upon the frame, and as I was generally alone when I made my memoranda, I had no one to instruct me.  You leave this room, and pass on—­catching a glimpse of a lawn richly bedecked with flowers and shrubs—­into a long and lofty room, which unites the two enviable distinctions of LIBRARY and GALLERY.  Here you are bewildered for an instant:  that is to say, you are divided in your attention between the admiration of the proportion and structure of the room, and the alternate captivation of books, busts, and pictures.  But as you have had enough of paper and print in former despatches, I shall confine myself here exclusively to the pencil and the chisel.

Let us first walk leisurely about the ground floor, ere we mount the gallery.  To begin with the busts.  That of the late Abbe Barthelemi, in white marble, immediately strikes you.[181] It is full of nature and of character; and the hair has just enough of the antique gusto about it to render the toute ensemble equally classical and individualised—­if you will allow this latter expression.  Here is a terra-cotta head of Corneille, of very indifferent workmanship; and much inferior to a similar representation of him at Rouen.  The terra-cotta head of Rousseau is considerably better.  But the marble bust of Voltaire, by Houdon, throws every thing about it into tameness.  It is as fine as is the terra-cotta bust of the same person which Denon possesses.  Here, however, the poet is in a peruque, or dress-wig.  His eyes sparkle with animation.  Every feature and every muscle seems to be in action:  and yet it is perfectly free from caricature or affectation.  A surprising performance.  This head and that of Barthelemi are quite perfect of their kind.  And yet I am not sure whether I should not have preferred the fine bronze bust of Henri II., somewhat larger than life, to either of the preceding.  But I must not forget the colossal head of Bonaparte, when a young man, by Canova.  It is of white marble:  considered to be the original.  Denon has a similar head, by the same artist.  I am not sure if I do not prefer Mr. Craufurd’s.  Of paintings, on this floor, the head of Francis I. by Titian—­(which may be called rather a finished sketch, and which is retouched in parts) is a very desirable performance; but it is inferior to the same head, by the same artist, in the Louvre.  Here is a charming portrait of a Lady in the time of Louis XV., who chose to lead the life of a Religieuse:  sweetly and naturally touched.  A fine portrait of Grotius is also here; well deserving a conspicuous place in any cabinet of learning.[182]

We will now walk up stairs to the gallery.  Of course, in the confined space between the balustrade and the wainscot (not much more than three feet), it is barely possible to appreciate the full effect of the paintings; but I here send you a list of the greater part of them, with brief remarks, upon the general accuracy of which you may rely.