e conception. Yet here I would dwell rather on two pictures
which show the splendid simplicity and directness of his strength, the
one a portrait of himself, the other that of a little child called
Dorothy, who has all that sweet gravity and look of candour which we like
to associate with that old-fashioned name: a child with bright rippling
hair, tangled like floss silk, open brown eyes and flower-like mouth;
dressed in faded claret, with little lace about the neck and throat,
toned down to a delicate grey--the hands simply clasped before her. This
is the picture; as truthful and lovely as any of those Brignoli children
which Vandyke has painted in Genoa. Nor is his own picture of
himself--styled in the catalogue merely A Portrait--less wonderful,
especially the luminous treatment of the various shades of black as shown
in the hat and cloak. It would be quite impossible, however, to give any
adequate account or criticism of the work now exhibited in the Grosvenor
Gallery within the limits of a single notice. Richmond's noble picture
of Sleep and Death Bearing the Slain Body of Sarpedon, and his bronze
statue of the Greek athlete, are works of the very highest order of
artistic excellence, but I will reserve for another occasion the
qualities of his power. Mr. Whistler, whose wonderful and eccentric
genius is better appreciated in France than in England, sends a very
wonderful picture entitled The Golden Girl, a life-size study in amber,
yellow and browns, of a child dancing with a skipping-rope, full of
birdlike grace and exquisite motion; as well as some delightful specimens
of etching (an art of which he is the consummate master), one of which,
called The Little Forge, entirely done with the dry point, possesses
extraordinary merit; nor have the philippics of the Fors Clavigera
deterred him from exhibiting some more of his 'arrangements in colour,'
one of which, called a Harmony in Green and Gold, I would especially
mention as an extremely good example of what ships lying at anchor on a
summer evening are from the 'Impressionist point of view.'

Mr. Eugene Benson, one of the most cultured of those many Americans who
seem to have found their Mecca in modern Rome, has sent a picture of
Narcissus, a work full of the true Theocritean sympathy for the natural
picturesqueness of shepherd life, and entirely delightful to all who love
the peculiar qualities of Italian scenery. The shadows of the trees
drifting across t