ART.

THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

[FOURTH NOTICE.]

IN our previous articles on this Exhibition, we have mentioned the greater portion of the more important pictures, and this week we intend to speak chiefly of the less well-known artists, and any small pictures that attract the eye, either from their merit (or demerit), subject, or treatment. Taking the rooms, then, in order, we notice, first, No. 55, "Love's Confession," by W. Weekes, a humorous little picture enough, of two French peasants telling their simple love-story under the heavy timbers of a bridge, while above them the village cure listens, with evident apprecia- tion. No. 51, "The Hollow Tree," by I. Linnell, sen., differs little from Linnells in general, but is a pleasing landscape, if of a somewhat forced colour. No. 50, "A Morning Reverie," by A. Elmore, is a young lady in white muslin, very much like other young ladies in white muslin, and in no sense of the word worthy of the Academy or the Academician. There is little else in the first room, except a clever portrait of the Bishop of Birmingham, by Pettis, in his purple robe and white lace,—quite the best of Mr. Fettle's portraits this year.

It is always an unpleasant task to find fault with painters who have done their best, but no notice of the Academy would be in any way complete without mention of some of the more glaringly bad pictures, particularly those which appear to offend wilfully, from a deliberately base selection of subject, or a vulgar method of treatment. The besetting sin of English Art at the present time is a tendency to apply all the labour to the acces- sories of the picture, and give but little time or thought to the working-out of any great idea or noble conception. It cannot be too much insisted upon that no amount of harmonised furni- ture and dress will make a picture, but that, on the contrary, the more labour that is bestowed upon the purely artificial sur- roundings, the less likely is the composition to be of any greater value than a magnified fashion-plate or a photographic interior. These remarks apply especially to many of the pictures in the second room, in which there is a superabundance of what may be called the "Clapham School of Art,"—art, that is to say, which is calculated to raise no unpleasant feelings or undue excitement, but whose aim it is to depict trivial incidents of manners and society in as " elegant " a style as possible. The following are excellent examples of this :—No. 65, "Where the Bee Sacks," by Jerry Barret,—a pensive young lady, gazing earnestly at an enormous sunflower. We have no fault to find with the young lady (except that she appears to have no neck), or her sunflower, but why should such a thing be here ? Of the same class is No. 87, "Sitting up Again," by Miss M. Brooks ; and a very horrible picture, entitled, "The New Curate," by D. W Wynfield.

The latter is a representation of the entertainment at tea of a new curate by a group of his lady parishioners, apparently a mother and her two daughters. There is a vague report abroad, which we have failed to trace to any reliable source, that Mr. Wynfield intended this picture as a satire upon Curates in general, but there is nothing to show that this is the case. We should rather imagine that this young priest, with the pink com- plexion, sleek hair, and well-brushed, gigantic hat, stirring his tea with a sacerdotal simper, was painted in all good faith, and thought likely to prove an attractive rendering of an interesting subject. That people can be found to admire or even to tole- rate such a picture as this speaks volumes for the present state of artistic enlightenment in England. What our Gallic neighbours call "the English Meese" stand before this picture and admire

it by the dozen, the daily papers praise it, and the Hanging Com-

mittee place it on the line ; as Mr. Carlyle said, "It's a sad sight !" In this room, also, there is a very extraordinary picture, called "The Princess," by J. C. Dollman,—the subject being taken

from Tennyson's poem of that name,—a very ordinary-looking lady, surrounded by a heap of miscellaneous litter, in which

globes of the ordinary boarding-school pattern stand aide by side with Arab tables and alcherniat's crucibles, while in front of her two leopards, with rose-garlands round their necks, await her pleasure,—a very ambitious and a very unfortunate composition

Let us pass on. "Master Jacky," "The End of the Chase," "After the Dance," "Portrait of a Lady," "Miss Mischief," are

all variations on the same string as the "New Curate." Then comes No. 113, "The Thames," by J. Tissot. Fortunate, indeed, is it that this artist has labelled it so clearly, for, certes, few Englishmen would recognise this chalky abomination as their national river, any more than they would own the un- deniably Parisian ladies in the steam-launch as examples of their countrywomen. Mr. Tissot is another of those artists who have fallen below their former mark. His earlier pictures exhibited at the Academy, though always somewhat cold and unreal in colour, were most carefully drawn, and showed undeniable humour.

This year, however, he has gunk to the lowest style of the genre school. There is absolutely no point either in this picture, or that of "The Convalescent," and no amount of skilful painting of lemon kid-gloves and canvas yachting-shoes will make a picture, if there

is nothing else. Turn from this to No. 141, the "High Mass at a Fish- ing Village," which we mentioned in our last notice, and you have before you the two extremes of feeling in art. The one is a simple subject, elevated by the sincerity and truth of its rendering to the realm of really high art ; the other is also an ordinary subject, degraded by soulless attention to the frivolities of dress till it is utterly devoid of feeling and interest.

In the third gallery, the first picture that strikes us is No. 152, "A Storm at Sea," E. Nicol,—two old sailors, and a woman peering out into the night from the cabin-window. We hardly

think it tells its story sufficiently, and perhaps some people might fancy that a picture called "A Storm at Sea "should

show something of either the sea or the storm, but that is a mere matter of detail. Near this there hangs a contribution, No. 153, by an Academician, so bad that all we can do is to pass it by in silence, and regret that the Academy should have hung it at all.

Proceeding round the room, we come to No. 175, "The Meet- ing of Oberon and Titania," by P. F. Poole, R.A. -This is one of Mr. Poole's moonlight effects, of which he has painted so many. Indeed, of late years this painter has shunned the sun- light, and revelled chiefly in

"A land of love, and a land of light,

Withouten atm, or moon, or night."

The chief part of this composition is a dance of the elves by moonlight, Oberon and Titania being ignominiously thrust into

a corner, and made of even less account than the usual stage

royalties ; in the background are the still waters of a lake and a woodland glade. It is seldom that Mr. Poole paints any picture that has not in it both thought and beauty, but this year he has been unfortunate in his treatment of a somewhat hackneyed subject, and there is little to praise or interest, save the weird contortions of the dancing elves. Close to this is No. 117, "Midday Meal, Cairo," by J. F. Lewis, R.A.,— a gorgeous piece of colour, almost like a page from an old missal in its combination of brilliant hues, but somewhat deficient in interest and confused. Above this hangs one of the most unpleasing portraits of the year, "Mademoiselle

Zare 'Melberg," by J. Sant, R.A. The unfortunate young lady has been posed as an allegorical representation of Fame, the typical laurel-wreath in her hand, clothed in a long white gar- ment, and surrounded by a background of thunderous smoke. Contrast with this pretentious composition No. 457, "Miss Ellen Terry," by J. F. Robertson, a bright, unaffected portrait, and a capital likeness of the popular actress. The three pictures Nos. 192, 193, and 198, all by Academicians, are sad instances of how excessively poor is much of the Academic work this year. The scene from Eugene Aram, No. 201, by A. Elmore, is noticeable as a clever rendering of mist, and the face of the murderous schoolmaster is very powerfully con- ceived. "Coming down to Dinner" (No. 209), J. C. Horsley, is another composition apparently without meaning of any kind. The public are beginning to be aware by this time that Mr. Horsley can paint the intricacies of a ruff, and would like to see him attempt something else. Nos. 213 and 219, by T. Feed, R.A., —single figures, both tame and uninteresting, and singularly poor in colour, compared with Mr. Feed's usual works. No. 221, by H. Johnson, a little landscape of Stonehenge, should be noticed, as well conveying the solitariness of the scene and the impressive desolation of that stone enigma.

In the fourth gallery, a quaint little picture of a shepherd dancing to a flock of goats at Capri deserves some little notice, as an unpretending and clever painting. Close to it is a very trying portrait of the Prince of Wales ; if his popularity can stand such a test as this, it is, indeed, very great ; there is some consolation, however, for him, in the fact that his brother, the Duke of Edinburgh, has suffered even more severely at the bands of G. Soberwein, than he has from H. von Angell, and that is saying much. No. 286, "Her First-born," by Frank Hell. This is a train of mourners following a child's coffin to the grave. Every one is crying, and the picture is undoubtedly pathetic, but, nevertheless, we feel tempted to ask ourselves, what is the use of paintings like this? Is not this constant harping of Mr. Holl's on the one string of death and burial somewhat unworthy of a man? That we should be sometimes reminded of our un- certain tenure is, perhaps, advisable, but that an artist should year after year rack his brains to discover some new way of harrowing our feelings seems morbid. A propos of this subject, there is another picture here of a funeral, in which we only see the backs of the mourners and the inside of several large hats, which they hold behind them. This is realistic painting indeed. In this room there is a fine landscape by V. Cole, which should have been mentioned before. This is No. 308, "The Day's Dee,line,"—a stretch of quiet river, overhung with yellowing woods ; on the left of the picture a steep incline leads the eye to the sky, flecked with the soft, fleecy clouds of evening. This is one of the pleasantest landscapes we have had from Mr. Vie,at Cole for some years, and the coolness and hush of the coming night are very skilfully indicated. Turner, however, would not have thrust the plough in among the grass of the river-bank, where it must inevitably tumble into the water, but left it in the furrow. There is a small picture, No. 328, of wayside life, in this room, by H. Wallis, that should attract attention, called "Outside a Prison, Southern Italy," an Italian peasant-girl playing the violin, while the prisoners listen and smoke behind the bars. There is a repressed look of pain and endurance in her face which lends a grace and pathos to the homely little figure, and the contrast between the insolent ease of the smoking brigands and the quiet toil of the girl is true and strong.

In the next room there is a portrait of the Princess Louise, by R. A. Muller, noticeable only as a portrait of a princess ; and a very fine portrait, by W. W. Onless, of the Hon. Sir R. P. Amphlett, Baron of Exchequer, in his robes of justice. This is one of the strongest of Mr. Onless's portraits, and bears a striking resemblance to the better style of Mr. Millais, in whose studio, we believe, the former painter studied. No. 434, " Gareloch, on the Clyde," is a somewhat sombre effect of twilight on the Scotch hills,—a clever, truthful picture, hung where it is almost impossible to see it. No. 455, "A Lifeboat," by H. Moore,—a bold attempt at rendering the lines of surf on a flat shore, though we doubt whether any lifeboat could have put to sea in the manner depicted.

In the sixth room, besides the pictures that have been already noticed, there is little to detain us. No. 462 is a clever study of water-lilies, painstaking and faithful to nature. No. 478, "Nearing Home," by E. R. Taylor, three sailors looking out of the port on their approach to England, will probably interest many, as these pictures of a somewhat clap-trap sentiment generally do. Indeed, this has already been chosen for engraving by one of our leading illustrated papers. The remaining rooms, including the Water- colours and the Etchings, we must postpone for the present.