The British Institution comprised in this year (1827) with “Chevy Chase,” the well-known picture of a dog--Sir Walter Scott’s “Maida”--reclining by a piece of armour; a work which is entitled “Scene at Abbotsford,” and was, no doubt, designed during the visit of which we have spoken before. It is well known by Westwood’s capital engraving for the “Keepsake.” The year 1828 was for our subject one of comparative rest, so far as exhibitions were concerned; 1829 produced “The Illicit Whisky-Still in the Highlands,” an admirable work, familiar to most readers, and “A Fireside Party,” which is now at South Kensington, and shows how in a rude bothy several serious-looking terriers are lying and sitting in various attitudes of thoughtfulness and ease before the fire. These dogs belong to Malcolm Clarke, Esq., of Inverary, and are said to have been the original “Peppers” and “Mustards” described by Sir Walter Scott in “The Antiquary;” a descendant appeared in the picture of 1833, which represented Sir Walter himself and companions. The year 1830 witnessed the election of our artist to the full honours of the Royal Academy. Having attained this point in his life, it will not be needful to follow his yearly steps; suffice it that it is our purpose to deal chiefly with Landseer’s more important productions, and to note his accessions to honours. In “High Life” and “Low Life,” which are in the Vernon Gift, and now in the National Gallery, we have contrasted conditions. The gentle, gentlemanly stag-hound, apparently the dog of the “Scene at Abbotsford,” appears in the former of these paintings, which were first exhibited at the British Institution in 1831, and are noteworthy on account of their size, being not more than eighteen inches by thirteen inches and a half. They are among the smallest of celebrated pictures, and, comparatively, mere sketches. The second subject is a broad and brawny bull-dog, the _aide_ of a butcher, by whose block, and guarding whose hat, pipe, boots, and pot, he sits. Our dog here is in a state of satisfaction with the recent past and the soon to come: he has had a capital meat breakfast--note the beef bone in front of the step; the sun is bright and warm, so that it makes him lazily blink one eye, while the other, being shaded, is watching. Fat, he lounges against the jamb of the door; the savour, nay the very flavour of the bone and its adjuncts, lingers about his muzzle, which he licks gently and unctuously. His prospects are almost as agreeable as his experiences; for is he not about to have a ride in the cart--note the whip hanging on the door-latch, and the boots--to market, where there will be company and canine sports. Mr. Ruskin has studied “Low Life” from his proper point of view, which is, of course, not that to be adopted in this book. See “Modern Painters,” v. 271. “Cunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over-reaching, accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. Its essential