made smooth, but not bright: she is too great a beauty to be decked out without being spoiled.

The disasters as well as the pleasures of a country life are also very proper for the pastoral kind of painting. They give variety without infringing upon the character of the composition; such as the disasters of the elements, not of the shepherds and the milkmaids, for those might be thought to touch upon the burlesque or the ridiculous, which should always be avoided in compositions of any dignity of character. Storms, floods, and such like occurrences, are what we allude to. They are a kind of episode in the general tale of the weather, and as such may be rendered of great service by the painters, in relieving one's eyes from an eternal spring and sunshine.

The fifth and last division of legitimate landscape, which now comes under our observation, is the Familiar or Domestic. Of this style many of Gainsborough's pictures are the best examples we can at this moment recollect.

Scenery with which every one is familiar, cottages with peasant children, rivulets and woody lanes, are the proper subjects for this kind of painting. They may be varied almost without end; but whatever they be, let them always convey pleasurable ideas of humble country life. Any signs of greatness on the one hand, or of wretchedness on the other, must be avoided; for they are equally destructive of the feeling proper to be conveyed in the familiar landscape. The style of it ought perhaps to be more literally natural than that of any other; inasmuch as, more than any other, it is intended to be a representation of the lowest and most ordinary scenes in nature. For the same reason, too, it admits of a greater degree of attention being paid to the minutia and the finishing of the parts than is allowable in the pastoral, or indeed in any of the other divisions of true landscape.

We have thus shortly gone through what appeared to be all the principal characters of landscape-painting, and which we think will be found to include, in some way or other, every picture of character and talent which the Arts have given birth to. We have in as few words as possible pointed out the various markings and distinctive differences of each, and endeavoured to impress upon the minds of the younger students and beginners, the great importance of character or expression in all landscapes, and what an absolute necessity exists for their attending to this above all other considerations, if they desire to produce works of excellence, and to display their own talents to the best advantage. It is of little use mingling objects of half-a-dozen different characters in a picture; for of necessity, if they do not counteract each other, they de

stroy what is of infinitely more importance,-the general feeling and effect. This is indeed twisting ropes of sand :—a man does and undoes his own work at the same instant and for ever. Labour, incessant labour, is the lot of all who follow mental occupations.

Painting, like poetry, is the result of a process of thought, and not a mere practice of the hand under the weak guidance of an unconscious eye. A painter must see what he is about, not with his eye alone, but with his mind; yet with all this he may labour unceasingly and fail at last, if his labour be not well and properly directed.

A STUDENT.

VISIT TO MONPLAISIR.

[Continued from vol. ii. page 338.*]

LET people say what they will, there is certainly a good deal in sympathy, and it occasionally works wonders. Here was I-who have certainly not the reputation of possessing at all more assurance than the rest of the world—talking familiarly and perfectly at my ease with

himself, as if we were equals in station, and had all our lives been intimate companions; although, had my introduction not been impromptu, I should most probably have felt something of that embarrassing restraint which, however flattering it might have been to one party, would have diminished the satisfaction of both.

"There is a seeming contradiction,”-observed I, in reply to some remarks he suffered to escape him as we were renewing our conversation after the trifling, and certainly not disagreeable interruption it had experienced," between what you have just said, and your affection for the Art, that rather perplexes me. Since you are so decided an enthusiast in architecture, how happens it that you express yourself with so little deference towards the generality of those who profess it, and also those who have written upon it?"

"For that very reason: because I am an enthusiast, and therefore intolerant of whatever tends to disparage, to desecrate it. It is on that very account that I abhor the grovelling, sordid ideas, the servile pedantry, the vulgar drivelling and absurdity, the utter want of mind, the

* The following Errata escaped notice :-At page 332, line 13, “Both language and architecture are in the origin," should be, " Both, &c. in their origin." Line 15 from bottom: for "When then " read "Well then".

despicable cant, the contemptible puerility, the lamentable non-sequiturs, the more than idiot remarks, that one is doomed to encounter in the greater part of what professes to be architectural criticism."

Good heavens! thought I, I have touched the wrong string. What a torrent of vituperation upon an inoffensive set of creatures, against whom nothing more treasonable can be alleged, than that if they are for the most part very dull, they are at times, in spite of themselves, infinitely diverting! "Your censure is by far too sweeping,” replied I, after my inaudible ejaculation: "there are many works to which it would be the height of injustice to apply any of the terms you have been pleased to make use of."

"A few, Sir,—a very few. But I speak of the average quality of the ten thousand times repeated impertinences and sillinesses that get into print, and which are in my opinion the less excusable, because they are borrowed. Folly at first-hand has at least the merit of making us stare, but at second-hand only makes us sick. As soon as we turn from works professedly didactic, we are sure to meet with ineptitudes beyond endurance. Even didactic writers, too, confine themselves to a very narrow and beaten track, rarely treating their subject with a generous spirit, or with aught that really deserves the name of liberal criticism. As for the common herd of them, it has been their constant labour-ill thanks to them for it-to establish a Procrustean standard, and, as far as may be, to limit the illimitable. Of architecture it may truly be asserted, that it has suffered more from injudicious friends and bigoted admirers, than from its enemies. It is the former who have alienated men's sympathies and affections from it, and robbed it of respect; doing their utmost to convince the world how barren and mechanical it is, and striving with perverse ingenuity to smother every spark of fancy, and petrify a genius to a dunce.' At times I am tempted to envy those ages when architecture was not, as at present, dry-nursed by those who perform the office as a task; when it was not a trim system to be learned by rote, nor a lifeless hortus siccus, well arranged, perhaps, yet devoid of spirit and vitality. I do not censure those who, professing to give merely elementary instruction, proceed no further; but I do regret that our architectural literature should consist of little more than such matter, and rarely advance beyond the first elements of the Art,-the mere grammar, or rather accidence of its language; and that there should be so little intelligence and feeling exhibited by those who compose, I should perhaps say compile, works of that description. Their besetting sin is their ultra-orthodoxy, which is frequently more pernicious, and, in reality, far more latitudinarian,

than the heresies from which they would guard us.

Fain would they tie us down to certain formulæ, and bind Architecture, as the Lilliputians did Gulliver, by petty flimsy cords, that snap if they be but touched. Above all do I deplore the specious and fallacious error of attributing to any single quality or individual beauty, an abstract, immutable power, capable of producing the same effect unconditionally, let concomitant circumstances be what they may. Hence it is that there is generally so little of ensemble and effect, and hardly anything of power in the works— I will not say of the meanest of our modern architects, but of those who stand high in their profession. If you complain of this, it is attributed to prejudice, and you are overwhelmed with authorities and precedents for every particular, to prove to you that you ought to admire in spite of yourself. Beauty of parts, and beauty of an entire composition, are different things. We may find the former ready-made to our hands; but to produce the latter, of course I mean including originality at the same time, requires not only a passive but an active taste, which shall be capable of so arranging the separate elements, as to impart to all of them collectively an additional value. It is this power of combination that is the test of the real artist."

I am afraid that your standard of excellence is rather too high," said I, at the same time casting a glance at the building opposite to us, as much as to say, Does this piece of architecture quite fulfil the conditions you exact?

Not at all too high, albeit there are not many who would care to be measured by it. To borrow an illustration from the analogy I have already drawn between architecture and language, it is not the mere words that constitute the eloquence or poetry of a work, but the mode in which they are employed,—the peculiar significancy and expression they acquire. The words themselves are common property: the art lies in making use of this stock, which until so applied are mere inert materials, susceptible of being arranged into beauty, or the contrary. One of the errors-and a most formidable one it is-into which architects are too prone to fall, is, that they mistake a negative for a positive merit, deeming it all-sufficient to avoid faults, instead of aiming at original excellencies. So much, indeed, do they habituate themselves to consider everything piecemeal,-whether it be the parts of a structure, or the qualities it displays,-that they almost invariably lose sight of that compound merit, which is, or should be, the joint result of all."

"Then they at least verify the old saying, 'One cannot see the wood for the trees.' That, I presume, is your meaning. They are so intent upon this circumstance or the other, that they do not stop to consider

whether, although it may be commendable in the abstract, it may not incur the forfeiture of something more desirable, and in fact be even detrimental to the effect."

"That is precisely what I would say. An architect, my good Sir, should be an expert and profound casuist, capable of comprehending all the bearings of his subject, of deciding between those conflicting interests that must inevitably arise, and determining which of them it will be most advantageous to pursue or to abandon."

"Vous devancez votre siecle, and therefore, I am afraid, will meet with very few who are capable of comprehending your doctrine, which is by far too esoteric to be intelligible to the oi rodλoɩ.”

"So I would fain flatter myself."

Strange flattery, that! Indeed, I must be excused for saying, that your enthusiasm appears not wholly exempt from prejudice, which leads you to exact too much, while your excessive fastidiousness must deprive yourself of much gratification."

"At least the fastidiousness you impute to me does not prevent me from detecting merit; and I could mention buildings by more than one living architect, which, in my opinion, have had as little justice done to their merits, as some other structures have been overpraised."

"Then am I rather agreeably disappointed; for, after your previous unsparing severity, I was not prepared for such an avowal."

Perhaps I may spoil all again, when I add, that what I have alluded to are rather casual exceptions than otherwise. Nevertheless I am willing to believe that the architects of the present day are beginning to emancipate themselves from much of that common-place routine in which their immediate predecessors delighted to dwell. That absurd antipathy to the Gothic style or styles, which was once so prevalent, has since been expelled by an opposite mania. When it does not please us to be Grecian, we are now most furiously Gothic,"-(Again I cast my eyes with a look of rather reproachful inquiry at the turrets and pinnacles of Monplaisir,)" imitating defects and casual imperfections, quite as industriously as beauties, at the same time omitting in the copy all that serves to redeem or excuse those faults in the original. It is some satisfaction, however, to know that we have advanced so far as to have both learnt and unlearnt much—which latter point is in itself no inconsiderable advantage, asr egards both Gothic and Grecian. Whether we shall really profit by all this, time alone can determine. Our wings are now feathered; it remains to put the strength of our pinions to the test by flight. If we have studied to any purpose, we ought by this time to be able to see how either style may be best accommodated to