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Rh A gentleman's idea of simplicity always amuses me. I have nothing to say against Nature; and I have no doubt a lady made by her would be a very charming person; but where is unsophisticated nature to be found? where is the beauty, however rustic or rural she may be, without some touch of art? And if nature is to be modelled, let it be by refinement, grace, and education. Again I say, I laugh at your idea of simplicity. It always put me in mind of the heroines in novels, from Sir Walter Scott's Di Vernon downwards. In order to give an idea of beauty unspoiled by art, the heroine's hat falls off, and her hair falls down, while she looks lovely in dishevelled ringlets. Now, they quite forget two things: first, that though the hat may come off, it is by no means a necessary consequence that the hair should come down too; and secondly, if it did, the damsel would only look an untidy fright.

Our English taste for the fine arts may be classed under two heads—ostentatious and domestic. Our nobility and gentry buy fine pictures and statues, as they do fine furniture, to put in fine rooms. They are indications of wealth—articles of luxury—bought far more with reference to what others will think, than to what we ourselves will feel. A gentleman fills his gallery with paintings, and his sideboard with plate, on the same principle. Then, as to objects of art that attain the greatest popularity among us—which are they? Portraits of ourselves, our wives, children, brothers, uncles, nephews, nieces, and cousins. We like paintings of horses, bulls, dogs, &c.; or we like small scenes from common life—children, especially if they are naughty, and a set of breakfast or tea-things, are irresistible. In sculpture, who will deny our preference for busts, or our passion for monuments? What are the casts which enjoy most plaster-of-Paris popularity? Napoleon in his cocked hat—the Duke of Wellington—Tam-o'Shanter and Souter Johnny