aufort" disappoints; so large a space of
canvass uncouthly filled up, rather injures the intended expression in
the cardinal. Has the demon been painted out, or has that part of the
picture changed, and become obscure? But we will not notice particular
pictures; having thus spoken so much of the general effect, we should
only have to repeat what we have already said.

The Middle Room is a collection of old masters of many schools, and
valuable indeed are most of these works of art. There is a small
landscape by Rembrandt, "A Road leading to a Village with a Mill,"
wonderfully fine. It is the perfect poetry of colour. The manner and
colouring give a sentiment to this most simple subject. It is a village
church, with trees around it. This is the subject--the church and
trees--all else belongs to that--we see dimly through the leafage--we
read, through the gloom and the glimmer, the village histories. The
repose of the dead--the piety of the living--all that is necessary for
the village home, is introduced--but not conspicuously--and nothing
more; here is a house, a farm-house, and a mill--a village stream, over
which, but barely seen, is a wooden bridge--the clouds are closing
round, and such clouds as "drop fatness," making the shelter the
greater--a figure or two in the road. There is great simplicity in the
chiaroscuros, and the paint is of the most brilliant gem-like richness,
into which you look, for it is not flimsy and thin, but substance
transparent--so that it lets in your imagination into the very depth of
its mystery. No painter ever understood the poetry of colour as did
Rembrandt. He made that his subject, whatever were the forms and
figures. We have made notes of every picture, but have no room, and must
be content with selecting a very few. Here are two fine sea-pieces by
Vandervelde and Backhuysen. We notice them together for their unlikeness
to each other. In the latter, "A Breeze, with the Prince of Orange's
Yacht," there is a fine free fling of the waves, but lacking the
precision of Vandervelde. There are two vessels, of nearly equal
magnitude, and not together so as to make one. We are at a loss,
therefore, which to look at. It is an offence in composition, and one
which is never made by Vandervelde--often by Backhuysen; and not
unfrequently are his vessels too large or too small for the skies and
water. "The Breeze, with Man-of-War," by Vandervelde, is, in its
composition, perfect. It is the Man-of-W