. . . .
At eleven o'clock Mrs. Crosland entered the tiniest pony-carriage, and
set forth for her own residence, with a lad walking at the pony's head,
and carrying a lantern. . . . .
March 26th.--Yesterday was not a very eventful day. After writing in my
journal I went out at twelve, and visited, for the first time, the
National Gallery. It is of no use for me to criticise pictures, or to
try to describe them, but I have an idea that I might acquire a taste,
with a little attention to the subject, for I find I already begin to
prefer some pictures to others. This is encouraging. Of those that I
saw yesterday, I think I liked several by Murillo best. There were a
great many people in the gallery, almost entirely of the middle, with a
few of the lower classes; and I should think that the effect of the
exhibition must at least tend towards refinement. Nevertheless, the only
emotion that I saw displayed was in broad grins on the faces of a man and
two women, at sight of a small picture of Venus, with a Satyr peeping at
her with an expression of gross animal delight and merriment. Without
being aware of it, this man and the two women were of that same Satyr
breed.
If I lived in London, I would endeavor to educate myself in this and
other galleries of art; but as the case stands, it would be of no use. I
saw two of Turner's landscapes; but did not see so much beauty in them as
in some of Claude's.
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