The Sun.
London, England, 1856-05-13 00:00:00

'flak SUN, LONDON, TUESDAY .EVENINO-, MAY LS, 1866

sought for will be satisfactory. Lord PALMERSTON
also may be looked to. The public certainly are
entitled to know how that which he described aA
a tyrannical interference with the rights of con-
science one day should become something worthy
of approval the next. The "Minister of England"
bow his neck to a tyrannical yoke—it is hard to
conceive it ! He must be called on to disperse
all doubt about the matter.

Pending these inquiries, it may be deemed
premature in us to say—the Sabbatarian yoke is
being riveted more firmly than ever—and, unless
the population break the back of Exeter Hall, by
a grand demonstration, followed by persevering
effort, to "no Music in the Parks" will, before
long, be added, "No Railway nor Steam Excur-
sions," "No pleasure on the Sunday at all for
the sodden population !" The old women of
Exeter Hall have so decreed it ! and the Ministry
is the puppet of Exeter Hill. Is it not mon-
strous that a small section of the population
should impose their yoke, in a matter of conscience
and health, ou the rest ! Will the people follow
LUTHER'S advice, under such circumstances, and
sing, dance, 45c., in the Parks next Sunday ?

PHOTOGRAPHIC LIKENESSES.

BY JOHN WATKINS.

Occasionally we have found it particularly in-
teresting, when at leisure, to turn out of the dust
and glare of the streets into the shady saloon of
one of our popular photographic establishments.
We don't mean, of course—be sure of that !—by
the word " popular," those miserable little hole-
in-the corner portrait-shops, where the TroXXot are
coolly tempted in to have their heads " taken off"
for a shilling ! We allude to first class establish-
ments, where the photographic art is practised in
its nearest approach to perfection, as, let us say
for example, at Claudet's, or at Mayall's, or at
Watkins', down in the neighbourhood of the Le-
gislative Palace at Westminster. We will take
by way of illustration the last-mentioned gallery,
opened, we may observe, to public inspection every
week day from sunrise to sundown, at 34, Par-
liament-street—it being, we believe, the very first
place of the kind established in Londe n by a profes-
sional photographer. Originally, as 43. indeed until
very, reccntly, the gallery here alluded to constituted,
so to speak, the head-quarters of Mr. Beard, the
well-known patentee—who may be described by
the way as having assumed in England a position
in relation to M. Daguerre analogous in a great
measure to that occupied nearly four centuries
ago by Master Caxton (curiously enough within
arrow shot of 34, Parliament-street, namely,
within the precincts of the Abbey Sanctuary) in
reference to that ingenious burgher of Mentz,
Herr Gottenburg ! Ultimately—judging of his
ability from those examples of his skill which we
have recently had the satisfaction of examining—
a not unworthy successor of this Caxton or Wyn-
kyn de Worde, among our English Photographers,
has appeared in the person of the present Artis
Proprietor of what was (as we have seen) until
very lately Mr. Beard's original photographic
establishment at Westminster.
As a mere intellectual lounge, and as affording
any one the means of gratifying a very pardonable
curiosity, Mr. Watkins' Gallery in Parliament-
street will more than repay, we are satisfied, a
very careful and piecemeal examination. Apart
from the intrinsic beauty of the photographic
specimens there collected together as examples of
a very novel and wonderful art, they number
amongst them the " couuterfeit presenti-
ments," the life-like portraits, the all
but breathing effigies of some of the
most interesting among our living celebrities.
This—for ourselves, at least—constitutes the
principal charm of the collection. Celebrities
they chance to be, too, of the most diverse cha-
raccer imaginable. Here, for example, is the
wise, quaint, wonderful face of Lord Brougham
—with the Scotch burr (if the pun may pass)
sticking visibly and tenaciously to every lineament.
And here, cheek-by-jowl with it, are the rather
sour-looking features of Lord Malmesbury,
reminding us by its incongruous imperial (through
an association of ideas no less incongruous) of the
chivalrous policy in regard to France, inaugurated
(be it ever remembered to his honour) by the
noble earl, in spite of the sneers and vituperations
of those who a little while afterwards emulated
the statesman-like sagacity displayed by him
during the few months in which he, fortunately
for England, held the seals of the Foreign Depart-
ment. Yonder is the venerable but curiously
senile countenance of the Archbishop of Canter-
bury, and yonder, again, not very far from the
Protestant Prim ate, the portly form and
burly aspect of the modern Wolsey, Nicholas Car-
dinal Wiseman, the chief of the Roman Catholic
Church in England ! At one moment we are
face to face with Sir Samuel Peto, the enterprising
architect of more fabrics than the great fabric of
his own fortunes, but of none among them all
more remarkable in its way, or more honourable to
his extended and elevated reputation. At another
we are noting the facial curves (for angles there
are none) discernible in the contour of the manly
similitude of his Grace the Duke of Leeds. Here,
judicially wigged, as befits his honour the Recorder
of Hull, is the thoughtful and impressive likeness
of Mr. Warren, the eminent novelist, recently
elected M.P. for Midburst—but still to us most
notable among all his clustering honours (includ-
ing those of the prodigious horsehair ringlets worn
by him in his robes as a Queen's Counsel), still to
us we say most notable as the author of the
" Diary of a Late Physician" and " Ten Thou-
sand a Year," as the creator of sweet Kate
Aubrey, of Oily Gammon the astute, and of
Tittlebat Titmouse the inimitably ridiculous.
Here is M. W. Balfe, one of the most original and
graceful of living melodists ; and here W. H. Rus-
sell, the brilliant and masterly Times' Correspon-
dent. Yonder is the " Old Dozey" of the House
of Commons, Mr. Brotherton ; and yonder again
the Mrs. Glover, of the Princess's clever Mrs.
Winstanley. This before us is the handsome appa-
rition of the staunch, radical, reforming knight
Sir Joshua Walmsley ; and this again, with the
elf-lock drooping oddly over his forehead, the
perennial, teetotalising, caricaturist George Cruik-
shank. As for artists generally, their effigies abound
in Mr. Watkins' Gallery. There is Foley of the
"Inc) and Bacchus," Sant of the " Praying
Samuel," Frith of Home-life, Ward of the Revo-
lutionary, Goodall, our younger Wilkie, and Gil-
bert, the prolific and inexhaustible, with others of
various note, including Dyce, Gibson, Knight,
Ross, and Macdowell. Have we not enumerated
the names of men-of-mark, enough both in diver-
sity and importance, to justify what has been
already said as to the interest attaching to this par-
ticular Photographic Collection down in Westmins-
ter ? In its way it is, in truth, a sort of 'Walhalla
in miniature.