As the mass of the public form their judgment of works of art more by what they are told by the diurnal prints, than by what they feel or know, there is no doubt that these unwarrantable criticisms had their effect in checking the desire of many persons to visit the exhibition. Fuseli, however, was sanguine as to the ultimate success of the "Milton Gallery," for he had yet to learn that he who had delineated the sublime and playful imagery of the poet, was like the poet himself to accomplish his design under every discountenance, and in the end to gain little or nothing by his performance. For, with feelings strongly in opposition to the opinion of Dr. Johnson, that "we read Milton for instruction, retire harassed and overburthened, and look elsewhere for recreation; we desert our master and seek for companions;" Fuseli wrote in large letters in the margin of a copy of the "Lives of the Poets," now in my possession, in allusion to the passage in question, "I DO NOT." Some of the judicious friends of Fuseli formed a more correct notion of the feelings of the public than himself, and were not therefore so sanguine as to the success of his exhibition; this is manifest by the following letter from Mr. Roscoe. "Allerton, 24th May, 1799. "MY DEAR FRIEND, "My friend and neighbour Mr. Shepherd, who is already known to you, being about to take his departure with Mrs. Shepherd and her sister on a journey to London, I avail myself of the opportunity it affords of informing you, without being questioned on the subject, that I am yet in existence, and, what I know you will be glad to hear, in better health, and consequently better spirits, than when I last wrote to you. From the experience I have hitherto had of my new residence, it promises to be productive of every advantage which I expected to find from it:--good air, opportunity or rather necessity of exercise, and a degree of retirement which is indispensably necessary to my peace of mind. The latter you will perhaps believe when I tell you that I am a mile and a half from any neighbour; but, at that distance, I have on every side of me some of my most intimate and valuable friends. Such being the advantage I enjoy here, you will not wonder that I am exerting myself to secure the means of remaining here, without the necessity of further interference in the tumult of the town, which I hope in a short time I shall be able to do. I consider it as one great secret in the art of living, especially at a time when all the necessaries of life are so high, to obtain subsistence immediately from the earth, and, accordingly, I am surrounded with cows, hogs, turkies, geese, cocks, hens, and pigeons, which, according to the good old maxim, (take, Peter, kill and eat,) I plunder and