cannot, with any enjoyment to himself, live out of it.--Dr South." This
is very good. The painter has his back to you, and is at work apparently
on a wall. Little wots he of the world without. He is embodying angels,
and spreading angelic light; himself, slipshod and loosely girdled,
centring the radiance he creates. How differently arrayed are body and
mind! By the title, we presume Mr Cope means to satirize some modern
fops of the profession. Of all Mr Cope's etchings in the volume, we
mostly admire "Love's Enemies." It is from the well-known passage of
Shakspeare, "Ah me! for aught that ever I could read," &c. The
conception is excellent. War, Death, and Sickness are taking off their
prisoner Cupid, chained, from the door of an aged couple willing enough
to part with him, while their poor broken-hearted daughter, with
disheveled hair, hides her face with her hands; and, above her, the hard
father's uplifted crutch is ready to speed the departure. It is lightly
etched, in very good keeping; so that the grouping is clear, and the
moral is perceptible at a glance. His "Rejected Addresses" is of another
cast. Here he is in the common and beggarly world: yet represents he no
common beggar; for, though he be often so named, he is one of rare
accomplishments. "He can write a capital letter, enough to make any of
the 'quality people' cry. The begging-letter people give him a shilling
for a letter. He is now on the tramp." The man was a lawyer, and so
astute that he can so adjust himself and his shadow, that he will hide
in it from your scrutiny any habitual expression of his villany. And
Cope has been most happy in this idea.

"Morning Prayer" is introduced with a few elegant lines, we presume by
Mr Cope himself. They have no name to them. The figure is graceful, the
effect tender; but we confess we have been so satiated with such
subjects in the Annuals, that we do not relish this as perhaps we ought.
From the same cause, we do not dwell upon "The Mother." "The Wanderer--