But since the telegraph has come into play, he is
never safe, and may be hit with news of failure, shipwreck, fall of
stocks, or whatever disaster, at all hours of the day.
I went to the Exhibition on Wednesday with U----, and looked at the
pencil sketches of the old masters; also at the pictures generally, old
and new. I particularly remember a spring landscape, by John Linnell the
younger. It is wonderfully good; so tender and fresh that the artist
seems really to have caught the evanescent April and made her permanent.
Here, at least, is eternal spring.
I saw a little man, behind an immense beard, whom I take to be the Duke
of Newcastle; at least, there was a photograph of him in the gallery,
with just such a beard. He was at the Palace on that day.
August 16th.--I went again to the Exhibition day before yesterday, and
looked much at both the modern and ancient pictures, as also at the
water-colors. I am making some progress as a connoisseur, and have got
so far as to be able to distinguish the broader differences of style,--
as, for example, between Rubens and Rembrandt. I should hesitate to
claim any more for myself thus far. In fact, however, I do begin to have
a liking for good things, and to be sure that they are good. Murillo
seems to me about the noblest and purest painter that ever lived, and his
"Good Shepherd" the loveliest picture I have seen. It is a hopeful
symptom, moreover, of improving taste, that I see more merit in the crowd
of painters than I was at first competent to acknowledge.
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