GRATIAN.—Come, then, let us have something we can entirely praise, by the hand of this prince of animal painters. You will at least admire his “Peace” and “War,” those two most beautiful and poetical pictures. AQUILIUS.—The “Peace”—yes. It is most happy; and perhaps the “War,” if we take the moral rightly. It might be bought by the Peace Society. Every one must acknowledge the great beauty and feeling of these pictures. I confess, however, I seldom look upon battle-pieces with much pleasure. The horrors of war are not for the drawing-room; and where they are painted for public position, they are generally in very bad taste. I do not mean here to allude to the companion to Mr Landseer’s “Peace.” GRATIAN.—How seldom you see a battle-piece,—that is, a battle! You have some one or more incidents of a battle; but, as a whole, it is not represented. I have no idea of a battle, on which depends the fate of empires, from the exhibition of a grenadier running his bayonet through a prostrate foe, a few dead men, and a couple of horses, one rearing and one dead. Such are the usual representations of battles. AQUILIUS.—Yes—vulgar battles; vulgarising the most important events in history: and yet I do not believe it to be impossible to represent a battle poetically, and more truly, than by such incident as Gratian has described, though the regimentals be most accurately painted—and the gold lace has a great charm for the multitude. And perhaps it was in deference to this common taste, that the chief prize was given to the “Battle of Meeanee” in Westminster Hall. LYDIA.—I rejoice to listen to the criticism. We will not have battle-pieces in our boudoir; Curates and their wives are for peace. I go with the poet— “Le lance rotte, gli scudi spezzati, L’insigne polverose, e le bandiere, I destrier morti, i corpi arrovesciati Fan spettacolo orribile a vedere! I combattenti insieme mescolati, Senza governo, o ordine di schiere, Veder sossopra andare, or questi, or quelle, A’riguardanti arricciar fa i capelli.” CURATE.—I take my old part of translator, and thus render it, perhaps Aquilius will think too freely, at least in the conclusion— Lances and shields of broken chivalry, Banners and ensigns trampled from their glory Down in the dust—Oh! woe too sad to see, Rider and horse fallen dead in heaps all gory; Leaderless squadrons, one tumultuous sea Of ruin! Death sole hero of the story. And such is war—oh sight the heart to rend, And make our rooted hair to stand on end!