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Rh seem to give into the life and individuality of the period in which it was painted. The painter sits in his studio — an ideal work-room, with half-classical decoration, and black and white tesselated pavement — palette in hand, occupied with mixing his colours, and, at the same time, with an air of quiet absorption glancing down at some studies (evidently for the pic- ture he is at work upon) which lie scattered at his feet. ' The Intruder,' by Metsu, deals with a more frivolous episode ; a cavalier is trying to enter the cluimbre-de-toileltc of two ladies, while a laughing sou- hrclle strives to bar the way. No one seems to take the matter at all seriousl}-. Nothing, in its way, could be finer than the elaborate, yet unlaboured, skill here shown : there is plenty of strong colour, mellow, and of agreeable quality. Perhaps Metsu, more forcibly than any other painter of his school, reminds one of the nationality of Mr. Alma Tadema, there being so marked a similarity in method and technique. Be- tween the Watteaus it would be difficult to choose, many of them are so charming in their own sweet rococo artificiality. But, however artificial they may be, their naivete and freedom from commonplaceness, as well as their historical interest, and the true poetic feeling sometimes suggested in them, must make their excuses even to the sternest of realists. ' The Garden Party in the Champs Elysees,' quite a small picture, is one of the most delightful. It represents one of Watteau's usual graceful al fresco festivities ; a green- wood glade with soft-hued butterfly-like figures, bring- ing to mind the men and women (only in more modern costume) of Boccaccio's Decamerone. One female figure in a yellow gown, half-reclining in the fore- ground, is especially graceful. The ' Music Party ' and the large ' Le Rendezvous de Chasse ' are scarcely less fascinating, and there are several sprightly and agreeable examples of Lancret, notably a group of bathers, a harmony of pearly flesh-tints and draperies set among the greys and greens of a woodland pool. ' A Bacchante,' by Grenze, showing the head and bosom of a young girl, with laughing eyes, and her chestnut curls crowned with vine-leaves, is exceed- ingly graceful. There are also some fine Jan Steeus in this room, a very Rabelaisien Jordaens, an extremely poetic Cuyp — a ' River Scene,' full of clear, golden light, — and one or two comparatively unimportant but masterly Rerabrandts. In the third room, where there are no less than fourteen Rembrandts, mostly portraits, and also portraits by Romney and Gainsborough, we find the veritable triumph of 'the craft that createth a semblance and fails of the heart's desire.' But these ' semblances,' different as they are, should surely more than satisfy the desire of the most exacting of hearts, both as likenesses and from the decorative point of view. Looking at them we feel that they must have been like, and yet there is none of the exaggeration, almost akin to caricature, that exists in some of the portraits by Frank Holl. Among the Rembrandts the most remarkable are the ' Portrait of the Painter ' himself, in a Jewish dress ; the ' Portrait of a Lady,' a beautiful blonde woman, with a grave, sweet face, whose dress is a combination of black and opalescent, shimmering gold and white ; the portrait of Rem- brandt's mother — a perfect marvel of modelling ; the portraits of Susanna Palekan and her daughter — a dark, dignified woman, with something of the Da Vinci smile, and a brown-eyed, fair-haired child ; and 'The Shipbuilder and his Wife.' Great as is the actual archaeological interest of these pictures, and decoratively fine as they are, one is struck more with their wonderful rculilij than by anything else. Here is a living record of those composed and quiet lives in the old Dutch cities,— with all their dulness, and their dignity — not so much painted presentments do they seem to be as the very people themselves. The trifling domestic incident portrayed in ' The Ship- builder and his Wife '-^an old dame, who has just entered by the open door is handing her goodman a letter — stands before us fresh and real and human as though it were actually occurring at the moment. The well-worn quotation, ' Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' can have nowhere more significant application than to the paintings of Rembrandt.

The 'Peasants going to Market,' by Rubens and Suyders, and the ' Marriage of Mars and Venus,' by Rubens (unfinished), are, of course, splendidly drawn, but, equally of covn-se, extremely exuberant, impressing the beholder in much the same way as would barge-loads of immense, over-ripe fruits. It might prove a curious study to trace the evolution of such a fascinating method of portraiture as Romney's from its first beginnings. The portrait here exhibited of Lady Hamilton has a certain amount of crudity, almost coarseness, which is indeed surprising when one considers the simple and refined beauty of his other portraits hanging in the same gallery. In perfect directness and broad sincerity of expression, Mr. Sargent's portraits are akin to Romney's : there is the same simplicity, the same intuitive grasp of the essence of the thing in both, the same deft and solid treatment. Romney's portrait of Miss Sophia Shutz is simply the ideal of lovely and refined colour ; so, indeed, is his portrait of Miss Mellon, who must have been as beautiful a woman as Mrs. Scott Moncrieff (painted by Raeburn), and not unlike to hei". As for his painting of the Countess of Warwick and her children, it must be seen to be ever so faintly appreciated. The colour is perfectly gorgeous, and yet not garish ; and the painting and grouping are worthy of the colour. A dainty and brilliant portrait is that of Mrs. Thomas Scott, by an unknown hand, its vivacious pink-and-whiteness being very pleasant to look upon. What true intimacy with outdoor nature is displayed in Constable's 'View on the Stour,' in which is embodied the actual feeling of a soft spring day after rain, and perhaps with more rain soon to come ! — and how wet