last-mentioned work of art, is a representation
of a young lady, as seen when presenting a full-blown flower to a favourite
parrot. There is a delicate simplicity in the attitude and expression of
the damsel, which, though you fail to discover the like in the tortuous
figures of Taglioni or Cerito, we have often observed in the conduct of
ladies many years in the seniority of the one under notice, who, ever
mindful of the idol of their thoughts and affections--a feline
companion--may be seen carrying a precious morsel, safely skewered, in
advance of them; this gentleness the artist has been careful to retain to
eminent success. We are, nevertheless, woefully at a loss to divine what
the allegory can possibly be (for as such we view it), what the analogy
between a pretty poll and a pol-yanthus. We are unlearned in the language
of flowers, or, perhaps, might probe the mystery by a little floral
discussion. We are, however, compelled to leave it to the noble order of
freemasons, and shall therefore wait patiently an opportunity of
communicating with his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex. In the meantime
we shall not he silent upon the remaining qualities of the work as a
general whole--the young lady--the parrot--the polyanthus, and the
chiaro-scuro, are as excellent as usual in this our most amusing painter's
productions.

As a pendant to this, we are favoured with the portrait of a young
gentleman upon a half-holiday--and, equipped with cricket means, his
dexter-hand grasps his favourite bat, whilst the left arm gracefully
encircles a hat, in which is seductively shown a genuine "Duke." The
sentiment of this picture is unparalleled, and to the young hero of any
parish eleven is given a stern expression of Lord's Marylebone ground. We
can already (aided by perspective and imagination) see him before a future
generation of cricketers, "shoulder his bat, and show how games were won."
The bat is well drawn and coloured with much truth, and with that strict
observance of harmony which is so characteristic of the excellences of art.
The artist has felicitously blended the tone and character of the bat with
that of the young gentleman's head. As to the ball, we do not recollect
ever to have seen one in the works of any of the old masters so true to
nature. In conclusion, the buttons on the jacket, and the button-holes,
companions thereto, would baffle the criticism of the most hyper-fastidious
stab-rag; and the shirt collar, wit