dleburgh, dated 1588; the other, of the same date, is a small parchment roll, drawn with the pen, and entitled Thamesis Descriptio : showing by lines across the river how far and from whence cannon balls may obstruct the passage of any ship upon an invasion from Tilbury to London, with proper distances marked for placing the guns.

Adams was buried in an aisle on the north side of the chapel of Greenwich, with this inscription: Egregio viro Roberto Adams operum regiorum supervisori, architecturæ peritissimæ, ob. 1595. Simon Basil operationum regiarum, contrarotulator hoc posuit monumentum 1601.

R. BREWS, according to the Excursion in the County of Suffolk, 1818, 12mo, was the builder of the hall of Little Wenham in that county. It is here said that this Hall has been generally deemed a fine old building, and was erected by this architect in 1569, as appears by an inscription over the doorway. Although this building (continues the writer of this work,) has been very little noticed, it is highly deserving the antiquaries' attention as a good specimen of the architecture of the time, and though not inhabited, is still in a good state of preservation.

JOHN ABEL, 1597.-Price in his History of Hereford, 1796, speaking of the Town or Shire-hall of this place, says, "By whom it was built I have not been able to discover; but it seems by its style to have been erected during the reign of James I. by the famous JOHN ABEL, who many years after proved of so much use during the time Hereford was besieged by the Scots."

[To be continued.]

THOUGHTS ON THE CHOICE OF A SUBJECT.

[Concluded from Vol. ii. p. 191.]

HAs the reader ever been at all afflicted with the cacoethes scribendi, and having given his lucubrations to the world, afterwards received from some unexpected unknown quarter a notice of commendation, which, while it flattered his vanity also proved the worth of the praise in the soundness of critical remark with which it was accompanied ?— he will then know how to sympathize in the feeling of surprise and pleasure which rises in the mind of one who, having with all the diffidence of a studious retirement formed and published certain opinions, afterwards found there were persons assenting to the validity of those opinions,

whose assent it was a reward of itself to obtain*. If it should be thought that this acknowledgment comes somewhat late, it must be answered, that there are circumstances constantly arising, over which we have no controul; and at any rate it is not always becoming one who has had the good fortune to obtain a certain degree of reputation, lightly to expose it to the chance of being found undeserving. While, however, the writer of the "Thoughts on the Choice of a Subject" has been complimented on such opinions as he had formed, there was also a challenge given to maintain those opinions, and authorities of no small importance quoted against him. Pride then would require a recurrence to his former position, even if gratitude did not call for an acknowledgment of the obligation. Our opponent, however, must excuse the observation, that he has in some measure mistaken the nature of our remarks, which were merely a protest against the doctrines held alike by poets and painters, to depreciate the labours and the art of each other, when not suited to their own individual objects.

A wild enthusiast like Barry, or one who was almost as wild an enthusiast, Northcote, could see no poetry in any combination of ideas which could not be shaped into a picture; and a critical poetaster sneers at this test, and makes a disparaging comparison of the Arts, because the artist would have an endless labour who would undertake to depict all the scenes described by Shakspeare or Milton, and because "the winged rapidity of poetry presents us with images, so vivid and yet illusive, so distinct and yet shadowy, as to set all Art at defiance." But while commenting on these opinions, we did not mean to deny that there was considerable truth in the answer they gave to the doctrines of Barry and Northcote. We only meant to protest against two arts being contrasted for the purpose of disparagement, which were too dissimilar to be opposed to each other with justice, and of which each possessed peculiar advantages over the other. It was an observation of Fuseli upon an argument on this very subject, that, if you sent a person who knew nothing of flowers into a garden to bring a rose, and described it ever so accurately in the most poetic diction, it would be a chance whether he brought the veritable flower;-but present to his eyes the vilest portrait of one, and he would not mistake it. So, in the comparison between the Arts, there may be respectively subjects suited for the one, which could not be so successfully treated by the other. The vivid portraiture of art can convey the idea of an individual passion or feeling, or scene or action, better than the most laboured descrip* See Library of the Fine Arts, vol. ii. page 294.

tion, though it may not be equally suited to detail a continued series of them. But it is different with abstract ideas, which may be highly poetical at the same time that they are not sufficiently real to be depicted by the most imaginative. We should, however, here observe, that all is not poetry which is poetical, though it has lately been the fashion with many who gave themselves credit for fine writing and deep thinking to maintain that doctrine. The best definition of poetry that has been given, is in the words of Milton :

"Thoughts that voluntary move

Harmonious numbers."

And until these new lights and metaphysical fancies had bewildered our essay-writers, it was always supposed that some rhythm was necessary to constitute poetry. But it does not follow because an idea is poetical, that therefore the bare idea should constitute poetry. Water is food and so is air to the body; but when we talk of food, who thinks of air or water? Yet even supposing we are wrong in these opinions, we have yet another to bring forward. It is triumphantly asked “Who shall paint Elijah's mantle of inspiration! the still small voice! the war-horse whose neck is clothed with thunder! the magic girdle of the fairy queen! or the cestus of Homer's Venus!" &c. To these we answer: Many an artist, who, according to the ideas of poetry by these lovers of fine writing, should be called poets, and much more rightly than hundreds of such authors as have been induced, poor infatuated mortals! to give their jingling empty rhymes to the world. Had Fuseli never embodied the idea of the Nightmare, or many others of his extraordinary conceptions, or Guido his personification of "the rosy-fingered Aurora," these might have been included in the string of queries we have quoted; and it is impossible, even for a greater than Mr. Cunningham to pronounce what genius in art can or can not accomplish. We use the words, "a greater than Mr. Cunningham" with great humility; but we admire this gentleman's phraseology so much, that we cannot but adopt it on all fitting occasions. "Much of our finest poetry," he observes, "would slip like quicksilver from the pencil of a greater than Mr. Northcote." And he cannot complain if we apply to him language which he thought decorous to use towards that eminent painter, when bending "beneath the burden of fourscore." Though not pretending to any skill in art, and to still less in poetry, we see not why the subjects which have been particularly pointed out as impossible to be executed, should slip like quicksilver from the pen

cil of a superior artist. These, and a multitude of such subjects there are, which, to an ordinary mortal would appear difficult to be achieved, but than which, in the hands of genius, when undertaken, nothing appears easier.

Ignorance is generally incredulous, and in its conceit puts the limit of its own inefficiency to the powers of art. With such ineffable selfsatisfaction, it is useless to argue: it will be enough for us to deny its assertions, and not allow the youthful artist to be led away even by such an authority, and leave unattempted what, until attempted, cannot be pronounced impracticable.

Here then we dismiss the question, protesting against either art being disparaged in a vain comparison with the other. Each has its distinct province, and its distinct advantages: but if the comparison is to be forced upon us, we must contend that the art of painting need not shrink from her rival. The best poetry is that which leaves most for the imagination to dwell on,—and what poetry answers this end so much as the contemplation of the works of the best masters! But we are not the less admirers of what is great in poetry, because we cannot perceive the talents or assent to the opinions of a third or fourth rate versifier. We admire the cottage scenes of Gainsborough, or the coast scenes of Collins, or the delightful delineations of Wilkie, though they have been unsung by any poet, and perhaps would not be suited to the fetters of rhyme; but we do not therefore turn with the less relish to the works of Newton or Leslie, or any others who have recourse to the literature of the country for the subjects of their choice. The painter, as well as the poet, may choose to look at nature, and depict her various scenes through the medium of his own conceptions; but he will not be giving a less proof of an elegant or highly cultivated mind, or even of originality of thought, by embodying the conceptions of others.

We love to see the sister arts go hand in hand, nor should we regret the associations which recalled to our minds the poetical creations of kindred genius. On the contrary, we may feel as grateful for the recollection of a favourite passage in any author, as for the delineation of the most delightful scene in nature; and if both combined, the gratification might be proportionally increased. One of the greatest charms of Claude is his fondness for introducing figures illustrative of some circumstance related in classical or sacred history :-the Flight into Egypt is thus represented in one part of a picture, with a group of Arcadian shepherds dancing in the foreground, or vice-versa, with some other circumstance of like pictorial interest. The same remark applies to Wilson, and also to our Turner, who does not neglect this easy, yet

very important means of enhancing the interest of his works. It may be a question whether subjects introduced purely mythological would command the feeling we should wish to inspire; but there can be no doubt in such a choice as the "Landing in Italy," or most from the pencils of the great masters we have named. Indeed, we hold that the genius of an artist is not less shown in the choice of his subjects than in his manner of treating them. Faulty as the figures of Claude are said to be, there is a spirituality,—a fitness about them, for the scene in which they are placed, with a classicality of air which shows them to be the emanations of a mind of the finest mould of correct and elegant taste. The extravaganzas of Fuseli or Martin may be imitated with success; but who has yet touched the circle of a Hogarth, or a Wilkie, without showing an immeasurable inferiority, or degenerating into positive vulgarity? Let another strive to think of a subject in the style of these unrivalled masters, and it would be all but impossible to suggest one; but every new work they bring forth, at once gives proof of its paternity, and seems to declare the utmost easiness of conception. To such minds subjects are inexhaustible, for they are chosen from the manners of the people with whom we live in every-day intercourse-they are to be met with at every turn; but we do not perceive them till they are caught by the superior perception of the painter, and held up the objects of our admiration. Such men walk alone in their sphere, and are beyond all rules of criticism, which are never calculated for genius of an original order. Our views are directed to the many who are ambitious of excelling in the way in which others have excelled.

Of our living artists, as we have already intimated, Mr. Briggs is the most after our own heart for his choice of subjects. Mr. Howard's subjects are highly poetical, but fancifully so ;-they are not based upon any feeling of our nature, and we look upon them with that kind of admiration with which we look upon the stars. They are very beautiful, but we have no fellowship, no feeling in common with them. Mr. Hilton is fond of selecting subjects from the sacred writings or from the older poets; but though these afford proofs of high taste and feeling, it is seldom that subjects can be found in them to excite that degree of sympathy which we wish to see Art employed in creating. There is a fashion in taste, with which it is useless to contend; and no man after all has a right to be in reality, much less to believe himself unjustly,-very far in advance of the age in which he lives. On this point we have the authority of Sir Joshua Reynolds in his Seventh Discourse, "Whoever would reform a nation," says the illustrious President, "supposing a bad taste to prevail in it, will not accomplish his purpose by going directly against the