The Sun.
London, England, 1864-06-06 00:00:00

THE BRITISH INSTITUTION.

%
(VHS I,—A Y•)
On Saturday we had the gratificat::n (according
to annual custom) of attending the Private .:7ew of
the Exhibition opened season after season at the

British Institution—the exhibition for the present
season being opened there to public view this after-
noon—the charming yearly exhibition there, in that
popular gallery of the British Institution, of the
works of Ancient Masters and Deceased British
Artists. Among all the more attractive art-
exhibitions here in London this one in
particular takes high rank year after year
among our especial favourites. Of itself it
annually justifies the design of the whole Institu-
tion under whose auspices it flourishes year after
year with undiminished excellence—it justifies the
design, and partially fulfils it, the whole purpose,
we mean, for which the British Institution was
originally founded, namely, " for promoting the
Fine Arts in the United Kingdom." It does su pre-
cisely, by chastening the taste of the levers of art,
early summer after early summer, by display-

ng to their view fresh collections of the old
masters and of deceased British artists—here, at
52, Pall Mall, gathered together from various col-
lections throughout the country, from the Royal
collections and from private collections. Nearly
200 paintings (exactly 184 according to the cata-
logue) have this year been ranged thus along the
walls of the three specious and lofty apartments,
constituting the gallery of the British Institution.
Immortal artists, masters of all the schools, are there
represented by more or less important specimens
of their own works, and this for the most part by
being very heterogeneous grouped together. Here,
a faded Velasquez (111) representing the Infanta
Margaretta, daughter of Pailip IV.. surrounded by
her ladies and dwarfs, posed for her portrait in the
studio of the painter. This painting, in point of
fact, being a sketch for the picture at Madrid cared
" Las Meninas." Here is a brilliant Carl DJlce
(52) A" Madonna and Guild," the child the love-
liest little baby profile—the lap of the Blessed
Virgin littered with flowers almost giving one
the sense of fragrance. There are several ex-
quisite Hobbimas this year in the gallery, full of
delicious verdure, lit up with sunny atmospheres
of diaphonous beauty. There is a noble Canaletto
(50) the property of the Duke of Buccletzgh, with
lofty exemplars of those wonderously heaped-up
Stones of Venice, dear to the eyes and to the heart
of Mr. Ruskin, stones reflected, from the trefoils of
the parapet to the waveswashed line of the'bases
ment, !n the blue waters of the Grand Canal. Seve-
ral old familiar favourites, favourites familiar to
the world at large for , years and years past
by means of (celebrated engravings, greet one's
delighted gaze here in the form of the veritable
originals. Here, for example is (in 77) that re.
Downed Vandyke, displaying on a single canvass
Three Portraits of Charles L's handsome face, in
half view, in full front, and in profile (of the three
we know not which is the handsomest), the gift of
the unhappy King to the Earl of Stafford, the pic-
ture now belonging to trio Marquis of Lothian.
Here, again, high up (19) is the same nobleman's
Holbein portrait of the great and good Sir Thomas
More, sometime Lord High Chancellor. Here,
too (34) is Holbein's preposterous limning of Henry
VIII., clad in purple-red velvet, jewels and gold,
showing us a grotesque caricature of the " human
face divine," in the outlines of a bloated blubber-
visaged voluptuary. As a refreshing contrast
to which, turn we to (164) Romney's
lovely portrait of that exquisite siren of a woman,

"Lady Hamilton." Gazi❑g at it you might
almost say—lf so she looked—her pretty herd aside,
her rosy, dewy lips riant (laughing from velvet-rea
to a gleam of pearl), one can comprehend at least, it

one cannot excuse the fall of Nelson under the spell
of her witching fascinations. It is the one face of
all, it is the one picture of all that haunts us in
the remembrance as we quit the gallery.

Mr, S, C, Irall's Reminiscences of Distin•

tinguished Authors.

A numerous and fashionable audience assembled
on Saturday afternoon, at the Vestry- hall, High-
street, Kensington, to hear Mr. S. C. lidli,F.S.A.,
relate his reminiscences of literary celebrities with
whom he had been personally acquainted. The
lecture was given for the benefit of the Kensington
Industrial School, and though its delivery occupied
upwards of two hours, it was listened to through-
out with the deepest attention, and the audience
frequently showed by hearty bursts of applause
their appreciation of the intellectual treat which
had been provided for them. In the course of his
long literary career Mr. Hall has had the good
fortune to be brought into personal contact with
most of the distinguished literary men and
women of our epoch; Hannah More, Samuel
Rogers, James. Montgomery, Ebenezer Elliot
Moore, Miss Landon, Mrs. Opie, Lamb, Coleridge'
Allan Cunningham, Hogg the Ettrick Shepherd,
Sydney Smith, Professor Wilson, Miss Mitford,
Wordsworth, Southey, Miss Edgeworth, Mrs;
Hemans, Campbell, Theodore Hook, and Thomas
Hood. Of all these famous men and women Mr,
Hall gave brief, yet discriminative " word portraits,"
intetspersed with characteristic anecdotes. His
listeners were carried in imagination far back into
the last century when he spoke of his acquaintance
with Hannah More, whose familiar talk was of Bishop
Porteus, Dr. Johnson, and Edmund Burke; and
Samuel Rogers, whose first volume of poems was
published in 1786, who had worn a cocked hat when
a boy, and seen Garrick play. EbentzTr Elliot, the
corn-law rhymer, was quaintly described as a man
of iron in frame and understaediog, and also in trade,
for he was an ironmonger at Sheffield. While
speaking of the ill-starred Letitia E. Landon, Mr.
Hall was greatly affected. Her brief career (he
said) was beset with privations, disappointments,
and embarrassments, and she was ever
struggling against poverty. When in the zenith
of her fame, and towards the terrible close of her
life, her personal appearance was highly attractive ;
for though small in stature, her form was remark-
ably graceful, and she paid that attention to dress
which literary women too frequently neglect. In
society she was brilliant, without, being that
dangerous thing, a female wit—playful with the
young, sedate with the old, and reflective with the
middle-aged. The circumstances of her death were
enveloped in mystery, for her husband had since
died, and made no sign. As to the various rumours
about her death, he (Mr. Hall) would not allude to
tbem. He was sure she did not commit suicide,
although he knew that she was most wretched in
her mournful banishment, and most miserable i❑
her changed condition of life, and if her past
career had been gloomy, her future was
very dark. He did believe, however, that
poison was administered by the African woman,
who it was know❑ had been her predecessor. Here
is an amusing trait of Mrs. Opie's character—Mr.
Hall having asked her to furnish a story to a work
which he was conducting, she replied that was
opposed to her principles to write a story, but she
would send an anecdote, and accordingly she nar-
rated an anecdote in such a manner, as rendered it
in effect a very pathetic tale. To follow Mr. Hall
in all his pleasant memories of the illustrious dead
would far exceed our limits; we must therefore
content ourselves with observing that the intrinsic
merits of the lecture were greatly enhanced by the
admirably clear and emphatic manner in which it
was delivered. At its conclusion a vote of thanks
to Mr. Hall was proposed by the Ven. Archdeacon
Sinclair, and carried by acclamation.

ACCIDENT TO A JOCKEY.—A serious accident
occurred two days back at Chantilly to M. Schickler's jockey,
Mortimer. He was exercising Villafranca'in the Mile des
Lions, when the mare fell and rolled over her ridor, who
received injuries internally. He was lying yesterday in an
almost hopeless state.—Galignani
A case of hydrophobia terminating fatally has
just occurred at Joigny (Yonne). A man named Ramond,
the keeper of a wineshop, was bitten on Easter Monday by
a strange dog, which he was driving from under a table in
his house. He at once applied to a medical man, who, not
thinking that the dog was mad, instead of cauterising the
wound, ordered some other treatment. A week ago symp..
toms of madness manifested themselves in Ramond, which
gradually increased in intensity until Thursday night, when
he Expired in dreadful agony.