Before quitting the labyrinth of French art we must not forget a class of painters who have received a great deal of admiration, and who deserve it, whatever rank one may be disposed to assign to their special branch of art. I refer to the painters of still-life. There is Vollon, for instance, whose name suggests those wonderful representations of armor, of rich goldsmith's work, superb tapestries and damascened metal, to say nothing of the equally admirable counterfeits of warming-pans and saucepans, which delight the lover of _nature-morte_. We find here his famous kettle of red copper, sold at a price which might suggest that it was of solid gold. Amateurs and dealers pronounce Vollon the first of painters in his specialty, though there are some who profess a preference for his rival, Blaise-Desgoffes, of whom there are three examples in the Exposition; and though these are only Venetian glass, Gothic missals, jewel-boxes and the like, there are some of them worth thirty thousand francs at the very least: it will be understood that I speak of the paintings, and not of what they represent. Philippe Rousseau displays not less than a dozen pictures, and the names of their owners, Alexandre Dumas, the baroness de Rothschild, Barbedienne, Édouard Dubufe, etc., show how much he is the _mode_. Indeed, it is impossible to imagine cheeses more savory, fresher oysters, peaches and vegetables more inviting, and flowers--I had almost said more fragrant, so perfect is the illusion of reality. But we must tear ourselves from these fascinating galleries, for should we write for ever we shall always be sure to forget some celebrity who deserves to be mentioned. We have said nothing of the scenes from fashionable life; nor of the dogs and horses which MM. Claude and J. Lewis Brown render so capitally; nor of the portraits of Pérignon, Édouard Dubufe and Cot; nor of the flowers of Mademoiselle Escallier. Three great names, Jules Dupré, Rosa Bonheur and Puvis de Chavannes, are absent--one knows not why. Belgium is next in order--thrifty Belgium, where painting is a commercial industry and its products an important article of exportation. The Belgian display in the Champ de Mars is certainly a considerable one in point of numbers, which will not surprise us when we remember that there are at least twelve art-schools in the country--to say nothing of the great academies of Brussels and Antwerp--where hundreds of young men are daily drilled in the grammar and technique of art. But genius is the gift of Nature, not of schools. All that the latter can bestow is probably here, but we miss the imagination, the variety, the sentiment of the born artist, and it needs no very critical examination of these paintings to show us that the acquired dexterity of the academy, the mere _business_ of the painter, is almost the only characteristic of the Belgian school.