The walks are mathematically squared or circled, the trees are cut into formal spires or pyramids, and the fountains spout in arches geometrically true. The figures are longlegged gentlemen with pigtails and powdered hair, collarless coats, waistcoats which repose on the hips, ruffles, and tremendously lanky swords; with these are ladies in exalted head-dresses, with wasp-like waists, and enormous swelling hoops below, and supporting themselves on heels of perilous height; in addition to the gentlemen, the ladies are attended by poodles with head and shoulders shaggy as a lion, and hind-quarters bare as a frog. Contemporaneous with these were garden-scenes something in the Watteau style, in which nature was allowed a little latitude, and Damon and Phyllis, in wig and hoop, danced together on the greensward, or posed themselves in picturesque attitudes beneath a shady tree by the running stream, or sent one another aloft in a swing, while the rest of the party picnicked together in the foreground.

Pictures of this sort-and most persons must have met with them in the course of their experience-did their work in paving the way for something better. Before Hogarth's time, conversation-pieces, and rude engravings of good pictures, had got into the market. They were mostly, however, too dear for the agricultural districts, where the people chose to buy, at a cheaper rate, a new class of subjects brought to them by the pedlers and hawkers, and which were nearly all illustrations of Old or New Testament history, or scenes from the martyrology. The trade in engravings of a popular description had assumed a degree of importance by the time that Hogarth came upon the scene; the advantage he derived from it, and the benefit he conferred upon art in this country in so doing, are well known. His unrivalled productions did not, however, save in exceptional cases, penetrate beyond the cities and larger towns; and it is a rare occurrence, even at the

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present moment, to meet with one of his original plates in the country districts. They were not, in fact, cheap enough for the hawkers' and pedlers' market, and, in consequence, they remained unknown in the cottages and villages of the country."

But the country trade was not allowed to languish. It must have been somewhere about the time of Hogarth's death that some ingenious fellow, with an excellent eye to business, hit upon the mode of manufacturing those paintings on glass which for more than threescore years have deluged the country, and which even now are sold in considerable quantities, though the traffic in them has declined, according to the testimony of a rather extensive manufacturer, to less than one-twentieth of what it was within his recollection. These paintings, which the reader will immediately call to remembrance, are nearly all of two uniform sizes-14 inches by 11, or 14 inches by 22. They are what they profess to be-oil paintings on glass; and having an undeniable title to this description, they took amazingly with the common people, and sold in immense numbers. We may form some notion of the traffic from the fact that it is hardly possible even now to walk through a village or market-town without seeing them exposed for sale, or to enter the cottage of a poor man, or the farmer's kitchen, without finding a pair of them, and it will be oftener half-adozen, hanging on the walls. The smaller size predominates, the larger ones being comparatively rare-a circumstance which may be accounted for by their liability to fracture, the cheapest and thinnest glass being invariably used. Viewed at a little distance, they have a striking resemblance to old oil-paintings; they have all dark rich backgrounds— are mostly on sacred subjects-show strong contrasts of light and shade, and but a small variety of tints, for a reason which will be obvious presently. A slight blow cracks the thin glass, and then they are ruined until the pedler comes

round with a duplicate of the same subject, and for a couple of shillings or so makes all right again. We must not omit to notice one peculiarity in these glass-paintings. Though their number is legion, and their designs almost endless in variety, yet these are all, or nearly all, the property of the manufacturers; it is rare indeed that one meets with an instance of piracy from the works of living artists, or even of copies from standard and classical works-the only exceptions being in the case of single heads, such as Madonnas and Ecce Homos. It is but fair to state, however, that this recommendatory fact is not attributable to the honourable independence of the manufacturer-we shall not call him artist-so much as to the necessities of his trade, which drive him to the use of the simplest design and the fewest possible. tints, in order to make the more profit. Most of these pictures are made in London, and the manufacturer generally has recourse to some struggling artist for his design, who, for a couple of guineas or so, will supply him with what he wants, and he can get the engraving done for even less.

The manner in which these paintings are produced is a mystery to all but the initiated; it is a riddle even to the practical artist; and it is possible that the reader who has tried to penetrate the secret, after puzzling his brain to no purpose, has given it up in despair. We shall take the liberty to make some revelations on the subject, which will clear up the enigma; and in order to do it effectually, we shall introduce our friends to the atelier of Mr. David Daubham, who at present holds a large share of the country trade in his hands.

Mr. Daubham's place of business is in Leather Lane, where, however, he is under no necessity of making any demonstration, and does not make any. His atelier is a roomy brick-chamber in the back yard, lighted from one whole side. Upon entering, we find Mr. Daubham engaged

in a warm discussion with a glass-dealer, upon a question of sixpence in the gross of "eleven-fourteens." Pending the settlement of the debate we look round, amid an odour of oil and strong varnish almost too much for our olfactories. A couple of girls and four or five lads are busy in the prosecution of their work. Before we have watched the several processes for five minutes, the whole art and mystery is as patent to us as it can be to Mr. Daubham himself. The glass being first cleaned, an operation in which extra carefulness does not appear to be necessary, the surface which is to receive the picture is rubbed completely over with a preparation of turpentine varnish. Upon this, as it dries rapidly, an impression from the engraved plate is laid, and rubbed firmly upon the glass with the palm. It is then left to dry till a batch of a hundred or so is done. The paper upon which the impression is taken is the flimsiest material that can be used, and is rubbed off by a momentary application of the sponge, leaving every line and touch of the print adhering to the varnish. But the varnish has not only fastened the ink of the print to the glass, it has also primed the glass for the reception of the colours. In this state, the squares of glass are stuck up on a kind of scaffolding which may be called the easel, with their faces to the light. The easel will hold a score of them at a time. Then each of the lads seizes a pot of colour and a brush, and sets to work at their rear. One covers all the faces and hands with flesh colour; another dabs on the greens; a third does brownsand so on, till all the tints are dabbed on and the glass is covered. The whole twenty do not take twenty minutes in the colouring, unless the tints are more numerous than they usually are. It seems unaccountable that any pleasing effect should be produced by such a process; but in fact, as the engraving supplies all the shading, the effect is not bad, considering all things; and there is no reason why really excellent pictures should not be produced by a similar

process, if it were thought worth while to improve it by cautious experiment-though it would be impossible to paint even a decent sky in such a way. Hasty and careless as the work appears, it will be easily conceived that a certain amount of dexterity is necessary in laying on the colours within the prescribed outline; and it must be done quickly, lest the varnish be disturbed, in which case the colours would not adhere.

The pictures thus finished have only to be framed in order to be ready for the market. Mr. Daubham contracts for his frames with a firm in the neighbourhood, and finds that he has as much as he can do himself in putting the pictures into them—a job he does not choose to trust to his "hands," who would break too many. The frames are of two kinds-wood, and shining lackered metal pressed into a sort of flowery pattern by a die. The far greater proportion of his goods are, however, sold to the trade unframed. The market-price was 9s. a dozen previous to the war, but has fallen a trifle since, though not so much as the demand. The wooden frames cost not quite the same-and seeing that these precious works of art are hawked at the present moment at from 6s. to 7s. the pair, it is clear that profit has not been lost sight of. The number of manufactories similar to Mr. Daubham's, he tells us, is eight or ten, exclusive of the small shops of amateur dabblers in the trade who get up pictures of exceptional sizes at a low rate by working from exhausted plates purchased as old metal. Looking to the vast numbers which are and may be produced, amounting to several gross a week from a single workshop, we are puzzled to know what becomes of them, considering that the country demand has so greatly declined. "But," says Mr. Daubham, "you don't take into account the exportation. They goes abroad, sir. A hundred gross, at least, of my pictures goes to Catholic countries every year. Most of my plates is Catholic subjects-Madonnas and Martyrs, and the