society she was always especially partial. Is it not strange, then, that so few have employed the pencil in perpetuating the remembrance of one so dear to fame, and whose works must for ever form a conspicuous part of the literary history of the age?"

That she merited every compliment at their hands, by her own high conceptions of painting, and her qualification for judging of whatever was most elevated in the works of artists, is undoubtedly true; and evidence of her sympathy with them is given with matchless force and beauty, in the "Subjects for Pictures," which appear in these volumes.

The same writer observes—

"Though quite unskilled in the language of the schools, she had a fine feeling for

I remember her once speaking of artists in her usual animated and pictorial manner, and concluding by saying, 'that they deserved all honour, they idealize humanity.' What a string of pearls I might have gathered, had I noted down the thoughts that fell in sayings from her lips."

In 1822 or 3, she sat to Mr. Pickersgill for a portrait. It has not been engraved; though like, in many respects, it was not a pleasing resemblance. An engraving that accompanied a sketch of her life, in the "New Monthly," some years ago, was still less successful; and we remember the gravity with which she complained that the painter, or the engraver, had magnified her ears, of the prettiness of which she could not but be conscious, in a most libellous manner. To Maclise she sat three or four times, with better success on each occasion. With the last portrait from his hand it would be unreasonable to be in any way dissatisfied. It is a delightful record of the serene, yet lively, thought-