The coloring of Rubens always satisfies my eye better than that of any other master, only a sort of want of grace in the conception disturbs me.  In this case both conception and coloring are replete with beauty.  Rogers seems to be carefully waited on by an attendant who has learned to interpret every motion and anticipate every desire.

I took leave of him with a touch of sadness.  Of all the brilliant circle of poets, which has so delighted us, he is the last—­and he so feeble!  His memories, I am told, extend back to a personal knowledge of Dr. Johnson.  How I should like to sit by him, and search into that cabinet of recollections!  He presented me his poems, beautifully illustrated by Turner, with his own autograph on the fly leaf.  He writes still a clear, firm, beautiful hand, like a lady’s.

After that, we all went over to Stafford House, and the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland went with us into Lord Ellesmere’s collection adjoining.  Lord Ellesmere sails for America to-day, to be present at the opening of the Crystal Palace.  He left us a very polite message.  The Duchess of Argyle, with her two little boys, was there also.  Lord Carlisle very soon came in, and with him—­who do you think?  Tell Hattie and Eliza if they could have seen the noble staghound that came bounding in with him, they would have turned from all the pictures on the wall to this living work of art.

Landseer thinks he does well when he paints a dog; another man chisels one in stone:  what would they think of themselves if they could string the nerves and muscles, and wake up the affections and instincts, of the real, living creature?  That were to be an artist indeed!  The dog walked about the gallery, much at home, putting his nose up first to one and then another of the distinguished persons by whom he was surrounded; and once in a while stopping, in an easy race about the hall, would plant himself before a picture, with his head on one side, and an air of high-bred approval, much as I have seen young gentlemen do in similar circumstances.  All he wanted was an eyeglass, and he would have been perfectly set up as a critic.

As for the pictures, I have purposely delayed coming to them.  Imagine a botanist dropped into the middle of a blooming prairie, waving with unnumbered dyes and forms of flowers, and only an hour to examine and make acquaintance with them!  Room, after room we passed, filled with Titians, Murillos, Guidos, &c.  There were four Raphaels, the first I had ever seen.  Must I confess the truth?  Raphael had been my dream for years.  I expected something which would overcome and bewilder me.  I expected a divine baptism, a celestial mesmerism; and I found four very beautiful pictures—­pictures which left me quite in possession of my senses, and at liberty to ask myself, am I pleased, and how much?  It was not that I did not admire, for I did; but that I did not admire enough.  The pictures are all holy families, cabinet size:  the figures, Mary,