of the reflection of small surface-objects which would sustain us on the face of the mirror. He then refers to the error of reflecting objects as we see them above water, whereas their aspect should be as if we were looking at them from beneath. Speaking of falling water, he properly emphasizes the making it supine, not active; i.e. of making it fall, not leap. It may leap over a salmon weir, it may spring at the top of Niagara; but where there is any depth, it soon exhibits no more than the plunge of its own dead weight. If the depth be extraordinary, it begins to writhe and twist, stretching as it falls, till the counter-wind from the valley strikes the spray from its edges, and carries it back in reverted rags and threads. In a perpendicular fall, the outer spray will rebound from the elastic air below, ascending like a fountain. See the description of the Dranse, p. 367.

Speaking of the sea, he alludes to the very limited idea of its recklessness, power, and breadth, which is afforded on viewing it from the shore, when each wave is but a separate individual, which, having performed its part, perishes to be succeeded by another. On the sea we perceive no succession, but the same forms rising, crashing, recoiling, and rolling in again with fresh fury. The expression of weight, the action of recoil, the direct stroke of the breaker, the heaving of the sea after a continued gale, all these are depicted by our author with all the power of a painter-poet.

A very important portion of his book has reference to the truth of vegetation, and as the old Italian school exhibits but very few instances where foliage does not form the principal part of the picture, it would be reasonable to expect that in this department of art it would be correct. His observation of Nature leads him to the following facts:

1. That in the ordinary trees of Europe neither trunks nor boughs ever taper in the interval between those points where the offshoots spring:

2. That where these offshoots appear, the trunk or bough becomes less in diameter by the exact quantity of the substance which these offshoots contain :

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CXCV.

3. That an appearance of tapering shews itself only where the offshoots and buddings have dropped off or been removed; and that the tapering only appears continuous (and then slight) when the distance is such as to prevent our observing the remaining part of the joints or sockets of such offshoots, and consequently does not allow us to perceive the gentle parallel gradations of ascent :

4. That as no boughs diminish where they do not fork, so they cannot fork without diminishing, and they do not diminish without increasing in number:

5. That the almost invariable loss of minor boughs and sprays accounts for the main boughs containing somewhat more than the sum of the main trunk:

6. That the limbs and twigs of a tree, however they may be bent by the wind or otherwise, never lose their elbows and angles, i. e. they never continuously curve.

He

Going from Nature to the great modern English landscape artists, he finds all these truths observed. Going to Poussin and others, he finds them all contradicted. He finds the stems of near trees tapering like carrots, without any indication that boughs have ever existed; and he finds boughs tapering as violently without any twigs to account for it-without any thing to hold the leaves, which, therefore, seem to hold on to one another like a swarm of bees. finds a diminishing trunk leading to two diminishing boughs, leading to a pair of forks with diminishing prongs stuck into two great bunches of leafage like Dutch brooms. He finds them smooth without parallel gradations-without any irregularities to account for their apparent tapering, and curved without any of the elbows and angles which Nature insists upon. In short, he finds them abundantly wrong on all the six points of tree anatomy.

He then proceeds to the laws of foliage. Nature shews,

1. A general feeling for symmetry, combined with unlimited though ever harmonising irregularity: never a repetition of any one leaf or any one combination.

2. The outer leaves of trees become mere points and lines, the leaves acquiring body and form as

BB

they come down into the mass of the tree; while in certain of the very nearest portions may be seen distinct leaves large and motionless, "the type and embodying of all that in the rest we feel and imagine but can never see.".

3. The infinite intricacy of foliage is always harmonised into perfect unity by a cloud-like disposition of shade and tone, which, in the midst of profusion, preserves repose.

4. The mass of a tree's foliage is always included within a certain symmetrical curved outline, within which all the component irregularities, segments, and divisions of a perfect tree are included, each bough reaching the limited boundary with its extremity, but not passing it. When this is not the case, an imperfection in the growth of the tree, or some loss of branch or bough, will always be found to account for it. Thus the beau idéal of a well-grown oak will be included within the form of a dome; that of a taller tree within the outline of a pear. The author justifies the adoption of the abstract ideal form, and only insists on its exhibiting that which might be, or has been found exemplified in particular

cases.

As before, he finds the modern English artists right; Claude worthy of praise in the trees of his middle distance, and Hobbima and Both equally so in their nearest foliage. He, however, censures them for exhibiting details where detail could not possibly be seen; magnifying the one leaf, diminishing the multitude; making finite the infinite. But it is upon Poussin that the graduate is most severe,-if, indeed, that can be called severity which is justice. In his pictures, he finds a certain computable quantity of resembling leaves, regularly disposed in resembling bunches-mere conventional touches mathematically arranged; the whole signifying tree, not resembling it. Sometimes, for a mass of foliage a space of smooth, opaque, varnished brown, with circular groups of greenish touches at regular rvals upon it-not coming out of as far from Nature's intricacy riety as from her harmony ity. Lastly, he refers to the eglect of the old masters in t to the proper disposition of

their boughs, or the symmetrical curve of their general outline.

Having thus considered the characteristics of the four great elements of landscape-sky, earth, water, and vegetation-he dismisses architectural painting as involving a mere knowledge of general truths within the reach of the most inferior draughtsman, saying it is disgraceful to misrepresent them, but no honour to draw them well. Any architect's clerk could have drawn the steps and balustrade in the "Hero and Leander" as well as Turner, but no one save he could have so thrown the accidental shadows on them; while many a man, who could not paint so well as Claude, would never have committed the egregious violations of perspective which he has in many instances exhibited. And it stands to reason, that men, who in broad, simple, and demonstrable matters are perpetually wrong, will not be right in carrying out matters delicate, refined, and subtile.

The author then asserts that people begin to find fault with Turner where they cease to have the power of appreciating him; that they are arrogant in criticising, where they ought to be humble in learning; that the province of such a painter as Turner is to administer delight to the informed, and to afford instruction to the ignorant.

His concluding chapter is on Modern Art and Modern Criticism. He exposes the error of measuring an artist's relative rank by the higher or lower amount of his feeling; whereas it is the fidelity and truth with which he exhibits the peculiar subject of his choice that should be regarded. The feelings of different artists are not capable of comparison, but their fidelity and truth are; and the author seems rather to think, that when a painter exhibits perfect and high truth in some inferior subject to which he habituates himself, and on which he realises fame and fortune, he is capable of taking much higher ground with equal success; it being his opinion that no man can draw any one thing well if he can draw nothing else, and that when this appears to be contradicted, it is owing to some trickery which will sooner or later be discovered.

Though material truth does not in

itself constitute high rank, he thinks it a perfect test of relative rank; and does not so much accuse modern critics of injustice in their decision on artists, as of pampering to the varying and low state of the public taste. He thinks it the business of the press to tell us what to ask for, not whom to ask; not to tell us which is our best painter, but whether our best painter is doing his best; not to measure our living painters by a comparison with the old masters, but solely with reference to that Nature which scorns the mannerisms of the schools.

He alludes to the morbid fondness of the public for unfinished works, shewing how improperly encouraging this is to the clever idler in art, or the claptrap money-maker; and how unjust towards the man of industry, energy, and feeling, who is desirous of doing something worth having lived for. The one draws a draft on a banker as he draws a sketch; the other drags on an unremunerated life as he labours on a picture. It should be the artist's difficulty to know when to leave off, nor should he do so while he can put another thought into his picture. Our author does not mean to censure real sketches, intended only as such; and, in fact, he thinks them not sufficiently encouraged. Young artists, instead of aping the execution of masters, and uttering disjointed repetitions of other men's words without sharing in their emotions, should be industrious with their out-door sketch-book.

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As the fault of the generality of modern painters, he instances a "want of solemnity and definite purpose," saying our landscapes are generally descriptive," not "reflective." He deems them too prone to repeat themselves. "All copyists," says he, แ are contemptible; but the copyist of himself the most so, since he has the worst original.' He concludes by calling on the press to benefit art by leading the public into a proper estimation of Turner, and by urging that artist to give all his future efforts to great works; such works as may remain for the teaching of nations.P. 423.

Such is the general account we have endeavoured to give of, perhaps, the most remarkable book which has ever been published in reference to

art. To the truth of all its principles we accord the fullest and most cntire submission; on the perfect justness of all its illustrations we may not, with such unhesitating trust, rely; but, in the main, we are willing to accept them also. The author has made us clearly see much that we had overlooked; and has, at least, stimulated in us an increased desire for that knowledge of Nature, without which all patronage of art is foolery and all criticism cant.

All men who have eyes to behold and liberty to range, have presented to them the innumerable distinct varieties and combinations of Nature. This exhibition involves every possible change of position, and modified form, and colour; every grade from impenetrable darkness to intensest light, and from the powerful strength of proximity to the fading and almost imperceptible delicacy of remotest distance.

Some men, from either a comparative insensibility to emotion or partial education, see in all this nothing more than the result of physical creation acted upon by the laws of optics. Others, either from native susceptibility or the accidents of early training, observe in Nature's variety the eloquence of a Creator stimulating the heart as well as the mind to that apprehension of the Sublime and Beautiful which will exist for ever, when the physical has passed away and matter is no more.

The Sciences which contribute to the practical good of the present world, and the Arts which sustain its imaginative condition, are doubtless of equal value, different men having their different missions, either for promoting a knowledge of the mechanism of the universe, or a feeling for its harmony.

Leaving Science, then, in the hands of its duly appointed disciples, we would regard Art as having for its object the refinement and elevation of the soul in its temporal alliances. Confining our remark to the landscape artist, we would receive him as the minister of those eternal truths which the Creator speaks in the pictorial eloquence of Sky, Earth, and Ocean; it being his duty not to repeat the more commonly known passages in that literal form which is familiar to our memory, but to

seize upon the more important, the more pregnant portions, and to render more acute our perception, and more exalted our estimate, of the comprehensive meaning they are intended to convey.

That the work of the Oxford graduate has for its especial aim the promotion of Landscape Nature as a great moral means, and the elevation of the artist as the expounder of its mysteries, is sufficient to demand for its author the highest respect of the ordinary observer on the one hand, and the professional aspirant on the other. For our own parts, we are grateful to him, not more for stimulating our regard for Art, than for teaching us how to cultivate a thriving love for Nature. We have, since the perusal of his treatise, gained many an additional insight into the riches of landscape; and we thank him cordially for having opened to us those sources of enjoyment which lie, like ever-gushing fountains, in the mountains, the valleys, the fields, and the woods; and for having awakened our fuller apprehension of those sublimities which distinguish the phenomena of ocean, and of" the brave o'erhanging firmament."

The graduate's volume is, in short, a work which prompts us to leave the conventional for the true; and, quitting the cant of gallery connoisseurship, to find

"Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."

We cannot close this article on the

graduate's volume, without referring to the singular eloquence and graphic power displayed in very many of its passages. It is evidently not the work of a critic only, but of a painter and poet. The sterling common

sense and the acute observation, shewn in its more practical details, are not more remarkable than the reverential feeling he entertains towards Art, and the enthusiasm of his love for Nature. We only regret, for the sake of his cause, that he should so openly have proclaimed himself the champion of Turner in particular. He might have kept Turner in his eye, without such unqualified personal worship. The Turneric might have been advocated, without such an especial idolatry of the artist himself. The pre-eminent genius of Turner might have been asserted, and sufficiently proved, by reference to certain particular merits, even in such of his works as are, in their general character, deemed most extravagant; but when such works are alluded to as illustrating the graduate's theory of landscape perfection, readers, less docile than ourselves, will visit, upon the very principles of his book, the doubts which should only attach to the justice of some of his examples. With these few qualifying remarks we take leave of the graduate, hoping that the "word of promise" which he has left with us, in respect to the continuation of his subject, will be speedily redeemed. Well and wisely hath he charmed us so far, and, in the words of Jaques, we earnestly exclaim,

"More, more; I pr'y thee, more!"

OUR readers, we think, will do us the justice to acknowledge, that we have not rushed into any hasty conclusions concerning the wisdom of the financial policy of the minister, being yet undeclared, or the effect which it bids fair to produce upon the general condition, social as well as commercial, of the country. It is indeed possible that to the more earnest among them we may seem to have exercised an excess of caution in this respect, for earnest men are not always reasonable men; and reason, though it be our safest guide in politics as in most other things, seldom keeps its ground when assailed by prejudice or passion. But we cannot help this. We have never written a line on any of the great questions of the day, which at this present moment we would wish to retract. We have done nothing in the matter of the last move in the Conservative cabinet, which we could at this moment desire to be undone. As long as it was possible to keep the judgment in suspense we wholly suspended ours; and took the precaution, even after Sir Robert Peel had made the first announcement of his purposes, to postpone to a future occasion the remarks which we might feel it our duty to make upon them. There is an end, however, now, to all farther hesitation. The secret is fully out, -the great plan is developed; the ways and means by which it has been brought so far towards its accomplishment are patent to the whole world: and to affect neutrality any longer would be ridiculous. It has become our duty to deliver our opinion on the premises before us, and we shall endeavour to go through with it as becomes us.

And first let us guard ourselves against appearing to write in a spirit of bitterness about Sir Robert Peel. We have no railing accusation whatever to bring against him. As a man, we believe him to be as honest now as he ever was: as a statesman, we cannot doubt that the motives by which he is actuated are pure. What indeed has he to gain, either personally or in reputation, by the course which he has considered it expedient to

adopt? He sacrifices old friendships, old associations, old opinions, old connexions, every thing which men most esteem, and which go the farthest to smooth for them the path of life and for what? : To effect a change in the financial policy of the greatest empire in the world, over the destinies of which he has been called upon to preside; and to run the risk, while doing so, of making shipwreck of his own influence. For should he fail to carry his measure after all, there is but a choice of evils before him he must either retire at once from public life, or throw in his lot with a party with which he has no sympathy in common. And even if he succeed, wherein can he expect to be benefited? Will future parliaments prove more manageable because this, which was elected on protection principles, has stultified itself and established the principle of free trade? Will the House of Lords, like the beaten spaniel, cringe or obey the premier more cheerfully in consequence of the discipline which it has undergone? Positively we see nothing for Sir Robert Peel in the future but mortification, annoyance, and an ultimate retreat to Drayton Manor. For, whether the country thrive or not under the new system which he has devised for it, in him no human being can hereafter repose confidence; inasmuch as, though acting always upon principle and a desire to do right, there is no fixedness of opinion about him. And we defy any set of rational beings, whether they be banded together in arms or collected into deliberative assemblies, to follow as their leader a man whom they cannot trust, not because they esteem him intentionally dishonest, but because he claims for himself the privilege of changing his opinions whenever he chooses, and insists that others shall change theirs in like manner.

Sir Robert Peel has become a freetrader, in the most extended sense of the term, suddenly, and after a long public life spent in the maintenance of a system of protection to agricu' ture and domestic industry.