| to nature; the chiaro-scuro Portraits of Mrs. Punch and Child. | is admirably managed.  R.W.  BUSS. | | Cattle returning from the Watering | OR THUS:  Place. \ R. BOLLOCK. / | This is one of the cleverest “We won’t go home till Morning.” | productions in the Exhibition; M. WATERFORD, R.H.S. | there is a transparency in the | shadows equal to Rembrandt.  The infant Cupid sleeping. | R. DADD. | | Portrait of Lord Palmerston. | A.L.L.  UPTON. | | Coast Scene:  Smugglers on the look | out. | H. PARKER. | | Portrait of Captain Rous, M.P. | J. WOOD. | /

Should the friends of any of the artists deem the praise a little too oily, they can easily add such a tag as the following:—­“In our humble judgment, a little more delicacy of handling would not be altogether out of place;” or, “Beautiful as the work under notice decidedly is, we recollect to have received perhaps as much gratification in viewing previous productions by the same.”

FOR THE HALF CONDEMNED: 

This artist is, we much fear, on the decline; we no longer see the vigour of handling and smartness of conception formerly apparent in his works:  or, “A little stricter attention to drawing, as well as composition, would render this artist’s works more recommendatory.”

THE TOTALLY CONDEMNED: 

Either of the following, taken conjointly or separately:  “A perfect daub, possessing not one single quality necessary to create even the slightest interest—­a disgrace to the Exhibition—­who allowed such a wretched production to disgrace these walls?—­woefully out of drawing, and as badly coloured,” and such like.

* * * * *

A COMMENTARY ON THE ELECTIONS.

BY THE BEADLE OF SOMERSET HOUSE.

  Well, lawks-a-day! things seem going on uncommon queer,
  For they say that the Tories are bowling out the Whigs almost everywhere;
  And the blazing red of my beadle’s coat is turning to pink through fear,
  Lest I should find myself and staff out of Office some time about the
          end of the year. 
  I’ve done nothing so long but stand under the magnificent portico
  Of Somerset House, that I don’t know what I should do if I was for to go! 
  What the electors are at, I can’t make out, upon my soul,
  For it’s a law of natur’ that the whig should be atop of
          the poll. 
  I’ve had a snug berth of it here for some time, and don’t want to cut
          the connexion;
  But they do say the Whigs must go out, because they’ve NO OTHER
          ELECTION;
  What they mean by that, I don’t know, for ain’t they been
          electioneering—­