mere study, but we have no doubt a capital likeness. Euchee Billy was killed during the late campaign in Florida.

83. Portrait of Wm. Rawle, Esq. H. INMAN. A fine, manly, intellectual face, such as we might suppose to belong to the distinguished Philadelphia lawyer. An artist has a chance to show his skill upon such a face as this, where there is expression to be caught, and where the footsteps of age have produced varieties of tints and lights. We think Mr. Inman has somewhat negligently dealt with the figure, and the back ground is very common-place.

89. Portrait of a Lady. G. ANELLI. This picture has all the vices of the modern Italian school, which, sooth to say, is a very bad one. These are, hard outlines, stiff attitudes, and muddy coloring.

93. Coronation of Powhatan. J. G. CHAPMAN. In this painting, and also in a companion, No. 100, The Warning of Pocahontas, Mr. Chapman has avoided the fault of which we have spoken, too great uniformity of tint, and almost fallen into the other extreme. Both are showy pictures, and on that account, well suited for an exhibition. The composition of No. 93 is better than that of its companion. In both there is a great fault - the want of Indian physiognomy. But for the copper complexion, Powhatan and his courtiers might pass for Europeans. The group of Englishmen is good in every respect.

96. Portrait. C. MAYR. A very wo-begone gentleman. We have again to notice Mr. Mayr's prevailing error, too much muscular development in the faces; we perceive it in this, and also in Nos. 121 and 151. The lady in the latter is the best portrait by Mr. Mayr that we have seen; the child, on the contrary, looks old enough for forty.

97. Fancy Portraits. J. G. CLONNEY. We only mention this picture, to notice the singular appearance of transparency which the artist has given to his figures and accessories. The ladies, and the ottoman, and the carpet, all seem as though you could look through them. Otherwise, the picture has merit.

98. Group of Children. W. PAGE. Mr. Page has undoubtedly improved very much within a few years, but he is getting into a bad habit of making his pictures gaudy. In this group we have scarlet, crimson, bright green, and orange, all jumbled together in most extravagant profusion. So again in No. 171, Two Children Disputing, the cheeks and noses of the little innocents would not shame an arrant and veteran toper; they literally blaze with the deepest carnation.

101. Portrait of a Child. H. INMAN. An excellent full-length of a lovely boy. Like the group of children already mentioned, it appears cold in its vicinity to the flaming group of Mr. Page, and the brilliant hues of Mr. Chapman's Powhatan.

102. Portrait. S. F. B. MORSE. A good honest portrait; well drawn and colored, and perfectly free from trickery of any kind.

105. The Presentation in the Temple. R. W. WEIR. Cold as Greenland, but a good composition, and carefully finished.

111. Dumpling Fort, near Newport. W. G. WALL. A beautiful and striking water scene, capitally executed, and carefully finished. At first a strange impression is produced on the eye by the prevailing amethyst hue of the sky and water, but we believe that it is faithful to nature. Such tints are seen when a storm is coming up.

116. Cottage Scene. A. STEYANT. Another good little rustic scene, in water color. 122. View from Fort Lee. J. SMILLIE. This artist, we presume, is Mr. Smillie, the engraver. If so, we have another instance of the pencil supplanting the graver with success. This is quite a good picture.

127. Landscape Composition. J. W. CASILEAR. Yet another engraver trying his hand at colors. A first attempt, probably, or nearly so. Too much green again. 130. Cavalier. C. VER BRYCK. We find this marked

do not remember what it is, or what are its merits.

on our catalogue 'good,' but

131. Portrait of a Lady. E. D. MARCHANT. By far the best we have seen from the pencil of Mr. Marchant. Well drawn and colored. A good honest picture.

132. Landscape. H. INMAN. We like this picturemuch, and should like well to possess it. The figure is rather standing up to be looked at, but the water and the foliage are excellent; the sky is rather too blue for a coming storm.

Coloring natural and honest.

135. Portrait of Bishop White. H. INMAN. A fine venerable face. An excellent likeness, to our knowledge. It wants varnish very much. 138. Portrait. W. PAGE. Very good. 141. View in the Wyoming Valley. There is considerable merit in this picture, although it is not a very pleasing one. The subject is unfortunate; an artist can scarcely give interest to a tame landscape.

147. Undutiful Boys. W. S. MOUNT. A very clever rustic scene. Boys idling their time away, and the farmer stealthily approaching, switch in hand and vengeance in his heated aspect. He looks, perhaps, a little too grim for the occasion. Mount has a fine feeling of the humorous in this rustic line. Another of his, 155, 'Farmers Bargaining,' is equally good, if not better; the two negociators are whittling away at a great rate, while the very spirit of bargain-making speaks in their countenances, and a patient horse stands near, apparently wondering what they can be talking about so long. In both pictures, every minor adjunct is in the most perfect keeping.

149. View from Mount Holyoke. T. COLE. This is really a fine landscape, although at first it does not appear so. It wants to be studied. The formal though singular winding of the river, and the flat level on the right, have an unpleasing effect upon the eye, which soon wears off. The sky is beautiful, and so is the mass of shrubbery in the fore-ground to the left.

164. The Musician. G. MARSIGLIA. Very bad indeed. A ghastly lady, all in white, with a figure as upright and as symmetrical as a lamp-post, standing with a very insinuating look before a piano, on which lies a pair of castanets, and through which is stuck a harp, holding in her hand a guitar- the lady evidently intending to play on all these instruments at once, and dance with the castanets beside.

167. The Savoyard Musician. G. W. FLAGG. A small study, from the life no doubt, and a very good one.

174. Portrait of a Child. R. PEALE. Rather milk-and-waterish. Mr. Peale can paint better than this.

185. Shipwrecked Mariners. F. FINK. Meritorious, but the sailors need not have been made to look so heroic or so grim.

186. Portrait of J. J. Astor, Esq. E. D. MARCHANT. Very like.

187. Portrait of Hon. Daniel Webster. J. FROTHINGHAM. Not like at all. Mr. Webster may look as lackadaisical as he is here represented, when he is very ill, but so did we never see him.

193. Family Group. J. L. MORTON. A good, pleasing composition, and well executed. 194. The Highlands, from West Point. LIEUT. EASTMAN, U. S. A. One of the best amateur performances we have ever seen.

202. The Pedlar. A. B. DURAND. Well grouped. The girl displaying a pattern for a new gown is very good.

214. Meeting of Marmion and the Lion Herald of Arms. S. WATSON. Mr. Watson's efforts have hitherto been confined, or nearly so, we believe, to portraits of dogs and men. In this attempt at composition, he has succeeded very well, and produced a picture that does him credit.

215. Young Rip, from Rip Van Winkle. O. B. LoOMIS. Quite good. Young Rip's nose is rather red, but he is evidently an inveterate sleeper, like his father.

225. Sammy the Tailor. E. F. WILLIAMS. Good again; very good. Sammy is clearly in the full tide of inspiration, and the gentleman who took his portrait has done him ample justice.

Our limits are already exceeded, and here we must close.

FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE. - How good and how pleasant a thing it is to hold communion with friends in a foreign land! How grateful the 'white-winged messengers that come commissioned by Friendship with tidings from the absent!' In looking over some of our familiar epistles from abroad, the thought has struck us that we might add to the enjoyment of our readers by abducing an occasional paragraph which should infringe upon no right nor betray no confidence. The following is a passage from a letter dated at Smyrna, 25th February. It is a graphic 'picture in little' of some of the prominent features of the city whence it is written, and is from the pen of one who is an honor to the literature of his country — one whom we need no farther indicate than to say, that the attentive reader of the present number will recognise his hand among its original papers:

'I have been here now nearly five days, having arrived from Malta, where I spent nine days. We encountered a violent storm off the southern capes of Greece, during which our little schooner was knocked upon her beam ends.' She shifted her ballast, and it was some hours before she came up to her bearings again. It was rather a narrow escape, and I assure you I was not displeased to find myself on terra firma again, though it be among the Jews, Turks, and Christians, the Greeks, Franks, and Armenians of this Babel. It is indeed a Babel, so far as the multitude and confusion of tongues is concerned. Scarcely an individual can be met who does not speak more than one language, and some, nay multitudes, speak five, six, or seven. I have lodgings on one of the widest of the city's narrow and dirty streets. Perhaps when I say 'narrow streets,' you may suppose I mean that they are so narrow that not more than two carriages can pass, abreast. But no; I don't mean exactly that. I paced the open square before the door of Signora Maracini, where I lodge, and found it thirteen feet wide; but it soon grows narrower as you recede either way from the door, till it comes to something like eight or nine feet wide: and this is 'Bond-street' or perhaps ' Bonnestreet'the good street, by way of eminence. But how then do carriages pass? O no difficulty on that score- there are none! Well, carts - how do they get along? Just as easy-there are no carts! I haven't seen a wheeled thing since I have been in Smyrna. Camels bring goods into the city, from the interior, and Turkish porters transport packages and bales that come by sea. A Turk takes a bale of cotton that weighs four hundred and fifty pounds, or a box of Havana sugar, upon his back, and marches up or down the street with it. That's the way they do things here; and as for coaches every man, woman and child is born with his own.

'What direction I shall take next, I know not. I shall probably go up to Constantinople, after the weather gets a little more mild; for here it is yet uncomfortably cold, and Constantinople is much more so. It is now so late, however, that it is not probable I shall go to Syria, and as it is yet colder in Greece than here, I should gain nothing on the score of weather by going there at present. Every body is expecting milder weather soon; and I shall wait here a few days, and be governed in my movements afterward by circumstances as they present themselves.'

MANY of our readers will remember a series of papers, published a year or two since în this Magazine, from the pen of Dr. SAMUEL L. METCALF, entitled 'Life,' and another on a cognate subject, under the head of 'Molecular Attraction.' These papers having excited much remark and speculation, the subjoined extracts of a late communication from the author will not be without interest to those whose attention has been awakened (through the articles alluded to,) to his favorite subject, the investigation of which he is pursuing in England with characteristic fervor. The letter bears date at London, 26th May. After expressing regret that he had been unable to write to and for us, as he had anticipated, the writer says:

'My only excuse for my remissness is, that I have been so incessantly occupied by laborious and exhausting study as to incapacitate me from discharging even the ordi

nary obligations of friendship. You have no doubt been much surprised at the long delay of my publication. This has been owing to various causes, but chiefly to the growing magnitude of the task which I have imposed upon myself. Nine months were spent in the examination of authorities, after which came the labor of throwing into form the results of my researches. At three different times my health gave way, from anxiety and over-exertion - for I have met with many discouragements. I have long since given up all hopes of present emolument as the fruit of so much labor. Were I not buoyed up by the consciousness that I am engaged in a great and good cause, which must ultimately triumph, my strength and courage would fail.

'I exhibited a portion of my work to the bibliopole, Murray, last December, who kept it nearly a month, when it was returned with a polite note, stating that it contained so much that was at variance with all the established systems of philosophy, he feared to publish it on speculation. Since that time, I have been engaged in reducing it to such a state of demonstration as must insure the establishment of its fundamental principles. When I compare its present state with the papers I communicated to the Knickerbocker, they appear more like dim guesses and aspirations, than sober demonstrations. Nevertheless, they contained the germs of a great revolution in science, however imperfectly developed. At the present moment, I know not whether I shall be able to bring my work before the English public in a suitable manner; but I shall leave no effort untried. That you may be prepared for the worst, I inform you, that the best works of a similar character which have appeared in England for the last twenty-five years have never passed the first edition— (I allude to the Chemical Philosophy of Dalton, and a work of the same title by Sir H. Davy,) and that no scientific works of the present day command an adequate sale, except those which contain nothing new, such as Arnott's Physics, which yield £2000 per annum. So much for civilized England. I have small hopes of encouragement from the professors of science. Perhaps you are not aware that the Royal Society refused the papers of Franklin a place in their transactions, and that Newton's Optics were handed about from one publisher to another, for two years, before one of them would undertake it!'

A YOUNG and enthusiastic American, of fine parts- who has seen every portion of his own country, and whose heart is replete with all good impulses — now on a tour through Europe, which he visits for the first time, writes us as follows:

'WHAT a wonderful place is London! I am content to be considered 'green,' so that I am permitted to give vent to this exclamation, which in truth I cannot forego --- for here am I, pleasantly located in the West End, amid a scene of gayety and splendor that must be seen to be realized. London is crammed - and you can partly imagine what the metropolis must be, in the 'fashionable season.' I must first tell you, however, a little of what I have seen on my way hither. Let me begin at Liverpool, with which I shatt deal briefly. It is, as a town, the reverse of what I had supposed it to be. To say nothing of its matchless docks, and noble harbor, it is a neat, pleasant city: its streets are somewhat irregular, but the buildings are massive, and generally good. The first un-American feature of Liverpool, is the roast-beef forms and rosy complexions of the mass of the people the next, the elephant-like horses and enormous carts that thunder through the avenues of the town, reminding one of the custom-house stonewagons, or the menagerie cavalcade which sometimes rolls through New-York. I visited the 'lions' of the city and there are many well worthy the observation of the visitor among which may be mentioned the Theatre, (where I saw Charles Kean play Hamlet surpassingly well,) the Cemetery, the Market, (a mammoth!) the City Hall, with its fine sculpture, etc. After we had tarried in Liverpool many days, so it was that we departed; and of what is to be seen between that city and Manchester, you

can judge as well as I. I took the rail-way-whiz !— and we were at the end of our journey. I thought of the phrase, 'They went as if the D-1 kicked 'em in end!' Manchester has been described so often, that I shall take the liberty to skip it, with the single remark, that its importance has not been over-depicted by my countrymen. In its way, it is a marvellous place. The country between Manchester and Birmingham is a perfect Eden-interspersed with numerous noblemen's mansions, and their splendid domains among them, Palmerston Park, Dartmouth Castle, Spring Grove, Stafford Castle, etc. For twelve miles into 'Brummagem,' as far as the eye can reach on either side, is seen a desert of iron and coal pits, with their forests of tall chimneys, surging volumes of smoke and flame into the very clouds, and staining the atmosphere for leagues around. Birmingham is a well-built, but black and dreary city, and you may consider me as having left it, after spending two days in visiting the manufactories, and Lord Thomaston's show-rooms.

'I rapped at the porter's lodge of Kenilworth Castle, (itself a castle,) and 'just as the yellow sun was going,' I stood -alone-in the very midst of those renowned ruins: Rooks were screeching forth the desolation of the place; the shades of evening were gathering around me, and the towering walls, overhung every where with the clambering ivy, loomed yet more gigantic than the reality in the solemn twilight. I sat upon the highest accessible point of Cæsar's Tower, and never uttered a more sincere prayer, than that Heaven had made me a painter! Romantic, storied Kenilworth! It scarcely needed the power and imagination of the 'Northern Wizzard' to add to thy attractions. How I cursed Cromwell, as I left the scene of his depredations!

'Of my visit to Warwick Castle - its pictures, vase, curiosities the superb view from the top of the tower, etc., I may tell you hereafter. For the present, let me take you with me, five miles, to Stratford-upon-Avon — that intellectual Mecca of millions of pilgrims. The voluble old landlady of the Red-Horse Inn placed us in the very room in which Washington Irving wrote his description of Stratford, in the SketchBook -- a circumstance at which I was not a little delectated. Irving's name is mentioned with the utmost respect and gratitude and well it may be, for he has brought much moneys from the pockets of his countrymen into the 'Red-Horse' coffers. Shakspeare's House' is a low, old-fashioned two-story cottage, with a large window swung up, resembling a butcher's stall. I could not for a long time realize that I was in the room that I sat in the same chair- in which Shakspeare wrote, and reposed. Three old carved chairs, a curious old-fashioned chest of drawers, an antiquated halfcircle cupboard in one corner, three ancient pictures, and a bust of the immortal bard, make up the furniture of the apartment. The first thing shown us by the garrulous old woman, in false hair,' was the name of Washington Irving on the wall-next, Scott's-then Hackett's, to which are affixed some very clever humorous lines, which you have doubtless seen. It was not till after a long search, that I found a clear space on the wall sufficiently large to write my name; and the only hope I have of its ever meeting the eye of a friend or an acquaintance, is its proximity to that of the author of the Sketch-Book.' It is something to have stood upon the same boards that Shakspeare trod - where Scott, Byron, Irving-kings and princes- have worshipped - the very walls and boards made sacred, by one

'whose fame holds in This orb o' the earth.'

'After visiting his grave in Stratford church, I went to bed, to give life and reality in my dreams to the shadows I had conjured up from the 'Shakspeare gallery' of my imagination during the day.

'I left Stratford with regret - for I could have tarried a month. A few hours' posting brought us to the 'Hen and Chickens' in Oxford, whence I sallied out to survey the town. I shall attempt no description of it for it is a city of scholastic castles and palaces. Gorgeous architecture, of all possible orders, meets you at every turn, and