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain." How would he have deplored to

see

"Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,"

denied even that-and human affections disunited, in houses falsely called "Union houses." But we must pass on. Nor can we dwell upon the "tangling walks and ruin'd grounds." Faithful in their melancholy are the touches of Stonehouse's etchingand the returning "Traveller," by the hand of Redgrave, after his wanderings "round this world of care," with the sun setting upon his hopes, the subject above telling what he will meet with, must be allowed to pass on and hope no more. The Fireside and the Hunted Hare are excellent illustrations. In No. IX. we have first an outline, by John Bell, the "Youth of Labour," in two sturdy mowers, and opposite the " Age of Ease," an honest reposing grandfather leaning on his staff; and beneath a sheltering oak, and between this representation of age and youth, is the rural blessing, the home of comfort, and the wife and children. And what

odious spell taken off by the hand that laid it on. So in the next plate Mr Cope has etched, and sweetly is it composed, "the swain responsive as the milkmaid sung." Then follows Plate XII. rich with three subjects. "The Noisy Geese," by C. Stonehouse, must have been sketched from nature; the creatures have the very lazy walk, and various poke of neck. "The Playful Children just let loose from School," form an admirable group of fun and play. We hear the T. Webster obstreperous mirth. must have watched well the ways of the urchins. The abandonment to sport and idleness with which the "cock of the school" throws himself upon his companions must have been from nature, and joyous and delightful nature too-and the lonely dog beneath baying the wind is in good contrast. No. XIV. represents the "Village Preacher's modest mansion," by Creswick-and the Village Preacher himself, by Cope. The scene and the man suit well. It is indeed a benign face. What tender feeling is there in that deep-set eye! How placid and benevolent is the expression about the mouth, bespeaking one "more bent to raise the wretched than to rise!" Having thus seen the very photographic of the good parson, and knowing his every feature, look at him in his acts of kindness. Plate XV. There are two subjects, both exquisitely told-the "Relieving the Vagrant's wants," by Cope, and the "Spendthrift and Beggar Guests," by Redgrave, A.R.A.

Turn to

The vagrants evidently" know" the house

"The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,

Whose beard descen ding swept his aged breast;

The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,

Claim'd kindred there, and had his

claims allow'd."

There indeed sits the beggar, as in the house of charity, his home, and lame and rheumatic as the old man is, in the easiest chair: he feels, too, at home, and that, if he were not by nature, by habit, by taste, an incurable wanderer, it might be his home. There he sits, venerable in his poverty and his experience, and in the consciousness that he has yet knowledge to impart, picked up in that school whose learning comes best second-hand and opposite to him sits the spendthrift, now indeed no longer proud, and is even half ashamed in the presence of goodness of the dress that yet indicates his better condition; and he is judiciously placed opposite the aged beggar, that he may look upon his rags and infirmities, and see to what further humility he may be brought if he mend not his ways. And the kind good parson be tween them, "as a golden mean" plainly told-listening, and with heart full of kindness, ready to give comfort to body and to soul, and offering with pointed hand his hospitable and simple fare. How beautiful, how true is all this to the perfect feeling of the poem! Nothing can be finer conceived than the aged beggar. There are indeed infirmities about him, but no deformity. He is rich, but has a greatness about him in his utter misery. Michael Angelo would have looked back at such a beggar had he passed him, and remembered him too. We must reluctantly pass over the "Soldier guest," and the good man teaching and caressing the childrenand the deathbed scene by Redgrave, with the accompanying suitable outline by Bell beneath it. But we must not hastily quit No. XVIII. Here we have the "Church"-the exterior and interior. The former by Creswick, reposing in the quiet and religious moonlight, still and solemn. Below it, how different! There is here the awakening voice-the stillness is past the watcher is at his post-and here we at once acknowledge the hand and genius of Redgrave.

"At church, with meek and unaffected

grace,

His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double

sway,

And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray."

Who could so well have portrayed and shown to the life that "the foolishness of fools is folly!" The two fools entering are most happily characterised their very gait and turn of every limb and every feature is folly-and scoffing folly too-but we see what they will come to. A little before them is one brought to consider his ways, and at the turn of the seat we see an aged woman, and she has many a day sat beneath the good man's desk, and the tones of his voice speak comfort to her; and beyond are many kneeling figures-and the nearer we come to the good parson the more we are in the precincts of religious light and love. This only requires to be enlarged and painted as Mr Redgrave can paint it, to make a most admirable picture.

You have then looked at the parson, the good parson; you will know him any where, and may you often meet with him; and when you do, reader, though he have but Forty Pounds a-year," and he be rich with that, remember that he has better riches, and ask his blessing; though he, too, may say, "silver and gold have I none," he will still give you his blessing, and you may walk by it. But there is another village character you would see-the schoolmasterand there he is-turn to Plate XX. Well done Webster A. R. A!—you have been to school-you know both boys and master. You have studied such a master-and under him tooyou have never forgotten him, and now perpetuate his kind, stern, arithmetical face-you see the pride of penmanship in his eye; many a quill has he cut, that discerning eye measuring it along the length of his nose the mouth, too, how practised is it to turn to jest-the grave jest, or to assume severity! You have certainly, Webster, hit the master, and just as he is going to hit the boy. Then follow, in the next plate, two groups of the Village Schoolboys in School, (how true to nature!) by Webster the one evidently while the master is in, the other while he is out of school, or mayhap jocose-and they are the same boys-boys and master are both masterpieces. You must be well acquainted with the village the Poet wishes it-so just leaving the good parson to finish his argument with his group of peasants,

all friends, true Christian friends, just step over the way, or turn over to the next plate-it is the same thing-and see the Village Ale-house. Creswick does not choose to tell the sign, and that is good, for Goldsmith does not; but he shows you it is respectable, shaded by delightful trees, and the ale needs no other bush, and there is a seat under the old tree, and a gathering too; it is tempting without and within, and so, while Mr Creswick is "licensed" on the premises outside, his friend Redgrave walks in, and you see his sketch of the famous interior, for the artist loves, not "stoops to trace,

"The parlour splendour of that festive place,

The white-wash'd wall, the nicely-sanded

floor;

The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the

door

The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose:

The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,

pose, and the flash of pleasure, enjoyments of the luxurious. Both have performed their tasks well. We cannot pass over Plate XXVIII., but must "look on that picture and on this." Cope is great in his contrast, his first figure was so good, none would cope with him, and he was compelled to take both in hand-and so it was best.

"As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,

Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies,

Nor shares with art the triumph of her

eyes.

But when those charms are past, for charms are frail,

When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress."

The quaint old maid with the affected gait is excellent, and the antiquity of the fashion judicious. When Stonehouse etched the Common Councillors, the geese walking in procession their parochial boundaries, he

gay,

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,

Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row."

They are all there, how pleasantly familiar!-as yet the village club have not arrived, but Mr Redgrave has not forgotten to leave a jug of the "Nutbrown" for the first comer-the farmer, the barber, the woodman, and the smith, will soon arrive, for you may see them turning round the corner of the next plate; and here has Townsend taken the cup kissed by the "Coy

maid." He has taken "his wet with a dry point, and worked a deliciously rich effect into the little etching-and under it, Horsley's Masquerade offers a gayety that makes the "chaste moon pale. Nor does he omit, (in the next plate,) the distrusting maiden returning from "fashion's brightest arts," and asking "if this be joy."

The splendour of wealth must be shown to contrast with simple village ornament and manners. Stonehouse, therefore, is called upon to sketch the park scene and the lake; and Tayler the hunting scene-the indolent re

and her foal, so beautifully etched in Plate XXIX.; they are quite perfect. The donkey's history is in the very face-half patient half sulky, and with a thought of pity for the certain lot of her young one, that can as yet doze without pain in every joint; and the "Pale Artist," by Horsley, plying his sickly trade with his family about him, turns the moral from the asinine to human patience. Then follows an admirable Plate by the same artists, Stonehouse and Horsley.

"Here, while the proud their long-drawn There the black gibbet glooms beside the pomps display,

way."

Nothing can be better than the stir, and confusion, and glare of the arrival at the rout. We seem to hear the very cries of the coachmen in attendance, while the richly-dressed and voluptuous visiters step from their carriages into the "Dome of Pleasure, little heeding the ill-clothed misery that is shrinking from the show. The moral stands above it-the gloomy gibbet. "The shivering female gives rise in the next plate to a sweet scene of village innocence, listening to a tale of distress

"She once perhaps, in village plenty bless'd,

Has wept at tales of innocence distress'd." The slight sketch of the interior, with its spinning wheel and bird, and the domestic peace and industry, heighten the pathos of the coming desolation, by its contrast with those foreign and homeless wildernesses, to which the once happy villagers are doomed; and accordingly, we see in the two following plates, very poetically expressed, the lonely wild, by Stonehouse, contrasted with a gentle home-group by Bell, the intricate and tangled forest by Creswick, and the crouching tiger, by Stonhouse, waiting its prey :—

"Where, at each step the stranger fears to wake

The vengeful terrors of the vengeful

snake."

The very tree seems to grow from poison roots, and shoots out branches to grasp and twine around the hap

less wretch that shall come within its reach. The mad tornado is not forgotten in all its horror-how different from the few trees and peaceful cattle that are beneath it-and more than all, Redgrave's beautiful "covert of the warbling grove,"

"That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love."

Cope's parting scene is very touching; and the old man and his daughter's visit to the flower-decked grave of the wife and mother (by Redgrave,) show that the double woe of the parting is from the graves of the dead and the homes of the living; and this poetic feeling is continued till, in No. Xxxvii, we have first, above, by Redgrave, the luxurious banquets, diffusing

"Pleasures only to destroy;"

and below it, by Creswick, a ship at anchor, glooming dark against a setting sun, to convey the exiles to foreign shores. Hence all is gloomy enough, and the "finis," the barren promontory lashed by the angry waves, and defying both elements, stands an emblem and monument of "self-dependent power."

The feeling of the artist is throughout in unison with the poet. The Deserted Village should henceforth be read with this pictorial commentary; and we hope many an illustration in the same spirit with this will employ the talents of the Etching Club. It may be quite unnecessary to recommend one, but it is very obvious that Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard, is a subject well worthy their consideration; and out of poetry, in what work can we find so much true character to portray, and surrounded with such an interest, as in Wakefield? We could wish Maclise the immortal Goldsmith's Vicar of were added to the Etching Club. He and Redgrave are most powerful in this new walk of the English school, the "elegant familiar," which almost seems to have originated with them, so unlike are they in their faithful manner of treating such subjects to any that have gone before them; and on which style we could almost be tempted to make some remarks, but we must forbear for the present, or we might be led into a wider field than would be suitable to the present occasion.

We would yet venture to give one hint, that if the etchings were a little larger in future illustrations, and the letter-press a little more discernible, there would be a wider field for the power of the artists, and the power of the reader's eyes might be less taxed.

VOL. LI. NO. CCCXV.