the usual heat of gas. This gallery
is peculiarly rich in paintings of the Spanish school. Among them are
two superb Murillos, taken from convents by Marshal Soult, during the
time of his career in Spain.

There was a painting by Paul de la Roche of the Earl of Strafford led
forth to execution, engravings of which we have seen in the print shops
in America. It is a strong and striking picture, and has great dramatic
effect. But there was a painting in one corner by a Flemish artist,
whose name I do not now remember, representing Christ under examination
before Caiaphas. It was a candle-light scene, and only two faces were
very distinct; the downcast, calm, resolute face of Christ, in which was
written a perfect knowledge of his approaching doom, and the eager,
perturbed vehemence of the high priest, who was interrogating him. On
the frame was engraved the lines,--

"He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement of our peace was upon him,
And with his stripes we are healed."

The presence of this picture here in the midst of this scene was very
affecting to me.

The company now began to assemble and throng the gallery, and very soon
the vast room was crowded. Among the throng I remember many
presentations, but of course must have forgotten many more. Archbishop
Whately was there, with Mrs. and Miss Whately; Macaulay, with two of
his sisters; Milman, the poet and historian; the Bishop of Oxford,
Chevalier Bunsen and lady, and many more.

When all the company were together Lord Shaftesbury read a very short,
kind, and considerate address in behalf of the ladies of England,
expressive of their cordial welcome. The address will be seen in the
Morning Advertiser, which I send you. The company remained a while after
this, walking through the rooms and conversing in different groups, and
I talked with several. Archbishop Whately, I thought, seemed rather
inclined to be jocose: he seems to me like some of our American divines;
a man who pays little attention to forms, and does not value them. There
is a kind of brusque humor in his address, a downright heartiness, which
reminds one of western character. If he had been born in our latitude,
in Kentucky or Wisconsin, the natives would have called him Whately, and
said he was a real steamboat on an argument. This is not precisely the
kind of man we look for in an archbishop. One sees traces of this humor
in his Historic D