admirable gallery includes among its treasures many of the old masters and-when open for exhibition—a bewildering collection of young nurses. The latter are frequently inaccurate in anatomical details, but in point of brilliancy of color they far outshine the best efforts of RUBENS and TITIAN. The flesh tints produced by many of our Fifth Avenue belles infinitely surpass the obsolete tints upon which the great Venetians used to pride themselves.

In Mr. BELMONT'S gallery there are so many original RAPHAELS and MURILLOS, painted by the very best European artists of the present day, that it would occupy far too much of our limited space were we to notice them in detail. We will therefore pass them by, and simply call attention to some of the more noteworthy pictures, executed by contemporary painters, which hang side by side with the more smoky but hardly less valuable works of antiquity. Prominent among these is a modest little "Fruit and Flower" piece, by that promising young artist, Miss SUSAN B. ANTHONY. It deserves especial praise for its accurate copying of nature, the varied beauty of its coloring, and the deep longing of the heart—the hunger of the soul—which must have inspired the fair artist. We give a faithful sketch of this charming picture, though, of course, the glories of its rainbow hues cannot be represented here.

FRUIT AND FLOWER PIECE.

A beautiful work, and one evidently inspired by the sound of battle, is the noble historical painting entitled "On Picket," by Mr. C.A. DANA, Associate Artist National Academy of Velocipedestrianism. The artist has produced a picture that must inspire us all with the absolute truth of the story it so dramatically tells, while he has filled our hearts with deep sympathy and lofty admiration for the lovely and heroic combatant depicted on his canvas. Our army officers—Col. FISK for example—who are ignorant of the sword exercise may derive a hint from this spirited work, as to the importance of obtaining a thorough mastery of the fence.

Claude's renowned landscape of the "Ruined Mill" is familiar to all who are acquainted with it, and has been greatly admired by those who did not feel impelled to condemn its many faults. But CLAUDE is now known to have been no artist, but a mere pretender. There is reason to believe that he had never read RUSKIN, and was hence necessarily ignorant of the aim and method of landscape painting. Our young friend BROWN, the spirituel and fascinating assistant Rector of a fashionable uptown church, has in this gallery a rendering of a similar subject. How manifest is his superiority to CLAUDE! With what truth and fidelity to nature; with what holy calm, and child-like faith, and lofty aspiration has BROWN filled his glowing canvas! And withal, he does not lead us back to the dead faith and traditions of the past, save to urge us onward in the pathway of—in the pathway—in short, to urge us on more or less. To those envious minds who affect to regard BROWN as a mere amateur, an undertaker of more than he has the ability to execute, we would deign but one reply, and that would be, "Look at his trees in the picture called the 'Ruins of the Mill,' and then cower back into your native insignificance."

RUINS OF A MILL.

There are many other pictures which we would like to notice in this article, but want of space will forbid us to do so this week. We have merely room to mention, with warm approbation, the exceedingly dramatic little genre picture entitled "Shoo-fly," by the veteran Minstrel, Mr. DANIEL BRYANT, whose recent translation of HOMER has given him so high a rank among the best German scholars of the day.

SHOE FLY!

RULES AND MAXIMS.

How they change! ESCULAPIUS now gives to us and our children, as medicine, what he denounced to the last generation as "pizen." The heresy of yesterday is the orthodoxy of to-day.

Thus the philosophy of those who are under the turf is refuted by those who are on the turf. It used to be said in regard to horses:—

But the advent of DEXTER has changed the sinister rhyme to:—

RIGHT TO THE SPOT.

Additional spots on the disk of the sun are reported. An ingenious writer, who candidly states that he is not an astronomer, accounts for them by suggesting that they are caused by stray shots from the Prussian sharpshooters who tried to bring down GAMBETTA'S balloon.

A QUERY FOR STEEPLE-CHASERS.

We hear a great deal about "featherweights" in connection with racing. If there are such things as feather weights, why on earth don't the managers of Jerome Park races stuff the steeple-chase jockeys with them, to prevent them from being injured by such accidents as happened there on the opening day of the Autumn meeting?

POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO VIII.

JACK SPRAT was a near neighbor to the Poet. He was a remarkably delicate man, cadaverous and thin. A dyspeptic, always ailing, he was a subject of pity for his friends, and of wonder to his acquaintances. But behold the eternal fitness of things. Providence blessed him with a wife, his opposite in every respect. When extremes meet, a perfect whole is the result; and in this case it was a perfect marriage, fit to be sung by poets and embalmed in verse.

When JACK SPRAT met SALLY STUBBS, at a husking party, she took his eye, and kept it. She filled his heart completely. A rosy-cheeked, buxom lass, healthy and hearty, dimples and dumplings combined, she captivated and carried, by sheer force of weight, the delicate soul of poor JACK.

It was a case of latitude against longitude; strength against weakness, smiles against tears, laughter against groans. And so the poor fellow, feeling an unacknowledged desire to find some one able to support and protect him, yielded to the advice of his friends and his own inclinations, and laid his attenuated hand, with his poor little heart in it, at the fat feet of fair SALLY STUBBS.

He was smiled upon, broad-grinned upon, and accepted; and thereby rendered for the nonce the happiest of men. Tradition has it that the next day he actually ate a hearty dinner, and did not complain of his digestion immediately after. But this is considered doubtful by many.

Fair SALLY, overflowing with the milk of human kindness, and yearning in her soul to bestow her attentions and corporosity upon JACK'S attenuosity, urged matters onward, and the wedding day was fixed, the ring bought, and delicate Mr. SPRAT was led to the altar like a sheep to the slaughter.

Tremblingly he advanced up the aisle of the village church, leading his blushing and waddling bride, and took his place, looking like an exclamation point alongside a parenthesis, before the black-robed Priest, who speedily put an end to Miss STUBBS, and presented JACK with a female SPRAT.

Mrs. SPRAT blushed like a full-blown peony as JACK manfully and courageously saluted her upon one rosy cheek, in the presence of the assembled guests, and then, to cover her confusion, she giggled and shook hands energetically with the company, telling JACK to "hold up his head and do the same, for it was com eel fut, and he must try to be fashionable at his own wedding."

The Bride carried off the honors manfully, and after the first few moments recovered from her embarrassment, and appeared as much at ease as if getting married was an every-day affair, not worth minding. JACK couldn't get over it so readily, and his teeth chattered till late in the night. But they stopped after a while; so I am told.

We pass over the first few days devoted to honey-mooning, and look in upon them as they sit at dinner. He with his greyhound and she with her cat, both animals attentively watching each morsel that disappears from their longing gaze into the capacious mouth of master or mistress. Notice with what dexterity and generosity Mr. SPRAT selects the fattest parts and skilfully conveys them to Madam's plate, reserving the lean for himself; occasionally throwing a bone to his dog, while the lady now and then bestows a fat bit upon Puss, who slowly licks her lips and winks for more. It is a cozy scene of quiet domestic bliss, and so continues till the platter is empty; when, both feeling satisfied for the time, they lean back in their respective chairs, and gaze complacently upon their pets, each other, and the empty dishes.

Their wonderful congeniality and quiet happiness became the subject of wonder to their friends, and of comment and speculation to the village gossips. Her oleaginous and feather-bed-like disposition compelled peace, as oil upon the waves, and shed trouble as a duck sheds water. JACK and his complainings never troubled her; she merely laughed when he groaned, and offered to rub his back. But he, fearing the ponderosity of her hand, rarely submitted; his spinal column being delicate, he dared not risk it.

Village gossips tell many little incidents connected with the married life of the twain, which would be invidious to mention here. Suffice it to say that they were considered fit subjects for the ever-ready pen of the Poet to seize upon and perpetuate in never-dying verse, for the benefit of posterity. That the Poet was right in his surmises, we have only to look around and ascertain how many learned people of all grades have treasured up in their memory, from infancy, the history of JACK SPRAT and his wife.

AN OBVIOUS ILLUSTRATION

Scene. A Lunch Counter.

Customer. "Waiter, do you call this a milk toast?—why, there's no milk to be seen."

Waiter. "Milk all gone into the toast, sir."

Customer. "But there's no toast to speak of."

Waiter. "Toast all gone into the milk, sir."

Customer. "Ah, ha!—there's an idea in that, by Jove. I'll go straight home and write a pamphlet upon the new theory of mutual absorption."

Waiter. "Yes, sir. Don't forget to mention the Kilkenny Cats, sir!"

ENCOURAGING HOME MANUFACTURES.

Young Patriot. "GIMME THREE CENTS WORTH O' CHESTNUTS."

Female Broker. "D' YER WANT EYETALIAN ONES?"

Y. P. "NO, DARN YER—GIMME AMERICAN ONES."

COUNT BISMARCK'S ACCOUNT.

BISMARCK'S insolence is really becoming dangerous. He can deny and contradict the statements made by other Counts, Ambassadors, Kings, or by himself, without its becoming a matter of sufficient importance to interest us. Such giving and taking the lie is a part of the business of persons of this kidney. But he has actually had the audacity to deny the truthfulness of the report by RUSSELL to the Times of a conversation held between them. If this thing is not checked in the bud, he will next be denying—his conversation! with the Tribune "special," as reported by that ubiquitous observer. What will there be for the world to believe, if it loses faith in the truthfulness of the papers?

A Con. for the Vatican.

Why is VICTOR EMMANUEL like a tomahawk? Because he is now said to be "a tool in the hands of the Reds."

THE "LOUDEST" OF SUNDAYS "SWELLS." The Swell of the Church organ.

THE PRIZE CALF "S. L. WOODFORD," FATTENED UP BY MESSRS. GREELY AND CURTIS FOR THE SPECIAL PURPOSE OF BEING CUT UP ON TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 8TH.

"DOST KNOW ME?"

Composed by our Special Dangerous Lunatic in one of his Lucid Intervals.