pictorial creation reveals to us; or choose to have his lot cast in an age or land of darkness, with the gloom of night behind, without the glory of morning before, -inventing nothing, admiring nothing, and bequeathing nothing? The use of art to memory can never be doubted by any intelligent being. That which conveys ideas, forms, and appearances, clear and distinct, when language is lost or unintelligible-which speaks all tongues, living or dead, polite or barbarous,-proclaims its own usefulness.

SECTION I.

MEN, and eminent men too, have described art as a profession which presents but a thorny and difficult path to the feet of its votaries; but if this were true, it would still become those who are resolved to follow art for her own sake to banish all such disheartening and injurious notions from their minds; and having put their hand to the plough, to reflect only on the charms and the honours which elevated it in their eyes above all other pursuits, and on the study necessary to attain distinction in a line to which no ability is too lofty to be devoted.

It is for other professions to require the stimulants of wealth to sweeten the bitter duties which they impose. The followers of art seem to realize a species of happiness even in their most monotonous labours, which, like the sports of the field and of the chase, stir up a natural interest in the pursuit, independent of the very object in view. Other employments and

professions may be adopted on compulsion, but no one was ever constrained to be an artist: it is the choice of free will; and with all its disappointments and depressions is a high solace to the imaginative spirit, and congenial to the heart of man. Indeed, there are not wanting instances, and those not few in number, where preferment and independence have been neglected for the sole purpose of rendering to art the undivided homage of mind and hand, -commencing with the humblest of her studies,—satisfied with a slow and uncertain progress,-every step made in solitude and neglect; yet bearing a resistless charm with it in the fine creations which it inspires, which of itself seems compensation enough for privation and toil and disappointment. For of a truth the varied and inexhaustible power derivable from the study and contemplation of art, furnishes human thought with some of its noblest attributes. We receive from sculpture and painting some of our most vivid impressions of the past, our truest knowledge of what is remote and distant; and the proudest of heroes and conquerors look to their assistance for being regarded and remembered in future ages.

To be successful in wielding the full powers of art seems worthy of man's ambition: to be capable of constructing the airy dome or the magnificent portico; to realize in marble the majesty of the Apollo or the agony of the Laocoon; or on a flat surface to represent, with all the roundness and relief of solid forms moving in airy space and extended distance, the death of Ananias or of St. Peter the Martyr,-would

afford not merely a proof of the happy genius of the artist, but evidence of a divinity of talent peculiar to the species to whom the individual belongs.

This power, this talent, this mysterious agency, the professor of art may, in proportion to his study and ability, be able to attain at his command; and with this power all that beautiful nature offers to the eye may be imitated and represented, with such force and truth as to form a record of its visible shape and sentiment and hue, when all traces of its original have passed away.

To this bright mode of expression, this perfect truth and enduring fidelity, man owes some of the most valuable portions of his knowledge: deprive us of all that art has taught us, how imperfect would our remaining information be! No description, and there are many bright ones, can convey what a picture can tell at a glance; nor can the eye, without the help of pictorial representation, form an impression of what it has not seen. To art we are indebted for our first knowledge of all visible objects beyond the contracted sphere of our childhood. The foaming sea, the raging cataract, the descending avalanche, and the burning crater, would, like the lion of the desert, the eagle of the sky, or the monsters of the deep, remain in our thoughts like undefined chimeras of the brain, but for the help of art. The illustrations of history, the demonstrations of science, the development of organised and animated nature, depend materially on the powers of art to be interpreted and understood.

Indeed, interwoven as our ideas are with the representations of art, and as these representations must, for their use, and influence, and nobleness of aim, depend on the genius and moral character of those by whom such powers are exercised, it is indispensable in those who minister in this high calling to reflect and ponder well on whatsoever they do, that all may be for the honour and dignity of art, and elevating to their character in the land wherein they dwell. Still, it must be confessed that, in spite of the patriotism and genius of the artist, his talents, like a summer shower, may be wasted on a desert, and all his studies rendered vain, unless on the part of the world around him a disposition exists to sympathise with his studies, and reward with approbation his labours; without which art, however it may rise, cannot be said to flourish in any land. This leads us at once to the consideration of an important question; namely, what are the wants and tastes of the people in whose land we live, and in what way can those wants and tastes be rendered available in the higher of the efforts of the sculptor and painter?

To ascertain this let us ask, Have our people in this isle the desire to make works of art serviceable in promoting and exalting religious devotion, as has been done in Flanders, Spain, and Italy? Or does art require the aid of that encouraging system of political policy which has elevated the school of France? In reply to these questions, all that can be stated seems to be this, that however disposed the public may be to place art on the table-land, no opportunity has yet been offered by art for the exercise of such

lofty encouragement. The taste for art in our isle is of a domestic rather than a historical character. A fine picture is one of our household gods, and kept for private worship: it is an every-day companion; and, unseen in holy places associated with holy things, becomes too familiar for awe; for although the noblest aspirations of art are of a nature so general, and of an interest so concentrated, as to command and fix the applause of an assembled multitude, there are feelings not less deep and not less universal which require a solitary hour or a holy place, undisturbed by applause, unintruded on even by sympathy.

But admitting, which we must, that we resemble the school of Holland and the old school of France in adapting art to man's private abode and domestic residence, rather than to the abbey or the public hall, may not the lover of art and England exclaim, "What! and must we, who take the lead among the nations of the earth in all other departments of human genius, abandon the hope of rivalling foreign states, and cease to hope the production of a series of great historical and devotional pictures, like those which render the Vatican immortal, the Palace of the Luxembourg renowned, and the Escurial famed over all the earth?" Although a series of works such as these in their extent and combination have been hitherto beyond our reach, let us never cease to hope that national dignity will yet assert itself in some or all of the noblest departments of art; and though in our island a Raphael or Michael Angelo may not appear, yet who can limit the extent or define the modes under which genius may shine? For it is