haps, never heard of in the precincts of the Palais-Royal, is it not enough that they gave pleasure where they were, to those who saw and heard them? Must our laugh, to be sincere, have its echo on the other side of the water? Had not the French their favourites and their enjoyments at the time, that we knew nothing of? Why then should we not have ours (and boast of them too) without their leave? A monopoly of self-conceit is not a monopoly of all other advantages. The English, when they go abroad, do not take away the prejudice against them by their looks. We seem duller and sadder than we are. As I write this, I am sitting in the open air in a beautiful valley near Vevey: Clarens is on my left, the Dent de Jamant is behind me, the rocks of Meillerie opposite: under my feet is a green bank, enamelled with white and purple flowers, in which a dew-drop here and there still glitters with pearly light

"And gaudy butterflies flutter around."

Intent upon the scene and upon the thoughts that stir within me, I conjure up the cheerful passages of my life, and a crowd of happy images appear before me. No one would see it in my looks-my eyes grow dull and fixed, and I seem rooted to the spot, as all this phantasmagoria passes in review before me, glancing a reflex lustre on the face of the world and nature. But the traces of pleasure, in my case, sink into an absorbent ground of thoughtful melancholy, and require to be brought out by time and circumstances, or as (the critics tell you) by the varnish of style!

The comfort, on which the English lay so much stress, is of the same character, and arises from the same source as their mirth. Both exist by contrast and a sort of contradiction. The English are certainly the most uncomfortable of all people in themselves, and therefore it is that they stand in need of every kind of comfort and accommodation. The least thing puts them out of their way, and therefore every thing must be in its place. They are mightily offended at disagreeable tastes and smells, and therefore they exact the utmost neatness and nicety. They are sensible of heat and cold, and therefore they cannot exist, unless every thing is snug and warm, or else open and airy, where they are. They must have "all appliances and means to boot." They are afraid of interruption and intrusion, and therefore they shut themselves up in in-door enjoyments and by their own firesides. It is not that they require luxuries (for that implies a high degree of epicurean indulgence and gratification), but they cannot do without their comforts; that is, whatever tends to supply their physical wants, and ward off physical pain and annoyance. As they have not a fund of animal spirits and enjoyments in themselves, they cling to external objects for support, and derive solid satisfaction from the ideas of order, cleanliness, plenty, property, and domestic quiet, as they seek for diversion from odd accidents and grotesque surprises, and have the highest possible relish not of voluptuous softness, but of hard knocks and dry blows, as one means of ascertaining their personal identity.

Be given to him, through time and change thine own?
Will not thine eye be dim

With one bright tear for him,

Whose love yet lasts, though Phaon's love be flown?

Sad heart! it is thy lot

To be forgot

But never to forget the golden past :

Of thee no relics dwell

In her young memory's cell

No shade on her one thought of thee will cast

Yet still that magic name

Shoots through my frame,

And wakes my heart, as breezes sweep the lyre;
Still, still, alas! I feel

The wound no time can heal,

And in sweet madness feed the wasting fire.

J.

There is a tradition, with which every scholar must be familiar, that the poet Alcæus was enamoured of Sappho-and in vain. True or otherwise, it is sufficient for all the purposes of poetry, that such a tradition exists. The circumstance may be imaginary, yet it is by no means improbable. He was not only her contemporary, but her compatriot; and the love of the lyre was common to both. Is it, therefore, too romantic to imagine, that the poet might have given something more than admiration to the genius and beauty of his celebrated countrywoman?

CENNINO CENNINI'S TREATISE ON PAINTING.

THIS is an Italian work, nearly four centuries old, upon the materials and mechanism of the art. Three copies in MS. are known to exist; and it was first printed in Rome, from the one in the Vatican, in 1821. Cennini was a pupil of Agnolo Taddeo, whose father painted under the celebrated Giotto for four and twenty years; and it is therefore not only the earliest work of the kind, but it lets us into the secrets of that peculiar school. It has not been printed as a mere object of curiosity; on the contrary, its editor appears to consider it as of no value except as a book of reference for modern artists, where they may meet with useful hints, hitherto concealed, or be confirmed in rules so long established. Besides, when we are acquainted with all the colours then in use, the exact mode of their preparation, and the whole process of their laying on, we can possibly discover, by a careful examination of the works of Giotto and his followers, the cause of their present change in some parts, and in others of their lasting brilliancy; a study that may lead to important results for the durability of painting. Leonardi da Vinci, as far as we are aware of, several of his works being lost, has written chiefly on the theory of painting. Armenini picked up his information from many schools; and his book is of use, as it is not difficult to trace his instructions in any of the masters he mentions, especially Fra. Bartolomeo; but Armenini, comparatively speaking, is a modern writer.

The treatise is little more than a collection of recipes, called chapters, and there are a hundred and seventy-one of them. The first thirty-four are occupied in instructions for drawing. After mentioning that he who approaches the art from the love of fame, and with an honourable feeling, is to be preferred to such as seek for worldly gain; and recommending that he should come adorned with the garment of love, fear, obedience, and perseverance, and “as soon as thou canst, place thyself under the guidance of a master-as late as thou canst, leave thy master;" he then enters upon drawing in outline, and makes known the methods adopted in his time as succedaneums for our modern lead-pencils and paper. Some of these are curious: a style of silver, or of copper with a silver point, is recommended to draw with on wooden tables prepared with calcined bones; and one of lead, mixed with onethird of pewter, on parchment, or on a sort of cotton stuff (bambagina). But without following him through his minute details, even to the making a pen out of a goose-quill, we must notice a passage which modern Italian pupils, and some English ones, who are apt to think they do enough in copying their masters, would do well to consider; nothing can be better than this advice, and it shows how earnestly Nature was studied by the oldest painters:

"Observe that thy best director, thy perfect guide, is Nature. Copy from her. In her paths is thy triumphal arch. She is above all other teachers; and ever confide in her with a bold heart, especially when thou beginnest to feel there is a sentiment in drawing. Day after day, never fail in drawing something, which however little it may be, will yet in the end be much; and do thy best."

He proceeds in the following chapters to describe the colours then

in use, commending some, and condemning others for their liability to fade. This is interesting to artists; and it is worthy of remark that the old masters painted with very few colours, and that, generally speaking, those that are approved of by them, have maintained their brilliancy. His receipt for the preparation of ultramarine, at present a mystery, is perhaps similar to that from which the colourmen of Rome derive so great a profit.

We have afterwards twenty-two chapters on fresco-painting, an art utterly neglected in England. Here Cennini takes an opportunity of dilating on the proportions of the male figure, not a little different from the Grecian; we have no quarrel with him on that score, nor with his belief that the man has one rib less on the left side than the woman, but we must protest against the astonishing assertion of "I do not treat of the proportions of female form, because they are in no way perfect!" This is worse than his errors in the rules of perspective.

The first of a set of chapters entitled-" The mode of working in oil on a wall, on wood, iron, and where thou wilt," will surprise those who have hitherto believed that the Italians did not paint in oil until a later period. This part of the treatise entirely overthrows Vasari's account of the introduction of that invention into Italy by Antonello da Messina, said to have learnt it in Flanders from John Van Eyck. Cennini's editor, a Roman Cavaliere, occupies a large portion of a long preface, not only in refuting Vasari, but in stripping Van Eyck of the honour of the invention, and conferring it on the Italians. This is a question that has already been canvassed by many writers, and we hope to be excused for not entering into the heat of the argument. After all, the Cavaliere admits that perhaps we are indebted to Van Eyck for having brought oilpainting into general use, and for having discovered the excellent properties of nut-oil; still, however, contending for the honour of his countrymen, that the Italian monk, Teofilo Ruggieri, who lived in the eleventh century, wrote directions for painting in oil, and adds a Latin quotation to that effect from the monk's works. It is well to notice that Čennini recommends the heat of the sun in preference to fire for the baking of linseed-oil, and that the Florentines, to this day, are in the habit of preparing their nut-oil in the sun. Some of our own artists have adopted the same method, as they find that the oil, by such a process, remains clearer, and by no means of so dark a colour.

Cennini then treats of painting in distemper, whether on wood or plaster. He afterwards gives a variety of receipts for ornamental work, for gilding pictures or their frames, for illuminating books, and other things of a similar nature; and concludes his work with instructions for taking plaster casts from the life, and for casting in metal.

No apology, we conceive, can be necessary for having given a description of the matter contained in this interesting volume,—at least towards lovers of the art. Our other readers, if such there should be, probably may find amusement in some of the peculiarities in the manner of it. As it was the fashion in that age to commence an important work with an account of the creation of the world, Cennini, who certainly did not imagine his work inferior to any in importance, does the same; and it is curious to observe how he winds the creation round to his own purposes. We give a correct translation of his commencement, -a portentous first step towards the art and mystery of painting:

"In the beginning, when the omnipotent God created heaven and earth, superior to all things that live or vegetate, he created man and woman in his own image, endowing them with every good gift. Then through evil chance, arising from envy of Adam, Lucifer, with malice and cunning, deceived him into sin, against the commandment of God, -that is to say, he deceived Eve, and then Eve Adam; wherefore God was provoked at Adam, and caused him by an angel to be driven, him and his companion, out of paradise, saying unto them,- Since ye have transgressed the commandment, which God had given you, in labour and fatigue shall ye pass your lives.' Then Adam, aware of the fault he had committed, and being endowed by God so nobly, as the origin and father of us all, soon found means, taught by knowledge and necessity, of living by his hands. And thus he began with the spade, and Eve began to spin. Then he followed many useful arts, each differing from the other; and there was, and now is, a greater degree of science in some above the others; for all cannot be equal. Therefore, as science is the most worthy, that which follows in order, as the next worthy, is its direct descendant, founded thereon, together with the operation of the hand, and this is an art which is called painting," &c.

We had absolutely forgotten his-what can we call it ?—his dedication. It is in the highest spirit of Catholicism, such as is unknown in these regenerate days; and so great is his admiration of the art, which was truly part and parcel of all devotion in his time, that he places "the great master" Giotto, Taddeo, and his own master Agnolo, amidst the very Saints, possibly in the full persuasion that they also should be canonized. Lo! the dedication :

"Beginneth the Book on the Art, written and composed by Cennino da Colle, in reverence of God, and of the Virgin Mary, and of St. Eustace, and of St. Francis, and of St. John the Baptist, and of St. Anthony of Padua, and generally of all the male and female Saints of God, and in reverence of Giotto, of Taddeo, and of Agnolo the master of Cennino, and for the use, and good, and gain of those who shall desire to succeed in the said Art."

This is not the only instance of his calling on the Saints; and at last he includes (strangely omitted in his former invocations) St. Luke the Evangelist, and painter. How, without a doubt to perplex him, does he yield up his soul to all the dogmas of the Church! His was not a faith, it was a certainty. So far does his conviction waft him beyond our notions, that he is verily assured the Madonna, his Queen of Heaven, will be gratified at being well painted and adorned in fresco or distemper! There is a particular recipe for the colouring of her mantle; and afterwards (chap. 96) he counsels a painter to make use of fine gold and good colours, "especially for the figure of our Lady;" promising him either to be amply repaid for the extra cost by some rich purchaser, or "that God and our Lady will benefit him for it both in soul and body."

He has another whimsical passage, of the aristocratic kind. Among the instructions for taking a plaster cast from the face of a living person, he introduces these of honourable distinction:

"And hear thou in mind, should the person from whom thou takest a cast be of great importance (such as a lord, a king, a pope, an emperor), mix the plaster with rose water, warmed a little; and for other