_Philosophemur_, which is inscribed upon the canvas. The finest type of head which England has had since the time of Elizabeth was that developed among the Roundheads. _Round_ heads they were, and noble heads too. They are well represented here. Look at this portrait of Cromwell;--it has the same character and expression with that still nobler likeness of him which he sent to the Duke of Tuscany, and which hangs now in one of the back halls of the Pitti Gallery, a stern, silent monitor to the dull Florentines. Frederick Tennyson said of it, that it was the best battle-piece he ever saw;--"In its red ruggedness it looks as if it had been sketched in by the gleam of Dunbar's cannon flashes." Hampden, Eliot, and Pym, with wide individual differences, all belong to the same class;--the lines of their faces, which in Hampden and in Eliot have settled into a cast of resolute melancholy, and in Pym betray the sternness of his nature, tell in all of the hard discipline of their lives, and the upright patriotism of their hearts. Compare the faces of these patriots with those of the leaders of the French Revolutions. The Cavaliers, with a type of head less fine, were for the most part handsomer men than the Roundheads. Here is Lovelace, the poet, for instance; Aubrey says of him, "He was an extraordinary handsome man," and this likeness bears out the assertion. His face has a look of enthusiasm and of gallantry, appropriate to the man who could write, "Stone walls do not a prison make." With the portraits of Brooke, and Fairfax, and Falkland, and Astley, and others of the time, the comparison between Roundhead and Cavalier might be carried still farther,--but we must pass on. The portrait of Hobbes of Malmesbury, as an old man, hangs near that of Sir Thomas Browne. It is a curious contrast between the imaginative and the unimaginative philosopher,--between the student of innumerable books, and the cynic who declared that "he should know as little as other men, if he had read as many books." There is a whole bevy here of the famous beauties of Charles II.'s court,--full of the affected airs and languishing graces which Sir Peter Lely knew well how to paint, and rarely showing any thing in their portraits of the sprightliness which some of them at least possessed in life. The only one of Sir Peter's full-length beauties, who calls up any associations but such as belong to Grammont's Memoirs, is Margaret Lucas, the Duchess of Newcastle. Who does not know her through Charles Lamb, and love her for Charles Lamb's sake? She looks out of place here, between Charles II. and the Duchess of Cleveland; and it was not in a fancy dress of most fantastic style that she wrote her memoir of her husband,--in which she tells of what My Lord would eat at dinner, as well as collects the wise things which dropped from My Lord's lips. The worthy Secretary Pepys appears here, in "an excellent conceited picture," of which he himself has told the story in his Diary:--