retributive and inevitable death. The amazon has a drapery from the loins half way down the thigh; consequently all the material outlines are nude. The left leg falls into its natural position, the right is drawn back to avoid the tiger's claws, and holding herself on by her knee, it passes back to the horse's hind quarter. The work looks like bronze, and the composition is by A. Kiss, of Berlin, and is the most interesting and magnificent piece of (I suppose I may say) sculpture of the heroic style in the Exhibition. It stands on a pedestal above five feet in height, so that you see it agreeably. Near this is a dog, standing, and looking to his left, size of life, with all the truth and quietness of honest nature, by L. Frebel, of Berlin. Beyond are two horses, modelled from Arabians of the King of Wurtemberg, by L. V. Hoffer, of Stuttgart. Their attitudes are taken from the group of Castor and Pollox on the Capitoline hill at Rome; and, as such, each is attended by the rough rider who is to break his steed in; and, apparently, each will have much to do ere that is done. The horses are in the attitude of rearing, and this attitude is obtained by support under the body, which, to a certain extent, injures the effect, for no credulity of imagination can reach to a propped vitality of existence. But shutting your eyes to this, they have great life and spirit; but it is the spirit of fun and enjoyment, young life bounding upwards in reckless frolic. You are to imagine that the grooms are acting upon them by a pantomime of striking them with clenched fists; and, this allowed, the bipeds, who are fine, animated, powerful and graceful figures, may be supposed, of course, very "knowledgeable" in the management of horses. Miss Saunders Forster. Yours affectionately, R. SAINTHILL. (Written in pencil.) The Royal Academy. 6 May, 1851. MY DEAR CHARLOTTE,-The lion picture is McClise's "Caxton shewing Edward the Fourth the first specimen of his Printing in England." The king is looking at the open page; in his front are the two boys; next the king stands the queen, in her front a daughter; behind the queen, to her right, a nobleman who is peering over her shoulder approvingly; by the king's left another courtier, who is puzzled and not satisfied; Caxton is pointing to the book, which the printer's boy is extending before the king; still further to the left is a nobleman in complete steel armour, which you require to touch to satisfy yourself that it is not burnished steel, nothing short of that would seem to convince you. The king's outer dress is a scarlet robe, ermined and embroidered, and a scarlet cap; his inner vest is ornamented with jewelry, white roses and knots interchanging. The queen's similar, but softened by a veil. All the jewelry, and accessories, timber (of the machinery), lead (letter types), steel, &c. are pure realities. The King is seriously meditating, the Queen in quiet wonderment, the Prince of Wales and his sister trying to comprehend, the Duke of York looking over the book and seeing nothing. Contrasted with them is the printer's boy; a profile, strong, healthy, and intelligent, but awfully impressed with the royal presence. The royal children are very handsome, their hair long and beautifully disposed. The commonalty boys are short close-laid crops. There are a variety of persons of all classes introduced, right and left, to fill up the picture; which, by being here before the doors opened, I have been enabled to see, and quietly study and enjoy. Cromwell after the Battle of Naseby, reading letters of Charles the First, found among the spoils. Principal figures, Cromwell and Fairfax, on horseback, both in the full armour of the day, the horses very beautiful, Cromwell's grey. Over this, also by Landseer, a group of Three Mules, an Ox, and an Horse, feeding together, little more than their heads seen, as large as life; a large dog resting his head on the trestle that the basket they are feeding from rests on. All alive, and with much characteristic difference of expression. The ox has a double wreath of flowers on his face (may I call it ?)-scene, Italy. Another picture, beautifully painted and composed, is Hogarth brought before the Governor of Calais as a Spy, for having sketched its gates, by Frith. A bar is across the room, within which sits the Governor on a raised dais or post of honour, before him a table with books, &c. his secretary, with a pen in his mouth, presenting to the Governor a letter found on the prisoner, directed "Mr. W. Hogarth, London," which, of course, he supposes to be a discovery of the Plot that must exist. He is an old gentleman, wrinkled up to cracking the surface of his skin from intense alarm. The Governor is a specimen of the old French high noblesse of Hogarth's day, a splendid aquiline countenance: quiet, composed, and noble. He has on a purple velvet coat, which is from the loom, and not from a paint brush. Behind him stands a young handsome military officer, who is examining Hogarth's drawing, and is in intense but suppressed mirth at the idea of its being considered military. His, and the uniforms of the two soldiers who have Hogarth in custody, is white turned up with green, and as actually of cloth and embroidery as the Governor's. In the opposite centre stands Hogarth with a sketch-book of caricatures open, which excites the very quietly expressed risibility of one of the soldiers; the other is engaged keeping off some one who seems English, and is holding forward a paper. Hogarth's dog (like Punch's) is with his master, both quite unconcerned. Another Englishman stands beyond Hogarth's guard, to his right. Then a person explaining to a terrified priest the dreadful plot of the "Perfide Albion." And crushed against the wall, dying with curiosity, but unable to see the prisoner, are two French girls, paysannes apparently, young, handsome, and arch; one on tiptoe and striving to look sideways, the other keeping off her companion, as well as she can, and with great good humour, from making her "as flat as a flounder." Yours affectionately, Miss Saunders Forster. RD. SAINTHILL. London, 13 May, 1851. Yesterday we had a regular downfall of rain, and there were divers tokens of wet in the galleries of the Exhibition, but the glass continued rising with the rain, and to-day it is absolutely summer. The market gardens are one "vastly" green, and the apple trees are blushing from faint pink to deep crimson, as we may fancy they might do were they damsels, and "the question" more hesitatingly or more boldly put; while the cherry trees, like brides of quality, are veiled in spotless white from head to foot. I am getting through a great deal of reading. Benjamin of Tudela, and Finn's Separdhim, or History of the Jews in Spain, are among my present studies. The translator of Benjamin was an English clergyman, 1784, a very learned bigot, who, had he lived in Benjamin's time, I suspect, would have burned his subject, body and bones, instead of translating his writings. He assumes, for he can have no proof, that Benjamin never travelled at all, but compiled only; that he may have compiled some, is very probable. We can hardly suppose but that much of the Marvels of Sir John Mandeville may be what he heard; we are sure he could not have seen all he relates. But no one doubts but that Sir John did travel, and so I should say of Benjamin. In Spain, the Jews were only in peace while the Mahometans were uppermost. Before and after, the Christians were too anxious for their getting to heaven to allow them any enjoyment on earth. SUNSET: SEEN AND NOTED ON THE DECK OF THE STEAMER, BETWEEN HOLYHEAD AND KINGSTOWN, THIS 29TH JULY, 1850. Carrying my eye along the wide waste of sea-green waters, and unable to define where the horizon ended and the heavens began, it at length rested on a platform of clouds of purple tinged with red, over which extended another space of clear light green, with slight threads of gold sparingly embroidered across it. The effect was mild quietness personified. Over this lay a broad line of reddish gold, with a dark purple streak through its centre; and this abutment supported an ascending and, to the spectator, an approaching arch of gold, formed by small horizontal clouds piled over each other like molten unburnished blocks of gold, with a reddish tinge, the extreme brilliancy lessening in its intensity as it ascended, with a bluish grey cloud overtopping the whole, and affording one of the most brilliant yet peaceful sunsets that I have ever witnessed. R. S. MISS SAUNDERS FORSTER TO RICHARD SAINTHILL. Hotel Wagram, Rue de Rivoli, MY DEAR UNCLE,-We changed our minds, and did not leave London until Friday morning at half-past five. We arrived here at six in the evening, and, after enjoying Mr. Boulter's excellent coffee, set off for a walk round the Place de la Concorde and Champs Elysées; the former is certainly splendid, and the perspective from thence up to the Tuileries and down the Champs Elysées was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. We have been to Versailles, and, it being a fête day, the great waters were to play; there were to be also a review, races, and a flower-show, in fact no end of gaieties; it was "l'embarras des richesses," so we went to the Gallery of Horace Vernet's pictures, and I never was more delighted; they are splendid,—a completely different style to what I had expected to see. One of the regiments which had served in Algeria was allowed in, and I was very much interested at their remaks on the pictures of the battles they had been in; one said to another, pointing to a wounded officer, "Voila notre Major, il tomba dans mes bras." They were a fine set of men, and had evidently seen very hard service. After seeing the pictures we went into the flower-show, which was in the gardens; the flowers were arranged in beds of sand, and an exquisite fountain in the centre had all kinds of water-plants placed round it in circles. I was very deep in these, when a Chamberlain came up to me and said, “Madame, voulez-vous faire place pour l'Imperatrice?" I turned round, rather surprised, and there were their Majesties close beside me, chatting |