THE 
 
 ARTIST; 
 
 A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS. 
 
Mercier and Co. Printers, 
 King's Head Court, St. Paul's Church Yard. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST; 
 
 A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS, 
 
 RELATIVE TO 
 
 PAINTING, POETRY, SCULPTURE, ARCHITECTURE, 
 THE DRAMA, 
 DISCOVERIES OF SCIENCE, 
 
 AND VARIOUS OTHER SUBJECTS. 
 
 EDITED BY PRINCE HOARE. 
 
 IN TWO VOLS. VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY MERCIER AND CHERVET, NO. 32, LITTLE BARTHOLOMEW-CLOSE, 
 
 FOR JOHN MURRAY, 32, FLEET-STREET; ARCHIBALD COxXSTABLE AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH; AND M. N.MAHON, DUBLIN. 
 
 1810. 
 
THE project of the following papers was first adopted 
 in the society of Painters, from which circumstance the 
 publication assumed the name of The Artist, It appeared 
 to be likely, that in the present interesting state of 
 Painting and Sculpture, every portion of instruction and 
 authentic information which could be offered concerning 
 them to the Public, might be at once acceptable and 
 useful. While those Arts have afforded the most general 
 as well as most ample field for criticism, it has happened 
 that, from the constant application of professional men, 
 rery few opinions have, in this country, been published 
 by them. The difficulty, therefore, of obtaining any 
 regular treatises on the subject, from those who necessarily 
 best understood it, gave reason to wish for some more 
 
vi 
 
 easy channel, through which artists might be induced 
 openly to communicate their sentiments on their respective 
 studies, and the public might be gradually familiarized 
 with the principles of the arts. 
 
 In the farther arrangement of the scheme, it was con- 
 ceived that, by reason of the very limited circle to which 
 an active concern for Painting and Sculpture is confined, 
 ft would be expedient to add Essays on any of the other 
 Liberal Arts, and also occasional papers on scientific and 
 philosophical Subjects, all on the same general condition^ 
 viz. that each writer should take his subject from that 
 Art or Science with which he was best acquainted. This 
 accordingly became the plan of the work; subjoining 
 also t«r the Essays brief notices relative to the principal 
 object of the Publication, with some few letters from 
 correspondents, and such other papers or remarks as 
 occasion required. 
 
 The Artist has advanced one step beyond all preceding 
 publications of a similar form, by immediately affixing 
 
Vll 
 
 either the full, or initial signature of the writer to each 
 Essay, and thus rendering him responsible for the senti- 
 ments delivered by him. The reasons for this method 
 of proceeding are mentioned in No. 2. The advantages 
 of such a measure, if generally adopted, would be of no 
 trifling importance to Society. 
 
 Whatever in these papers regards the actual state of the 
 Ak-ts in England has been related with fidelity, as far as 
 lay in the power of the writers. For the accounts of 
 Galleries and other works, information has been requested 
 and obtained from their possessors, that no means of 
 authentic communication might be neglected. 
 
 September 10, 1807. 
 
COMTJEMTS. 
 
 Number I. Introduction. — Dangers to which the Progress of the Arts 
 ia England has been exposed from false Guides — Family 
 of The Dabblers — Design of these t*apers. By Mr. Hoare. 
 Opie^s Lectures at Somerset House — British Gallery — Monu- 
 ment to Lord Nelson — Query concerning it. 
 Number II. On Originality ; Imitators ; and Collectors. 
 
 Progress of the Mind in Painting; Imitators discover Infe* 
 riority of mental Powers — Collectors of Foreign Pictures 
 formerly inimical to English Art — Dealers in them odious. 
 
 % Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 Letter from A Perpetual Reader, complaining of the lat^ 
 Increase of Books on all Subjects— Utility of understanding 
 the Subject on which you write. 
 Public Monuments in St. Paul's Cathedral, and Westminster 
 Abbey — their Design not answered, for want of the Names 
 of the Persons to whose Memory they were raised. 
 NuMBEa III. On English Painters ; containing Remarks on a Publication 
 entitled a Fly Flap to the Director. 
 General Condition of Artists in England — "Wonderful Attack on 
 them by a quondam Patron — The Patron accused of 
 being a French Spy — Reasons for not thinking him one — 
 Merits and Sufferings of a Portrait Painter — Prejudices of 
 the Patron in Favour of a Venetian Sculptor— Character of 
 The English School. By Mr, Hoppncr^ R. A, 
 
X 
 
 KumberIV. On the Premature Exercise of Taste, and its Effects on 
 Works of Genius. 
 
 Cultivation of Taste — Dangers of exercising it preaiaturelv— - 
 Judgment in the Arts only to be acquired by a Know- 
 ledge of them— Fatal Tendency of the Literfei •ence of 
 extraneous Taste, with the Enterprises of Genius— Proper 
 Pi "ovince of Paste — Ridiculous Vanity of Pretenders to 
 Knowledge. Bi/Mr.Hoare. 
 
 Letter from A Disappointed Genius, on the Dangers arising 
 to young Artists from the indiscreet Favour of some Avho 
 ■wish to patronize the Arts — Prospect of Patronage of a 
 better Kind. Bi/ Mr. Northcote, R. A. 
 
 Remarks on the above Letter — Liberal Proposition made from 
 The British Gallery, to Young Artists. 
 Number V. On Dramatic Style. 
 
 Writers of Middle Comedy — Congreve excels the rest in 
 Style — His Merits exemplified — Method of forming Style, 
 and Dangers attending it — Opposite qualities requisite in the 
 Dramatic Writer. By Mr. Cumberland. 
 
 Letter from An Englishman, in Answer to the Query in 
 No. \. concerning a public Monument to Lord Nelson — 
 Propriety of Painting, as a Means of public Commemoration. 
 
 English Galleries. Lectures on Engraving. 
 Number VL On the Scientific Lviprovements of the Eighteenth Century. 
 
 Mankind not accustomed to set a due Value on present 
 Blessings — Various Discoveries in Science during the ISth 
 Century, and Advantages derived from them — Account of 
 the Discoveries and Writings of Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
 C. 
 
5ti 
 
 Ode to the Han. W — L— . JB> Mr. Hoppner, A. 
 
 Letter from Mus, girittg aa Account of tKe Sale of Mr. 
 Barry's Pictures. 
 
 NuMaEnVII. Memorial of John Opie, late Professob of Painting in the 
 Royal Academy of ARTSfr—Hb early Studies— His Character 
 — the Character of his Works — Various Tributes of Re- 
 membrance. 
 
 Bj/ Mr. Hoare, Mr. West, President qf the Roi/al Academy^ 
 Mr. Northcote, R.A. Mr* Shee^ R. A, Mrs, Inchbald, and 
 Mr. Boaden. 
 
 Number VIH. On Instruction in Design, and the requisite Qualifications 
 for judging of Works of Art; and Conclusion of the 
 Scientific Improvements of the 18th Century. 
 
 Propriety of general and public Instruction in Design — 
 Knowledge of Design requisite for the Direction of Public 
 Works of Art — Respect of the Greeks for the Arts ; and 
 their Laws regarding them. By Mr. Hope. 
 
 Various Improvements in Science during the 18th Century- 
 Discoveries in Medicine, Chemistry, &c &c. C. 
 Number IX. On the Independency of Painting on Poetry. 
 
 Painting considered as a primary Mode of exhibiting Ideas 
 derived from Nature — The Poet in this Respect on the same 
 Footing with the Painter — Neither should copy the other— 
 Poussin generally followed the Poets — His Defects arising 
 from this Source — RafFaelle, and others in the highest Class, 
 more original — Subjects best suited to Painting— Duty of a 
 Painter. By Mr. Northcote, R. A% 
 
 a 2 
 
XII 
 
 IsIuMBER X. On Criticism, Virtu, and the Rewards of Poets and Painter*. 
 
 The Artist congratulated an the Success of his Outset 
 
 Criticism — Description of a Critic — Glorious Liberty of the 
 
 Press ; abused — Fly-flappers — Institution of the Arts 
 
 Fashionable Institutions— Inadequate Reward of Poets. 
 
 Bj/ Mr. Cumberland. 
 Verses on the Sale of an Artist's Effects after his pretended 
 Decease. By the same. 
 
 Number XI. On the supposed Influence of Fashion on our Opinions of 
 Beauty, with Remarks on the introductory Chapter of " An 
 Inquiry into the Principles of Taste." 
 Moral Influence of Taste designed to promote our Happiness — 
 
 Examination of Mr. K 's first Hypothesis — Real Origin 
 
 of Fashions — Gibbon's Account of the Choice of Beauties 
 
 among the Tartars — Dangers of Mr. K 's Theory. 
 
 By Mr. Hoppner, R. A. 
 Letter from Graphicus, describing an Assembly held for the 
 Purpose of investigating the Pretensions of Painting — The 
 Cause of the Arts undertaken — Various Claimants of the 
 Invention of Design — Oriental Account of its Origin. 
 
 By Mr. Hoare, 
 
 Dumber XII. Cursory Strictures on Modern Art, and particularly Sculp- 
 ture, in England, previously to the Establishment of the 
 Royal Academy in 1769. 
 General View — Works of Bernini, Girardon and other Foreign 
 Sculptors — Reformation in England destructive of the Progress 
 of the Arts — Charles the 1st desirous of restoring the Arts — 
 
xiii 
 
 Numerous Foreign Sculptors successively employed in Eng- 
 land, till the Reign of his present Majesty, George III. — Esta- 
 blishment of the Royal Academy. By Mr. Flaxman, R. A. 
 
 Exhibition at Somerset House — Sir John Leicester's Gallery 
 of English Paintings. 
 Number XIII. On the Higher and Lower Provinces of The Arts; and Re- 
 marks on Mr. Stothard's Picture of Chaucer's Pilgrims. 
 
 Views of the Liberal Arts divided into three Classes, Imita- 
 tion, Selection and Abstraction — Their respective Degrees 
 of Value. By Mr> Hoare. 
 
 Description of Mr. Stothard's Picture of the Procession of 
 Chaucer's Pilgrims. By Mr. Hoppner, R. A. 
 
 Remarks on the same. By Mr. Cumbaland. 
 
 Number XIV. On the Causes of the present inferior State of Architecture 
 in England ; and on the Abuse and Use of Novel- writing. 
 
 Want of proper Distinction of the Professional Architect — 
 His Studies not duly estimated, and sometimes rendered 
 useless — Public Works treated as Jobs — Such Methods detri- 
 mental to the Interests of Architectural Science. 
 By Mr. Soane, Professor of Architecture in the Royal Academy. 
 
 Novel-writing — Cautions to Novel-writers — Description of mo- 
 dern Novel-readers — Powerful Influence of Novels on Moral 
 Conduct — Extensive Province of a Novel-writer, compared 
 with Dramatic Writing. By Mrs. Inchbald. 
 
 Letter from A Student of the Royal Academy, giving an 
 Account of a Present made by the Students to Henry 
 Fuseli, Esq. Keeper of the Academy, in Testimony of their 
 Respect and Gratitude, 
 
xiy 
 
 Number XV. On the Methods most easily practicable fur p reserving and 
 PURIFYING Water. 
 Modern Discoveries with regard to the elementar}'^ Character 
 of Water — Different Species of Water; Rain, Spring, 
 Mineral, Lake, and Sea Waters — Account of the Properties 
 of each. C. 
 Letter from A S/>ec«/6ftor on the Connection generally supposed 
 to subsist between Poetry and Painting— The reverse proved 
 in some Instances— Want of a proper Vocabulary in Painting. 
 
 Bt/ Mr. Hoare. 
 
 Remarks on the Letter from A Student in the Royal Academy 
 in No. XIV. — Future Duties of the Students. 
 
 Nu-MOER XVI. Conclusion of the Essay on the Methods of vkeserving and 
 PURIFYING Water, 
 Various Processes requisite to purify the different species of 
 
 water. C. 
 Notices of various Correspondents — On the moral Powers of the 
 Arts — True Characters of Painters and Writers seen in their 
 Works — Virtue necessary to the highest Eminence in any Art. 
 Number XVIL On the Connexion between Anatomy and the Arts of Design. 
 
 The Subject considered — The Greek Artists believed to have 
 known little of Anatomy — Circumstances, which favoured 
 the Cultivation of Beauty in Greece— Italian Artists became 
 great Anatomists— Proper Use of Anatomical Skill in Painting 
 — Value of Examples for the Study of the Arts. 
 
 By Mr. Carlisle, 
 Letter from Scruple giving an Account of a Non-descript Painter. 
 
 By Mr, Hoare. 
 
XV 
 
 NuMBM XVIIL On the Influence of the Imitative Arts on Manners and 
 MouALs; and Review of the Theatres during the last Season. 
 / . Distinction between Manners and Morals not sufficiently 
 
 attended to by Writers in general— State of Manners in 
 early Greece argued from the Writings of Homer — In the 
 Time of Socrates— Both considered with Respect to the State 
 of the Arts at those Periods — Manners of Rome coincide with 
 the State of the Arts — Imitative Arts described — Their In- 
 fluence in Modern Europe, and particularly Poetry— Its pow- 
 erful Eflects— Influence of the Drama, the Ancient Romance, 
 and the Modern Novel. Mr. Pye, Poet Laureat. 
 
 Uses of a Summary Review of the Theatrical Pieces produced 
 at both Theatres — Total Number of new Plays, Operas and 
 Farces during the Season — Authors named — Golden Eggs of 
 Mother Goose — New Performers. J5y Mr. Holcroft. 
 
 Number XIX. Classes of the Human Powers of Intellect. 
 
 Hints for a Classification of the Powers of the Human Mind as 
 they appear in various Descriptions of Men — Examples of 
 Excellence rare — General Division into seven Classes — Difli' 
 culty of analysing all the Varieties of Intellect in Individuals. 
 
 JBj/ Dr. Jemer. 
 
 Second Letter from A Disappoinied Genius, relating his Adven- 
 tures in London, during the Prosecution of his Profession. 
 
 % Mr. Northcote, R. A, 
 Number XX- On the Imitation of the Stage in Painting. 
 
 Great Attractions of Stage Effects for young and inexperienced 
 Minds — Defects inherent—State of the Stage among the 
 Greeks — Their Stage-performances improperly considered as 
 
faultless Models— Charms of an Opera accounted for — Neces- 
 sity of Attention to Nature in preference to the Stage, or any 
 other Medium of Imitation. Bj/ Mr. Northcote, R, A, 
 
 Letter from Clio describing the School Room of an English 
 Nobleman's Family — Remarks on early Instruction, its Advan- 
 tages and Uses in the subsequent Periods of Life. 
 
 By Mr. Hoare. 
 
 Number XXI. Retrospect and Conclusion of the present Period of the Artist. 
 
 Omissions supplied — Various Galleries of English Paintings- 
 Public Works at present undertaken in Painting, Sculpture, 
 and Engraving — Interesting Notices respecting the Arts — 
 Declaration of the Names of the Writers of Papers in The 
 Artist — Conclusion — Subject offered for Discussion— Opinions 
 of Correspondents — Of Lord Bacon* 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. L Saturday^ March 14, 1807. 
 
 StuUa est dementia^ cum tot ubique 
 Vatibus occurras, periturce parcere chartte. 
 
 IT is the custom of a neighbouring nation, at the close 
 of any new theatrical performance, if the piece have proved 
 tolerably successful, to bring the author forward on the 
 stage, for the purpose of introducing him to the sight of 
 the audience. A situation more embarrassing, more 
 alarming to an ingenuous mind, is difficult to be ima- 
 gined ; and the characteristic reserve of the tempers 
 of Englishmen has wholly prevented the custom from tra- 
 velling hither, amidst the numerous innovating fashions of 
 that country. How, at such a moment, must the young 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 adventurer's bosom palpitate with feelings too vast and 
 too undefined for utterance, and his mind teem vrith sen- 
 timents, to which he is conscious all modes of expression 
 would be inadequate ! Yet the distress he is thus com- 
 pelled to endure is not entirely uncompensated by ad- 
 vantages. It is probable that a benevolent sentiment is 
 generated in the breast of the spectator of the drama, by 
 his knowledge that the author is present during the re- 
 presentation, and by the expectation of personal acquaint- 
 ance with him, in case of the favorable result of his 
 attempt to amuse the public. 
 
 To make amends for the want of that ingratiating 
 quality which such an expectation may be supposed to 
 possess, and in order to accommodate relief to the tremors 
 of the author, the theatrical usage of England has adopted 
 the regular appearance of the Prologue^ in which an op- 
 portunity, ad libitum, is given to him to disclose his 
 alarms, his doubts, his wishes, his fears, and conscienti- 
 ously to rid him 
 
 " of that perilous stuff 
 " Which weighs upon the heart." 
 
 Fully equal to the embarrassment felt by the French 
 author when he enters on the scene, lighted by a thousand 
 
3 
 
 lamp?, and watched by a tlioiisand eyes, is that of the 
 English Artist, while he approaches the presence of his 
 countrymen in a garb and character to which he is un- 
 accustomed. His courage, indeed, rises with reflection, his 
 cheek glows with hope, but he dares not expand his 
 thoughts in the freedom of utterance, without some such 
 previous explanation of his designs as may gain him the 
 confidence of the reader, and may entitle him to the cheer- 
 ing assurance that if, at any time, in his zeal for Arts 
 which fascinate their votaries, he start forward beyond the 
 lines of even-ordered justice, he may fall back, in hope, on 
 the candour of his patron and judge. 
 
 This Paper, therefore, as Prologue to the present drama, 
 is intended to contain rather the confessions of the writer 
 than any matter of amusement or instruction to the reader. 
 For this purpose it shall offer a fair, honest account of the 
 views which instigate the Artist to aspire at wielding that 
 most perilous of all weapons, the Pen. 
 
 In the first place, he professes that, having set that 
 formidable instrument in all lights, viewed it round, and 
 duly considered its various powers, he does by no means 
 take it in his hand for the sake of any of its noxious 
 qualities ; neither w ith the intent of anatomizing helpless 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 foibles, dissecting the unmatared germs of talent and 
 pricking the heart in the blossom, nor of flaying tender 
 nerves, poisoning innocent minds, nor any other of those 
 
 foul, base, and unnatural" purposes to which it is some- 
 times disgracefully consigned. 
 
 This declaration is, he trusts, sufficient to satisfy the 
 reader in all points of conscience. Next, as to his real 
 motives of action: 
 
 It is universally agreed that nothing is more advanta- 
 geous to the progress of any branch of general knovrledge, 
 particularly in the early state of its establishment, than 
 that all information respecting it should be derived to the 
 public from authentic sources. Nor is any error of a 
 more subtle or dangerous tendency than that which 
 consists in the zeal of unskilful persons, who fondly 
 assume the arduous office of guides, and endeavour, 
 like voyagers in unknown seas, to illustrate the surface of 
 science, where they have never sounded the depths. 
 
 Not only, by these means, the mind of the student is 
 filled with useless materials, and the task of zmlearning 
 is added to that of learning, but this greater misfortune 
 follows, that the mind, fatigued with researches which are 
 finally proved fruitless, refuses to" lend its powers to a 
 
5 
 
 second attempt, which must be attended with equal, if not 
 greater, difl&culty. The professional labourer, it is true, 
 finds the necessity of ameliorating his notions, but there is 
 no sufficient motive to rouse an uninterested reader to 
 shake off the vapour of ignorance or delusion, in which 
 he has once been enveloped. 
 
 Were it the case that new Arts were to be invented, or 
 old ones retrieved from utter darkness and oblivion, the 
 well-stored mind of an unprofessional guide might yet 
 amply merit the gratitude of future generations. The genius 
 of Bacon claims incense from every Muse in every age. 
 His comprehensive mind sur\ eyed the intellectual wants of 
 his country, and proposed the methods of its supplies. 
 
 Unfortunately, all writers are not of so exalted a class. 
 With many, the pleasure of writing, the display of an easy 
 style and classic learning, and the laudable aim at a little 
 distinction among their peers, are the most frequent mo- 
 tives for publication. In the progress of the Arts, the 
 dilettante^ or mere observer of other men's improvements, 
 cannot be supposed to address himself to professional stu* 
 dents, because he has no right to expect attention from 
 them; but he addresses persons nearly of the same de- 
 scription with himself, and if he be (as he probably is) a 
 
man of learning and ingenuity, he will not fail to be read 
 by tliem with eagerness. Yet, although he contribute 
 much to their amusement, he adds little to their informa- 
 tion. He spreads his gatherings on a soil, where the seed 
 of all that he has reaped has been already sown ; where, 
 wanting the renovating vigour of fresh experiment, the 
 produce is a mere sparkling germ, void of nourishment, 
 and, if the same process of culture be too often repeated, 
 it becomes at length wholly destitute of taste and flavour; 
 as the offspring of families of the same blood, intermix«- 
 ing frequently with each other, is said gradually to decline 
 into imbecility. 
 
 A favorite traveller, now in this country, has discovered 
 that nothing is more useful than to adopt for the subject of 
 your work a topic of which you have no previous knowledge. 
 This, it is readily granted, may be very useful to yourself^ 
 since every page you write must be so much gleaned from 
 the wisdom of others; but an assertion, that it can be of 
 use to any one else, would have a kind of paradoxical 
 brilliancy, which might recommend the author to attend 
 the (Edipean Sphinx herself in her next travels. 
 
 The most numerous class of writers who have chosen their 
 subject on this ground, descended originally from the race of 
 
7 
 
 The Dabblers, an ancient and specious family, who camie 
 orer into this country in the train of William the Norman, 
 although some pretend that their pedigree may be traced to 
 the time of Julius Caesar, and eren to Caesar himself, he being, 
 as they assert, the first great Dahhler^ who meddled in the 
 affairs of Britain. This latter testimony, however, is question- 
 able, because it can be proved from history that Caesar, after 
 his first landing on our coast, finding himself ignorant of 
 the subjects he proposed to discuss among us, very modestly 
 retired, and left the field to the native professors of the 
 island; a circumstance which demonstrates that he was^ 
 not the father of the race here mentioned. 
 
 During the early period of their settlement, they sedu- 
 lously thrust themselves into churches and halls, to which 
 their principal discoveries were for along time confined; 
 but after the more modern improvements of social habits, 
 they were to be found in every house and library in the 
 land. 
 
 The Dabblers were of a warlike disposition, and, still 
 retaining somewhat of the spirit of invasion which their 
 ancestors derived from their leader, they occasionally 
 formed themselves into corps of light-armed troops, and 
 made incursions on the fortified castles of constitutional 
 
8 
 
 doctrine; but,thougli they were very troublesome assailants, 
 they have generally been repulsed by the skill and excel- 
 lent discipline of the garrisons. 
 
 Their defeat was not so certain, when they invaded th6 
 haunts of those Muses who are without public shelter. 
 The Dabblers imagined they had an unquestionable right 
 to the favours of those ladies, and their addresses were 
 importunate, in proportion as they conceived that their 
 advances could not be contested. The Muses of Painting, 
 of Music, and of the Drama, have particularly been the 
 constant objects of their pretensions, and, singular to 
 relate, they were introduced into the house of the former 
 by a Professor of very respectable talents*, from whose 
 writings Sir J, Reynolds is said to have imbibed the first 
 delight in his art. The Connoisseurs however soon shut 
 the door on their Introductor, turned the key, took pos- 
 session of the premises, and leisurely began to ransack 
 and expose the treasures of Painting. Essay followed 
 Essay, 
 
 '* Each Dabbler had his brother, . , 
 
 " And one smooth sheet reflected just the other." 
 
 It must be fairly acknowledged that these Amateurs 
 
 * Richardson. 
 
§ 
 
 were very far from any inimical intentions towards the 
 Professors, in the division of the booty. " There are 
 many writers on our Art," says Reynolds, in his fifth 
 Discourse, " who, not being of the profession, and consB'^ 
 quently not knowing what can^ or what cannot be done^ 
 have been very liberal of absurd praises in their descrip- 
 tions of favourite works. They always fmd in them what 
 they are resolved to find, and praise them for excellences 
 "which can hardly exist together." 
 
 " Pliny," he continues, " though we are under great 
 obligations to him for the information he has given us in 
 relation to the works of the ancient Artists, is very fre- 
 quently wrong when he speaks of them, which he does 
 very often in the style of many of our modern Con- 
 noisseurs." 
 
 If Pliny, the elegant, cultivated, and diligent Pliny, 
 stood thus in the estimation of this mild and amiable 
 Painter, in what light could he have regarded Algarotti, 
 Webb, Winckelmann, illustrious blunderers! 
 
 Although the race of The Dabblers be now extinct, the 
 Artist has by no means thence reason to regard the ground 
 iie approaches as unoccupied. There zwre many elegant 
 
 c 
 
10 
 
 writers in the present day, possessed of every requisite for 
 discoursing on the Arts, except a practical acquaintance 
 with them. Among these he might name some, no less 
 judicious than liberal in their intentions regarding the 
 Arts, and some in terms of still higher respect, the ardent 
 stimulators of patronage towards them. While he contem- 
 plates with pleasure their amiable endeavours to forward 
 the progress of Public Taste, he is animated with the 
 desire of contributing the mite of that portion of know- 
 ledge, which practice and immediate study have placed 
 in his possession, and proposes to attend the enterprises of 
 benevolence with the humble, but wholesome, counsel of 
 experience. 
 
 It is the design of The Artist to seek professional 
 information on the subject of the liberal Arts in the most 
 distinguished sources of his country, and to present their 
 recondite stores in a familiar garb to his readers. With 
 these offerings he proposes to connect accounts of the 
 modern improvements in science, and such observations 
 on them as experience and equally appropriate study 
 can best supply. 
 
 With this view, he regards every adept of Art or Science 
 
11 
 
 under the general description of an Artist, or the active 
 student of Nature and Science; for the practice which 
 renders Science useful to life, what is it but Art? 
 
 But, although his title thus embrace every branch of 
 refined learning, he is fully conscious that, in several parts 
 of his character, he shall be found destitute of many 
 acquirements which combine to form the writer^ and his 
 Essays in these departments will therefore be regarded by 
 the candid reader as the sentiments rather than the 
 writings of their respective authors. In his graphic part, 
 if he is less able to polish his sentences than the Greek 
 Painters and Sculptors are believed to have been, who com- 
 posed treatises on their art, he contemplates with pleasing 
 hope, under the auspices of modern Institutions, the pro- 
 spect of his country extending to him those resources of 
 instruction, which she affords to the student of many an 
 Art and Science; and he feels a confidence, that as her 
 name inspires him with the ambition, her acknowledged 
 power will furnish him with the means, of rivalling the 
 proudest models of Grecian art. In the mean time, howso- 
 ever rude his phrase, his opinions, being drawn from 
 primary sources, may not be thought undeserving of at- 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 tention; as the labourer, who digs in the caverns of the 
 mine, may furnish remarks, which bear an intimate rela- 
 tion to the subject of inquiry, yet escape the research of 
 the erudite philosopher, who sits and spins amusiv» theo-» 
 ries on the edge of the descent. 
 
 P. H. 
 
 It is the intention of The Artist^ that every paper con- 
 tributed by professional men, shall be written on subjects 
 of that Art or Science, in which each af the writers has 
 respectively demonstrated his claim to public attention, or 
 on such topics as are collateral with, or dependent on it. 
 
 Each paper will be marked with a signature of the 
 writer; and the names af all the professional contributors, 
 which are not given in the course of the Essays, will be 
 given at the close of the first period of this publication. 
 
13 
 
 PRESENT STATE OF THE ARTS 
 IN ENGLAND. 
 
 THE Lectures, read at the Royal Academy of Arts, by 
 Mr. Opie, the professor in painting, were closed on Mon- 
 day evening. 
 
 Mr. Opie's Lectures contained a system of clear and 
 useful instructions to the students of painting, illustrated 
 by observations on the progress of the arts in England, 
 and a comparative examination of the merits of various 
 schools and masters, particularly of RafTaelle, copies of 
 whose cartoons (by Sir J. Thornhill) form the principal 
 ornament of the Great Room of the Academy, in which 
 the Lectures are delivered. The opportunity of imme"* 
 diate reference to those works increased the eifect of aa 
 impressive eloquence. 
 
 After shewing the real principles of Painting, Mr. 
 Gpie, in his concluding Lecture, treated with raillery tb^ 
 various empiric methods devised to produce the effects 
 of art, without the aid of genius, liabour or science. 
 
 The rcgulatioaas of the Academy allowing the admissioa 
 of visitors to the Lectures, the audiences were very nu- 
 merous. 
 
14 
 
 The Gallery of the British Institution has been opened 
 with a second collection of the works of our native artists, 
 and of others established in Great Britain. The result is 
 highly creditable to the experiment of this species of 
 patronage: as far as such an assemblage of works of art 
 can furnish a general idea of our school, the view it pre- 
 sents must be truly satisfactory, both to its patrons and to 
 the public, and is the most grateful return that can be 
 made to the active and liberal zeal which directs the con- 
 duct of the Institution. 
 
 The models for a monument designed to be erectisd to 
 the memory of our illustrious Nelson, are, among others, 
 distinguished by various merits, and form an interesting 
 part of the exhibition. They have been prepared for the 
 inspection of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, 
 in consequence of their desire, communicated to the Royal 
 Academy, and it is understood that one of the models is 
 to be selected for the purpose of being executed in marble, 
 and placed in St. Paul's Cathedral. 
 
 There are in the gallery two pictures also, representing 
 the same hero in the fatal moment of victory ; but these 
 Bre the spontaneous offerings of an individual artist. They 
 do not arise from any order of the Government. . 
 
15 
 
 Query ^ Would it be in any manner inconsistent with the 
 dignity of the nation, if, in addition to the monument pro- 
 posed to be erected in St. Paul's, an Historical Picture, 
 also in remembrance of the signal glory of Lord Nelson, 
 were to be painted by an equal commission from the Go- 
 vernment, and in consequence of sketches equally pre- 
 sented to public inspection ; the picture to be afterwards 
 placed in such a distinguished situation as should be judged 
 most appropriate to the purposes of public advantage ? 
 
 If consistent Avith the dignity of the state, would not 
 such a commission call forth the talents of our painters, 
 and tend to the honour of the country and the arts ? 
 
 No. II. On Originality in Painting ; Imitators ; and 
 Collector Sy will be published on Saturday, the 2 1st instant.^^ 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. II. Saturday^ March 21, 1807. 
 
 ■Desilies imitator in arctum. 
 
 THE silent improvement of the mind may distinctly be 
 seen in the progressive works of any great painter, whose 
 life has been long. 
 
 His first step of art is a dry imitation of the most obvious 
 part of nature, without sufficient knowledge, and without 
 power of selection. 
 
 The second stage is full of acquirement, which, to the 
 young and elated student, becomes delightful from its no- 
 velty, and makes him look down on the simplicity of 
 nature as scarcely adequate to his purpose, because, ia 
 
 No. 2. B 
 
2 
 
 comparison with his own conceptions, it appears to him 
 insipid. 
 
 The third and last state is a mature investigation of na- 
 ture, regulated by the principles of science. 
 
 The first of these stages is of no value ; every one can 
 arrive at it, who is willing to make the attempt. It is of 
 no greater difficulty than walking or dancing, and may be 
 acquired by all in a certain degree ; but to walk or dance 
 with eminent grace or dignity must be the peculiar endow- 
 ment of the individual, and extends beyond all rules or 
 lessons. 
 
 The case is the same in painting : it is the display of 
 superiority alone which gives it rank, and entitles it to 
 re;spect ; although the ignorant pay nearly an equal de- 
 gree of homage to every attempt, idle or ingenious, be- 
 cause they are not sensible of the difference, wide as it is, 
 between that which it is the lot of so very few to attain, 
 and that which is within the reach of all, who take the 
 trouble but to try. 
 
 A true criterion of talent is alone to be formed from the 
 novelty, the originality, which is to be found in any work 
 of art. As this is one of the constitutional marks of a 
 powerful mind, which views nature from its own sensa- 
 
3 
 
 tion or feeling, and an indispensable requisite in every 
 work of genius, originality becomes the very test of merit. 
 Something must be disclosed in the painter's attempt, not 
 only of an estimable quality, but of such a kind as the world 
 has never before seen ; and this essence, be its sphere ever 
 so confined, will yet, according to its value and quantity, 
 ascertain its degree of genius. 
 
 Therefore, it is not enough to do again that which has 
 already been done, be it ever so grand or sublime ; for, 
 notwithstanding every ingenious endeavour to hide the 
 debt by common-place alterations, the work will still want 
 that novelty by which it is to captivate, and which is to 
 give it all its intrinsic value ; and, for that reason, it will 
 never pass as the offspring of an elevated or strong mind, 
 although it may denote one of much ingenuity. 
 
 Imitation is one of the means, by which genius often 
 makes its first advances towards excellence ; but it should 
 ever be regarded as the means only, and not as the end'. 
 In every species of copying from the work of man, you 
 put your mind in a state of subjection and servitude ; you 
 are but making a copy from a copy ; it is giving up your 
 own observation and study of nature into the hands of an- 
 other. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Fame and immartality can never be reached by him 
 who is contented to depend on imitation only for their 
 attainment. Whilst you follow, it is well known, you 
 must be behind. If you contend for fame through the 
 channel of imitation, you must remember that, in order 
 to possess yourself of that eminence^ which has long been 
 the distinction of another, you must not be content with 
 borrowing or drawing your nourishment from him alone; 
 for while he thus continues to claim superiority, he pre- 
 cludes you from the glory at which you aim. You must 
 surpass him in his own particular excellence : you must, 
 by superior atchievement, obscure his name and annihi^ 
 late his importance to the world. To accomplish this end, 
 you must far outdo those excellencies which you seemed 
 to imitate, by giving to them new and unexpected beau- 
 ties, and, by these means, you will make that, which you 
 began with considering as your example and your pattern, 
 end in being your footstool only. 
 
 It was in this manner that the genius af Raffaelle tri- 
 umphed over Massaccio, and over Pietro Perugino his own 
 master; and a yet stronger example may be seen in the 
 instance of Shakespeare, whose renown so totally obliterated 
 all traces of his predecessors, from whom he is said to have 
 
5 
 
 copied, that, had not their names been rescued from 
 oblivion by the untired researches of the laborious an- 
 tiquary, we should not now have known that they had 
 ever existed. 
 
 The imitator of another, if fame be his object, must 
 remember that he wages war against the elected sof 
 vereign of the province which he attempts to win, and 
 that, in his endeavours after a station of immortality, he 
 makes pretensions to a throne already filled, and which 
 can hold but one, If indeed he prove finally successful, 
 and raise his point of art to higher excellence than can 
 be found in the productions which he imitates, his pre- 
 decessor will then appear to have merely furnished him 
 with hints of which he alone has been able to make the 
 full use, and the prize of fame will be solely his own. 
 The world will cease to find a value in that which they 
 once admired, when they see it presented to them in so 
 much more perfect a state, and of consequence all former 
 examples will be rendered useless, become neglected, lost, 
 and soon forgotten in the attractive splendour of his supe- 
 rior excellence. 
 
 But if, on the contrary, the imitator fail to surpass the 
 object of his rivalship, the fate of being neglected will be 
 
6 
 
 his ; for the world is not solicitous to see that done in an 
 inferior degree, which it has already seen executed with 
 success ; nor must he, in that case, presume to flatter 
 himself that he has added a single atom to the fund of 
 human knowledge or improvenient. It is from this cause 
 that the least portion of originality, although, as has been 
 said, displaying itself in the lowest department of art, is 
 more estimable in the eye of genius than the most suc- 
 cessful imitation of the highest excellence. 
 
 The originality of genius produces a variety, which is 
 one of the greatest sources of our entertainment and plea- 
 sure, and is soothing to the inherent impatience of our 
 nature. 
 
 Variety is a beauty requisite in every work of art, and 
 can only be wrong, when carried to a degree of excess or 
 affectation, or when persisted in to the prejudice of 
 higher requisites. 
 
 There is, indeed, an originality of so high a class, that 
 too few are the minds able to comprehend its excellence : 
 I mean that which shows itself in the highest department 
 of art, which we term the grand style. 
 
 Of this style it may be asserted, that, although it ap- 
 peal to us with great and commanding powers, though it 
 
7 
 
 convey a sentiment the most awful and impressive, yet it 
 speaks a language so little cultivated or even rudely 
 known, that none but minds the most highly enlightened 
 can be made fully sensible of its essence. 
 
 Miserable would be the state of that artist, who, en- 
 dowed by nature with powers so rare and suited to so great 
 a task, after intense application, and perhaps the sacri- 
 fice of health to labour, should find in the end, that he 
 was to tell his tale in a country in which his language had 
 not been learned, and to a people who would not endure 
 to hear that his work was neither the subject of vulgar 
 criticism, nor a mere toy which they are entitled to praise 
 or condemn according to their ignorance or caprice; 
 that it is not so much done for their pleasure as designed 
 for their improvement, by opening the mind to receive 
 impressions of the highest order, and aiding it to nourish 
 the highest virtues. 
 
 In this style must be classed, in a greater or less degree, 
 all those works of art which are intended to move the 
 mind with terror and with pity, subjects which we but 
 too commonly find rejected with disgust. This refine- 
 ment upon delicacy itself, this extreme tenderness of sen- 
 sibility, which is unable, even in picture, to survey an 
 
8 
 
 object of terror, has been one of the greatest hindrances 
 to the advancement of modern art in England, notwith- 
 standing that scenes of this description, when executed 
 by foreign masters, are received with open arms into col- 
 lections the most select, and viewed with unbounded admi- 
 ration. 
 
 Surely, an evil star has presided over the fate of British 
 arts, condemned for inability to do that which they have 
 been prohibited from attempting, and driven to the neces- 
 sity of wasting their strength on trivial subjects, unworthy 
 of the powers and below the dignity of art ! 
 
 Yet, while subjects of the highest order of art have 
 been excluded in England from the painter's canvas, it 
 cannot but strike an observer as a singular circumstance, 
 that our stage is net only permitted, but even required, to 
 exhibit scenes of the deepest horror, and the tragic dra- 
 matist has free licence to touch the very bounds" of all 
 that we abhor. 
 
 The principal reason, I apprehend, wherefore sub- 
 jects of terror have been objected to in painting, at the 
 same time that they are thus admired in the deepest 
 scenes of tragedy, is that our minds are not prepared, by 
 degrees^ for the impression made on us by the picture, 
 
9 
 
 tvhich flashing upon us at once, affrights us, whereas the 
 effect of the drama steals upon us gradually, by slow paces, 
 until we are rendered capable of viewing the most ter- 
 rible scenes. 
 
 Fortunately for the cause of the liberal arts in Britain, 
 there appears a strong probability that the assistance given 
 to Painting and Sculpture, by the splendid and munificent 
 establishments which have just at this time been formed 
 amongst us, may soon raise a school to vie with those that 
 have, for ages, been the boast of every other polished state 
 in Europe ; and that the charm will at length be broken, 
 which has so long kept the arts of design in bonds, with a 
 sort of necromantic power. 
 
 A melancholy spectacle has it offered to Englishmen, to 
 view the pining arts of Britain beset and trampled by an 
 army of connoisseurs and collectors of foreign pictures, 
 strengthened by the most powerful assistance of dealers in 
 this species of traffic, all arranged rank and file, and bid- 
 ding defiance to every effort of our own country, associating 
 closely among themselves, assigning great names to the frag- 
 ments they possessed, standing before them with affected 
 rapture, and congratulating each other on their signal 
 good fortune and their taste ! These men beheld, with 
 
 No. 2. c 
 
10 
 
 terror and dismay, all such as fell under the suspicion of 
 real knowledge and judgment in the art, apprehensive 
 lest a discovery might be made, which would dissolve the 
 magic charm, in one moment annihilate their visionary 
 riches, and change to trumpery their ideal wealth. 
 
 This whole mass of operation might have been surveyed 
 w ith the eye of compassion, as we see the poor lunatic who 
 fancies himself a king, or regarded as a ludicrous scene in 
 a comedy, but that it was not quite so innocent in its 
 effects. It kept up perpetual war against the talents of 
 all our living Artists, while an excess of adulation was 
 bestowed on foreign works, and prices demanded and 
 given for them as if they had been the productions, not of 
 men, but angels ; the possessors, with affected w onder, 
 asking the reason 'why such works could not now be done^ 
 as if any opportunity had been afforded of ascertaining, 
 by experiment, w hether they could be done or not. 
 
 I shall conclude with observing, that if the excessive 
 praises, of which some men of this description were so li- 
 beral, had beejDi bestowed, with pure justice, on those works 
 alone which deserve, and ever will claim, our respect, it 
 would have been grateful to every lover of true genius ; but 
 when, on the contrary, all sorts of common place or ruined 
 
11 
 
 performances were presented for your admiration, and when 
 you perceived that mere trifles were called miracles, and saw 
 all this lofty farce incessantly played off between cunning 
 that sells and ignorance that buys, it became difficult to 
 view the scene with common patience. 
 
 J. N. 
 
 I HAVE been a little surprised to find myself so soon 
 favoured with correspondence, but shall give immediate 
 insertion to the following Letter : 
 
 TO THE ARTIST 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I AM neither an Artist, nor a writer, but, having much 
 leisure, I have seen more pictures and read more books 
 than I find profitable. My complaint is chiefly on the 
 latter head, as I am accustomed to read every thing that 
 comes from the press. I have, of course, read your paper 
 of Saturday last, and cannot help telling you that, though 
 I like your design, you have omitted several material 
 arguments which you might have brought in its favour. 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 First, Sir, the shortness of your paper will induce fome 
 of my family to be your readers, whom I never could 
 persuade to look with me into large folios, and thick 
 quartos. 
 
 Next, Sir, I agree with you that you may be useful to 
 a much greater number of persons, by enabling them to 
 form their conceptions of some particular arts on prac- 
 tical grounds. In the present degree of the progress of 
 Painting and Sculpture amongst us, the public is obliged 
 to take its opinion concerning them on trust; and I am 
 convinced it is safer to trust to those who know the 
 pains of any art, than to those who know it only by its 
 pleasures, I would wish therefore, Sir, that your papers 
 might contain a sort of grammar of opinions on Painting, 
 and I promise to be content to believe you until 1 under- 
 stand more than you can teach me. 
 
 But, Sir, the chief cause of my good will towards you is 
 jei to come. I find myself lately seized with a painful 
 disorder, which consists in a kind of poly-hiblio-graphi" 
 phobia (I trust I am correct in so long a word), or a hor- 
 ror of the multiplicity of books, which, every day, bear 
 fflie down like a torrent, and take away the strength I 
 wish to retain for the purpose of reading them all, as I 
 
15 
 
 told you I have been used to do. I find this now imprac- 
 ticable, unless the year could be made to contain more 
 days, and the day more hours, than formerly. I heartily 
 wish, therefore, that the plan you propose could be uni- 
 versally adopted. Oh, Sir, what a decrease of labour to 
 so constant a reader as myself, if books (but particularly 
 thick' quartos and folios) were written only by those who 
 had learned, from practical application, something of the 
 subjects they treat of ! But then, Sir, what would be- 
 come of the booksellers ? 
 
 ; One word more. Sir. I would have you be aware, that, 
 besides conveying radical information, or well-founded 
 opinions, your paper must also afford some garnish of 
 amusemeni to yonr re?Lders ; otherwise you will still run 
 a risk of being read by none but myself i for, whatever 
 •may be the real utility of the arts, and however advantage- 
 ous it might be to the public that a critical knowledge of 
 them should pervade general society ; yet, in the present 
 state of the public mind respecting them, (and, being 
 myself one of the many, I may say, its want of acquaint- 
 ance with them,) I conceive it must be allured to an 
 elementary study by the bait of pleasure. You will pei*- 
 
 ceive I say this of Painting and Sculpture in particular, 
 
14 
 
 in which the public is now disposed to take delight, as in 
 novelty. 
 
 You may make what use you please of these hints ; 
 only, Sir, if you print my letter amongst your corre- 
 spondence, shorten it for the relief of 
 
 Yours, 
 
 A Perpetual Reader, 
 
 In compliance with the wishes of this universal friend 
 to authors, I will endeavour to be as pleasant as I can ; at 
 the same time, it is but fair to acknowledge that it is 
 less my intention to be jocose than to be useful, and it 
 is principally for this reason that I have judged proper 
 to promise the names of all the professional persons who 
 are combined in mine, I am very well contented to 
 forego whatever opportunities of joke or retort a mask 
 might afford, if by so slight a sacrifice I can obtain the 
 candid regard of my reader. 
 
 It will, I trust, be considered as a laudable desire, that 
 while I endeavour to open to my country the purest 
 streams of information which the age affords, I may, by 
 declaring their sources, enable the public to form a stand- 
 
15 
 
 ard, by which to appreciate the value of what is here 
 presented, that the offering may obtain neither a greater 
 nor less degree of estimation than it is justly entitled to 
 claim. 
 
 PRESENT STATE OF THE ARTS. 
 
 PUBLIC MONUMENTS, 
 
 OF the Monuments voted by the Parliament of Great 
 Britain, from the year 1794 to 1801, to the memory 
 of those Heroes who had recently lost their lives in the 
 service of their country, far the greater number are 
 now erected in the situations designed for them in Stt 
 PauPs Cathedral, and Westminster Abbey. Ail that 
 depended on the talents of the different Sculptors who 
 were chosen to execute them, is thus nearly accomplished. 
 
 But there is one part of the execution of these honour- 
 able memorials (no inconsiderable one, it is probable, in 
 the original intentions of the Parliament) which ^et rqpains, 
 in a great proportion, unaccomplished. Of the seven 
 
16 
 
 Monuments already (and some of them long since) erected 
 in consequence of the votes above mentioned, only two* 
 have any inscription on them to commemorate the public 
 motive for their erection; and three ^ do not bear even 
 the names of the deceased Heroes, to whose memory they 
 were designed to be dedicated. 
 
 It is with a deep sense of the importance of public 
 duties, and with the highest respect for the rank and si- 
 tuation of those persons from whom the completion of a 
 national vote is anxiously expected, that The Artist makes 
 mention of this circumstance. 
 
 * Those of General Dundas, and Capt. Rundle Burges. 
 
 ■\ Those of Capt. Montagu, Capt. Faulknor, Captains Mosse and Riou. 
 
 No. III. containing Remarks on a Publication entitled 
 A Fly-flap to The Director^ will be published on Saturday 
 March 28. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. III. Saturday, March 28, 1807. 
 
 " Tm said they eat each other. 
 They did so ; to the amazement of mine eyes^ 
 That loo¥d vpon't." Macbeth. 
 
 THE great revolutions and events that, from the ear- 
 liest periods, threatened the very foundations of society, 
 have been uniformly preceded by signs and portents, at 
 once fearful and monstrous ; with the benevolent view, it 
 may be presumed, of stirring up our powers to avert, if pos- 
 sible, the threatened calamity, or of preparing men's 
 minds for the fulfilment of these awful predictions. Thus 
 the madness that seized the horses of Duncan, "the minions 
 
 No. 3. B 
 
2 
 
 of their race," terminated in one of those violations of the 
 laws of nature, which 
 
 " prophecy, with accents terrible 
 Of dire combustion, and confusM events. 
 New hatch'd to the Avoeful time." 
 
 And I cannot help viewing, I confess, with the like 
 trembling foreboding, the unnatural fury that has taken 
 possession of our connoisseurs ; a race of beings that, till 
 now, pulled so amicably together, that they might be 
 compared, I speak it with reverence, to the horses of a 
 Yorkshire waggon, who follow instinctively the beaten 
 track, without the intervention even of a driver's un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 Although it be not easy to discover the origin of this 
 strife, yet, as it burst forth when the late disorder among 
 the canine animals raged at the highest, some believe it to 
 have preceded from the like uncontrollable causes. 
 What materially strengthens this opinion is the report, 
 supposing it to be true, that the person first attacked by 
 this malady, is a gentleman of high respectability and 
 talents; by whom the connoisseurs, as well as many of 
 the artists, have been entertained with a kindness and hos- 
 pitality, that leave us the choice of no natural, and at the 
 
3 
 
 same time flattering motive, to account for his intempe- 
 rate zeal, and unprovoked hostility. 
 
 The unruly conduct of this gentleman was first displayed 
 in a biting satire, humorously entitled the" Fly-flap;" and, 
 although there be some who think the pamphlet principally 
 characterised by a splenetic, but harmless irritability ; yet 
 it must be confessed to be greatly enlivened by the vein of 
 drollery that pervades it ; the author being as keen after a 
 joke as a young attorney. With this mischievous Fly- 
 flap he sallies forth ; and, like Domitian, makes it his pas- 
 time to kill every obnoxious insect, i. e. Connoisseur and 
 English painter in his way. The vigilant Editor of " The 
 Director," observing this unpatriotic spirit, roundly 
 accuses the author of having assumed and discredited a 
 name with which we have been accustomed to associate 
 an opinion of more generous qualities ; and, because he 
 does not feel as an Englishman, patriotically recommends 
 him to the police as a French spy. I cannot help wish- 
 ing this argument were as convincing to me, as perhaps it 
 ought to be : but while I continue to observe our nobility 
 and gentry as ready to concede, as Frenchmen are to 
 claim, precedency on every occasion, I must, however un- 
 willing, consider the initials that close the " Fly-flap," 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 as a true signature, and lament the uncertainty of all 
 human calculation. 
 
 The crimes of the " Director," that stir up the indig- 
 nation of the Fly-flapper, are said to be " its flattery of 
 living authors and painters, on grounds he is disposed to 
 contest, and on authorities which he does not understand." 
 That this author should betray no fellow-feeling for the 
 infirmities of the aforesaid authorities, is altogether sur- 
 prising ; since, though it may be easy to " understand a 
 fury in his looks," it is by no means so in his words, 
 which, as Socrates said of the writings of Heraclitusy 
 " might be excellent, but you risk drowning yourself in 
 them if you are not as skilful as a Delian diver." Indeed 
 the whole of the Right Honourable Author's arguments 
 and stories, so a propos de bottes^ either from natural confu- 
 sion or design, will be found, I fear, as inconsequential, 
 as the discourse of Juliet's nurse, 
 
 " Your love says like an honest gentleman — 
 
 "Where is your mother ?" 
 
 There is one point, however, which the well-disposed 
 author is indefatigable in labouring to make clear, 
 
5 
 
 doubtless with a view to the advancement of art — namely, 
 that the Artists have too much encouragement, or, in other 
 words, are too well paid. " It is not," quoth he, " in my 
 opinion, correct to say, that artists have not encourage- 
 ment ; and to put such notions in print, will neither im- 
 prove the school, nor obtain patronage. I may almost 
 assert the reverse to be correct." 
 
 " The patronage of his present Majesty in the establish* 
 ment of a Royal Academy has been adequate to the objects 
 of advancing the arts of Painting and Sculpture." 
 
 " The nomination of the most distinguished artists, 
 foreigners as well as natives, to be academicians, is all 
 that could be done." (Alas ! for pity I) " Access to 
 public lectures, and to drawing-schools, was ordered for 
 young artists. The annual exhibition gave opportunity 
 for public competition of talent, and public curiosity in- 
 creased the fund for promoting'' (qu. clothing?) " the o*- 
 jeds'' (qu. abjects ?) " of the Royal Academy. Among the 
 host of exhibitors, a few works were distinguished by 
 original merit ; but the observation I always made was, 
 that patronage has been too great to mediocrity, and not 
 great enough to bring forward rising genius ; and thus 
 I acquit the public of the charge of the Director." 
 
 " Low and ridiculous as the Royal Academy has made 
 
6 
 
 itself by their ingratitude and dissension, there aire in- 
 dividuals in that body, whose taste and historic know- 
 ledge of the arts, would show that some of the finest 
 works of art were, by the selection of the subject, made 
 instrumental to the purposes of strife and mutual destruc- 
 tion. The Royal Academy of Painting is not the temple 
 of the Graces ; our first artists have made it a temple of 
 discord : and eveii the poetic artist would not be able to 
 point many examples to illustrate his preference of 
 painting to poetry, and where it may apply. The judg- 
 ment of the painter must be equal to his genius, to 
 compress into a momentary action the poetical imagery of 
 a narration. But that quoted artist, from his talent in 
 Painting, is deserving of that degree of public patronage, 
 which would leave him less leisure for poetry." 
 
 I shall here close the quotation ; and content myself 
 with conjuring the old and studious artist to consider how 
 much it behoves him to be grateful for the gift of know- 
 ledge, by which he is enabled to instruct the youthful and 
 ignorant. How must his generous bosom swell with de- 
 light too, for the favour of contending at his individual 
 expence, like a gladiator, for abuse and worsted stock- 
 ings; more particularly when he reflects, that the money 
 drawn from the curiosity of the public, collected to beh(^d 
 
this struggle for existence, is funded for the benefit of 
 those who cannot share the danger of the contest ! 
 
 Whether the shilling thus ostentatiously displayed be 
 all the encouragement to which the author alludes in the 
 preceding paragraph, I will not say, but he has stated no 
 other: yet, as it is not easy to perceive how the established 
 artists are to be enriched by funding this contribution, as 
 they do, for the benefit of the rising generation, I must 
 suppose him deceived by other appearances, and that his 
 judgment has been deluded by having seen a few more 
 fortunate, or more worldly, artists in clean linen and decent 
 apparel; or by observing them to rent houses usually de- 
 voted to the comforts of gentlemen, instead of garrets or 
 cellars, the ancient and hereditary nurseries of the fol- 
 lowers of the Muses. But has the author of the Fly-flap 
 ever heard of the landed possessions of artists? Has he 
 learned from what funds they draw interest upon their 
 stock, or what argosies are loaded with their wealth? 
 Should he indeed have received such an impression of 
 our state, we must not be surprised at having excited so 
 much jealousy; and both the author and the public can- 
 not be too soon informed, that our houses are burthens, 
 under which the demands of our profession compel us. 
 
8 
 
 quarterly, to groan; that the few among us ^rho can 
 boast a slight covering of flesh, fatten on abuse and ne- 
 glect, and wallow in all the luxury of labour, anxiety, 
 and mortification. But, as the poet saith, 
 
 *' Sweet are the uses of adversity." 
 
 Let me entreat the author no longer to mock us then 
 with this vaunted encouragement and patronage; but to 
 remember, that, of our three legitimate Historical Painters, 
 one has been supported by private subscription, and an- 
 other by Royal Munificence, his gains from the public in 
 forty years having scarcely reached five thousand pounds ! 
 On such encouragement I have too much charity to wish 
 the Right Honourable Author reduced to depend : yet if 
 Fortune had not smiled more auspiciously at his birth, 
 than on that of artists, let him seriously consider how 
 much he must have toiled to procure credit for his various 
 talents, and the reward even of this eleemosynary sub- 
 sistence, and he will perhaps soften into a more charitable 
 opinion of our humble, though dear-bought, attainments. 
 
 With respect to the Portrait Painter, it may truly be 
 affirmed, that his life is not one of idleness, but of unre- 
 mitting industry and care. His art, when carried to anj 
 
9 
 
 high degree of excellence, challenges our admiration and 
 praise, for, as Donne saith, 
 
 " A hand, an eye. 
 By Hilliard drawn, is worth a history 
 By a worse Painter made." 
 
 In administering to some of the best feelings of the 
 human breast, he sacrifices health and the inestimable 
 blessings of air and sunshine; and, in return, he some- 
 times receives a market price for his labours, that enables 
 him, perhaps, to fill with decency the station which pre- 
 judice has allotted to him. When more than this is 
 obtained, it is for transcendent talents, that lay a debt on 
 a nation, to be repaid only in gratitude, and in a gene- 
 ral sense of their benefit and estimation. 
 
 But does the Right Honourable Author seriously en- 
 tertain the opinion set forth in his singular publication ? 
 Can he admit, and he surely will, that the proudest 
 boast of a nation has at all times been its arts, that yield 
 to no conquest except that of skill, and claim a superiority 
 for the country in which they flourish, in defiance of the 
 barbarous hordes that in evil hour may subdue it? — Can he 
 admit this, and believe that minds so capable and ele- 
 No. 3. - c 
 
10 
 
 rated, have been forced into action by want, or that the 
 pride of genius is to be fed by debasement and contempt? 
 " The strife of a virtuous contention, and the earnest 
 desire of glory," Tacitus observes, are passions incident 
 only to such men as live in prosperity." But if this opi- 
 nion can obtain no credit v^^ith our author, he will perhaps 
 explain for what ends reward and favour have been in- 
 stituted; or what may be the nature of those disqualifica- 
 tions that condemn the artist to neglect, while inferior 
 powers are often invited to share the hi^ghest honours of 
 the state. 
 
 For me, it is a painful duty to declare, (and I have at 
 least long, if not well, considered the question,) that inacoun- 
 try where the art and the artist are separated by so invi- 
 dious a distinction ; where the work aspires to heaven, 
 and the workman's condition is too low for the proud, and 
 too proud for the low — in such a country, though galleries 
 for the sale of talent may be opened, and subscriptions 
 set on foot, (with the best intentions, I gratefully acknow- 
 ledge, but which degrade the cause they aim to support,) 
 the people, with all due reverence for their taste, are, in 
 relation to art, only emerging from barbarism ; and the 
 honour due to a state of high cultivation and refinement 
 
11 
 
 remains to be reaped by a nation more civilized, and a 
 people, perhaps^ yet unborn* 
 
 That there are many of our nobility and gentry pos- 
 sessed with higher sentiments and more enlarged views, 
 every painter of merit has reason to remember ; but it is 
 not in the power, I fear, of individuals, however great 
 their w^ealth, or ardent their admiration, to raise the 
 arts to that level best calculated to draw forth the 
 energies of the artist. Government alone, I believe, 
 is competent to the task of bringing a nation to this just 
 degree of feeling ; and when painters shall be encouraged 
 to furnish examples of their own excellence, as well as to 
 record the patriotic or heroic deeds of others, the nation 
 ^vill catch the enthusiasm, and learn to respect an art 
 that appears to be interwoven with the grandeur and 
 policy of the state. 
 
 Under such a dispensation of things (and such an one, I 
 trust, is not far distant) a Reynolds, Gainsborough, Barry, 
 Wilson, or Hogarth, would not have excelled in vain ; and 
 the great debt of fame due to the talents of these extra- 
 ordinary men, instead of being permitted to pass over to 
 
 another age for liquidation, would have been shared by a 
 contemporary generation. By the cruel neglect, however, 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 of Wilson, Barry, and Hogarth, the nation has incurred the 
 disgrace of those who blindly or perversely suffered Milton^ 
 Massenger, Butler, Otway, and Dryden, to drag out a mise- 
 rable existence — to live unhonoured, and die unregretted. 
 
 The last paragraph quoted from the Fly-flap at once 
 betrays its author and his station ; for the habit of offering 
 advice and maintaining secrecy are, unfortunately for the 
 reader, so interwoven and entangled in his mind, as ta 
 have become inseparable ; and he often, therefore, keeps 
 his own counsel, when he appears most desirous of com- 
 municating information. His notions, for instance, con- 
 cerning something belonging to Poetry and Painting, are 
 delivered with all the caution of a statesman, and would 
 have been creditable to the discretion of the great Lord 
 Burleigh himself. What can be gathered, however, from 
 his innuendos will be found, I fear, as little flattering to 
 his taste as to his candour ; for he coldly insinuates that 
 the author of the Rhymes on Art 
 
 " has left some calling for his idle trade,'* 
 
 when he might have bestowed the praise so justly due 
 to him who studies to render even his hours of relaxation 
 
13 
 
 subservient to our delight and instruction. The un- 
 courtly abuse with which the author has loaded the mem- 
 bers of the Royal Academy is shadowed out in the same 
 mysterious language ; and the public are left to conjecture 
 whether they are busied in another Rye-house Plot, or 
 disputing only on what may be most conducive to the 
 interests of the institution. If he alludes only to aca- 
 demic diiferences, I cannot perceive why these are to be 
 stigmatised as " low and ridiculous," more than the dis- 
 putes of any other set of men, collected to deliver opinions, 
 and refute objections ; nor do I think the author has dis- 
 covered great marks of a more amicable disposition, or 
 afforded the academicians any hope that his presence 
 would harmonize their society, were he reduced to the 
 sad necessity of qualifying himself to become a member. 
 
 But it is time to consider that part of the Right Ho- 
 nourable Author's pamphlet, for which the whole appears 
 to have been written ; namely, the recommendation of his 
 Italian friend Canova, to execute a monument to the im- 
 mortal memory of our English admiral Lord Nelson. To 
 bring the public into a temper to accede to so humiliating 
 a measure, it was of course necessary to rob our native 
 artists of the little celebrity their talents had wrung from 
 
14 
 
 an unwilling generation ; and at the same time bring into 
 discredit the judgment of those connoisseurs who had sanc- 
 tioned with their praise the arts of their country. But as 
 he very modestly doubts his powers to effect this single- 
 handed, he calls in foreign aid ; and, after exhausting his 
 own strength on the dispirited, and already half-conquered 
 artists, he exposes the vast army of connoisseurs to the meta- 
 physical artillery of M. D'Alembert, who, in justice it must 
 be owned, does his work in a butcher-like manner. The 
 Right Honourable Fly-flapper, and the French critic, if 
 they know themselves, are the only two persons in the 
 world capable of appreciating the merits of Musicians, 
 Poets and Artists, and, in respect to these matters, deny 
 even the infallibility of the Pope ; though it is acknow- 
 ledged, to their praise, by the French writer, that two of 
 the most celebrated of these decendants of St. Peter 
 " were content to reward like sovereigns, and not advise 
 like blockheads." 
 
 There are only two occasions, I conceive, on which 
 a foreign artist could with propriety be invited to execute 
 a great national work in this country ; namely, in default 
 of our having any artist at all competent to such an un- 
 dertaking, or for the purpose of introducing a superior 
 
15 
 
 style of art, to correct a vicious taste prevalent in the 
 nation. The consideration of the first part of this state- 
 ment I leave to those who have witnessed with what ability 
 Mr. Flaxman, Mr. Westmacott, and the other candidates, 
 have designed their models; and, with respect to the style 
 and good taste of the English school, I dare, and am proud, to 
 assert its superiority over any that has appeared in Europe 
 since the age of the Caracci. Our present sculptors, it 
 is well known, studied in Italy the same remains of an- 
 tiquity that furnished examples of excellence to the native 
 artist ; and if they were not to be improved by these, I fear 
 they are past the power of being mended by Mr. Canova. 
 But they must nevertheless feel infinitely grateful to the 
 Right Honourable Author for the recommendation of 
 this " stimulus to their exertions;" which, however, appears 
 to me much the same as if he were to offer bitters to pro- 
 voke the appetite, and in the end give his patient nothing 
 to eat. A monument and a dinner, I humbly conceive, 
 would more effectually strengthen the artist and the man, 
 than the dose of so capricious a physician. 
 
 I refrain from discussing the merits of Mr. Canova, 
 from a principle of justice only; conceiving it unfair to 
 call in question the skill of a celebrated artist, merely oa 
 
16 
 
 account of the indiscreet interference of a friend. A fa-» 
 vourable occasion of doing justice to the British School of 
 Sculpture, it is true, may thus be lost; but I might be 
 reproached with acting like the bear, who, in aiming a 
 deadly blow at a fly, knocked out the brains of a man. 
 
 Enough has been said, I trust, to prove the author 
 inadequate to the task he has undertaken ; and my respect 
 for his character and station forbids any further notice of 
 so injudicious and unprovoked an attack. I shall only 
 observe, therefore, that, had he been actuated by more 
 generous feelings for the arts of his country, he might 
 have favoured us with a quotation from another French 
 author, " more germain" to the matter, and at the same 
 time more flattering to an English ear; for which reason 
 I shall close with it these, I hope not intemperate, obser- 
 vations. 
 
 " Une nouvelle Ecole s'est formee de nous jours en Europe, celle d'Ax- 
 GLETEKRE. Ella reside dans I'Academie de Londres instituee en 1766 par 
 lettres-patentes de Sa Majeste Britannique, & formee seulement en 1769. 
 Encore voisine de son berceau, elle s'anonce par de grands succes, & mente 
 d'autant mieux d'etre applaudie, & d'exciter meme Peraulation de ses ain6es, 
 que les parties qui la distinguent sont les plus nobles parties de I.'art; la 
 sagesse de la composition, la beaute des formes, I'elevation des idees, & la 
 T^cite des expressions. Cette ecole ne nous est encore connue que par des 
 
IT 
 
 Irstampes; mais des artistes qui en ont vu plusieurs tableux nous ont assur^ 
 que, dans quelques uns de ses raaitres, elle joint la couleur aux parties plus 
 sublimes de Tart." 
 
 " On peut reconnoitre dans toutes les ecoles la cause du caractere qui les 
 
 distingue La beaute doit entrer dans le caractere de Vecole Angloise, 
 
 parce qu'elle est assez commune en Angleterre pour frapper sans cesse la vue 
 des artistes. Si cette beaute n'estpas precisement celle de Pantique, elle ne lui 
 est peut etre pas inferieure. \Jecole Angloise se distinguera par la verite de 
 I'expression, parce que la liberte nationale laisse aux passions tout le jeu de 
 la nature. Eile conservera la simplicite, & ne se gatera pas par une affecta- 
 tion theatrale, par les migaardises des fausses graces, parce que les moeurs 
 angloises conservent elles-m^mes de la simplicite. 
 
 " Regardez le portrait d'une Fraagoise peintre par un Frangois ; vous y 
 trouverez le plus souvent, pour toute expression, un souris commande, que 
 les yeux & le front ne parragent pas, & qui ne vous indique aucune affection 
 de Parme. Regardez le portrait d'une Angloise jDejalre par un Anglois; 
 vous y trouverez le plus souvent une expression naive qui vous fera connoitre 
 ]« caractere de la personne representee." 
 
 Dictionnaire de WaxElet. 
 
 J. H, 
 
 The Artist has to acknowledge the receipt of a letter 
 of a humorous cast, apparently dictated by friendly views 
 of the same nature as those of the foregoing essay On 
 English Painters, It shall have a place in a future 
 number. 
 
 No. 3. B 
 
No. IV. On the premature Exercise of Taste, and 
 its Effects on Works of Genius, will be published on 
 Saturday, April 4. 
 
THK 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. IV. Saturday^ April 4, 1807. 
 
 Sapere est et principium et forts. 
 
 THE cultiyation of Taste is perhaps the most seductiTC 
 of all mental pleasures. It is from this cause the most 
 dangerous also, unless proper precaution be applied to 
 prevent its too early progress. Science requires to be di- 
 ligently pursued through all her mazes, and wooed with 
 all the forms of regular approach, before taste be permit- 
 ted to claim possession of her charms, and to rove without 
 restraint over her beauties. 
 
 The student, in his regular career of instruction, visits 
 the cells of learning, and brings from them daily stores, 
 
 No. 4. B 
 
2 
 
 (stores which, like communicated flame, cause no de- 
 crease of the original source) until he have amassed as 
 large a stock of treasures, as his mind is capable of con- 
 taining. It is at this period, and not sooner, that taste 
 enters oa the scene with advantage; that she ranges ar- 
 dently, yet serenely, along paths whose connection she 
 easily discerns, lingers with security where she finds her- 
 self invited to contemplation, and rests on her road 
 without fear of being perplexed or bewildered when she 
 resumes her way ; it is then that, winged with confi- 
 dence, she flies, like the bee, from sweet to sweet, through 
 a variegated and extensive garden, and makes her hive an 
 object of admiration and delight. 
 
 This perfection of taste is more often to be wished for^ 
 than to be found, among men. It is difficult to chain the 
 ardour of desire through a long and tedious process ; the 
 growing sense pants to leave the shackles of laborious scru- 
 tiny, and to indulge its own propensities ; it frequently 
 steals unperceived from its guide, and, once loosed from 
 the rein, the wanton flies at large beyond a possibility of 
 being reclaimed. 
 
 It is, indeed, nearly impossible to convey instruction 
 without at the same time exciting some emotion of taste. 
 
3 
 
 if that faculty be at all in the mind of the learner. In 
 whatsoever is learned, the precept is sure to be at least mo- 
 dified by the bent, or constitutional taste, of the preceptor, 
 and the mind of the novice is thus called on either to 
 adopt the taste of another, or to exercise its own in reject- 
 ing it. Still, much is in the power both of the student 
 and the instructor, and it becomes the most laudable task 
 of the latter to employ every kind of guard against the 
 acceleration of taste in his pupil. 
 
 Unless a proper store of provisionary knowledge be laid 
 up, and accuracy fully established in the mind, the excite- 
 ments of taste lead us forward without rule or compass, 
 and, like the traveller who, through too much haste, once 
 takes a wrong turning of his road, the farther we proceed, 
 the less our land-marks are discernible, and we involve 
 ourselves, step after step, in a labyrinth, where our error be- 
 comes irretrievable. 
 
 I have heard a very accomplished friend of mine declare, 
 that, when he sits down to read a book on any difficult 
 subject, he makes it a rule to consider the author as entirely 
 in the right, until he shall have finished the perusal of the 
 work, when he revolves the whole in his thoughts, and 
 ^compares the author's ideas on the subject with his own, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 This custom may be regarded as one of the safest 
 methods of study, as it habituates the student to an im- 
 partial attention to all arguments that are brought before 
 him. It is also the most useful method, if accumulation 
 of knowledge be the purpose of study, because we are by 
 this means certain of adding to our own stores a fresh 
 stock on which to exercise, and of course to improve, our 
 judgment. But how contrary is it to the frequent prac- 
 tice of what is called study ! I once heard a music-master 
 instruct his pupil in the most approved methods of leav^ 
 ing iime^ before the scholar had fairly gained by prac- 
 tice a solid possession of time itself ; not considering that 
 tlie grace of expression is an unintelligible phantom, 
 unless it derive a substance from correctness. 
 
 Among the examples of error induced by a similar 
 practice in Painting, may be brought the works of the 
 Neapolitan School ; of the Modern Venetian, or rather 
 of all the Venetian painters since Titian and Giorgione; 
 and, in numerous instances, of our own school, where taste 
 is too quickly called into action, for want of the student's 
 being supplied with adequate methods of acquiring fun- 
 damental knowledge. 
 
 Not less dangerous to ourselves, and far more perni- 
 
5 
 
 cious to others, is taste thus prematurely formed, when 
 exercised in criticism. We are led by it to condemn 
 from partial motives, we exclude from our consideration 
 every thing that our own minds have failed to embrace, 
 and we disapprove of one another, merely because we 
 happen to have taken different turnings from the right 
 road.- 
 
 The surest basis on which our critical taste in any art 
 can be founded, is a thorough investigation of what has 
 been actually performed by human endeavours in the 
 subject before us. A knowledge of this circumstance will 
 have a tendency to prevent that fastidious sense of dissatis- 
 faction with what is offered to us, and that facility of rejec- 
 tion, which arise from imaginary notions of possibilities, 
 and will give a sanction to the honest relish which we are 
 sometimes inclined to feel for the efforts of meritorious, 
 but unmatured and struggling talents. 
 
 The knowledge of an art is acquired by long and labo- 
 rious study ; and not only is this painful application the 
 necessary mode of attaining skill and judgment in it, but, . 
 I believe, it is also the only one. 
 
 Art, when perfected by study and consummate know 
 
6 
 
 ledge, derives its last and highest embellishment from 
 taste; which being, as I conceive, an innate faculty exist- 
 ing in some minds and not in others, and although highly 
 capable of improvement, by no means capable of being 
 implanted unless by nature, causes that variety of ultimate 
 or partial success, attending the v^^orks of the learned in 
 every department. How frequent are the examples, where 
 profound skill, destitute of taste, sometimes admits, and 
 sometimes displays, the greatest faults and exuberances in 
 the midst of as many striking beauties and excellences ! 
 
 Yet although, in order that the world may derive full 
 benefit from the exertions of skill and learning, we must 
 he content, in the efforts of men, (necessarily imperfect) 
 to take the good which their talents offer us, in their own 
 way, the faults of Genius, nevertheless, furnish instruction 
 to taste, as well as its beauties; and ihe vigour of every 
 great example, however eccentric, flighty, or encum- 
 bered, becomes, under the contemplation of taste, a step to 
 future general advancement. 
 
 In the struggles of our limited intellect to attain to the 
 excellence of art, how desirable were it that minds could 
 he brought to unite towards the perfection of study, as 
 
T 
 
 bodies are made to join in lifting or carrying extraor- 
 dinary weights; that the man of taste, and the man of 
 learning could coalesce, to produce a faultless vYork ! It is 
 said to be an idea entertained by many persons, (and 
 those ingenious ones too) that such a scheme is feasible, 
 and, I own, it has a plausible appearance. But I am in- 
 clined to suspect, that if ever such an union subsist to any 
 good purpose, it can only be where a constant and perfect 
 intimacy affords an opportunity of the most momentary 
 communications of ideas and sentiments; in which in- 
 stances it will amount to nothing more than the advantage 
 which every sensible man derives from the opportunities 
 offered by his actual circumstances, for, at last, it will 
 be to the skill that predominates over the suggestions 
 of taste, that the tribute of admiration will be paid. 
 
 Except in the case of this extraordinary and entire 
 communication of minds, nothing is more generally preju- 
 dicial to the value of genius, than the interference of 
 extraneous taste. What is not intimately felt, will 
 never be ably expressed ; and it will be found from 
 experience that, in every high exertion of art in its pe- 
 culiar province, the artist, whether Painter, Architect, 
 Musician, Poet, or of what other description soever, has 
 
either rejected the taste of accessory minds, or, if he has 
 yielded to it, has deformed and weakened his original 
 design. 
 
 It is in vain that we strive to alter, (or, as we think, 
 correct^) the sallies of Genius, whose vivid conceptions do 
 not admit of the reform we propose. We may take away 
 its strength, but we shall not take away its faults ; and 
 we must at last content ourselves with concluding, that 
 although the knowledge and art of others be the ground- 
 work of our taste, yet that faculty in us, (in however high 
 a degree we may possess it,) cannot, in return, either increase 
 the knowledge, or strengthen the powers of performance, 
 in the children of genius. 
 
 " Nullum sine venia placuit ingeniura. Da mihi quemcunque vis magni 
 nomiiiis virum, dicam quid illi aetas sua ignoverit, quid in illo sciens dissimu- 
 laverit. Multos dabo, quibus vitia nou nocuerint, quosdam quibus profuerint. 
 Dabo, inquam, maximse famae et inter miranda propositos ; quos si quis cor- 
 rigit, delet." 
 
 "No genius ever afforded delight, that had not at the same time some- 
 thing to be pardoned. Bring me any instance you will, of a man who 
 has acquired a great name, and I will tell you what those of his own 
 time forgave in him, and what they knowingly overlooked. I will point 
 •ut not only many to whom their faults were not prejudicial, but some 
 to whom they were t^dvaatageous. I will name those of the highest fame. 
 
9 
 
 and who have been brought forward as objects of admiration, whom, 
 if any one pretends to correct, he destroys altogether." 
 
 The interference of the taste of others has a tendency 
 to impoverish the fruit of an original mind, but not to 
 improve its stock. It may impede the flight of Genius, 
 but cannot fashion it. 
 
 Taste, moreover, thus loses its highest qualities, and 
 foregoes its most important uses. 
 
 It belongs to the province of taste to exercise itself on 
 materials already formed, and on works already delivered 
 to the world, and by comparing and illustrating these, by 
 weighing their beauties with their defects, to prepare the 
 ground to the best advantage for the exertions of future 
 times and future candidates. But whenever it interferes 
 to influence and qualify the actual elTusions of genius, it 
 not only prevents the increase of stores by which the 
 world is to be enriched, but impairs the very materials on 
 which it is itself to act, and thus fairly saps its own foun- 
 dation. 
 
 These observations apply to taste the most accurately 
 formed, for it is unnecessary to say any thing farther on the 
 intervention of extraneous taste unfounded on knowledge. 
 
 No. 4. c 
 
10 
 
 the absurdity of which is too evident, and which is allowed 
 to be at all times ominous, if not ruinous, to the cause it 
 intends to assist. 
 
 As I am myself persuaded that experience is the chief 
 instructress in art, as well as in life, I was extraordinarily 
 pleased, a short time since, on perceiving the conviction 
 of this truth displaying itself in the language of an Artist^ 
 in whose pursuits a false or premature taste is peculiarly 
 liable to be attended with the most grievous results. In a 
 speech said to be delivered by an officer of rank in the 
 army, on the means of improving our national force, he 
 ironically apologizes for .speaking on a military subject; 
 " Because," says he, " I am military, and because those 
 " who are not military speak most learnedly upon it; 
 " although, in other cases, men seek to know the practice 
 " and theory, both, of a subject, before they venture to 
 " advise upon it. We generally conclude men to have 
 " some knowledge of their own profession in the general 
 " concerns of life. We don't send our watches to be 
 " mended by a shoemaker ; but upon a military subject 
 " the counsels of all are offered ; upon that topic the 
 " maxim of Horace is reversed : 
 
 " Nemo omnibvis horis sapit." 
 
11 
 
 The sarcasm urged by this gallant and experienced 
 commander, has its precedent in the complaints of artists 
 of every description. Hannibal's less courteous sentence 
 is well known : on his opinion being asked of an orator, 
 who had, for a considerable length of time, discussed se- 
 veral of the principal topics of war, he replied, that " he 
 had heard many fools in his time, but that the last orator 
 had exceeded them all." 
 
 The ingenious author of " The Director," has also 
 lately famished us with an anecdote, from which I shall 
 take the liberty of borrowing, because it contains a 
 sentiment so extremely apposite to the present as well as 
 to some other occasions. He relates the following answer 
 of Apelles to a Persian nobleman, who visited his study, 
 and endeavoured to display his taste on the subject of 
 light and shade in Apelles' art : 
 
 *' Whilst you were silent, the boys (in my study) were lost in admiratioa 
 of your magnificence : the moment you began to talk of what you did not 
 understand, they laughed." 
 
 This may happen, when boys shall be so wickedly dis- 
 posed, in other countries besides Greece. 
 
 Horace's account of the pretenders in his own art is 
 admired on more than one occasion. 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 In Painting, peculiarly, as it is an art whose principles 
 have neyer yet been explored by us in England, we are 
 very apt to receive imaginary notions of what it might be^ 
 or enthusiastic fables of what it may have been. But it is 
 by instructing ourselves thoroughly in the nature of the 
 real powers which we are certain it has exhibited, and by 
 candidly comparing the pretensions of succeeding candi- 
 dates with the actual examples of excellence and failure 
 in the art, that we can alone hope to bestow, with justice, 
 the award of praise or blame. 
 
 It is to be regretted that instruction in the general prin- 
 ciples of so dignified an art does not constitute a part of 
 our public system of liberal studies, without which it will 
 always be difficult to reconcile the notions of the profes- 
 sional and unprofessional scholar. — They are the children 
 of different education. 
 
 P. H. 
 
13 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. ' 
 
 March 28, 1807. 
 
 Mr. Artist, 
 
 As an old practitioner in the liberal arts, I claim your 
 indulgence. I consider you in some degree as their cham- 
 pion and protector, and though, by your profession, I 
 know you cannot be rich, yet I am sure you are honest, and 
 your attention ever alive to the voice of truth. I there- 
 fore boldly make my complaint to you, as it flows from 
 the source of experience, and beg leave to bring forward 
 to your observation a species of patrons of the arts, who, 
 saving the predominance of their vanity, have, I believe, 
 very good intentions, yet produce by their action the vforst 
 of consequences. These signiors^ like libertines in another 
 department, are perpetually in quest of novelty, and, every 
 year, find a new wonder, whose fancied talents are of their 
 own creation, and on whom they lavish all their little pa* 
 tronage and attention; some embryo artist^ cheaply pur- 
 chased, who bends with profound humility and homage 
 for the unexpected blessing, thanks Heaven and his Ge- 
 nius, and concludes that his fortune is made. The fond 
 patron is elated with the gratifying . hope that his discern* 
 
14 
 
 ment and his taste will now be proved in the face of day, 
 by the splendour of the rising genius, which his sagacity 
 has been able to discover before it was known to, or be- 
 came the wonder of, the world, and thus his fancy unites 
 him as a joint sharer in the future glory of his protege. 
 
 The consequences produced by this precipitate favour 
 are often deplorable, as the effects are precisely like those 
 of a trap. The young, unthinking, vain, though innocent 
 and pitiable, victim is deluded on, till the flower of his 
 youth be past, and till it is become too late for him to be- 
 gin or seek another profession ; and when he is thus irre- 
 trievably engaged in the trammels of his art, his patron 
 leaves him to his fate — commonly either finding himself 
 mistaken in the talents of his subject, or cooling in his at- 
 tachment as novelty wears off, or tired, perhaps, by re- 
 peated attempts to promote the fame of one whom he can 
 prevail on so very few to admire. The unhappy wonder is 
 thus turned adrift on chance and on the world, where, if his 
 profession be paintings he becomes a picture-cleaner or an 
 outcast, with poverty in store, and leisure more than 
 enough long to deplore the fatal hour he first was favoured 
 by the caprice of his dangerous admirer, while the 
 patron, untaught by experience, all alert, spreads fresh nets 
 
15 
 
 for fresh game, ensnares anew some unfledged subject, but 
 with lively hopes of better luck; thus spoiling an honest 
 tradesman, whose success in the world his bounty would 
 have ensured. 
 
 The wonder-hunters put me in mind of those gentlemen 
 in Bartholomew fair, who are masters of what is called a 
 Flying Coach^ and are continually taking up fresh darl- 
 ings, one after another, giving each little fluttering heart 
 a whirl in their airy vehicle, which " swiftly flies, yet 
 makes no way," but having once set it down again on 
 the same ground from whence they took it up, regardless 
 of the piteous countenance of the poor mortified urchin, 
 look briskly round in quest of fresh aspirers to their be- 
 witching honours, who are of course, in their turn, cast 
 ofl" like those who went before. 
 
 For, give me leave to remark to you, that those pro- 
 fessors, " which have borne the burden and heat of the 
 day," and whose long and laborious studies have been 
 bent on the improvement of abilities which their eflbrts 
 have demonstrated, are never in the thoughts of such pa- 
 trons as objects of encouragement: fresh wonders are all 
 they seek, totally regardless in what manner those fu- 
 ture years are to be spent, over the fate of which they may 
 be said to have cast the die. 
 
16 
 
 Peace to all such ! — But there have of late appeared 
 (thanks to our better stars !) instances of such patronage as 
 is truly patriotic, which revive the drooping head of art, 
 and promise national splendour from its influence, 
 I am, Dear Mr. Artist, 
 
 With unfeigned regret. 
 
 Yours, most humbly, 
 
 A Disappointed Genius* 
 
 My correspondent appears, in the former part of his let- 
 ter, to have had in view the sentence of the poet- — 
 
 Dulcis inexpertis cultura potentis amici ; 
 Expertus metuit. 
 
 Sweet seems the pow'rful Patron's care 
 To him who never felt the snare ; 
 Once tried, he fancied hope foregoes. 
 And dreads the thorn beneath the rose. 
 
 In the latter part I endeavour to flatter myself that the 
 truth of his remarks on the neglect of established merit 
 can be instanced only in a very small class. But, in 
 order to ascertain this question, I propose to collect ac- 
 counts of the actual encouragement, given by the patrons 
 of the arts to the most eminent artists of England. 
 
17 
 
 In regard of Painting, the Galleries of our distinguished 
 amateurs will naturally furnish the most authentic do- 
 cuments, and it is with pleasure I reflect that some col- 
 lections lately formed disclose hopes of a most grateful 
 kind. 
 
 The liberal proposition recently made by the British 
 Institution is also, I trust, far beyond the scope of my 
 Correspondent's letter. That Institution announces to thd 
 young painters who studied in the Gallery last summer, 
 its intention to give a premium of 100/. for the best 
 original picture, proper to be a companion to one of three 
 pictures which shall be lent to the Gallery in the ensuing 
 summer ; 50/. for the next best ; and 40/. for the third in 
 merit. 
 
 This instance of liberality appears to be most appropri- 
 ately directed, and I am the more particularly pleased 
 with it, as it seems to imply a confirmation of the senti- 
 ments of Mr. Shee (in his Rhymes on Art^) and of the 
 writer of the Remarks on English Painters in my last 
 paper, viz. that Government alone is competent to the 
 employment of the highest powers of the art. The patrons 
 of the British Institution, whose munificent designs every 
 day demonstrates, confine their encouragement to youthful 
 
 No. 4. B 
 
18 
 
 talents ; and leave to the State the more arduous task of 
 calling into exertion the abilities of those who are already 
 the acknowledged ornaments and support c^f the arts. 
 
 P. S. The works, which were remaining in the posses- 
 sion of our justly celebrated Barry at the time of his de- 
 cease, are to be disposed of by auction in Pall Mall, in the 
 ensuing week. He is the Historical Painter alluded to 
 in the third number of The Artist^ as having been sup- 
 ported by private subscription." 
 
 No. V. On Dramatic Style^ will be published on Sa- 
 turday, April 11th. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No, V. Saturday^ Jpril 1807. 
 
 Inurbanum lepido seponere dido." 
 
 IF any vanity should le imputed to the Editor, from the insertion of the 
 following adtnirable Essay on Dramatic Style in its present form qf a 
 letter, personally addressed to himself, he will not deny the charge, but hopes 
 he shall be allowed the privilege of enduring it cheerfully, in consideration of 
 the entertainment and instruction which he is thus enabled to offer to the Reader. 
 
 To P H , Esq, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 You wish me to contribute to the literary work, in 
 which you are engaged ; and, if I have hesitated to obey 
 No. 5. B 
 
2 
 
 your wish, it fs because I very much doubt whether, cir- 
 cumstanced as I am, it can be in my power to suggest any 
 thing that may be useful to your purpose, and worthy of 
 your acceptance. In this scruple I am perfectly sincere, 
 for my avocations at this moment are extremely urgent; 
 however, lest I should be suspected of assuming a feigned 
 self-diffidence for the sake of evading a friendly exertion, 
 I send you a few thoughts, in which you must not look for 
 much method, having thrown them out as they occurred 
 to me, without resort to books, which, in my present si- 
 tuation, are not within my reach : they will not ornament 
 your essays, but if they shall be of any service to those who 
 consult them, I must hope your readers will take my good 
 will in good part, and recollect that the polish of a button 
 does not add to the use of it. 
 
 ■' As you have written very amusingly for the stage, and I 
 hope will amuse yourself by writing for it again, I will de- 
 vote the remainder of this letter to a few familiar remarks 
 upon Dramatic Style. 
 
 THAT there is an appropriate and peculiar style, to 
 which the comic writer should endeavour to conform, I take 
 for granted. It is so difficult to convey rules for writing, 
 
3 
 
 tlirough the vehicle of definition, that I should at once ab- 
 solve myself from the task, if I could refer your readers to 
 anyone dramatic author on their shelves, whose style I could 
 fairly recommend as comprising all the properties that 
 definition can embrace. But there is no such author in 
 my recollection, (none such at least that I am prepared to 
 set up as a model) and, presuming therefore that the 
 whole has not yet been attained in its perfection, I must 
 endeavour to make my conception of it understood by 
 parts. 
 
 As I am about to talk to my contemporaries, I will con- 
 fine my idea of dramatic style to such only as I conceive those 
 writers ought to study and adopt, who propose themselves 
 to be writers for the present day. The old masters are 
 gone by ; they must not aim at following them ; not be- 
 cause it is impossible to overtake them, but because they can 
 get nothing from them to their present purpose, if they 
 join their company. I must be understood as speaking 
 simply and exclusively of style ; I have all reasonable 
 veneration, and quite enough to say, for them as examples 
 in another sense; but that would be talking out of my 
 subject, not within it. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 The writers of the middle comedy are CongrevCy Fart" 
 brugh^ Farquhar^ Steele^ Cibber^ and some few others ; 
 these are to my purpose, and the best of these, in point of 
 style, is Congreve, There are great good properties, and 
 well worthy the attention of the dramatic student, in the 
 writing of his four comedies : it is also a style peculiar to 
 himself, defineable, uniform, and fixed ; it is therefore 
 a proper object of contemplation ; it may be studied ; it 
 is a whole, and as such is capable of dissection. The exa- 
 miner will find it terse, compressed, pointed; but having used 
 the figurative term dissection^ I must warn the novice to 
 beware he does not cut his fingers with his lancet in the 
 process ; for there are tainted and unwholesome parts in 
 that fair body. These for the present I shall put aside : 
 his merits are the more agreeable discussion. 
 
 I have said his style is terse, compressed, and pointed ; 
 his works are doubtless in the reader's memory, and it 
 hardly signifies to which of them I refer, or which pas- 
 sage I select. Take one from the PFai/ of (he World — 
 Fainlove says to Mirabell 
 
 " Fain. Are you Jealous as often as you see Wilrsould 
 " entertained by Millamant^ 
 
5 
 
 " Mira. 0/ her understanding I am, if not of her 
 " person, 
 
 " Fain. You do her wrong; for^ to give her her due, 
 " she has wit, 
 
 " Mira. She has beauty enough to make any man 
 " think so; and complaisance enough not to contradict him 
 " who shall tell her so, 
 
 " Fain. For a passionate lover, methinks, you are a- 
 " man somewhat too discerning in the failings of your 
 " mistress, 
 
 " Mira. And for a discerning man,, somewhat to9 
 ^ passionate a lover, — &c. &c." 
 
 In this shart specimen the dramatic student will discover 
 all that I have hitherto described of Congreve's style ; he^ 
 will also observe how he builds one speech upon another, 
 and works his climax point by point : this way of working 
 is the very mastership and mystery of his art. It is 
 worth an author's utmost pains to trace him in this very 
 peculiar faculty of drawing out his dialogue without 
 breaking its thread; an operation, in which he is un- 
 rivalled, and distinguishable from all other dramatic 
 manufacturers, that ever took a tool in hand. But let the 
 
disciple of this great master be aware how he makes any 
 of his characters copy Fainlove, who announces Millamant 
 as a woman of wit ; let no author commit himself to his 
 audience for the introduction of a witty character, unless he 
 is perfectly well provided to make good his promise. This 
 is a stumble at starting, that is very much against a man 
 for the rest of the race, and many, whom I could name, 
 have made it. 
 
 One more specimen, as illustrative of this peculiar art 
 in Congreve's dialogue, will suffice, and I take it -from the 
 «ame comedy— Mirabell^ Fainlove and Millamant^ are on 
 the stage. 
 
 Mill. One no more owes one'^s beauty to a lover^ 
 ^' than one^s wit to an echo; they can but reflect what we 
 " hok and say — vain^ empty things^ &c. 
 
 Mira. Yet to those two vain empty things you owe 
 two of the greatest pleasures of your life, 
 « Mill. How sof 
 
 " Mira. To your lover you owe the pleasure of hearing 
 " yourselves praised; and to an echo the pleasure of 
 *' hearing yourselves talk^"^ 
 
f 
 
 This we might conceive is quite point enough ; and if 
 an ordinary poet had got so far, he might consider him- 
 self in a happy vein ; but Congre\^e's Echo has more re- 
 plications than one, and Witwould — " knows a lady^ that 
 
 loves talking so incessantly^ she won'^t give an echo 
 " Jair play ; she has that everlasting rotation of tongue^ 
 " that an echo must wait till she dies, before it can catch 
 
 her last words,^"^ 
 
 I need not give any more quotations from this author 
 to the point in question. Let the pupil of dramatic style 
 digest this thoroughly, and put himself upon a regimen 
 after this prescription, and he will find his constitution 
 much the better for it. 
 
 But I alluded to certain parts, that I conceived could 
 not be handled without danger, or, to speak in simpler 
 terms, where Congreve is no model for an author to fol-^ 
 low; and I must go a little about to come precisely to the 
 point I aim at. In common life there is nothing so out 
 of character as an under-bred man, when he grows fami- 
 liar, and puts himself at his ease with you. This remark 
 ought to be everlastingly kept in sight by writers for the 
 stage. If they have not obtained a knowledge of the 
 style and manners of people in high and elegant life, by 
 
8 
 
 consorting with them before they set about to represent 
 them on the stage, they had better never think of making 
 the attempt ; for if they look to Congreve for their pro- 
 totypes, they will not find them with him: if they resort 
 to his table for clean and wholesome fare, they will only 
 he entertained with tainted fragments, disguised by high- 
 seasoned sauces and stimulating spices. Let an author 
 also recollect that, whilst he is copying the style of Con- 
 greve, he must be well aware how he copies his indiscri- 
 mination in the management of it. Every character is 
 not to sing in unison like a Russian cliorus, and let him 
 be assured it is not in the power of style to compensate 
 for the sacrifice x)f character* 
 
 As for the rest of the comic writers above mentioned, 
 I see very little in the style of any one of them, which 
 distinguishes it from that of any other. The Conscious 
 Lovers of Steele is very properly denominated a moral 
 ^ssay[ in dialogue, if a man was to dilate upon a simple 
 incident to his company, as Sir John fievil does to his 
 servant Humphry, he would set them asleep. Cibber is 
 somewhat roundvtr^nd closer in his Careless Husband ; 
 hut all his characters love talking, and there is very little 
 point in their dialogue: Vanbrugh's period is not epi- 
 
9 
 
 grammatic, and Farquhar-s conversation is (he ribaldry ot 
 a mess-room. 
 
 The dramatic writer should consider that he has a 
 great many things to do^ and a number of characters to 
 display in a small compass. He has not the expanse of a 
 novel to give him room for prosing story-tellers, and 
 dealers in description. His fable is never to stand still ; 
 nor his characters to languish and forget themselves ; he is 
 therefore to take a close review of every scene after he haa 
 written it ; arid calculate how he could conduct it with 
 equal clearness in fewer words : if he does this, he will 
 find that, whilst he compresses it into brevity, he will work 
 it into point ; and at the same time that he brings his 
 periods into a smaller compass, he will be able to give 
 them a more brilliant polish. If he would produce a 
 striking character before his audience, let him have some- 
 thing to say so marked that tbe audience may remember 
 it and take it home with them: when he has effected 
 this, let him take heed how he talks too much; for if he 
 drenches his wine with too great a dose of water, it 
 will be but a mawkish draught. A fertile imagination will 
 oftentimes run away with a man's style, and render it as 
 thin, as bullion when drawn into wire, or beaten into leaf; 
 
 No. 5. c 
 
10 
 
 if he has not temper and self-denial to control these im- 
 pulses, he is not fit to be a writer of the drama, which 
 requires two qualities, that rarely meet in the same man, 
 a vivid fancy and a cool deliberate judgment. 
 
 I am. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 J.. 
 
 &c. &c» 
 
 Richard Cumberland* 
 
11 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Being an admirer of the arts, I feel ii desire to offer 
 you my humble opinion on the " query,**^ stated in 
 your first paper, " whether it would be in any manner 
 inconsistent with the dignity of the nation," that the 
 memory of illustrious persons should be celebrated by 
 the Painter as well as the Sculptor. 
 
 It has been the general custom to erect Monuments 
 and raise Statues, in commemoration of those eminent 
 men, who have distinguished themselves by signal ser- 
 vices to their country, or whQse exalted virtue and 
 splendid abilities have given them a claim to a nation's gra- 
 titude. To transmit to posterity a record of those brilliant 
 actions^ that have adorned the age in which we live, 
 is equally laudable and beneficial. 
 
 It is therefore much to be regretted that the works 
 of the Sculptor, though highly estimable and honourable, 
 cannot have the full advantage of public view. They 
 are placed in situations, where it is not probable they 
 y^iW be often seen, and are, perhaps, by a great mass 
 of the people scarcely known to exist Indeed, they 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 have not the whole advantage that might be allowed to 
 them. The doors of these sacred repositories are too ge- 
 nerally shut against the spectator. Even on the very day, 
 when leisure affords an opportunity to the busy,' — on the 
 day which is wisely set apart for meditation and re- 
 flection, no admission can be obtained, except during the 
 hours of divine service : 
 
 " to my mind, tho' I am native here. 
 
 And to the manner born, it is a custom 
 
 More honour'd in the breach than th' observance.*' 
 
 Monuments will remain, it is true, a perpetual testimony 
 of respect, and as such will be revered by future ages. But 
 it appears to me. Sir, that by the additional means of the 
 painter, the purpose, for which these exemplary honours are 
 bestowed, would be essentially promoted and even more 
 fully accomplished. The historical work of the painter, 
 possessing the advantage of representing, distinctly, the 
 exact and living actions of the hero, forcibly arrests the. 
 attention; and, being intelligible to every capacity by its 
 resemblance to real life, has the power of affording the: 
 most desirable evidence of facts. The avidity with which 
 awork of this kind is sought, has been evinced in the late^ 
 
13 
 
 instance of Mr. West's celebrated picture of the death of 
 Lord Nelson. The crowds which assembled on that oc- 
 casion, during the short time that it was exhibited, were 
 almost beyond belief. If this private effort of an indivi- 
 dual could possess so powerful an attraction, with what 
 admiration and respect would the public behold an his- 
 torical production of this nature, sanctioned by a vote of 
 the Parliament or an order of the Government ! 
 
 So far, then, from being inconsistent w ith the dignity of 
 the State, it would, according to my humble judgment, 
 reflect the highest honour on our national character. The 
 labours of the Painter, thus directed and thus patronised, 
 would, while they contributed to the gratification and 
 improvement of society, display a bright and refined ex- 
 ample of beneficence. The Painter, like the Hero, pants 
 for fame, and, under the requisite encouragement, w ould 
 be enabled not only to ensure it to himself, by the exer- 
 cise of his talents, but, like the Hero, to impart it to his 
 country. 
 
 I am. Sir, 
 
 With respect, yours, 
 
 An Englishman* 
 
 31st March, 1807. 
 
14 
 
 ' The foregoing letter is not written by any professional 
 person, but comes from a Citizen of great respectability. 
 It is with pleasure that the Arllst perceives such senti- 
 ments as the writer expresses, diffusing themselves through 
 the general classes of his country. A note, enclosing the 
 letter, contains the following passage : 
 
 " Every one is delighted with the imitations of nature, 
 as is proved by the crowds that surround our print-shops. 
 There is a general desire to see all that has passed and is 
 passing. The subjects that are there exhibited, are, for 
 the most part, frivolous, and affect the mind accordingly. 
 If the subjects were of more virtuous importance, of 
 course the mind would be in a similar manner affected." 
 
 This reasoning is undeniable. The imitation of nature 
 is, by the , ordinaiion of nature, made delightful to the 
 mind of man ; and, from the great influence of this na- 
 tural delight, the effect produced in us is likely to prove 
 agreeable to the mode and character of the imitation ; if 
 the character be virtuous, the effect is conducive to virtue; 
 if vicious, to vice. 
 
 The print-shops are a greal book, continually open to 
 the public, wherein ^' he who runs may read." 
 
 It would be injustice to a truly patriotic design, not to 
 
15 
 
 notice in this place, that on the death of Lord Nelson, 
 the Society for the Encouragement of Arts proposed 
 to make a memorial of that Hero, by introducing his por- 
 trait into one of the pictures which decorate their great 
 room, and Mr. Barry had undertaken to execute it ; but 
 the sudden decease of that eminent painter, on the 26th of 
 February, 1806, prevented their intentions from being 
 carried into effect. 
 
 See "Vol. xxiii. Transactions of the Society. 
 
 PRESENT STATE OF THE ARTS. 
 
 PATRONS OF LIVING ARTISTS. 
 
 The principal collections lately formed from the 
 works of living painters, and with the noble purpose of 
 encouraging contemporary merit, are those of Sir John 
 Leicester, Mr. Davison, Mr. Bernard, Mr. C. Hoare, and 
 Mr. Parker ; to which may in part be added that of the 
 Marquis of Stafford. 
 
 Observations on the first of the above Galleries shall, if 
 possible, appear in Number VI. 
 
16 
 
 ENGRAVING. 
 
 The Artist^ with great satisfaction, notices the publica- 
 tion of Lectures on The Art of Engravings by John Land- 
 seer, Engraver to His Majesty, 
 
 These Lectures contain the most copious information 
 on the subject of Engravings at present extant in our 
 language; its history, progress, nature, and methods of 
 execution. Mr. L. states, in forcible terms, the obhga- 
 tions which society, and particularly a commercial state, 
 has to his art, and the consequent claims of the art. 
 He occasionally takes a general view of all the Arts 
 
 m 
 
 connected with Engraving; and the Lectures may be con- 
 sidered as one of the works deserving, in their particular 
 province, the attention of our Government, whenever it 
 shall assume to its own wisdom the care of regulating 
 the employment and patronage of the Arts of Design, 
 
 No. VL On the Scientific Improvements of the Eighteenth 
 Century s will be published on Saturday, April 18. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. VI. Saturday, April 18, 1807". 
 
 -placet experientia veri. 
 
 IT has been commonly observed, that a man born in 
 affluence, and possessed of a sound and strong constitution, 
 seldom values those inestimable gifts, unless he be, at some 
 time or other, deprived of them. The reason is natural and 
 evident. In a constant state of health and prosperity, he is 
 ignorant of the force with which poverty and sickness oppress 
 the body and soul of man. A similar observation may 
 be made with respect to the improvements of science, and 
 the practical advantages that are derived therefrom. The 
 multitude of the present age, who enjoy them, are igno- 
 
 No. 6. B 
 
2 
 
 rant of the disadvantages under which their predecessors 
 laboured for want of those very improvements. And, 
 such is the propensity of man, that, instead of esteeming 
 ourselves fortunate in the possession of present advantages, 
 we often sigh for the supposed superior happiness of our 
 predecessors. Things past and to come seem best, the pre- 
 sent iscorst. 
 
 With a view to remove the above-mentioned falla- 
 cious ideas, and to render the present race satisfied and 
 thankful for the manifold conveniences they enjoy, the fol- 
 lowing pages will exhibit a compendious statement of the 
 scientific improvements of the last century, and will, at the 
 same time, point out their extensive influence towards pro- 
 moting the comforts, the security, and the happiness of the 
 human species. 
 
 After a mournful succession of dark ages, during which 
 Europe remained destitute of scientific light, and mise- 
 rably oppressed by tyranny, ignorance, and superstition;, 
 the energy of the human mind, like the efforts of a 
 smothered fire, burst forth with unusual vigour, and, by 
 earnestly following the light of reason in the field of in- 
 quiry, successively discovered several of those treasures 
 which nature has prepared for our use. Various in- 
 
tfuisitive, irigemous, and persevering men cb-6pfcrated in 
 producing this wonderful revolution, and their labours 
 have been browned with success, as well as repaid by the 
 grateful admiration of their fellow-creatures. A great 
 number of those persons belong to a period anterior to 
 the eighteenth century, and among them the most distin- 
 guished place is linquestionably due to the great Newton ; 
 foi: h6 far surpassed both his predecessors and his con- 
 temporariies in Extent of research, regularity of investi- 
 gation, and multiplicity of discoveries. 
 
 This extraordinary man Was born in the year 164% 
 and died in the year 1727. His works were mostly pub- 
 lished in the 17th Cientury ; but they did not rise into full 
 celebrity before the commenctrnent of the 1 8th century ; 
 which was owing to their treating of the most abstruse sub- 
 jects in a manner strictly mathematical, or highly scien- 
 tific; such indeed a;s precllides their being read or eom- 
 prehended without the greatest attention, even by the 
 deepest mathematicians. But as soon a;s their great value, 
 and extensive scope of application, began to be perceived, 
 the scientific persons in diverse European nations eagerly 
 endeavoured to study, to explain, and to apply them 
 to the illustration of those subjects with which they were 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 naturally connected. Therefore, in describing the scien- 
 tific improvements of the eighteenth century, it becomes 
 necessary to commence with a short account of those ad- 
 mirable works. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton'^s principal productions are his Mathe^ 
 matical Principles of Natural Philosophy^ his Optics^ and 
 his Tracts purely mathematical. If the reader be desirous 
 of being particularly informed with respect to the contents 
 of those works, he must consult the illustrations published 
 by Dr. S. Clarke, Mr. Pemberton, Dr. Keil, Mr. Mac- 
 laurin, and a great many others. But the following is a 
 short view of their subjects : 
 
 Previous to Newton, the knowledge of astronomy was 
 destitute of rational theory or solid foundation. There 
 existed indeed several hypotheses ; but they were either 
 evidently absurd, or inadequate to the explanation of the 
 phenomena ; so much so, that neither the real courses of 
 the celestial bodies, nor their deviations from regular 
 paths, nor their shapes, nor hardly any thing else, could 
 be accounted for, or predicted, excepting a few particular 
 phenomena, which re-appeared at stated times with more 
 evident regularity. Newton conceived the grand idea, of 
 their being possibly regulated by a single general and cont- 
 
5 
 
 prehensive law of nature, and he conjectured that a mu- 
 tual attraction amongst the bodies of the universe might 
 be the foundation or cause of all the appearances. 
 
 This bold proposition might have shared the same fate 
 with the other numerous hypotheses of that age, which 
 were buried in oblivion almost as soon as they were pub- 
 lished, if its author had not taken particular care to exa- 
 mine it in the most unexceptionable manner, and to trace 
 the application of it to the phenomena of the universe, 
 from the most evident axioms, by means of the strictest 
 mathematical reasoning. He formed his rules of philoso- 
 phising, which are so evident and rational, as to have ob- 
 tained universal assent ; he examined the phenomena of 
 bodies moving within our reach, investigated the laws 
 which govern them, and applied the same laws to larger 
 bodies at greater distances ; he calculated the densities, 
 mutual actions, and other properties of solids and fluids, 
 on the foundation of those facts which common and con- 
 stant observation had established ; and at length came to 
 the conclusion, that the actions of celestial bodies were 
 most probably governed by the laws of universal attraction. 
 And it is to be remarked, that all the discoveries made in 
 
6 
 
 astronomy and geography, since Newton's time, have been 
 found conformable to his theory. 
 
 This grand investigation, which forms the subject of 
 Newton's Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy^ 
 embraces a vast variety of subjects, besides astronomy ; 
 for the theory or groundwork of whatever relates to mo- 
 tion, resistance, gravitation, rotation, &c. is contained in 
 it ; hence mechanics, clock and watch making, architec- 
 ture, hydraulics, navigation, geography, gunnery, and 
 various other subjects, have been greatly promoted by that 
 immortal work. It may be sufficient to obsen'-e, with 
 respect to navigation alone, that, in consequence of New- 
 ton's P?incipia^ the theory of the moon's apparent irregu- 
 larities has been brought to a great degree of perfection, 
 so that the lunar tables, which are annually published in 
 the Nautical Almanack, by the Astronomer Royal, under 
 the authority of the Board of Longitude, enable the ma- 
 riner to find his longitude at sea^ within a very trifling 
 difference of the truth, even when he has been for m-onths 
 out of the sight of land. 
 
 Before we quit the subject of astronomy, it is necessary 
 to mention the principal discoveries that have been made 
 
in the heavens during the last century, by means of 
 telescopes. The honour of those discoveries is almost 
 entirely due to William Hersch el, LL. D.; whose perse- 
 vering ingenuity, encouraged and assisted by the muni- 
 ficence of our present gracious Monarch, has vastly en- 
 riched the science of astronomy, A new planet with six 
 satellites, two other satellites belonging to the planet Sa- 
 turn, some thousands of new nebulas, new stars, double 
 and treble stars, the colours peculiar to some of the stars, 
 and a certain movement among the fixed stars, are 
 the principal discoveries of this indefatigable astrono- 
 mer; all made before the commencement of the present 
 century. 
 
 The second of Newton's works is his Optics^ another 
 admirable performance, which has proved extensively use- 
 ful to mankind. The most remarkable discoveries it con- 
 tains, are the different refrangibility of the various coloured 
 rays of light, the inflection of light, the nature, origin, com- 
 position, and decomposition of colours, and the construc- 
 tion of the reflecting telescope. It also explains a variety of 
 natural phenomena, and offers several curious philosophi- 
 cal conjectures. Later observers have detected a few over- 
 sights or defects in this work of Newton ; yet it is univer- 
 
8 
 
 sally allowed, that even its defects, if such there are, hare 
 given rise to subsequent researches and farther discoveries, 
 as will be instanced in the sequel. In short, the present 
 most improved state of optical instruments, and of the 
 science of optics in general, must be in great measure 
 attributed to that excellent publication. 
 
 Of the value of Newton's mathematical tracts, it is im- 
 possible to give the reader an adequate idea, unless he 
 himself be a mathematician ; and, if such, he must be 
 naturally acquainted with their merit. The principal of 
 Newton's mathematical improvements is, his Method of 
 Fluxions^ which has extended the powers of calculation to 
 a most astonishing degree ; for, by the use of this sublime 
 method (which has, since Newton's time, been considerably 
 improved by Maclaurin, Emerson, Simpson, Euler, and 
 others) the mathematician is enabled to calculate and 
 to solve such abstruse problems in astronomy, in mecha- 
 nics, in optics, in civil, military, and naval architecture, 
 and in almost every other science, as would, without that 
 method, be either utterly unanswerable, or only capable 
 of solution by long and circuitous operations. 
 
 When Newton's works had thus established a rational 
 and safe foundation for the improvement of science in ge- 
 
9 
 
 neral, and had shown the proper mode of instituting expe- 
 rimental investigations, together with the most extensive 
 methods of calculation ; the spirit of inquiry spread itself 
 thiough all the branches of knowledge, through all the 
 arts; and wonderful improvements were quickly made 
 in each of them. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton discovered, that when the rays of 
 light are refracted (that is, bent from their rectilinear 
 course) by passing from one transparent medium into an- 
 other, they are divided into colours: or, in other words, 
 that light is a compound of rays variously coloured, which 
 are not bent alike by passing through a transparent me-> 
 dium. Now since the lenses of telescopes bend the rays 
 of light, they must of course separate their coloured parts ; 
 and hence arises the principal imperfection of the tele- 
 scopes on the old construction ; for if they are made to 
 magnify more than in a very moderate degree, the objects 
 will appear tinged, and fringed with all the colours of the 
 rainbow, so as to render the effect very unpleasant. New- 
 ton thought that glasses of different sorts, provided their 
 shape was the same, would refract the rays of the same 
 colour in an equal degree ; but subsequent experi- 
 menters found that glasses of different sorts, though ex- 
 No. 6. c 
 
10 
 
 actly of the same size and form, would refract the rays of 
 the same colour differently ; and this produced another 
 grand and useful discovery towards the naiddle of the last 
 century, namely, the achromatic telescope^ contrived by Mr. 
 J. DoUond. This ingenious optician formed the object len- 
 ses of telescopes, not of single lenses, but by a combination 
 of two or three lenses of different sorts of glass, properly 
 adjusted, so that the separation of the coloured rays, as occa- 
 sioned by one lens, might be restored by the action of the 
 other lens, which refracted or separated the coloured rays in 
 a different order* This, of course, rendered the telescopes 
 capable of a much greater magnifying power, accompanied 
 with an ampler field of view, and greater brightness. 
 
 Besides the method of calculating the longitude, navi- 
 gation obtained other advantages from Newton's works, 
 the principal of which are, the knowledge of the true 
 shape of the earth, and the theory of the tides. But the 
 practical application of all those theoretical advantages to 
 the purposes of navigation, was in need of proper instru- 
 ments ; for those which were in use at that that time were 
 so very imperfect as to render the observations extremely 
 doubtful and erroneous. This defect, however, was soon 
 removed by the ingenuity of various mechanical and philo- 
 
11 
 
 sophical persons, principally in this country ; and instru- 
 ments, fully adequate to the most accurate observations, 
 were readily contrived. The slightest account of those in- 
 struments, either originally contrived or greatly improved 
 in the course of the last century, would form a pretty large 
 volume : I shall, therefore, notice two only, which un- 
 doubtedly are of the greatest consequence. These are 
 Hadley's Quadrant, or Sextant, and the Timekeeper. 
 
 The principle alone of Hadley's quadrant is an admi- 
 rable contrivance, infinitely superior to that of any other 
 instrument that was ever used at sea for the purpose of 
 finding the latitude, or for taking angular measurements 
 in general. But the accuracy of its performance depends 
 almost entirely upon the accuracy of its divisions ; and with 
 respect to this, we are indebted to the late famous mathema- 
 tical and philosophical instrument-maker, Mr. Jesse Rams- 
 den, who contrived the dividing engine, an instrument now 
 universally adopted by the makers of Hadley's sextants, at 
 least in the country ; and by means of which the divisions 
 of those sextants are made in a most accurate and expedi- 
 tious manner, and at a very cheap rate. This, together 
 with the general amelioration of all the mechanism, has 
 rendered that instrument useful beyond description. It 
 
 c 2 
 
1^ 
 
 may suffice to say, that with a good sextant of recent con- 
 struction, the mariner may find his latitude to the accu- 
 racy of less than half a minute of a degree, or differing 
 less than a mile from the true place. 
 
 The Timekeeper (that is, an accurate watch capable of 
 maintaining an uniform motion, unaltered by position, 
 heat and cold, or other vicissitudes of the atmosphere) was 
 first attempted in this country by Mr. J. Harrison. This 
 ingenious artist carefully examined the causes of imper- 
 fection in common watches, and laboured much in con- 
 triving methods of correcting them. His perseverance 
 at last produced a chronometer which performed incom- 
 parably better than the best watches in use at that time ; 
 and for which he was liberally rewarded by the nation : 
 but his mechanism was too complicated, and, at the same 
 time, its performance did not fully answer the purposes 
 for which it was intended,- — namely, that of finding the 
 longitude at sea. Yet it showed the practicability of the 
 construction, or rather the possibility of forming a simpler 
 and more accurate machine. In fact, by attending to 
 Harrison's hints, and improving upon them, the construc- 
 tion of such machines was soon diversified, improved, and 
 simplified, by various skilful artists, such as Mudge,^ 
 
13 
 
 Emery, Arnold, Ernshaw, Barwise, and others, before the 
 close of the last century, so that at present, even for the 
 value of thirty or forty pounds sterling, a timekeeper 
 may be obtained, of sufficient accuracy to answer the pur- 
 poses of navigation. 
 
 A better idea of the advantages which navigation has 
 derived from the scientific and mechanical improvements 
 of the last century, may be formed by comparing the dis- 
 astrous voyages of Lord Anson and his predecessors, with 
 those which have lately been performed to all parts of the 
 world, with wonderful safety and expedition. 
 
 The remaining improvements of science during the 
 last century, shall form the subject of my next paper. 
 
14 
 
 Next to the due cultivation of our minds by science and 
 taste, is the employment of our acquisitions in the cause of 
 virtue. The following poetical exhortation is addressed to 
 a young gentleman of distinguished talents. 
 
 ODE, 
 
 TO THE HONOURABLE W L . 
 
 Non tu corpus eras sine pectore. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thrice happy youth I from parents blest 
 
 Thou'rt sprung to grace thy line ; 
 By men, by fav'ring Gods carest. 
 
 And all the tuneful Nine. 
 Not thine to toil in humble life 
 For fame, and bread — A weary strife ! 
 Not thine to meet the scornful eye. 
 
 That pride on lowly merit bends : 
 
 Fortune her honours, riches lends ; 
 Then breathe the grateful sigh ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet not amid the gawdy throng 
 
 Of fashion's idle train 
 Is caught the soul-inspiring song. 
 
 The wild enthusiast strain : 
 
15 
 
 Where skill divine unveils her face. 
 Be present thou her charms to trace. 
 Whether she bid the pencil glow 
 With Ilion's doom, or sweep the string, 
 Or like the sainted dame she sing. 
 Sweet strains that Heaven-ward flow ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Where flow'rets grace the margent wide 
 Of some slow-winding stream. 
 
 Or on the woody mountain's side. 
 Of fairy-visions dream. 
 
 Go, haunt at eve the gloomy dell. 
 
 Where Inspiration loves to dwell ; 
 
 Or seek her in the forest sear. 
 
 Far from the din of Folly's round — 
 'Mid alpine snows, or under ground 
 
 In hollow caverns drear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let not the precious boon of heavew 
 
 Alight on thee in vain ! — 
 And O ! far less, the blessings given 
 
 Be proved to thee a stain ! 
 In Freedom's, in Religion's cause. 
 Expect the wise man's just applause ; 
 While curses dire, both loud and deep. 
 
 The tyrant's advocate await ; 
 
 Bitter remorse, and self-turn'd hate. 
 Shall once more " murder sleep,** 
 
16 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 In consequence of your notice, I attended the sale of Mr. 
 Barry's effects last week, as I had always admired his ta- 
 lents, and was now moved by charitable feelings towards the 
 remaining relatives of a man who had been fed by private 
 subscription. Guess my surprise when, on first attempt- 
 ing to enter the room, I found the approach impracticable 
 from the rushing of the crowd towards it. At length, how- 
 ever, I made my way, and, though pressed on all sides, 
 still hoped at least to obtain a view of the pictures ; but 
 here I sulfered a new disappointment, for Mr. Christie's 
 desk w as nearly surrounded by a phalanx of purchasers 
 mounted on the benches, and all greedily bidding, like devo- 
 tees for a relic of St. Luke. I thought, for a moment, I had 
 mistaken the day, and that I was attending the sale of 
 some connoisseur's cabinet of inestimable oh \ for poor 
 Barry's house, I knew, had for years resembled a desert ; 
 nor had his Avorks found any patronage, except in the 
 liberal instance of the Society of Arts. In the course 
 of a short time, however, I heard the Pandora^ an 
 unfinished w ork of this neglected artist, knocked down for 
 
17 
 
 230 guine?.s, and his Venus rising from the Sea^ and his 
 Jdam and Eve^ (neither of which, I remember, were al- 
 lowed any merit while he could profit by it,) were sold, the 
 one for 100, and the other for 110 guineas. My surprise 
 was here greater than at first, till 1 recollected that Mr- 
 Barry was no longer living, and that Death, superior to 
 all auctioneers, after charitably knocking down the man, 
 immediately raises up a deathless reputation. 
 
 As 1 walked home, I could not help recollecting an 
 anecdote which 1 heard related by your late worthy Pro- 
 fessor at Somerset House, respecting the celebrated Rem- 
 brandt, who, being unable to procure a sale for some of his 
 finest works, published a report of his own decease; on 
 which his countrymen ran from every part, breathless with 
 haste, to buy some remnant of their great painter. His 
 sale produced considerable sums, Avhich he re-appeared to 
 take possession of, and laughed at the credulous vanity of 
 those whom he had so justly duped. 
 
 Mus, 
 
 No. 6. 
 
18 
 
 The Observations on the Galleries of English Pictures 
 are necessarily delayed. 
 
 The recent loss of one of the greatest of the modern 
 Painters being a subject of public concern, it is proposed 
 to devote the ensuing Number of the Artist to his me- 
 mory. 
 
 No. VII. On the Character^ Genius^ and professional 
 Talents of the late John Opie^ Esq, R, A» Professor in 
 Painting ; with Anecdotes of his early Studies^ will be 
 published on Saturday, April 25. 
 
Saturday, April 23, 1807. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN OPIE, 
 
 The VIIth Number op THE ARTIST 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 AMIDST THE UNITED 
 SORROW, AFFECTION, AND RESPECT, 
 OF THOSE WHO WERE HIS ASSOCIATES 
 IN THE PRESENT UNDERTAKING; 
 THE FRIENDS OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE, 
 
 AND 
 
 ADMIRERS OF HIS PROFESSIONAL EMINENCE, 
 r. B 
 
2 
 
 " Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, 
 " (That Jast infirmity of noble mind) 
 " To scorn dehghts, and live laborious days; 
 " But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
 " And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 " Comes the blind Fury with abhorred shears^ 
 " And slits the thin spun life."— 
 
 PEW men have attained to eminence by a more irre- 
 gular course of study, by stronger native endowments, or 
 by more determined industry, than the great Painter whose 
 name at this moment inspires public regret. The child 
 of humble life, born in a remote and secluded part of the 
 island, with little or inferior education, such as humble 
 and busy parents could bestow, he was destined to trans- 
 plant to the bosom of the metropolis the hardy products 
 of a sound and vigorous intellect, and to add strength and 
 lustre to civil cultivation. 
 
3 
 
 JOHN OPIE was born in May, 1 76 1 , in the parish of St. 
 Agnes, about seven miles from the town of Truro. His 
 father and grandfather were reputable master carpenters in 
 that neighbourhood. His mother was descended from 
 the ancient and respectable family of Tonkin, of Trevaw- 
 nance in CornAvall, and, amongst his ancestors in that 
 line, is mentioned the author of a valuable history 
 of Cornwall, which was left nearly finished, and is at 
 present in the possession of Lord De Dunstanville. 
 
 He was very early remarkable for the strength of his 
 understanding, and for the rapidity with which he ac- 
 quired all the learning that a village school could afford 
 him. When ten years old, he was not only able to 
 solve many difficult problems of Euclid, but was thought 
 capable of instructing others: and such was his increasing 
 confidence in his own superior powers, that he had scarcely 
 reached his twelfth year, when he set up an evening 
 school in St. Agnes, and taught arithmetic and writing, 
 for the latter of which he was excellently qualified, as 
 he wrote many various hands with admirable ease and 
 accuracy ; and he reckoned among his pupils some who 
 were nearly twice his own age. 
 
 His father was very solicitous to bring him up in 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 his own business, and to this end bound him apprentice 
 to himself, but the soaring mind of the boy could not 
 submit itself to drudge in the employment of a^' c(^mon 
 man. The love of drawing and painting seems to hare 
 given a very early bias to his inclinations ; and the man- 
 ner in which it disclosed itself cannot be considered 
 as uninteresting. 
 
 Emulation appears to have first lighted up the ready 
 flame. About the tenth year of his age, seeing one of his 
 companions, whose name was Mark Gates, (now a captain 
 in the Marine Service) engaged in drawing a butterfly, he 
 looked eagerly, in silence, at the performance : on being 
 asked what he was thinking of, he replied, " he was 
 thinking that he could draw a butterfly, if he was to 
 try, as well as Mark Gates.'' He accordingly made the 
 experiment, and triumphed ; and he returned home 
 to his father's house in high spirits, on account of the 
 victory he had obtained. 
 
 From this moment the bent of his talents was deter- 
 mined. It happened soon afterwards that his father 
 being employed in the repairs of a gentleman's house in 
 Truro, young Gpie attended him : in the parlour hung 
 a picture of a Farm^yard^ probably of humble execu- 
 
5 
 
 tion, but of sufficient merit to attract his notice ; and 
 liG took every opportunity of stealing from his father's 
 side to contemplate the beauties of this performance, 
 which, in his eye, were of the highest class. His father, 
 catching him in one of thei?e secret visits, corrected him; 
 but this had little effect; he was soon again at the door of 
 the parlour, where being seen by the mistress of the 
 house, he was, by her interference, permitted to view 
 the picture without interruption. On his return home 
 in the evening, his first care was to procure canvas and 
 colours, and he immediately began to paint a resem- 
 blance of the Farm-yard, The next day he returned 
 to the house, and again in the evening resumed his 
 task at home. In this manner, in the course of a 
 few days, by the force of memory only, he transmitted 
 to his own canvas a very tolerable copy of the picture. 
 
 Nearly by the same methods he copied a picture of 
 several figures hunting, which he saw in the window 
 ^ of a house-painter. In his copy, however, he had, in com- 
 pliance with the costume of his neighbourhood, placed a 
 huntress upon a pad instead of a side-saddle, and 
 being laughed at for this mistake, he some time afterwards 
 destroyed his copy. 
 
6 
 
 The love of Painting had thus so thoroughly esta- 
 blished its dominion over his whole mind, that nothing 
 could now divert him from engaging in it as a profession: 
 his father, however, still treated his attempts with great 
 severity, and used his utmost endeavours to check a 
 pursuit, which he considered as likely to prove injurious 
 to his son's future prosperity; but the aspiring views 
 of the young artist met with a zealous supporter in another 
 part of his family : his father's brother, a man of strong 
 understanding, and moreover an excellent arithmetician, 
 continued to view his progress with pleasure, and en- 
 couraged him in his desire of learning, by jocularly 
 complimenting him with the name of the little Sir Isaac^ 
 in consideration of the knowledge he displayed in ma- 
 thematics. 
 
 He therefore followed his new studies with ardour, 
 and had already attained a competent skill in portrait 
 painting, and had hung his father's house with the pictures 
 of his family, and of his youthful companions, when he be- 
 came accidentally known to Dr. Wolcot, then residing 
 at Truro, (and since so celebrated under the title of 
 Peter Pindar) who having himself some skill in painting, 
 a sound judgment, and a few tolerable pictures, was 
 
7 
 
 well fitted to afford instruction, and various advan- 
 tages, to the young scholar. 
 
 Thus assisted and recommended, his fame found 
 its way through the country, and so rapid was his pro- 
 gress, that he now commenced professed portrait-painter, 
 and went to many of the neighbouring towns, w ith letters 
 of introduction to all the considerable families resident in 
 them. 
 
 One of these expeditions was to Padstow, whither he set 
 forward, dressed, as usual, in a boy's plain short jacket, 
 and carrying with him all proper apparatus for portrait 
 painting. Here, amongst others, he painted the whole 
 household of the ancient and respectable family of Pri" 
 deaux ; even to the dogs and cats of the family. He re- 
 mained so long absent from home, that some uneasiness be- 
 gan toarise on his account, but it was dissipated by his return- 
 ing dressed in a handsome coat, with very long skirts, laced 
 ruffles, and silk stockings. On seeing his mother, he ran 
 to her, and, taking out of his pocket twenty guineas, which 
 he had earned by his pencil, he desired her to keep them ; 
 adding, that, in future, he should maintain himself. 
 
 The first efforts of his pencil, though void of that grace 
 which can only be derived from an intimate knowledge 
 
8 
 
 of the art, were true to nature, and in a style far suoerior 
 to any thing in general produced by country artists. He 
 painted at that time with smaller pencils, and finished 
 more highly than he afterwards did when his hand had at- 
 tained a broader and more masterly execution : but 
 several of his early portraits would not have disgraced 
 even the high name he has since attained. Towards the 
 end of the year 1777, when he was sixteen years 
 of age, he brought to Penryn a head he had painted 
 of himself for the late Lord Bateman, who was then at 
 that place with his regiment (the Hereford Militia), and 
 who was an early patron of Mr. Opie, employing him to 
 paint pictures of old men, beggars, &c. in subjects of 
 which kind he was principally engaged, and which he 
 treated with surprising force, and truth of represen- 
 tation. 
 
 At length, still under the auspices of Dr. Wolcot, 
 he came to London, where his reception, and his con- 
 tinued progress, are the fit objects of the biographer. 
 It is the purpose of this paper to delineate solely his 
 character^ as a man, a scholar, and an Artist. 
 
 Mr. Opie's ruling passion was ambition, — but ambition 
 tending to the use and delight of mankind. It impelled 
 
9 
 
 him to eminence in his art, and it displayed itself in a re- 
 solution always decided, sometimes impetuous, to obtain 
 every distinction which his path in life laid open to him. 
 Accustomed in childhood to prove himself superior to his 
 companions, the desire of competition became unextin- 
 guishable. Wherever eminence appeared, he felt and 
 eagerly shewed himself its rival. He was forward to 
 claim the honours which he was still more diligent to 
 deserve. He regarded every honourable acquisition as a 
 victory, and expressed with openness the delight he ex- 
 perienced in success. On the professorship of painting 
 in the Royal Academy becoming vacant by Mr. Barry's 
 dismissal, he offered himself a candidate; and being told 
 that he had a competitor, whose learning and talents 
 pre-eminently entitled him to that office, he replied, that 
 he abstained from further interference, but that the 
 person who had been proposed was the only one in whose 
 favour he would willingly resign his pretensions: con- 
 sistently with his declaration, on Mr. Fuseli's appointment 
 to the office of keeper, he renewed his claim, and was 
 elected. 
 
 Examples of a mind more open to the recep- 
 tion of knowledge, more undaunted by difficulty, more 
 No. 7. n 
 
10 
 
 unwearied in attainment, are rarely to be found. 
 Conducted to London, by the hand of one who discerned 
 his yet* unveiled merit, he approached the centre of 
 an exalted country with the liveliest hopes: he met its 
 flatteries with trembling; and he viewed its unfeeling 
 caprice with the sensitive emotions of genius, but with the 
 unconquerable force of sense and judgment. An intellect, 
 naturally philosophic, soon discovered to him that he was 
 not born to depend on the frivolous conceit of crowds, but to 
 command the respect of the great and wise. He bent his 
 powers to the formation of his own mind : he applied him- 
 self to reading: he sought the society of the learned: ardent 
 in his researches, boldly investigating truth, pertinacious 
 (though not overbearing) in argument, while he elicited 
 light from his opponent, and steady to principles which 
 he found could not be shaken by controversy: in 
 this manner, while an unremitting perseverance, su- 
 perior to the neglect of the multitude, maintained the 
 cunning of his hand, he became a scholar and a painter. 
 The Life of Reynolds, published in Dr. Wolcot's Edi- 
 tion of Pilkington's Dictionary, was the first specimen 
 of his literary ability. In this he displayed a profound 
 knowledge of the subject, a quick and powerful per- 
 
11 
 
 ception of distinctive character, and a mastery of language 
 little to be expected from a youth, who was supposed 
 to have been destitute of learning. 
 
 He next published a letter in the Morning Chronicle, 
 (since re-published in " An Inquiry into the requisite 
 cultivation of the Arts of Design in England,") in which 
 he proposed a distinct plan for the formation of a National 
 Gallery, tending at once to exalt the arts of his country, 
 and immortalize its glories. To this he annexed his name, 
 in consistence with the openness of character which 
 at all times distinguished his actions. 
 
 His lectures at the Royal Institution followed : — These 
 were a spirited attempt to display the depths of his 
 professional knowledge, amidst a circle assembled for 
 entertainment and fashionable delight. His lectures 
 impressed respect on his audience : they w^re full of 
 instructive materials ; they taught the principles of 
 painting, and presented an accumulation of maxims 
 founded on history and observation. But to whatever 
 praise they might vindicate a claim, they never satisfied 
 their author ; and he declined the continuance of them. 
 His election to the professorship of paititing at the Royal 
 Academy happening nearly at this time, he resolved to 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 perfect what he had perceived defective ; and he read at 
 Somerset House four lectures, which, avoiding any colli- 
 sion with the brilliant specimens of erudition and ima* 
 gination which had immediately preceded him in that 
 place, appeared to have been unequalled in their kind. 
 
 In his former lectures at the Royal Institution, he was 
 abrupt, crowded, and frequently unmethodical; rather 
 rushing forward himself, than leading his auditors, to the 
 subject. In the latter lectures, he was more regular, 
 progressive, distinct, instructive ; and delivered a mixture 
 of humorous and impassioned sentiment in a strain of 
 clear, natural and flowing eloquence. Here he found 
 his genius roused, and his whole faculties adequately ex- 
 cited ; and he shone more as professor at the Academy, 
 than as lecturer at the Institution, because he was 
 more formed by nature and application to address the 
 studious and philosophic, than the light and gay. He 
 possessed no superficial graces, either in his conversation 
 or professional practice. Every thing in him was manly, 
 resolute, energetic ; yielding little to fashion, nothing to 
 caprice ; less addressed even to fancy than to judgment ; 
 in no measure adapted to catch a careless glance, but 
 fitted to awaken thought, and gratify reflection^ 
 
13 
 
 It has been said by some who most probably never ex- 
 changed a word with Mr. Opie, that his mind was without 
 cultivation. That this was not the case is plain from 
 what has been related. It may not be amiss to notice, that 
 Mr. Opie read French well, and understood something of 
 Latin and music, all attained by his own unceasing ap- 
 plication. 
 
 ^ It would be an omission of public duty not to add, that 
 to whatever degree of respect Mr. Opie's talents finally 
 raised him, he may yet be brought forward as another in- 
 stance in which we have cause to regret the want of 
 established public direction of his art. After the first 
 flow of curiosity on his arrival in London had subsided, 
 and when he could no longer be " the wonder of the 
 day, " the boy drawn out from a tin-mine in Cornwall," 
 his real qualities ceased to attract attention, and, what was 
 worse, employment. His respectable and amiable patron, 
 Sir John St. Aubyn, stood his friend at that interesting 
 moment ; and among many, who might well have been 
 proud to share the honour, he stood alone. But " the 
 progress of morals," says Lord Kaims, " is slow ; the pro- 
 gress of taste still slower." 
 
 The effects produced by hours of despondence on 
 
14 
 
 a mind so strongly gifted, who can measure ? His intel- 
 lectual strength however prevailed; the force of his en- 
 dowments gradually, though slowly, raised him once more 
 to admiration and to fame ; the conscious sense of ac- 
 knowledged merit re-animated his efforts ; he exerted him- 
 self with perseverance, and rose to renown : he appeared 
 to feel that he had just reached again the level of his self- 
 opinion, when death extinguished his talents and his am- 
 bition. 
 
 P. H. 
 
 Mr. Opie expired on Thursday April 9, 1807. He had 
 been attended by Dr. Ash, Dr. Vaughan, and Mr. Carlisle, 
 with the addition, during the latter stage of his illness, 
 of Dr. Pitcairn and Dr. Baillie. The symptoms of his 
 disorder were extraordinary. On dissection, the lower 
 portion of the spinal marrow, and its investing mem- 
 brane, were found slightly inflamed, and the brain sur- 
 charged with blood ; with other accordant appearances, 
 constituting a case of most rare occurrence in the records 
 of medicine. 
 
15 
 
 On Monday, the 20th instant, his remains were in- 
 terred in St. Paul's Cathedral, near to those of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Mr. Opie is next to be spoken of as a painter, in which 
 rank he stood deservedly eminent. The general merits 
 of his works, the masterly boldness of effect, the simplicity 
 of composition and artless attitudes, the strength of cha- 
 racter, the expression of individual nature, are too well 
 known to be here dwelt on. Amongst his best historical 
 pictures, may be reckoned the Murder of James L King 
 of Scotland^ The Presentation in the Tetnple, Jephthah'^s 
 Vow^ The Death of Rizzio^ Arthur taken Prisoner^ 
 and Arthur with Hubert, It would be endless to enu- 
 merate all that might be praised: his Juliet in the 
 Garden^ Escape of Gil Blas^ Musidora, and some others, 
 remaining in his gallery, are amongst the most valuable. 
 
 His latter portraits rank with the highest; those of 
 men are distinguished by force and character; those 
 of women by an unaffected air, and simplicity of co- 
 louring. 
 
 The following observations on Mr. Opie's merits 
 
16 
 
 in painting, are from high professional authority in 
 his art. 
 
 Mr. Opie's conception of his subject was original, 
 and his arrangement of it ideal : his execution 
 depended, in great measure, on the character of the 
 model which he placed before him for imitation in fi- 
 nishing the parts. He painted what he saw, in the most 
 masterly manner, and he varied little from it. He rather 
 
 bent his subject to the figure, than the figure to his 
 subject. 
 
 That may be said of Opie, which can only be truly 
 said of the highest geniuses, that he saw nature in one 
 point more distinctly and forcibly than any painter 
 that ever lived. The truth of colour^ as conveyed to 
 the eye through the atmosphere^ by which the distance 
 of every object is ascertained^ was never better expressed 
 than by him. He distinctly represented local colour 
 in all its various tones and proportions, whether in light 
 or in shadow, with a perfect uniformity of imitation. 
 Other painters frequently make two separate colours 
 of objects in light, and in shade: Opie never. With 
 him no colour, whether white, black, primary, or com- 
 pound, ever, in any situation, lost its respective hue. 
 
17 
 
 For the expression of truth, which he was thus powerful 
 in giving, it was requisite that he should see, or have seen, 
 the object itself in the peculiar situation. The impres- 
 sion never left him, and he transmitted the image with 
 fidelity to the canvas. He resigned himself unwil- 
 lingly to fancy : yet examples are not wanting, both 
 in historical subjects, and in portraits, in which he 
 added to the subject before him with felicity. His 
 Arthur^ supplicating Hubert^ (among many others) had 
 an expression which certainly he did not find in his 
 model. In the portrait of an Artist, exhibited last year 
 at Somerset House, he gave to the representation an ideal 
 elegance, which rendered the head truly poetical, without 
 in any manner detracting from the likeness. 
 
 His pictures possessed, in an eminent degree, what 
 painters call breadth. They were deficient in some of 
 the more refined distinctions which mark the highly po- 
 lished works of Raffaelle, Titian, or Reynolds, but they 
 displayed so invariable an appearance of truth, as seemed 
 sufficient to make a full apology, if it had been wanted, 
 for the absence of all the rest. 
 
 On his canvas, in general, no heterogeneous tones ap- 
 peared : all was played in one key. This principle was 
 No. 7. D 
 
18 
 
 observed with the extremest nicety in single figures^ 
 though not always equally in the whole. The figure and 
 the back ground were each separately just, but they did 
 not always harmonize. One of the happiest instances of 
 his labours, in the perfect harmony of tone, is the picture 
 of Belisarius^ at present in the British Gallery, and soon 
 to add value to that of the Marquis of Stafford. His 
 portrait of Mr. Fox, in the Exhibition of 1805, and that 
 of the Duke of Gloucester, which will be seen in the en- 
 suing one, are examples of similar excellence. 
 
 In his drawing, the same principle prevailed as in his 
 colouring. Every thing was homogeneous ; every thing was 
 marked with precision, and in its place. He gave vivacity 
 and force of expression to every subject of his pencil. 
 
 JOHN OPIE, Esq. R. A. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF PAINTING TO THE ROYAL ACADEMT, 
 
 A Man whose intellectual powers, and indefatigable 
 industry in their cultivation, rendered him at once an ho- 
 
19 
 
 nour to tlie county from which he originated, and an 
 example of imitation to mankind. 
 
 Born in a rank of life, in which the road to eminence 
 is rendered infinitely difficult, unassisted by partial pa- 
 tronage, scorning with virtuous pride all slavery of de- 
 pendence, he trusted alone for his reward to the force of 
 his natural powers, and to well directed and unremitting 
 study ; and he demonstrated by his works, how highly 
 he was endowed by nature with strength of judgment 
 and originality of conception. His thoughts were always 
 new and striking, as they were the genuine offspring of 
 his own mind ; and it was difficult to say if his conversa» 
 tion gave more amusement or instruction. 
 
 The toil or difficulties of his profession were by him 
 considered as matter of honourable and delightful contest; 
 and it might be said of him, that he did not so much 
 paint to live, as live to paint. 
 
 As a son, he was an example of duty to an aged 
 parent. He was studious, yet not severe; he was eminent, 
 yet not vain: his disposition so tranquil and forgiving, 
 that it was the reverse of every tincture of sour or 
 vindictive ; and what to some might have appeared as 
 
 n 2 
 
20 
 
 roughness of manner, was only the effect of an honest 
 indignation towards that which he conceived to be error. 
 
 How greatly have we cause to lament that so much 
 talent, united to so much industry, perseverance, and 
 knowledge, should have been prematurely snatched 
 from the world, which it would have delighted with 
 its powers, and benefited by its example! 
 
 J. 
 
 A TRIBUTE 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF OPIE» 
 
 HOW oft of late, o'er worth departed shed. 
 The tears of Britain have embalmM the dead! 
 Eewail'd the hero's fall — the sage's fate. 
 While public virtue sorrow'd thro' the state ! 
 Yet still unsated with the noblest prey, 
 Ungorg'd, tho' meaner multitudes decay ; 
 'Gainst wit and genius Death directs his dart. 
 And strikes thro' Opie's side to Painting's heart. 
 Fall'n from the zenith of his proud career. 
 Full in his fame, and sparkling in his sphere ! 
 While o'er his art he shed his brightest rays. 
 And warra'd the world of letters into praise. 
 
21 
 
 No feeble follower of a style or school; 
 No slave of system ia the chains of rule : 
 His genius kindling from within was fir*d. 
 And first in nature's rudest wild aspir'd. 
 
 Warm at her shrine his early vov/s he paid, 
 Secur'd her smile, and sought no other aid : 
 Enraptur'd still her charms alone explor'd. 
 And to the last with lovers' faith ador'd. 
 For when ambition bade his steps advance. 
 To scenes where Painting spreads her vast expanse 
 When all the charts of taste before him lay. 
 That showM how former keels had cut their way. 
 With fearless prow he put to sea, and steer'd 
 His steady course, where her pure light appear'd. 
 His vigorous pencil, in pursuit of art, 
 Disdaia'd to dwell on each minuter part j 
 Impressive force — impartial truth he sought. 
 And travelled in no beaten track of thought. 
 Unlike the servile herd whom we behold 
 Casting their drossy ore in fashion's mould ; 
 His metal by no common die is known. 
 The coin is sterling, and the stamp his own. 
 
 Opie, farewell — accept this feeble verse. 
 This flow'r of friendship cast upon thy hearse : 
 Though Fate severe, in life's un faded prime. 
 Hath shook thee rudely from the tree of time ; 
 Thy laurel thro* the lapse of years shall bloom. 
 And weeping Art attend thee to the tomb. 
 
22 
 
 "While taste, no longer tardy to bestow 
 The garland due to graphic skill below. 
 Shall point to Time thy labours, as he flies. 
 And brighten all their beauties in his eyes; 
 Exalt the Painter, now the man's no more. 
 And bid thy country honour and deplore ! 
 
 JThe signature to these lines is rendered unnecessary^ 
 by the poetic celebrity of their author J\ 
 
 WHEN merely a rich man, or a nobleman, departs this 
 life, his treasures and his titles are transferred to another, 
 and the world loses nothing. But when an Artist dies ! 
 "when that hand is for €ver motionless, which was uni- 
 formly employed in the production of works of eminent 
 art ; when that mind is for ever fled, whose deepest 
 thoughts were all devoted to a noble science, the world 
 sustains a loss of one of its most rare possessions — a man 
 of genius ! 
 
 Such is the deprivation which every admirer of the 
 
23 
 
 talents of the late Mr. Opie must feel upon his decease* 
 But, in deploring the death of this studious artist, there is 
 a consolation, of no small importance, in recurring to the 
 simplicity of his life. 
 
 The total absence of artificial manners was the most 
 remarkable characteristick, and at the same time the 
 adornment and the deformity, of Mr. Opie. 
 
 His habitual ruggedness of address was stigmatized 
 by the courtly beau with the appellation of ill-breeding; 
 whilst a plainer and wiser description of persons found, 
 in this contempt of affectation, such a security from design, 
 either upon their hearts or their understandings, that 
 they willingly yielded him both: and they made this 
 sacrifice, with a kind of joyful astonishment, to observe^ 
 that where the Graces never appeared — the Virtues 
 acted for them. 
 
?4 
 
 TO THE EDITOR. 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 Tuesday, April 21, 1807. 
 
 You are pleased to desire that I will close the paper 
 which you have, with so much feeling and propriety, de- 
 voted to our late friend. Well do I know how little even 
 a life passed in the contemplation of art enables him 
 who is not a professor, to speak with propriety upon the 
 subject, or for the most part to rise beyond a half- 
 learned technical jargon, the delusion indeed of ignorance, 
 but the scoff of the artist. 
 
 Yet to one point, even of his professional merits, I 
 am competent to speak, and my appeal for confirmation 
 of Avhat I say, shall be to the illustrious body of which 
 he was a member. I mean the path which he chose to 
 tread when ascending to the summit of reputation. 
 There was nothing indirect, specious, or false about him, 
 and I am sure he would have died without fame, had it 
 been unattainable without cabal. His virtues never tricked 
 themselves out to catch favour, and to form party ; it 
 became a sort of test : — he who was not born for truth and 
 manliness, could not love Opie. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. VIII. Salurday, May 2, 1807. 
 
 quod a4 nos 
 
 Pertinetf et nescire malum e$t, agitamus. 
 
 THE influence of a genial climate, and the exuberance 
 t)f a rich soil, may here and there make a few of the vege- 
 tables, most conducive to the comforts and luxuries of man, 
 spring up spontaneously, and without regular cultivation, 
 but they will remain thinly scattered, and poorly fla- 
 Toured, until the land become properly tilled, and the seeds 
 studiously sown. 
 
 Even thus it fares with the various arts of design. The 
 impulse of an extraordinary genius, and the effect of 
 favourable circumstances, may here and there make a few 
 
 No. 8. B 
 
2 
 
 professors and a few patrons of these arts arise of their own 
 accord, and without sedulous rearing, but their numbers 
 will comparatively remain small, and the execution of the 
 first, and the discernment of the latter, inferior, until the 
 majority of the nation receive early instruction in the first 
 elements of drawing : until all the different classes of the 
 community be made, early in life, to acquire some expert- 
 ness in tracing the forms and proportions of the most 
 finished of nature's productions, the human frame ; the 
 thorough knowledge of whose various external modifi- 
 cations and beauties, is the indispensable condition of ex- 
 cellence in every branch of the imitative arts. 
 
 Until a certain proficiency in drawing the figure, 
 (which, as the more diflScult and the more comprehensive 
 attainment, implies the power of easily acquiring a pro- 
 portionate proficiency in drawing every other inferior 
 object,) become general, can neither those that are en- 
 gaged in manufactures obtain any certain rules, by which 
 to give their works that elegance which must enhance 
 their value, nor those that are employed in trade pos- 
 sess any unfailing criteria^ by which to display, in the 
 choice of their various articles, that taste which must ensure 
 and increase their vent. 
 
3 
 
 Should any members of the community, aspiring to 
 rise aboye the sphere of the mere mechanic arts, devote 
 themselves to those nobler arts, whose pursuit the Greeks 
 considered as tending to elevate the mind so much more 
 than was consistent with the condition of a slave, as to have 
 rendered them the exclusive privilege of their free 
 citizens, under the dignified title of liberal arts, they will, 
 for want of being, from their infancy, trained to a 
 thorough knowledge of the perfections cf form and motion 
 of the human frame, (never completely attainable by 
 those who only begin to study its infinitely varied modi- 
 fications at a later period) solely attach themselves to in- 
 ferior branches of the imitative arts; to flowers, landscape, 
 cattle, or the human figure fraught with all the deformities 
 and imperfections which it exhibits in the lower classes 
 of society. — Or, if ever these artists attempt the more 
 dignified characters of history and of mythology, they still 
 will only aim at giving them those inferior merits of effect 
 of light and shade, and of brilliancy of colouring, of 
 which the most unscientific eye may soon, by a little prac- 
 tice, become a tolerable judge, but which only become 
 truly valuable, when united with the higher beauties of a 
 correct drawing, and a sublime composition. Conscious 
 
 b3 
 
4 
 
 of their deficiency in the science of anatomy, the basis of 
 the fine arts, they will not dare to express those infinitely 
 varied and fascinating details of the human figure, which 
 the ancients displayed in their statues and pictures, and 
 which, without the possession of that science, can never be 
 
 rendered with truth. And, as if what is called general 
 
 effect were the sole requisite of excellence in painting and 
 in sculpture, they will only produce, instead of finished 
 performances, equally beautiful when seen near as when 
 beheld far off, mere hasty sketches, pleasing only at a dis- 
 tance, and insipid or incorrect on a nearer approach. 
 
 Indeed, they will have little inducement to seek the 
 more profound knowledge, and to bestow the greater pains 
 necessary to finish with correctness and truth every detail 
 of their figures ; for, as the influence of the same causes 
 that produce less skill than might be wished in artists, will 
 also produce less discernment in the patrons of art, the 
 former will, in general, only be employed for men capable 
 at most to estimate the merits of a landscape, or a low-life 
 scene, but who, in an historical composition, provided the 
 light be happily managed, and the colours splendid, will be 
 apt equally to overlook most of the beauties, and most of 
 the defects, of the outline and the drawing. 
 
5 
 
 Should a nation, among which some proficiency in 
 drawing is not regarded as an accomplishment indispensa- 
 ble in the education of a gentleman, have occasion to 
 erect such works of architecture, or of sculpture, as, in- 
 capable of displaying the minor embellishments of splen- 
 did hues, can only shine through means of the higher 
 perfections of purity of design and excellence of com- 
 position, it may perhaps, even among the first orders 
 of the State, among the individuals that stand highest 
 both in point of rank and of abilities, in vain look for 
 a certain number of men, qualified to make among the 
 designs or models offered for their approval, on solid 
 and scientific ground, such a choice as may, on all 
 occasions, ensure the public wealth from being wasted 
 in works which, instead of honour, reflect disgrace on 
 a country; and much oftener will the execution of such 
 works, however important, be, through interest or cabal, 
 obtained for presumptuous and bustling mediocrity, than 
 for retired and unassuming genius. 
 
 On these weighty grounds the most enlightened re- 
 publics of Greece were induced to decree, by a positive 
 law, that all youths of ingenuous birth should be instructed 
 
6 
 
 in the most essential rudiments of the arts of design; 
 in that lineal drawing, a proficiency in which is so ne- 
 cessary to make a man, if not a professor, at least 
 a tolerable judge of works of art of every description; 
 and for these same reasons Aristotle, in his Politics, 
 dwells on the importance and the necessity of such a 
 law, in all polished and well regulated States. 
 
 Our rulers cannot well enact a public and a general 
 law of this sort; but every one of our fellow citizens, who 
 feels anxious to give his children the species of education, 
 calculated to prove most useful to them, at every period, 
 and in every transaction of their lives, should make such a 
 rule for himself* He should not be content with letting his 
 daughters learn to paint flowers or transparencies, in order 
 to bedaub every screen, and to darken every window in 
 his house; but he should make every one of his sons re- 
 ceive, in their early youth, at least a few lessons in those 
 general modifications of the human skeleton, and in those 
 general forms of the human muscle, which alone can lay 
 a sure and extensive foundation for any peculiar species of 
 drawing they may afterwards wish to perfect themselves in, 
 either for the sake of emolument or of pleasure. Above 
 
T 
 
 all, should every one of our public seminaries of youth 
 provide itself with able teachers in an art of at least as 
 immediate, and as great general, importance to every 
 order of the community as that of scanning Greek verse. 
 Thus will every man, vfhether he be destined to become 
 a cabinet-maker, or to sit in judgment on the monument 
 of a Nelson, be enabled to produce or to approve such 
 works only as may be a credit to himself, and an orna- 
 ment to his country. 
 
 THOMAS HOPE. 
 
8 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 OF 
 
 Scientific Improvements in the Eighteenth Century, 
 
 After the improvements mentioned in my former 
 paper, the branch of knowledge which, on account of its 
 extensive application, next deserves our notice, is the sci- 
 ence of chemistry ; meaning not, according to the vulgar 
 idea, merely the art of compounding medicines, but that 
 most extensive branch of natural philosophy, which in- 
 vestigates the internal properties of natural bodies, and 
 applies them to our use. In this proper sense, chemistry 
 is concerned with almost every thing that relates to the 
 knowledge of natural bodies and to civil economy. Agri- 
 culture, mineralogy, metallurgy, pharmacy, bleaching, 
 tanning, dying, brewing, enamelling, glass-making, pot- 
 tery, building, &c. have received essential assistance from 
 chemistry, and most of their improvements have been made 
 within the last century, especially towards the latter part 
 of it, when the formation of a new, rational, and compre- 
 hensive theory, suggested by a variety of recent discoveries, 
 introduced a much more regular method of investigation, 
 
9 
 
 abolished the incoherent ideas of the alchymists and other 
 irrational pretenders, and excited a general enthusiasm 
 amongst philosophical people throughout all Europe : 
 and their assiduous labours have been readily repaid by 
 useful discoyeries and lucrative applications of chemistry 
 to the arts. 
 
 The number of improvements made in chemistry, 
 within the above-mentioned period, is so very great, as 
 to render it absolutely impracticable even to enumerate 
 them in this paper: I shall, therefore, briefly mention 
 some of those only which, on account of their more exten- 
 sive application, or their greater importance, deserve 
 particular notice. 
 
 The first of those subjects, which may be called entirely 
 modern, is the subject of Aerial Fluids^ which is intimately 
 and essentially concerned with the life, composition, 
 and decomposition, of animals and vegetables; with 
 combustion, calcination and formation of metallic sub- 
 stances, &c. &c. 
 
 Before the commencement of the i3th century, the 
 words air and aerial were almost synonymous with nothing; 
 since the transparency and invisibility of air did not 
 furnish an immediate idea of its existence. Two dis- 
 No. 8. c 
 
10 
 
 tinguished physieians. Van Helmant and Mayow, had 
 indeed mentioned the existence of a few other elastic 
 fluids different from common air; but all the notions 
 concerning such fluids, at that time, were involved in 
 ambiguous expressions, uncertainty, and apparent con- 
 tradictions. 
 
 Towards the beginning of the last century Dr. Hales, 
 in his Vegetable Statics, showed a good deal of the 
 action of aeriform fluids in vegetables. But it was Dr. 
 Priestley w1m)» towards the end of the century, gave 
 celebrity to the subject, by means of his long ex- 
 perimental inquiry, and his numerous discoveries. His 
 example spread a general spirit of investigation throughout 
 Europe ; a great number of ingenious persons turned 
 their thoughts towards the nature of aerial fluids, and, 
 before the close of the century, mankind was made 
 acquainted with a subject almost entirely new, and most 
 extensively useful, which not only explained a great 
 number of natural phenomena, but likewise furnished 
 most valuable practical applications to animal and ve- 
 getable economy, as well as to the arts. 
 
 Those discoveries may be comprehended under the fol- 
 lowing general heads. 1st, The existence of about twenty 
 
11 
 
 elastic or aerial fluids, each of which is endowed with 
 peculiar and wonderful properties. Sdly, That the very 
 existence, as well as the prosperous state of animals and 
 vegetables, depends almost entirely on the nature of the 
 surrounding air; besides, their formation, increment, 
 fermentation, putrefaction, and total dissolution, are hardly 
 any thing more than a fixation or generation of elastic 
 fluids ; so much so that, when the parts of vegetable 
 and animal bodies are analyzed by chemical processes, 
 they are found ultimately to consist of aerial fluids, 
 excepting a very small proportion of fixed or solid matter* 
 3dly, That common atmospherical air chiefly consists of 
 two of the above-mentioned fluids, one of which, by 
 itself, is the most active supporter of animal life and 
 combustion; whilst the other is incapable of supporting 
 either. 4thly, That water, which had long been con- 
 sidered as a simple elementary substance, has been found 
 to be a compound of two elastic fluids. 5thly, That one of 
 the above-mentioned elastic fluids, which is likewise one 
 of the constituents of water, is inflammable in the highest 
 degree ; and the same fluid is so much specifically lighter 
 than, common air, that a balloon filled with it is capable 
 of floating in the atmosphere, like a cork in water, even 
 
 c2 
 
12 
 
 when one or two or more human beings are attached to iu 
 6thly, That the peculiar property, by which acids are 
 distinguished from other substances ; namely, their 
 acidity ; and likewise that property, by which the metallic 
 calces are distinguished from the metals themselves, is 
 owing to the combination of an elastic fluid called oxygen 
 gas» 7thly, That two of those invisible fluids, when mixed 
 together, instantly lose their elastic nature, and form a 
 concrete, visible, and tangible white salt. Sthly, That 
 two other of the above-mentioned elastic fluids, when 
 mixed together, form an oil. 9thly, That another of 
 those elastic fluids, if breathed by a human creature, 
 during a very few minutes, produces a very remarkable 
 sort of inebriation, accompanied with pleasurable sen- 
 sations. And, lOthly, That another aerial fluid is capable 
 of inflaming thin metallic leaves, and charcoal, when 
 those substances are merely plunged in it. 
 
 With respect to mineralogy, the chemists of the last 
 century have not been less successful. The contents 
 of the subterraneous world have been collected and exa- 
 mined with the greatest diligence imaginable; hence the 
 nature of a great many mineral waters, so useful to the 
 human being, has been ascertained ; several new metallic 
 
13 
 
 substances have been discovered ; and immense quantities 
 of materials, which formerly were dug and thrown away 
 as useless, have been found to have several remarkable 
 properties, in consequence of which they are now sold for 
 very considerable sums. 
 
 Chemistry, during the last century, has likewise ren- 
 dered essential services to a great many other arts and 
 manufactures; but the improvements thus introduced 
 could not be briefly enumerated, nor intelligibly stated, 
 without a particular detail of the processes peculiar to 
 those arts. I shall only observe, with respect to pottery 
 alone, that, since the late Mr. Wedgewood ap- 
 plied the science of chemistry to that manufactory, its 
 productions have been very greatly improved ; so much 
 so that, instead of importing articles of earthenware, as 
 was the custom previous to the establishment of Mr. 
 Wedgewood's manufactory, the exportation of pottery 
 now forms a considerable article in the commerce of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 Next to Chemistry, another subject of the utmost im- 
 portance demands our attention; namely, the Medical 
 Art; which has likewise received essential improvements 
 in the course of the last century. 
 
 Whether people live longer now-a-days than they did 
 
formerly, is an insidious question not unfrequently asked 
 by those who affect to despise modern improvements. 
 The answer to this question is, that several diseases, which 
 formerly occasioned the premature death of divers indi- 
 viduals, are at present either more effectually cured, or in 
 great measure prevented. Decency supersedes the men- 
 tion of some disorders, whose havock of the human species 
 is now restrained ; and, with respect to those diseases which 
 are at present in great measure prevented, I need only 
 instance the most fatal epidemic or pestilential diseases 
 which have been rendered very unfrequent in Europe, 
 and the small-pox, which by the means of inoculation, 
 and especially by the very late introduction of vaccination, 
 has been almost entirely disarmed of its dreadful effects; 
 so that not only a great many lives have thereby been 
 annually saved, but the very appearance of the human 
 species has been improved ; since, to meet with a person 
 disfigured by the small-pox is, at present, a very rare oc 
 currence. 
 
 In order to avoid prolixity, the medical improvements 
 of the last century may be expressed under the following 
 general heads. First, Several intricate, costly, and, at the 
 same time, useless, prescriptions of the old physicians have 
 been discarded, and other remedies of a much more ac 
 
15 
 
 tire nature have been introduced. Secondly, The con- 
 stitution of the human being, its natural functions, and 
 its dependence on air, food, &c. are at present much 
 better understood. Thirdly, Such is likewise the case 
 with the nature of diseases in general. Hence, Fourthly, 
 The treatment of diseases, and the methods of preventing 
 several of them, have been greatly improved. 
 
 Besides those which have been mentioned above, all the 
 other branches of natural philosophy also received most 
 wonderful improvements in the course of the last century. 
 The science of electricity is almost entirely the offspring 
 of that century, during which all its various machinery 
 was contrived ; the shock of the electrical jar, and the 
 identity of lightning and electricity, were discovered ; in 
 consequence of which the metallic conductor, to defend 
 houses from the dire effects of lightning, was adopted ; 
 and a new mode of treating certain disorders was intro- 
 duced. That most wonderful branch of electricity, which 
 is commonly known under the name of Galvanic EleC" 
 tricity^ was discovered towards the close of the century. 
 
 In the course of the same century, meteorology, hy- 
 draulics, and magnetism, have also been remarkably im- 
 proved and illustrated ; the nature of heat and cold have 
 been carefully examined, and the methods of producing 
 
16 
 
 them, to a very extraordinary degree, have leen disco- 
 yered ; and almost all the instruments belonging to those 
 subjects have either been contrived or greatly improved ; 
 such as thermometers, barometers, hygrometers, rain- 
 gages, steam engines, air pumps, condensing engines, &c. 
 &c. which are at present universally and most advan- 
 tageously used by all the civilized part of the human 
 species. 
 
 If this compendious sketch of the scientific improve- 
 ments of the last century be sufficient to inspire the 
 reader with an humble and dutiful admiration of the 
 Supreme Being in the astonishing works of nature, and 
 with gratitude towards those who have contributed to 
 render them subservient to our wants, to our comforts, 
 and to our security, the writer's end is fully answered. 
 
 C. 
 
 No. IX. On the Independency of Painting on Poetry^ 
 will be published on Saturday, May 9. 
 
.THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. IX. Saturday^ May 9, 1807. 
 
 Decipit Exemplar, 
 
 IT is a received opinion, in minds not used to make 
 nice distinctions, that painting is the follower of, and de- 
 pendent on, poetry ; and this notion has, in some in- 
 stances, been inculcated by the authorities of such men as 
 apparently ought to have understood each of those sciences 
 better : to which painters have never given an answer, 
 because, having only the power of being eloquent on 
 canvas, they have no opportunity of controverting this 
 palpable absurdity. They are in the state of the lion in 
 the fable, who was shown by the forester his image con- 
 No. 9. B 
 
2 
 
 quered by the man : had lions been the carvers, this ex- 
 ample had been reversed. 
 
 Take all your ideas from the descriptions of the poets,, 
 and all your actions and expressions of the passions from 
 the stage ; and you will then be a hopeful painter. — This 
 is the voice of folly ; these are the watery notions of in- 
 sipid men ; yet, however ridiculous or false such advice 
 may appear to an enlightened mind, however confined 
 and ignorant in conception, it would yet certainly be 
 received as good counsel, by many whose education and 
 power of intellect have sufficiently enabled them to see 
 its grossness, had they but spared the time requisite to 
 make the inquiry. 
 
 I do not mean to deny that either of those arts may reap 
 some small advantage from the assistance of the other: 
 they, as studious followers of nature, may be said to re- 
 ceive more or less assistance from all things that exist. 
 
 Painting and poetry both begin their career from the 
 same important point, and each strives to approach the 
 same goal by different paths. Like companions of equa- 
 lity on a journey, they may at times derive aid from each 
 other. 
 
 But let it ever be remembered, that they are equally the 
 
3 
 
 children and pupils of Nature, rival imitators of her in 
 hopes of fame ; and if either the poet or the painter be 
 obliged to submit to the dominion or direction of the 
 other, he will soon find himself deluded out of his right 
 road by an Ignis Fatuus, a false representation of the 
 great archetype. Moreover, in addition to all his own 
 errors, he will frequently perceive himself involved in 
 those of his companion whom he has acknowledged as his 
 superior, thus proving himself to be of a mean genius, 
 without hope of being ever ranked in the first class. For 
 he demonstrates that his capacity does not enable him to 
 judge or choose for himself, but that, instead of applying 
 to nature directly, he receives his ideas through the 
 medium of another's mind, whom, like a weak bigot, he 
 has made, of his equal, his protector and saint. 
 
 I have often thought that there is no better way 
 to prove the defects or excellences of a poet, in respect 
 to his descriptive powers or knowledge of nature, than by 
 making a composition for a picture from the images which 
 he raises, and from his own description of his characters 
 and their actions. You by these means put him on 
 his trial; you will detect every deviation from na- 
 ture; and, when his performance is brought to thi^ 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 strict examination, it will sometimes happen, that what in 
 words might seem like a true representation of nature to 
 the poet, to the painter may appear much like the tale 
 of a false witness in a court of justice, and he will soon 
 be convinced that the admired work is no more than an 
 ingenious falsehood. 
 
 Historical truths, howsoever related, possess a certain 
 degree of unavoidable simplicity, and are marked by 
 such circumstances only as are necessary in explaining 
 the state of the case in question ; whereas the poet, in- 
 dulging his fancy, perhaps to forward his own particular 
 purpose, but too frequently loads his tale with those addi- 
 tional conceptions, which in the painter's province will 
 prove only cumbersome minutiae, and, when set before 
 him as an example, will become a stumbling-block in 
 his way. 
 
 There is also an interesting energy in pure nature, 
 which poetry, as an imitative art, cannot possibly possess. 
 
 I wish to have it understood that what I now say is rela- 
 tive chiefly to descriptive poetry, in which whosoever has 
 searched the works of the poets with a painter's mind, 
 must have observed the frequent occurrence of circum- 
 stances that are incompatible with each other. 
 
5 
 
 It is, surely, not the province of one art to imitate 
 another ; nature alone is the great object from which all 
 art draws its nourishment, and it will be found by expe- 
 riment, that art thus copying art in succession, the eva- 
 poration of nature's essence will be so great at each re- 
 move^ that very soon scarce any of the original flavour 
 will be perceptible, and besides this, it will have gained 
 an additional taste from each vessel, through which it 
 has passed. 
 
 To paint, therefore, the passions from the exhibitions of 
 them on the stage, or from any intended descriptions of 
 nature by the poets, is to remove yourself one degree far- 
 ther from truth, and places the painter in the same 
 forlorn state to which a poet would reduce himself, who 
 made pictures and the stage his only means of seeing 
 nature. 
 
 The greatest works of art, both in painting and in 
 sculpture, evidently derive all their highest excellence 
 from being transcripts of ideas formed from a study of 
 general nature, and regulated by a judicious choice ; and, 
 if this be the case, it must then be acknowledged they 
 would have been precisely the same, had poetry never 
 existed but in the mind alone. 
 
6 
 
 Perhaps it may be asked, why was our prime poet 
 Shakespere selected for the English painters to try their 
 first efforts on ? — I would answer, not because he helped 
 those painters in their art, but because the popular emi- 
 nence of Shakespere's name would help on to high no- 
 toriety any work connected with a poet already so pre- 
 cious, and would thus become the most ready means of 
 attracting an unwilling people to pay some attention to 
 their unknown painters. And I will venture to pro- 
 nounce that not one of those pictures, from the best to 
 the very worst, gained the smallest degree of intrinsic 
 worth from the genius of Shakespere ; and for this plain 
 reason, that what Shakespere had done best was totally 
 out of the province of the painter's art to represent ; and 
 also, that where the painter has succeeded best, it has been 
 in that which it was not in the power of words to express, 
 but belongs to painting alone, and which therefore even 
 Shakespere was unable to give, notwithstanding all his ac- 
 knowledged powers. 
 
 The above reasons, I conjecture, are the only true ones 
 which have induced any painter of merit to paint from 
 any poet, not because he was helped in the powers of his 
 art, but because he was helped in the sale of his work ; 
 
r 
 
 since, by. connecting himself with the poet, he immediately 
 partook, and became a sharer, in all the advantages of his 
 established notoriety. 
 
 It will be urged that Nicolas Poussin has painted from 
 the poets. This may be true, and I am apt to think he 
 was, of all painters, the fittest to paint from them. He 
 was (if I may be allowed the expression) the pedant of 
 painters. His subjects are often from the poets, his figures 
 from the antique statues, and his expressions of the pas- 
 sions chiefly from the stage or some other substitute for 
 nature : he had a predilection for any helps, so he might 
 avoid approaching that source. He had so little the habit 
 of applying to nature for assistance, that it produced in 
 him a painful awkwardnesss, whenever necessity obliged 
 him to it; and, therefore, he is entitled the learned 
 painter, in distinction from the natural painter. His 
 expressions of the passions seem to have been made from 
 description, or by receipts for expression ; in consequence 
 of which they have the appearance of being overcharged : 
 it is this appearance which gives to his figures the air of 
 hypocrites or pretenders to feeling, and is therefore apt to 
 disgust, and to prevent our sympathy. 
 
 These are his greatest defects; yet it must be also 
 
8 
 
 remembered, that, mixed with that which ought not to he 
 imitated, there is much in Poussin to be justly admired. 
 It is most true, also, that his expressions cannot be mis- 
 taken by the most vulgar observer, any more than you 
 can mistake those of a mask ; but then they are without 
 that beautiful variety with which nature teems, without 
 those nice differences which create the exquisite sym- 
 pathy, the interest, which we find inspired by the works 
 of Raffaelle. Raffaelle, indeed, by possessing a thousand 
 times the capacity of Poussin, had a field of greater extent, 
 in which to range and to make a more select choice for his 
 purpose ; and this enabled him to approach so much nearer 
 to a comparison with Nature herself, and gave him the 
 vast pre-eminence which he possessed.* — In Poussin it is the 
 head and the hand we admire : in Raffaelle the head, the 
 hand, the heart, command our equal astonishment and 
 delight. 
 
 It may be remarked, that the meaner painters and 
 young students, in their beginnings, are the most fond, 
 of any, to devote their powers to the service of the 
 poets. 
 
 There seem to have been but two principal causes, 
 why painting should ever have applied itself to poetry for 
 
9 
 
 help: the one is the barrenness of those individual 
 minds which hare sought and followed it; the other, that 
 a picture not being capable of giving all the circumstances 
 of a long narration, which yet may have some point 
 of time in its events fit for the powers of the art, the 
 spectator may refer to the poet's page, (who gives the 
 complicated detail) and will be thence enabled to com- 
 prehend, with full effect, that sentiment in the picture 
 which no words can give. This last reason is applicable 
 also to subjects for painting taken from history. 
 
 But another great argument to be urged against paint- 
 ing from the poets is this: that, as all human powers are 
 limited, you will find that the poet, be he ever so great, 
 has still had his Weaknesses to hide; he has, judiciously per- 
 haps, ranged through all his knowledge of nature, to select 
 out those parts in which he could best bring his powers to 
 a focus, and might best be able to screen his wants ; con- 
 sequently he can give you at most but a partial view of 
 nature, . and therefore his representations, like all art 
 when tried by the tally of nature and of truth, w ill be 
 found frequently to be distorted, and, in many respects, 
 imperfect and unnatural, and must of course have a ten- 
 dency to mislead the efforts of the painter. 
 
 No. 9. c 
 
ro 
 
 It is applicable to my present purpose, and will explain 
 what I mean to say, if I refer to an instance where the 
 same story is related by the historian and by the 
 poet. 
 
 The book of Ruth, as found in the Bible, is given with 
 all that fascinating simplicity, energy, and interest, 
 which ever accompany an unassuming relation of simple 
 facts; and, from being divested of all art, it captivates with 
 irresistible power, like truth itself. 
 
 The same story is said to be also told by Thomson,, 
 in his Seasons, under the name of Lavinia, But the 
 distance at which it is removed from its original, by the 
 artificial and studied modes of poetic narration, diminishes 
 the air of truth, and renders sympathy comparatively 
 inadmissible. It would, therefore, be the grossest absurdity 
 for the painter to look to him for his example. Besides, 
 the means are here made to predominate over the end. 
 The author seems more solicitous to draw our attention 
 and admiration on his own poetic powers, than on the 
 delicate distress in which he has involved his fair Lavinia, 
 and reminds us of some vain actors on the stage, who, 
 instead of attending to the character they have undertaken 
 to represent, are wholly employed in looking round on the 
 
11 
 
 audience, to discover how many they have captivated 
 by their charms. 
 
 This preference of the means to the -end is the disease 
 of professorship, to which all professors are but too 
 liable. The painter is enamoured with handling and ex- 
 ecutive power ; the accomplished performer in music, if 
 required to play, will, instead of such a composition as 
 would recommend his taste or delight your ear, sometimes 
 give you that which has no one property to recommend it 
 to notice, but its infinite difficulty to be performed. 
 
 Bombast in poetry, and ranting on the stage, are al- 
 lowed to be the bane of either art ; yet they have power 
 to captivate the vulgar, who abundantly admire and freely 
 give applause where sounding words in the poet, or violent 
 distortions in the actor, are offered as the substitute for 
 meaning and for sense ; and many an empty nothing 
 seems embodied by these splendid impositions. 
 
 But all this is of no sort of use towards helping the 
 painter in his work : the contemplation of it has rather a 
 tendency to hurt the state of his mind, in which the grandeur 
 and simplicity of Nature ought alone to prevail, as it does 
 when she inspires the works of the greatest masters. 
 
 Where, in fact, can he go for succour but to nature ? 
 
 c 2 
 
If he wish to represent the person of a beautiful Ere oa 
 his canvas, shall he wander to the poet ? And Avill he 
 there, even in the highest examples of the art, find 
 himself much assisted in his efforts, by being informed 
 that 
 
 " Heaven^'^ was " in her eye," 
 
 Or, 
 
 " In her gestures^ dignity and love 
 
 I do not mean to say but that the poet, in so describing' 
 her, has done his w ork well, as all that he had to 
 do was to make us conceive that his Eve was complete and 
 perfect, and this he has effected by the proper means in- 
 his art, leaving us to finish in our minds the idea he ha& 
 inspired: but the painter still remains unassisted, and 
 has yet to apply to nature a« his source of information, as- 
 he cannot paint, from words, either "Heaven in her eye," 
 or "Love in her gestures." ' 
 
 And, notwithstanding that many flights of imagination, 
 arising in the mind of the poet, and particularly fitted 
 to his art, may have given vast delight, and caused 
 the highest admiration, we shall- yet, on the trial, be 
 convinced that they are not adapted to that of the painter^ 
 and therefore are no model for his imitation; since thie 
 painter ought to furnish his work with those materials 
 
1$ 
 
 best suited to his o^wn art and to his own purpose, selected 
 from Nature's boundless variety by the direction and 
 influence of his individual disposition and sensation; by 
 which means the work wiH be new, and of consequence in 
 a greater or less degree delightful. 
 
 There cannot be a stronger proof of a genius for 
 painting, than to know well the subjects best adapted 
 to the pow ers of the art. 
 
 When you paint from a poet, yoti may be said to 
 have your dinner from the table of one man; you must 
 take what he was able to give you, whether it particularly 
 suit your palate or not; but fronii Nature's great banquet 
 you have an unbounded range for your choice, you 
 have the liberty, w^hich the poet had, of selecting out 
 those parts and those circumstances which best suit your 
 temper, your powers, and your particular art. 
 
 It must without doubt be acknowledged, that every work 
 of the liberal arts is a lesson by which we may be taught 
 to discover and distinguish the highest beauties of nature; 
 still remembering that art is not nature, any more than 
 the directing post is the road you look for. 
 
 I press the argument w^ith the more force, to prevent 
 all bigotted reliance on guides, weak and fallible as our-s^ 
 
14 
 
 selves: Nature we may rely on with the most absolute 
 security, since in her there is nothing contradictory or 
 false, and when seen by the cultivated mind of a man of 
 genius, she presents an ample store of that which is 
 perfectly simple, beautiful, pathetic, and sublime, in a 
 much higher degree than can be found "in any work of 
 art, nature being the fountain of all art. 
 
 I cannot but offerone remark of some authority, which is, 
 that in searching through the works of Ralfaelle, Michael 
 Angelo, and Corregio, the most eminent painters that have 
 appeared in the world since the revival of the arts, you 
 will find but very few subjects by their hands taken from 
 a poet, and, of their w^orks of the highest fame, not one ; 
 and as these names are at the highest pinnacle of art, it is 
 a dear ^roof of that eminence being within the reach of 
 painting without the help of the poets. The best histo- 
 rians, and simple relations of facts, have been their chief 
 resource ; and whenever any of the great painters have 
 been what we may justly call poetical in their compo- 
 sitions, it has always been from their own funds, by the 
 means of which they were enabled to bring together such 
 materials as best suited their powers and their art. For 
 •the poetic subjects of a painter, and those of a poet, differ 
 
J5 
 
 as much in their nature, as do the means by which the 
 sentiment of each is given to the world. 
 
 In a picture, there should be no attempt to tell a 
 long and complicated tale; the art of painting is not 
 the vehicle for long stories. 
 
 The subjects best suited to the powers of the art are, 
 1^^, such as contain a sentiment within themselves, which 
 may be impressed by character, action, and situation ; and 
 are not dependent on foreign aid for an explanation of 
 their greatest interests ; 
 
 Or, those eminent events which are known to all, 
 yet, in their relation, are unincumbered by trifling mi»- 
 nuteness of description, and leave the imagination to 
 range without control ; — Such are all the subjects of 
 Sacred Scripture ;•; — witness those innumerable beauties, 
 which have been introduced in pictures relative to the 
 first years of the life of Christ; 
 
 Or, 3dly^ those historical facts which are rendered emi- 
 nent or important either from their consequences, or by 
 characters conspicuous for their virtues or their vices. 
 
 In fine, the painter who would give most force and 
 dignity to his art, whether he take the subject for 
 his picture from the historian or the poet, should consider 
 
16 
 
 liimself as inventing a kind of Episode to the author. 
 He is not his servant or follower, but his equal: he is to 
 illustrate and amplify all that vfhich words cannot reach, 
 and thus to complete the poet's work: he must add the 
 supplement, be the explainer and splendid commen- 
 tator. 
 
 Por there are certain ideas and impressions, which the 
 mind is capable of receiving, and which words are not 
 ejaculated to give. This is emin^ntly^xemplitied in matters 
 of natural history and mechanical inventions, which can 
 never be explained by ^ords alone, without the help of 
 ligures or diagrams added to the descriptions — The figure 
 gives the form, the words its qualities. 
 
 Just in this state of relationship stand the painter and 
 the poet. Neither of them is the inferior or imitator of 
 the other, but equal, and distinct in their powers; and 
 when their force is united in assisting each other, they 
 leave nothing for the imagination to supply. 
 
 J. N. 
 
 No. X. On Criticism^ Virth^ and the Rewards of 
 Authors and Painters i will be published on Saturday, 
 May 16. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. X. Saturday^ May 16, 1807. 
 
 Ligenuas aut gui vitam excoluereper artes, . 
 
 TO THE ARTIST* 
 
 AFTER you have gone through all the disagreeable and 
 tedious operation of packing up your travelling trunks and 
 baggage, and seen them safely strapped and stowed upon 
 your carriage, you may venture to say to yourself, that the 
 worst half of your journey is over, (be your destination 
 what it may) as soon as ever you hear the chaise door 
 slap, which shuts your person into it, and your troubles 
 out of it. So is it with the author, who has discharged 
 
 No. 10. B 
 
liimself of liis first essay, and so I dare say it was witli 
 you. 
 
 Whether the fulgor should proceed ex fumo^ or the 
 fumus ex fulgore^ is not absolutely a decided point with all 
 authors, because it is not every author, that is acquainted 
 with Horace's opinion upon the question. The Epic poet 
 generally tells you what his Song will set forth, and then 
 calls upon the Muse to sing it for him, whilst he beats 
 time as long as the harp, or the lyre, or the pipe is em- 
 ployed in giving the motivo^ upon which he is afterwards 
 to found his variations. Thus it has come to pass that the 
 Muse has survived th^ overthrow of the rest of the pagan 
 deities, and is still invoked to assist the labour of the 
 Christian poet, when his fancy is pn the point of bringing 
 forth. 
 
 You, being an essayist and a writer in prose, very pro^* 
 perly did not trouble the Muse, but addressed the candid 
 reader, as a diffident swain would address a delicate 
 nymph, with a modest declaration of your attachment ; 
 this you accompanied with a schedule of your personal 
 effects, hinting at some further expectations, which you 
 had a right to reckon upon* I am very glad for your 
 sake that this embarrassing concern is so well over, for 
 
3 
 
 where any appeal is to be made to the patience of 
 mankind, you must be sensible that it is a virtue very 
 apt to revenge itself upon us, if we make too free 
 with it. 
 
 Now I congratulate you upon your outset so much the 
 rather, because I know you cannot but be aware of the dan- 
 ger of first impressions; for though the military recruit is 
 taught to begin his march with left foot foremost, it is a 
 hazardous experiment for the literary novice; for whilst 
 the soldier can quote the high authority of Sir David 
 for his left-legged manoeuvre, the author can only appeal 
 to Diffidence^ and that I take to be the very worst drill- 
 serjeant, which the man, who volunteers for actual service 
 in the field of fame, can possibly apply to. The conscript, 
 that enrolls himself under that command, will contract 
 a downcast look, a stammering style and an unsteady 
 hand; he will mend his first thoughts so often in the hope 
 of making them better, that in the end he will make 
 them any thing but good. The candidate, who trusts to 
 Diffidence for a letter of accreditation, will very probably 
 find himself the bearer of a warrant to the next literary 
 catch-pole for taking him into custody; and when 
 he is in the lock-up-house of his critical inquisitors, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 let him '^et out of it as he can. He may sue to the 
 for candour, but unless he can convince them that he has 
 no need of it, I should think it is a form, he may as well 
 dispense with. A man, endowed with assurance, is armed 
 alike either to combat the obstinacy of fact, or so to involve 
 it in the fog of his own ignorance, that it cannot find him 
 out. He has a glossary of terms, that have no meaning, 
 and a barrier of argumentation, full of loop-holes, through 
 which he can attack with false assertions, or retreat without 
 confutation at pleasure. If his impudence can once 
 puzzle investigation, it is a thousand to one but that 
 modest Truth, before she can unravel the confusion, 
 shall be put to silence, and stared out of company. 
 
 Criticism is a fine art, and he, who understands it 
 rightly, will soon discover that he has no occasion to 
 understand any thing else. Science is ^ut of the question, 
 good manners would be an encumbrance and good nature 
 a disqualification. Critics grow out of authors just as 
 fungusses do out of dunghills; lay on a coat of compost, 
 and you may be sure of a crop: no man sows them; 
 they sprout up of their own accord: the Scottish agri- 
 culturists carry on a thriving trade in them; which proves 
 4hey are not unfriendly to a cold climate and a barren 
 
5 
 
 soil. A man iriust eat his bread up very clean, if 
 he does not leave a few crumbs under his table for 
 the rats. Your thorough-bred critic lives eternally upon 
 the trespass; poaches over every body's manor, and 
 makes no apology for the intrusion: he takes any man's 
 horse out of the stable, rides him where he likes and as he 
 likes; keeps none of his own, and never has the civility to 
 confess that he has been pleasantly carried. He is as 
 great a hunter as Nimrod, and when he has run his game 
 down, is about as well disposed to give quarter as a 
 Cossack. He cures authors of their vanity by the same 
 process as the Monk pursued, who put the Catholic King's 
 conscience to rest by convincing him that he was a fool. He 
 feeds, as did the priests of Dagon, upon the offerings of 
 those, whom he scares out of their senses ; and he pro- 
 pagates reformation, like our wicked Queen Mary, by 
 roasting men alive. As a Je}'a 7ialurce, he partakes 
 very much of the pole-cat character; for he kills his 
 prey by sucking out their brains, and their carcasses 
 he liberally bequeaths to the crows. These are amongst 
 the small specks and blemishes in the bright sun of our 
 liberty, which serve only as foils to his splendour, like 
 pimples, that set oIF the polish of an alderman's nose, 
 
6 
 
 or spots of grease, that contrast the purity of the napkin 
 iinder his chin. 
 
 The inestimable freedom of the press is one of the 
 great pillars of the British Constitution; but the best 
 friends to its privileges sometimes will confess that 
 it makes itself more free than welcome. It may seem 
 a little hard upon a quiet gentleman to be made to 
 pay smart-money for the liberty, which his unquiet neigh- 
 bour enjoys of annoying him with impunity; in like man-^ 
 ner, people, who do not distinguish very correctly between 
 freedom and taxation, may think the loss of their coats 
 very scantily compensated by the privilege of walking 
 about in their waistcoats without asking leave of any 
 man: in the mean time if they feel any little inconveni- 
 ence from this reduction in their wardrobe, they have 
 the consolation of knowing, that they may sing out their 
 grievances in whatever key they like best to perform in^ 
 and as it is presumed there is not an individual in the 
 nation, who has not got a grievance to set to music, 
 for that reason I conclude we are the merriest set of 
 songsters in creation. 
 
 The liberty of the press I conceive to be in so many words 
 the licence of the pen. Now the pen is an implement 
 
r 
 
 easy to purchase and light of carriage: the utensils of 
 a ready writer are more portable than those even of 
 an itinerant tinker — and this brings me into the circle 
 of the Arts, which is your proper subject; for the writing- 
 master is an Artist; he puts the pen into our hand, and shows 
 us how to use it: he lays a copy before us of some short 
 moral maxim, for instance — Speak ill of no man — Abstain 
 from evil words — We trace it out again and again with 
 much care and diligence; we do not write it quite so well 
 as he does, but we remember it much better, because 
 we write it over much oftener. We enter upon the 
 world with these excellent maxims in our memories, 
 and the very first maxims we meet in the world, run 
 counter to our copy book. This shocks us a little at 
 first, but no sooner does the glorious avenue to a free 
 press burst upon our sight, than we discover, to our 
 infinite satisfaction, a wide unfathomable mouth, agape to 
 swallow every body's morsel, and, by a happy transmu- 
 tation in its digestive faculties, capable of endowing the 
 dross of dulness with the properties of gold, and giving 
 currency to nonsense. This encourages gentlemen of 
 Virtu, who sit at the the Privy CmnciUhoard of taste, 
 to write things called Fly-flaps^ which, though originally 
 
8 
 
 designed for the use of pastry-cooks shops and butchers^ 
 shambles, yet, when applied to the ears of painters 
 and statuaries, are extremely apt to bring to their recol- 
 lection that there is such an insect as a fiy^ and provoke 
 them to lay aside their palettes and their chissels, and reply 
 as follows — 
 
 " What food for ridicule ! What room for wrath .1. 
 " When study works up folly to a froth ! 
 " When dulness, bubbling o'er ambition's fire, 
 " In cloud and smoke and vapour will aspire ; 
 " Thro' each foul funnel of the press will rise, 
 " And fill with fog the intellectual skies. 
 
 *' Dolts, from the ranks of useful service chas'd. 
 
 Pass muster in the lumber-troop of taste j 
 " Soon learn to load with critic shot, and play 
 " Their * pop-guns on the genius of the day—'* 
 
 Rhymes on Art. 
 
 [Note. * Wee pop-guns read fly-Jlaps, meg periculo. "| 
 
 J. H'S 
 
 With all possible respect for Fly-flapper and Fly-flap^ 
 perh friend Canom^ we have great objection to the latter 
 gentleman's making a monument for Lord Nelson, but 
 none to his statue for Bonaparte, which we understand is 
 
9 
 
 to be sixteen feet in height, which was to an inch the 
 stature of Og King of Basan. If he is employed upon 
 this work, we would recommend dispatch; else it may 
 lake up so much time in operation, that before he shall 
 have completed the idol, the original may be undeified. 
 
 Are we to be taught to make statues, who have made 
 men worthy of being immortalized by statues ? Are the 
 heroes of our navy and army to die for their country, 
 that some half'-starved foreigner may live by making mo- 
 numents for them ? If we have a school for our native 
 artists in our native country, why are we to run to other 
 /countries for education, like Roman Catholics to Saint 
 Omer ? We might as well send for French captains to 
 command our men of war, as import foreign artists to be 
 ^employed upon our national works. 
 
 I will venture to predict that the folly, which has so 
 long held possession of our collectors of virtit is wearing 
 away daily. Gentlemen begin to find out that they are 
 only made the, bubbles and laughing-stocks of the venders 
 and manufacturers of dirty daubings, who, whilst they 
 raise contributions upon the plenitude of their pockets, 
 expose them to ridicule for the poverty of their wits i and 
 the ladies of these gentlemen, (who are considerably wiser 
 
 No. 10. ;C 
 
10 
 
 than their husbands,) have long since discovered, that 
 there is no grace nor ornament in a parcel of broken 
 pitchers, filthy lamps and indecent nudities of satyrs, 
 mutilated less than they ought to be. A natural taste 
 cannot hesitate to prefer the fresh productions of 
 our own markets to the smoke-dried olfals of a foul- 
 feeding and libidinous generation, whose taste was 
 originally gross, and whose scraps and leavings are be- 
 come more nauseous from having been pouched by our 
 conoscenti-monkies, who have slavered them and 
 mumbled them ever since, as if their filthy mastication 
 could recommend them to our palates, and make them 
 easier of digestion. Strange that there should be men so 
 perv erted as to think a cabbage can be mended by a 
 voyage round the world in the salt tub of a stinking ship [ 
 The living arts are the proper objects of your contem- 
 plation : in the mean time the nation has erected a noble 
 gallery in the British Museum, wherein to deposit the 
 bones and skeletons of the dead arts, collected by Mr. 
 Townley, and purchased from the public purse. In 
 justice to my country I will suppose, that they are stifck 
 up there for the patriotic purpose of convincing the 
 spectators, that it is high time to dismiss their prejudices. 
 
and that it is nothing less than necromancy and art-mjigic, 
 that should induce them to prefer old lamps to new : in 
 short if any gentleman wants a Venus for his saloon, he 
 may go to the shop of Mr. Nollekens, and not envy 
 the long-sided lady of Mr. Townley, though the State has 
 built a palace for her reception. 
 
 Our artists in general are not shy of exhibiting their 
 performances, for you may visit them for a shilling; 
 neither are they apt to be offended with you, if you 
 praise them, for they seem to insinuate, that they are 
 not over flattered, but rather over fly-jlapped* Some, 
 whom it is not easy to over-pay, are nevertheless well 
 paid ; of which number I conceive Mr. Wilkie^ who has 
 merited the title of the British Teniers, is not one; which, 
 if the rich and noble purchaser of his first picture is not 
 clearly satisfied of, he may re-sell his purchase, and gain 
 a thousand pounds by his conviction'— but perhaps artists 
 ought to be lean, and Caesar was wrong, when he wished 
 to have men about him that were fat. 
 
 This very possibly is a discovery that artists may not 
 relish ; it is new, and, like most novelties, does not dis- 
 play all its properties at first sight. It is not new to the 
 poets however; they have had long and lasting expe- 
 
 c 2 
 
rience of it. They have no Institutions, in which the^ 
 have any name or interest, except in the extensive insti- 
 tution of reviewing magazines ; no exhibitions, but those, 
 which exhibit them in the pillory of Criticism: No Officer 
 stands at their door with tufted gown and silver staff; the 
 Officer, that haunts their garrets, is an unwelcome w atch- 
 man. They could as soon find a shilling in their own 
 pockets, as collect one from the public for admission to an 
 Exhibition of their performances; even the booksellers 
 scruple to display them in their shop-windows, very na- 
 turally thinking they have acquitted themselves of their 
 duty, when they have virtually represented the whole 
 race of them under the general title of The Miseries 
 of Human Life,. 
 
 When I saw an Institution advertised in the public 
 papers, which embraces a vast portion of the elegant 
 recreations of the age, under the denomination of The 
 Fashionable Institution^ I anxiously examined it in the 
 hope that there they might be flattered with some 
 little notice: I found chess-boards, draft-boards, back- 
 gammon and billiard tables honourably announced; I 
 saw news-papers, reviews, magazines, maps, and a whole 
 iihrary of reference provided for the patrons of the inst^- 
 
13 
 
 tution; I perceived that these pupils of fashion were 
 to be instructed in the refinements of the French language 
 by a French lecturer, and taught as much Geography 
 and Astronomy as would qualify them for a masquerade, 
 which was the climax of the advertisement, and the 
 ne plus ultra of their studies' — and I said to myself-— 
 Ridiculous frivolity! Contemptible Institution!- — not then 
 recollecting how infinitely better the provider of these 
 recreations understood the character of his company than 
 I did. I am now convinced he treats the world as it 
 ought to be treated, perfectly comprehends the duties 
 of the office he is engaged in, and I honour him for 
 his discrimination and discernment. 
 
 Poets to their sorrow have appetites like other men ; 
 they are sensible to the cold, and grateful for a fire; 
 they prefer being cloathed to going naked, and have 
 na partiality to raggedness and stockings without feet; 
 they would be devoutly thankful to the world, if they 
 might be suffered to support their bodies by the produce 
 of their brains; but this is denied to them: eighty 
 thousand copies, professing criticism,^ issue monthly from 
 the press, and how should their small works,^ which are 
 but as mole-hills, survive the inundation ? Ninety-nine 
 in a hundred are contented with these brief chronicles^ 
 
14 
 
 and ne\ er buy by the whole what they read by the ex- 
 tract, nor turn over a single leaf of the author, whose 
 ransacked pages have contributed to support and circulate 
 the magazine, which they subscribe to. 
 
 Poets have ambition, and those natural feelings, which 
 aspire to distinction ; but the creative sword never touches 
 their shoulders, and a bit of ribband, were it offered, 
 would but embarrass them, who have no button-hole to 
 pass it through. 
 
 In the mean time they silently submit to their hard 
 fate, conscious that death is their only avenue to fame. 
 They illuminate the age in which they have lived ob- 
 scurely ; but when they are consigned to the darkness of 
 the grave, the same breath, that conspired to extinguish 
 their taper, now contributes to sound that trumpet, which 
 they cannot hear. 
 
 Old Samuel Johnson, who once languished upon four- 
 pence half-penny per day, now stands in Parian Marble, 
 frowning upon those, who vainly think they can add an 
 hour to his immortality by raising a monument to his 
 memory out of the very materials, of which their own 
 hard hearts were formed. 
 
 Richard Cumberland, ^ 
 
15 
 
 THE DEAD ALIVE. 
 
 MILO, an Artist of some namt;, 
 Enjoy'd a starving kind of fame. 
 That is, he painted passing well 
 Fine landscapes, which he could not sell ; 
 Yet none knew better how to catch a grace 
 From Nature's unsophisticated face. 
 
 Meantime his pictures, one and all. 
 Clung, as if wedded, to his wall : 
 Was it, because in love with Art, 
 He and his works could never part ? 
 
 Or why did Milo's genius fail to thrive ? 
 
 Why, but because poor Mile was alive ? 
 
 He saw collectors of virt^ 
 Buy daubings Poussin never drew ; 
 He heard the amateurs applaud 
 Vile copies, father'd upon Claude : 
 If thus, he cried, they patronize the Dead, 
 I too must die to give my children bread. 
 
 It is resolv'd : this moment send 
 For honest Dismal—he's my friend : 
 Order my coffin; toll the bell. 
 Let all the parish hear my knell : 
 Art's noble patrons, who refus'd to save 
 My life, will page my body to the grave. 
 
 ^Tis done ; he dies, and all deplore 
 The first of painters, now no more. 
 Ev'n Fly-flap snivels till he's told 
 That Milo's pictures will be sold. 
 For he can prove by demonstration plain. 
 That men, wheo dead, will n^ver paint again. 
 
16 
 
 And now what wonders greet his eyes. 
 
 What trees^ what water, and what skies ; 
 
 Loud praises circle thro' the room ; 
 
 (For merit ripens in the tomb) 
 When soon behold the mighty Puffer stand 
 High in his tub, with hammer in his hand. 
 
 Huge crowds of Cenoscenti flockj 
 
 Watching the loud emphatic knock j 
 
 Bid .and out-bid; — for who would miss 
 
 An opportunity like this ? 
 " Too cheap, too cheap I" the prattling vender cries^ 
 And compliments each buyer on his prize. 
 
 Mile, who all this while unseen 
 
 Had slily skulk'd behind the screen. 
 
 Found by the pricking of his thumb. 
 
 That resurrection-time was come ; 
 Then forth he issued, nothing less than dead. 
 And, humbly bowing, thus in few he said— 
 
 *' Patrons of art, I pray forgive 
 " This harmless stratagem to live. 
 " Believe me. Sirs, 1 will endeavour 
 " To merit this distinguished favour, 
 " And since you've been thus lib'ral to my ghost, 
 I'll paint you better things at half the cost." 
 
 No. XI. Of the Supposed Influence of Fashion on Our 
 
 be published on Saturday, May 23, 
 
 It* C» 
 
ARTIST. 
 
 No. XI. Saturday^ May 23, 1807. 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. 
 
 " exchange me for a goat. 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To such exsuffolate and blown surmises, 
 Matching thy irtferencei'* Othello. 
 
 THE higher excellencies of painting, and the objects o^ 
 its imitation, are so intimately connected with our best 
 feelings and a just taste, that if any one were to in* 
 stitute an inquiry into their origin, for the purpose ap- 
 parently of giving a legitimate title to the pretensions <^ 
 habit and caprice, it would become a subject that might 
 fairly be investigated in a publication professing to hariB 
 the welfare of the arts for its object. 
 
 No. 11* B 
 
2 
 
 In a nation where almost every one who runs can 
 read, it is scarcely safe, even in jest, to attack feeling^s 
 that, to the mass of mankind, appear engrafted on our 
 nature. For what enjoyments, except the gratification of 
 his sensual appetites, are left to him who is taught to 
 believe that all things are in their nature alike in- 
 different ; and that every being therefore is free to con- 
 stitute himself the creator of good and of evil ? 
 
 Natural feelings are the bonds by which society is 
 actually held together : in their operation they produce 
 more good in the world, than could be effected by the 
 wisest laws among a race of men, who should have pre- 
 sumptuously reasoned themselves out of, what they might 
 deem, their vulgar prejudices. For every man would be 
 a distinct species in himself, were there no sympathies 
 among individuals, to harmonize them with society. 
 
 Of all dogmatizers, however, none seem to have com- 
 mitted greater outrage upon nature than those who deny 
 the existence of beauty ; or who refer the measure of it, 
 at least, to every man's rude or immatured opinion. Is it 
 very unreasonable to suppose that, when nature blessed us 
 with our several senses, she had in view our enjoyment of 
 the works most admirable in the creation ? and that for 
 
3 
 
 this purpose she endowed us with discriminative facuhies, 
 for separating the pure from the imperfect, — ^the gold 
 from the dross of all created matter ? 
 
 One cause of the variation in the opinions of mankind, 
 respecting the existence of beauty, appears to have arisen 
 from confounding feeling and taste with fashion. The 
 Sceptic, in " The Inquiry into the Principles of Taste," 
 after premising " that the organs of feeling and perception 
 " appear to be the same in the whole species, differing 
 " only in degrees of sensibility," immediately enters on a 
 dissertation on furniture and building, and seems to think 
 it strange that men should disagree in matters that concern 
 their pleasures and amusements. He finds that fashions are 
 adopted, and, in a few months, deposed by others still 
 more whimsical and unmeaning ; and that all are then 
 astonished that they could have been pleased, even for a 
 moment, with any thing so tasteless and absurd. " Yet" 
 he says " if high-dressed heads, tight-laced stays, and 
 
 wide hoops, had not been thought really ornamental, 
 " how came they to be worn by all who could afford 
 " them ?" As this riddle is set forth with great gravity by 
 the author, who appears to think it not less intricate 
 than that which the Sphinx propounded to the Thebans, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 I shall as gravely attempt the solution of it, disclaiming 
 at the same time all pretensions to seeing more of the 
 human mind than lies equally exposed to the observation 
 of any plain and unsophisti<;ated understanding. 
 
 Fashions, then, appear to me to have been invented 
 and followed from motives wholly unconnected with our 
 notions of fitness and beauty, and are really the distorted 
 progeny of caprice or vanity, not the legitimate offspring 
 of feeling and taste. The full-flowing wigs that decorated 
 the Beaux of Louis the Fourteenth's court, were contrived 
 by the great Conde for the purpose of concealing a defor- 
 mity in his shoulder*. Many follow fashion to avoid the 
 imputation of singularity, in conformity with the proverb, 
 which says — 
 
 " Be not too early in fashion, nor too long out of it 
 
 while others, from a contrary feeling, persevere till imita- 
 
 * The opposite extreme to this voluminous display of hair, I believe 
 to have been adopted in honour of the companions of Ulj/sses, and is there- 
 fore very appropriately termed Hogging. One of these bristly votaries ap- 
 pears, as Peter Quince would say, translated, or in the middle state" betw een 
 a man and a boar, and evidently aims, by this mode of shearing, to typify his 
 animal propensities, rather than to set off, to the best advantage, his beauty. 
 
5 
 
 tion deprives it of the charm of novelty, when another is 
 sought that will confer again on the idle possessor a paltry 
 and pitiful title to distinction. 
 
 " In judging, however, of the works of nature^ 
 " there appears," says our sceptic, " less inconstancy; 
 " the beauty of particular kinds of trees, plants, flowers 
 " and animals, having, I believe, been universally recog- 
 
 nised in all ages and all countries. But over these the 
 " power of man is more limited, nor can he indulge 
 
 those partial and extravagant caprices of his taste, 
 " which he so abundantly displays in the productions of 
 " his own art and labour." But immediately afterwards, 
 as if all this were forgotten, he descants on cropped dogs and 
 dock-tailed horses ; on trees and shrubs shorn into the 
 shapes of animals; and, transported with the humour of 
 these things, he lays aside the Philosopher, and with infi- 
 nite liveliness and fancy felicitates " the poor animals" 
 on the impossibility of shearing and twisting them into 
 the shapes of plants, as " we should have been as much 
 
 delighted at seeing a stag terminating in a yew tree, as 
 
 ever we were at seeing a yew tree terminating in a stag." 
 It is the singular excellence of this wit — for we must 
 suppose it intended for wit only — that with great plea- 
 
6 
 
 santry, it conveys a truth: for when once caprice is set in 
 motion, it becomes a matter of indifference on what objects 
 she exercises her tyranny — yet 
 
 " Heav'n's great view is one, and that the whole ; 
 
 That counter-works each folly and caprice. 
 
 That disappoints th' effect of ev'ry vice." Pope. 
 
 Whether this opinion coincide with that of the writer 
 before quoted, it is not easy to guess ; for in the same work, 
 after solemnly inquiring if there be any real and permanent 
 principles of beauty, then doubting if we are not rather the 
 creatures of habit and imitation; now again rising into 
 panegyric on the precious remains of Grecian sculpture, as 
 affording standards of real beauty^ grace and elegance in 
 the human form and the modes of adorning it, " the truth 
 " and perfection of which have never been questioned;'*'* he 
 finally falls back into his old fit of doubting, and, to the in- 
 finite mortification of all true believers, questions whether 
 men's real feelings and inclinations are not to be judged of 
 more by their practice than their professions! — As a rea- 
 sonable cause for this doubt, he drags before us the 
 mangled remains of Michael Angelo, Bernini, and Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, and finds them guilty, notwithstanding 
 
7 
 
 their boasted love for antiquity, of being utterly dead to 
 the merits of Grecian art; the works of these poor mis- 
 taken men having furnished no indications of their pos^ 
 sessing so inestimable a feeling. But I would ask this 
 acute inquirer, who is a poet and a professed admirer of 
 Homer, whether, if the animated effusions of his muse should 
 fail to remind his reader of the beauties of the Grecian 
 Bard, he would on this ground be willing to confess himself 
 an impostor? that his apparent admiration of Homer was 
 a mere trick? and that in fact he had no sense of any ex- 
 cellence surpassing that to which he has attained in his own 
 work? Inhuman even as critics are, they would scarcely 
 exactsohard a confession — they would surely give any man 
 credit for admiring some works beside his own; content 
 with his simply stating " Such knowledge is too wonder- 
 " ful for me : it is too high: I cannot attain unto it," 
 
 The Sceptic next asserts, and perhaps with truth, that 
 " perfect beauty, taking perfect in its strict sense, and 
 " beauty in its most comprehensive signification, ought to 
 " be equally pleasing to all; but of this instances are scarcely 
 
 to be found." However, he proceeds to warn all amorous 
 admirers against mistaking the object of desire, of their 
 own species, for this perfect beauty ; for " these examples 
 
8 
 
 are extremely fallacious." They are indeed so much so, 
 that it is wonderful the author should have complimented 
 so capricious an animal as a sensual admirer usually is 
 found to be, with the bare suspicion of possessing either 
 sentiment or judgment. It is not on such men that beauty 
 can operate even to the extinction of desire, — an effect 
 that I will not here insist upon, as I may find it difficult 
 to render myself inteUigible to some of my readers^ 
 but return to an examination of the next assertion, which 
 states that " there can be little doubt but that all male 
 " animals think the females of their own species the most 
 " beautiful productions of nature: at least we Arwoisj this to be 
 
 the case among the different varieties of men, whose re^ 
 " speciive ideas of the beauty of their females are as widely 
 
 different as those of man^ and any other animal^ can ^<?»" 
 Now, mark what history propoundeth-^Gibbon, speaking 
 of the inroads of the Huns into China, and the ignomini- 
 ous capitulation of the Emperor Kaoti, says, " A regular 
 payment of money and silk was stipulated as the condition 
 of a temporary and precarious peace. But there still 
 remained a more disgraceful article of tribute, which 
 violated the sacred feelings of humanity and nature. The 
 hardships of the savage life, which destroys in their in- 
 
ID 
 
 Taney the children who are born with a less healthy and 
 robust constitution, introduce a remarkable disproportion 
 between the two sexes. The Tartars are an ugly^ and 
 even deformed race ; and, while they consider their own 
 women as the instruments of domestic labour ; their 
 desires, or rather their appetites, are directed to the en- 
 joyment of more elegant beauty, A select band of the 
 fairest maidens of China, was annually devoted to the 
 rude embraces of the Huns." Was ever Hypothesis so 
 cruelly treated ! 
 
 The learned inquirer proceeds to entertain the reader 
 with some very beautiful writing concerning " the sable 
 Africans," polluted indeed with no little grossness of de- 
 scription, in which he has here delighted to indulge, even 
 at the risk of facts. For it is well known that many of the 
 young African females, far from being that mass of defor- 
 mity described by him, differ little, except in colour, 
 from the beautiful females of our own isle. After raising, 
 however, his own mass of disgusting ugliness into an 
 African goddess, he compliments the British fair with 
 ^ new doubt ; rvamely, whether the black or white model 
 be, according to the laws of nature, the most perfect spe- 
 cimen of a perfect woman ! ! ! and he takes the late great 
 
 No. 11. c 
 
10 
 
 physiologist, John Hunter, to back him; who, after all, only 
 attempted to prove, " that the African black was the true 
 original man ; and all others only different varieties derived 
 from him, and more, or less, depraved or improved /" 
 
 But our author, as inconstant to his authorities, as to his 
 principles, freeing himself from the great physiologer, 
 and from all human testimony, drives his pig before him, 
 and hunts beauty as he would truffles, by the scent. To 
 put the point in question out of dispute, therefore, he 
 reveals to us the progress of affection in a boar and sow-; 
 " whose inclinations," he avers to be, " more natural^ and 
 less changeable than those of any race of mankind." 
 
 Warmed with the mental picture of their amorous dal- 
 lianccy he proceeds, con amore^ to initiate us into the mys- 
 teries of their lusty loves ; shows, how " their desires 
 are excited by smell," (foh !) rather than by sight, 
 or contact ; and that if a boar can think a sow the 
 sweetest, and loveliest of living creatures, we can find n® 
 difficulty in believing,, that he also thinks her the most 
 beautiful I " for the sense of smell is much more impar- 
 tial, and less liable to be influenced and perverted by 
 mental sympathies than that of sight; there being ne 
 communications of thought^ or sentiment, from one 
 
11 
 
 mind to another (at least among human creatures) by the 
 nose, as there are by the eyes * ! ! ! !" 
 
 But enough ! After this, a plain man may surely be 
 thankful to Providence for not compounding him of ma- 
 terials that go to the formation of a sceptic, or a meta- 
 physician ! Neither let him be thought a whining moralist 
 who observes, that the philosopher who would take from 
 nature the direction of our senses, and deliver them over 
 to the guidance of fashion or habit — who confounds sweet 
 with bitter, beauty with deformity, the sensibility of human 
 nature, with the sexual instinct of brutes — furnishes (per- 
 haps unintentionally,) argument for the indulgence of a 
 yicious taste, and the most depraved appetites ; while he 
 
 * From whence it clearly appears that Shakespear was no adept ia 
 metaphysics; for Othello soothes his tormented mind with the following 
 simple ejaculations: 
 
 ^hen I hare pluck'd thy rose, 
 ■1 cannot give it vital breath again. 
 It needs must wither : — I'll srne// it qn the tree.— 
 O balmy .breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice herself to break her sword ! — once more- 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee 
 And love thee after. 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 hardens tlie mind against virtue ; and strips creation of 
 those charms, that were beneficently bestowed on the feeling 
 mind, to solace it in a world of Connoisseurship and care. 
 
 J. H. 
 
 May 14, lB07c 
 
 Mr. Artist, 
 
 If you should think the following account of The Origim 
 of Design worthy your attention, you will perhaps give it 
 a place in one of your numbers. 
 
 " High tlteir pretensions, dignified their claim, 
 *' Yet all their honors vanished into fame." 
 
 THE ARTS OF DESIGN, in England, resemble 
 unexpected claimants to a forfeited dignity. They have 
 suddenly forced themselves into notice, and are neither slow 
 nor timid in asserting their pretensions to a title, which has 
 lain dormant for nearly two centuries, and was generally 
 supposed to be extinct. The whole legislature of Taste and^ 
 Criticism is necessarily called on to appreciate their de- 
 mands, and as it is desirable that every one should be ade- 
 quately prepared to judge the merits of the cause, it was 
 
18 
 
 with singular pleasure that I found myself summoned, a 
 few days since, to attend an assembly instituted for the 
 express purpose of examining the subject. In this as- 
 sembly it was resolved, as the best means of forming a 
 just decision, to enter into an investigation of the distinct 
 merits of the present claimants, and to endeavour to 
 attain a complete knowledge of their natural rights as well 
 as their properties, rank, and history. 
 
 While these resolutions were framing, a whisper ran 
 round the room, occasioned by a question from an elderly 
 man of a fastidious, unacceding countenance, who 
 haughtily demanded to be informed whether the subject 
 itself, for which the meeting was called, were worthy of 
 consideration ? TP'^hat are they f and whence do they 
 comef were propositions quickly circulated, and as no 
 one else seemed willing to stand forward on the occasion, 
 I at length ventured to promise that I would prepare for 
 the next meeting an account of the nature and origin of 
 the arts, which I asserted to be of such ancient genealogy 
 and indisputable blazonry, as, were their suit once pro- 
 perly established, would ascertain their pretensions to 
 every honour short of the wool-sack. My proposal, 
 though received with some raillery, was finally assented to 
 
14 
 
 by the whole assembly, and I shall shortly proceed in my 
 justification of it, with the most scrupulous exactness. 
 
 I am conscious that the desire of ascertaining the ori- 
 ginal source of human inventions and establishments, has 
 in all ages led the steps of the inquirer beyond the 
 regions of true knowledge. He generally sets out on his 
 research with reasonings formed from the present state of 
 things, and those he adopts as a clue, to guide him 
 through a maze of circumstances as wholly dissimilar as 
 the minds of men in distant ages can make th^m, and over 
 a track which has, perhaps, been trod without a record. 
 Still, as long as he encounters Phenomena on which to fix 
 the grasp of his reasoning powers, it may be credible that 
 he journeys on with security, and kindles anew the watch- 
 lights of former progressive stations ; but this is seldom 
 satisfactory to the traveller's spirits, heated by the pursuit, 
 and no sooner the boundaries of his path becx)me in- 
 distinct, and reason discontinues her advance, than ima- 
 gination, " on airy wing descending," presents her rainbow 
 torch to the enthusiast, and shedding round him a thousand 
 dazzling hues, leads him precipitately forward. From 
 that moment all is ideal, all is visionary, and, absurd 
 as it may seem, all is delightful. If his mind possess 
 
15 
 
 the smallest portion of inflammability, I would not under- 
 take to make that man exchange his next stage for the 
 wealth of Attains, or of Peru. 
 
 I shall deliver without reserve this opinion of travellers 
 to the shores of remote conjecture, because, having once 
 set out on such a road myself, and reached one of the ideal 
 stages above-mentioned, I mean to give fair warning of 
 ' what kind of guidance is to be expected from me. 
 
 Before, how^ever, I request the company of my hearers 
 on so arduous a journey, I shall offer to escort them 
 to some pleasant scenes of fancy, which more ease-loving 
 or more careless wanderers have discovered on the road- 
 side; a short visit to which may be considered (in compa- 
 rison of the flight which I shall afterwards take with them) 
 as a gentle excursion in a balloon fastened by cords to the 
 ground, and consequently secure from all risk of mistaking 
 the points of the compass. 
 
 Of some of these fairy scenes the Greeks are the undis- 
 puted proprietors. The elegant fable of The Maid of 
 Corinth, is know n to every one : it is so tastefully ima- 
 gined, so poetic, so ingratiating, that one is tempted to 
 wish it were true : but, besides that I find the pretensions 
 of that fond girl's father, Dibutades of Corinth, disputed 
 by one Rhoecus of Samos, (not to mention those which Pliny 
 
16 
 
 attributes to Gyges, King of Lydia) if we should be willing 
 to suppose the invention of sculpture to have arisen in 
 Corinth or in Samos, how shall we get rid of the Egyptians, 
 or the Hindoos, whose mighty works of monumental 
 sculpture, like the poetic fabric of the Giants, braved the 
 Seat of Heaven innumerable centuries before the Pre- 
 server, Vishnu, had released Samos and Corinth from the 
 darkness of unfathomable mists? I have therefore selected 
 for my introductory discourse the following oriental narra- 
 tive, not less romantic than the tales of Grecian invention, 
 but which has a peculiarly impressive air of solemnity 
 from its connection with circumstances of a religious 
 cast : 
 
 SOME Shepherds on the plains of Chorasan were as- 
 sembled after the fervours of noon, at the side of a 
 fountain built of the finest white marble by a descendant 
 of Zoroaster. Their flocks were either scattered on the 
 adjacent lawns, or closely grouped under the shade of the 
 lofty Palm-trees which surrounded the fountain. 
 
 The discourse of the shepherds, passing from subject to 
 subject, fell at length on the acknowledgments due to 
 their Deity, the Sun, for the various blessings which he 
 bestowed on them in the regular progress of the Seasons, 
 the sweets of the refreshing Spring, the maturing ardour of 
 
17 
 
 Summer, and the overflowing gifts of Autumn. A ge- 
 neral assent resounded from the lips of all, excepting 
 Aldurasar, who impiously questioned the benignity and 
 power of the great luminary. 
 
 Micah, one of the most learned among the pastoral 
 tribes, unmoved by the profane temerity of Aldurasar, 
 continued to extol the supreme dispenser of good, who 
 every day renewed the proofs of his majestic bounty, 
 and every hour called forth new images of creation, 
 to extend the name of his might. Aldurasar turned 
 an eye of affected pity on Micah, and on his lip sate 
 the smile of silent contempt. 
 
 During the discourse, the Sun had imperceptibly with-* 
 drawn his splendour. A faint mist succeeded ; porten- 
 tous clouds arose in the horizon^ and In a short time 
 An impenetrable darkness spread over the whole scene. 
 The cry of " an offended Divinity!" was now loud 
 among the sheplierds; Aldurasar was impelled to pros-^ 
 trate himself with his companions on the earth, and 
 to invoke the return of the Sun. 
 
 Instantaneously his treams burst forth from a cloud of 
 night, and, at the same moment, was heard the voice of 
 Micah; " Behold, what new images our God creates at 
 
 No. 11. D 
 
IS 
 
 this instant!" Every eye glanced quickly on him, as he 
 spoke; Aid urasar held his arms extended towards Heaven 
 with surprise and fear, and Micah pointed to the marble 
 wall of the fountain, on which, under the bending 
 forms of the palm trees, was seen the shadow of 
 Aldurasar in the posture of adoration, Micah, with 
 the end of his silvered crook, traced rapidly on the 
 snowy surface the outline of Aldurasar's form, whom asto- 
 nishment had rendered motionless ; and having completed 
 his work, " Let this memorial," he exclaimed, " re- 
 " main henceforth in reproof of infidelity! Behold the 
 " hands of Aldurasar stretched out for ever in worship of 
 
 that Power whom he had blasphemed !" 
 
 The faint lines marked by the silver crook were retraced 
 and strengthened, and the outline drawn by Micah became 
 a rule of art and of devotion. 
 
 Grabhjcus, 
 
 No. XII. Cursory Strictures on Modern Art^ and 
 particularly Sculpture^ in England^ previous to the 
 Establishment of The Royal Academy^ will be published 
 on Saturday, May 30.. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST 
 
 No. XII. Saturday^ May 30, 1807. 
 
 Neglecta redire Virtus 
 
 Audet. 
 
 IN order to form a just estimate of the benefit which 
 Sculpture has derived from the exertions of the present 
 aera in England, it will be necessary to take a cur- 
 sory view of this art in Europe, previous to the period 
 at which the Royal Academy was established in London; 
 and to observe with a little more accuracy its progress 
 in our own country. 
 
 In Rome, the centre from which the arts have ema- 
 nated for centuries past to the surrounding countries, 
 about 150 years since, the taste of Bernini, the Neapolitan 
 
 No. 12. B 
 
2 
 
 Sculptor, infected and prevailed over the Florentine ancf 
 Roman Schools. He had studied painting, and seems to 
 have been enamoured with the works of Correggio, who,, 
 to avoid the dryness of his master, Andrea Mantegna, 
 gave prodigious flow to the lines af his figures and redun-^ 
 dance to his draperies; of which Bernini's statues are 
 only caricatures, totally devoid of the painter's extatic 
 grace and sentiment. Before he was twenty years old, 
 he completed a marble group, the size of nature, of 
 Apollo and Daphne, at the moment the nymph is 
 changing into a laurel-tree; the delicate character of the 
 figures, the sprightly expression, the smooth finish of the 
 material and the light execution of the foliage, so capti- 
 vated the public taste, that Michel Angelo was forgotten, 
 the antique statues disregarded, and nothing looked on 
 with delight, that was not produced by the new favorite. — 
 It is true, Bernini showed respectable talents in the 
 group abovementioned, and had he continued to select 
 and study nature with diligence, he might have been a 
 most valuable artist ; but sudden success prevented him, 
 he never improved ; the immense works, crowded on him, 
 made him spurn all example, and consider only how he 
 might send out his models and designs most speedily. 
 
3 
 
 The attitudes of his figures are much twisted, the heads 
 turned with a meretricious grace, the countenances simpfer 
 affectedly or are deformed by low passions, the poor 
 and vulgar limbs and bodies are loaded with draperies 
 of such protruding or^ying folds, as equally expose the 
 unskilfuiness of the artist and the solidity of the material 
 on which he worked ; his groups have an unmeaning 
 connection, and his Basso Relievos are filled up with 
 buildings in perspective, clouds, water, diminished figures, 
 and attem.pts to represent such aerial effects, as break down 
 the boundaries of painting and sculpture, and confound 
 the two arts. Pope Urban the Eighth was patron of this 
 artist, and so passionately did he admire and promote his 
 works, that not contented with spending immense sums 
 upon them, he took the ancient bronze ornaments from the 
 roof in the portico of the Pantheon, to the amount of 
 186,000 pounds, for Bernini to cast his bizarre and childish 
 baldequin for St. Peter's, and then published their mu- 
 tual shame in a boasting Latin inscription, affixed to the 
 building he had robbed so shamefully .—Thus the Pope and 
 the Sculptor carried all before them in their time, and 
 sent out a baleful influence, which corrupted public taste 
 upwards of one hundred years afterwards. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Rusconi, Mocho, Bolgio, Quesnoy (commonly called 
 Flamingo,) and the inferior Sculptors of the time, adopted 
 the popular taste, which their scholars continued, and its 
 last puny and insipid effects are to be seen in the statues at 
 the Fountain of Trevi, and monument of Benedict the 
 Fourteenth, executed by Bracci and Sybilla, in St. Peter's 
 Church, about fifty years since. 
 
 Nearly the same taste in the Arts of Design, which pre^ 
 vailed in Italy, prevailed also in France, as the latter 
 country was supplied with Art, or Artists, from the for- 
 mer ; thus, when Lewis the Fourteenth invited Bernini 
 to come into France, Bernini answered, " that he h^d 
 no need of him, whilst he had such a Sculptor as Puget."^^ 
 Puget's works were somewhat more dry, and detailed 
 than Bernini's ; Girardon's (his cotemporary) were more 
 heavy; but they were all of the same School. The opi- 
 nion of Bernini confirmed the Monarch, and the same 
 bad taste was cultivated in France with as much zeal as 
 it was fostered in Italy ; as we see by the works of 
 Bouchardon, Boucher, &c., who continued it to the same 
 time which extinguished its last feeble efforts in both 
 countries. 
 
 Spain, Germany, and the other nations of Europe, 
 
5 
 
 receiving their supplies of Fine Art from the two countries 
 abovementioned, were consequently influenced by the 
 same motives and trammelled in the same taste, which 
 was at this period become so degraded, as to be at the 
 point of utter dissolution, had not some controlling cir- 
 cumstances arisen, which assisted in its revival : 
 
 The King of Naples had, in part, cleared the ruins of 
 Herculaneum, and Pompeii, which exposed to view streets, 
 dwelling houses, Temples, Theatres, Baths, and public 
 places, nearly in the same state as when they were inhabited 
 1700 years before; these discoveries brought back to the 
 light of day, as it were by miracle, 700 ancient paintings, 
 and a prodigious number of bronze statues and busts, 
 of the finest Greek Sculpture. 
 
 The success of these discoveries, and the interest they 
 excited, stimulated the Popes, Roman Nobility, and 
 Antiquarians, to make excavations wherever there was a 
 probability their labours would be rewarded. These re- 
 searches fortunately recovered from oblivion innumerable 
 pieces of exquisite Sculpture; many of the most precious 
 formed the Clementine Museum : many enriched the Bor- 
 ghese, Albani, and other collections; several passed into 
 Germany, Holland, Sweden, Russia, France, and Spain: 
 
6 
 
 England was not insensible to the opportunity, and 
 several intelligent, and spirited individuals, profited by 
 this profusion of ancient treasure. Such acquisitions 
 roused attention from all quarters; they were eagerly 
 visited, greedily examined, dissertations and memoirs were 
 written concerning them, and systematic inquiries into 
 their principles published. During all this research and 
 analysis, frequent comparisons were made with the modern 
 works, the remains of the bad taste above-mentioned, and 
 which were found so deficient in every excellence, that 
 they were universally abandoned to contempt. The in- 
 terested antiquariaij, with sordid cruelty, and to raise the 
 price of his own commodity, whispered, that modern talents 
 were unequal to the meanest of these productions, and 
 sometimes he found a senseless purchaser, whose only mea- 
 sure of intelligence was the abundance of his wealth; who 
 would pay dearly enough for any thing that was called 
 ancient, to be received into the number of the Conoscenti, 
 and join in the outcry against modern ability. 
 
 All this, however, brought in a new and severer 
 mode of study among the artists, with a more diligent 
 attention to nature and the antique, and has enabled 
 some of them to exhibit performances much more on 
 
7 
 
 a level with the merit of those works, than the insensible 
 can feel, or the interested choose to own. 
 ' Having marked these phenomena in the hemisphere 
 of art, we should now turn our thoughts more particularly 
 to England, and see in what manner our own country 
 was affected by their influence. Previous to the refor- 
 mation, although Italian Artists were employed in orna- 
 menting our Churches and Tombs, yet in the old 
 Histories, Records, and Contracts of public buildings, 
 there are abundant names of English painters and 
 sculptors, who appear to have been considered able 
 masters in their time, perhaps not inferior to their 
 Italian fellow-work men ► But after Henry the Eighth's 
 separation from the Church of Rome, Elizabeth, proceed- 
 ing in the Reformation, destroyed the pictures and 
 images in the Churches; strictly forbidding any thing 
 of the kind to be admitted in future, under the severest 
 penalties, as being catholic and idolatrous. This en- 
 tirely prevented the exercise of historical painting, or 
 sculpture in this country ; at the very time that Raffaelle 
 and Michel Angelo had brought those arts into the 
 highest estimation on the Continent. — The rebellion, in 
 1648, completed what the reformation had begun ; the. 
 
s 
 
 fanatics defaced whatever they could, that the former in- 
 quisition had spared ; they broke painted windows and 
 tombs, carried away the monumental brass, and church- 
 plate, crying, " Cursed be he, that doth the work of the 
 Lord deceitfully." — Thus the Artist, terrified by the threats 
 of the Sovereign, the denunciation of death or perpetual 
 imprisonment from the laws, and scared by fanatical 
 anathemas, found that his only hope of safety rested 
 upon quitting for ever a profession, which enclosed him 
 on all sides with the prospect of misery and destruction. 
 From this time, and from these causes, we scarcely hear 
 of any attempt at historical art by an Englishman, until 
 it was again called forth by the benign influence of the 
 present reign. 
 
 When the liberal spirit of Charles the First desired to 
 adorn the architecture of Whitehall with the graces of 
 painting, he was obliged to seek the Artist in a foreign 
 land; he had no subject equal to the task: Rubens and 
 Vandyck were employed, and when the King's bust was 
 to be done, Vandyck painted three views of his face, a 
 front, a side, and a three-quarter, which were sent to 
 Bernini in Rome, by whom it was executed in marble. 
 If our Kings and Nobility had continued to inhabit 
 
9 
 
 castles, as in the feudal times, Painting and Sculpture 
 Would have been but little wanted ; for, if the walls of 
 the building were sufficiently strong to resist battery, or 
 shot, and contained retreats to secure the inhabitants 
 from the enemy, the end of that kind of dwelling was 
 answered ; but in the times succeeding Charles the First^ 
 the improved state of society and knowledge had induced 
 the great to build commodious villas and palaces, in which 
 the architectural distribution made the sister-arts abso- 
 lutely necessary to uniformity and completion. Still in* 
 genious foreigners were empiloyed for this purpose, whilst 
 the native was treated ivith contempt, both at home and 
 abroad, for his inability in those arts which law and reli* 
 gion had forbidden him to practise. 
 
 As this suppression of ability was extremely impolitic 
 and dishonorable to the country, let us inquire for a 
 moment on what scriptural authority the prohibition 
 which occasioned it, was supported. Painting and Sculp- 
 ture were banished from the churches, that they might not 
 be idolatrously worshipped; and this is just; the divine law 
 orders they shall not be worshipped, but utters no pro« 
 hibition against the arts themselves : on the contrary^ 
 
 No. 12. c 
 
10 
 
 divine precept directed images of cherubim to be made, 
 whose wings should extend over the ark of the covenant^ 
 ^nd cherubim to be embroidered on the curtains which 
 surrounded it. This decision in favour of the arts being 
 employed for proper purposes in sacred buildings, is so 
 clear and strong, th^t it could only be overlooked, or op-» 
 posed, by infatuated bigotry. 
 
 A succession of foreign artists, as has been observed, 
 were employed in almost every work of importance, from 
 the time of Charles the First, until within forty years of the 
 present day. The painters, Vandyck, Lely, Verrio, Kneller 
 and Casali, succeeded to each other ; as did also the 
 sculptors. Gibber, Gibbons, Scheemakers, Rysbrack, Ber- 
 tocini, and Roubiliac. This variety of artists (sculptors are 
 more particularly meant) from different countries, French, 
 Flemings, and Italians, sometimes brought the taste of John 
 Goujon orPuget, sometimes a debased imitation of John of 
 Bologna and the Florentine School, and sometimes the 
 taste of Bernini; but never a pure style and sound prints 
 ciples. After the Reformation, the chief employment of 
 Sculpture was in sepulchral monuments^ which, during 
 the reigns of James the First and his son Charles, were 
 
li 
 
 thiefly executed by Frenchmen or Flemings, scholars of 
 John Goujon, still regulated by the principles their 
 master had acquired from Primaticclo, the pupil of Raf^ 
 faelle. Some of these works have great merit, particularly 
 the tombs of Sir John Norris, and Sir Francis Vere, in the 
 same chapel with Roubiliac's Monument of Lady E. 
 Nightingale in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 The re-building of London, in the reigil of Charles 
 the Second, gave some employment to Sculpture. Gibber's 
 works are the most conspicuous of that period; his 
 mad figures on the Bethlehem gates have a natural 
 Sentiment, but are ill drawn: his bas-relief on the pe^* 
 destal of London Monument is not ill conceived, but 
 stiff and clumsy in the execution : his clothed figures in 
 -the Royal Exchange strut like dancing-masters, and 
 have the importance of coxcombs. But with all his 
 faults^ what he left is far preferable to the succeeding 
 -works. The figures in St. Paul's Church, and the con- 
 Version of the Saint in the pediment, partake strongly 
 of Bernini's affectation ; and from that time to the esta* 
 blishment of the Royal Academy, we must expect to set 
 every piece of sculpture more or less tinctured with the 
 «ame bad taste, especially the sepulchral monuments, to 
 
 G % 
 
12 
 
 which, after the Statues and Basso-relievos last noticed, we 
 must chiefly look for the progress of Sculpture amongst us. 
 
 It will be proper here to remark that all the Grecian 
 Sculpture was arranged in three classes: the group of 
 figures; the single statue ; and alto, or basso relievo. The 
 first two classes were suited to all insulated situations, 
 j^nd the latter to fill pannels in walls.- — These classes 
 not only serve all architectural purposes, but adorn, 
 harmonize, and finish its forms: every attempt to make 
 pther combinations between Sculpture and Architecture 
 will be found unreasonable, and degrading to one as 
 well as the other; but Bernini, whose character and 
 Wprks we have already noticed, seems to have thought 
 that he had the privilege of equally subverting art and 
 nature in his works: I shall mention the following in*- 
 {jtances, although I am afraid their extreme absurdities 
 will prevent such of those from believing the descriptions 
 as have not seen the things themselves.^ — ^^In the area be>- 
 fore the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, he raised a 
 bronze elephant on a pedestal, and on the elephant's back 
 placed an Egyptian obelisk: the architecture of the east wiuv 
 dow in St. Peter's Church, he has loaded with many tons 
 weight of stucco clouds, out of which issue huge rays, in-» 
 
13 
 
 tended for light or glory, of the same materials, but long 
 and thick enou ghfor the beams of a house,* — Extravagances 
 of this kind, and many others that he has committed, have 
 fortunately had little effect upon us, because some have 
 been necessarily connected with Catholic Churches, and 
 others introduced in fountains, which are only frequent 
 in hot countries: we were, however, the dupes of his 
 school, until native genius gained sufficient judgment 
 and strength to correct its errors, and supply a better 
 style of art. Before the time of Bernini, two kinds of se- 
 pulchral monuments prevailed, one from the highest anti- 
 quity, which was a Sarcophagus, either plain, or covered 
 with basso-relievos, with or without the statue of the 
 deceased on its top. The other kind was introduced by 
 Michel Angelo, in the Mausoleum of Julius the Second, and 
 those of the Medici family, in the Chapel of St. Lorenzo 
 at Florence. In these the Sarcophagus, as in the former 
 kind, was suited to the niche or architecture, against which 
 it was placed, and surmounted or surrounded by statues 
 of the deceased and his moral attributes. Both the^je 
 practices were rational and proper; the one for plainer, 
 the other for more magnificent tombs, This branch of 
 sculpture was of too much importance to be neglected by 
 
14 
 
 iBernini; he stripped it of its ancient simple grandeur^ 
 leaving it neither group, statue, basso-relievo, sarcopha- 
 gus, or trophy, but an absurd mixture of all, placed 
 against a dark-coloured marble pyramid, and thus sacri- 
 ficing all that is valuable in sculpture to what he con- 
 ceived a picturesque effect.- — The pyramid is, from its 
 immense size, solid base, diminishing upwards, a building 
 intended to last thousands of years: how ridiculous, then, to 
 raise a little pyramid of slab marble, an inch thick, on a 
 neat pedestal, to be the back-ground of Sculpture, belong-* 
 ing to none of the ancient classes, foisted into architec- 
 ture, with which it has neither connection or harmony, 
 and in which it appears equally disgusting and deformed I 
 The first monuments he raised of this kind were two in 
 the Chigi Chapel in the Church of Santa Maria del Po-* 
 polo, in Rome : this novelty soon found its way into 
 every country in Europe ; our Westminster Abbey is 
 an unfortunate instance of its prevalence. Rysbrack and 
 Roubiliac spread the popularity of this taste in England ; 
 but, as the first of these Sculptors was a mere Workman ^ 
 too insipid to give pleasure, and too dull to offend greatly^ 
 we shall dismiss him without farther notice. The other 
 deserves more attention. Roubiliac was an enthusiast in 
 
15 
 
 }iis art, possessed of considerable talents : he copied vulgar 
 pature with ^eal, and some of his figures seem alive; but 
 Jtbeir characters are mean, their expressions grimace, and 
 their forms frequently h^d: his draperies are worked with 
 jgreat diligence and labour, froni the most disagreeable ex- 
 amples in nature, the folds being either heavy or meagre, 
 frequently without a determined general form, and hung 
 on his figures with little meaning. He grouped two figures 
 together (for he never attempted more) better than most of 
 Jiis contemporaries: but his thoughts are conceits, and 
 his compositions epigrams. This artist went to Italy, in 
 pompany with Mr. Pond, an English painter : he was 
 absent from home three months, going and returning, 
 stayed three days in Rome, and laughed at the sublime 
 remains of ancient Sculpture! The other Sculptors of 
 this time were ordinary men ; their faults were common, 
 ^nd their works have no beauty to rescue them from obli- 
 vion. 
 
 Thus we have seen the nobler efforts of Painting and 
 Sculpture driven out of the country by reforming vio- 
 lence, and puritanical fury : Sculpture reduced to the 
 narrow limits of monument-making, and by these means 
 degraded to a sort of trade ; and this department sup«^ 
 
16 
 
 plied from the corrupt source of Bernini's school, and 
 not unfrequently through the worst mediums. In this state 
 the art continued until the establishment of the Royal 
 Academy settled a course of study both at home and, 
 abroad^ which developed the powers of English genius^ 
 till then unknown to the natives, and denied by fo* 
 reigners. 
 
 PRESENT STATE OF THE ARTS. 
 
 EXHIBITiON AT SOMERSET HOUSE. 
 
 THE Exhibition of the Royal Academy was Opened oii 
 Monday the 4th df the present month, and bears thei 
 most unequivocal testimony of the still improving powers 
 of Painting and Sculpture in our country. The effects 
 of colouring, in general, are rich without glare, and the 
 whole appearance of the collection is of a more historic 
 cast than in any former Exhibition ; well calculated to 
 demonstrate the force of English genius, and the power* 
 ful effects of encreasing patronage. 
 
GALLERY OF ENGLISH PAINTINGS 
 
 BELONGING TO 
 
 SIR JOHN LEICESTER, BART. 
 
 Sir John Leicester is the first patron, who, in a 
 country abounding in artists and teeming with excellence, 
 has dared to set the example of an English Gallery^ 
 formed on a costly and extensive plan hitherto considered 
 due to the works of foreign schools only. Had such a col- 
 lection fallen short of the hopes of the founder, or had it 
 feebly vied with the painters of past ages, the heart of an 
 Englishman would yet have been touched with the effort, 
 and the patriotic design would have been entitled to the 
 grateful remembrance of England. 
 
 But what are our sensations, when we perceive that en-^ 
 couragement alone was wanting to fix the just pretensions 
 of an English School f When we find that the collected 
 labours of our own artists, like the admired works of 
 former times and distant countries, can add splendour to 
 the splendid, and wealth to the wealthy ? — ^The distinctive 
 talents of each artist have been consulted in the choice 
 of their works, and the collection forms one of the most 
 gratifying spectacles which even London can boast. 
 
 No. 12. D 
 
18 
 
 The following are some of the principal Pictures in the 
 Gallery : 
 
 A Girl with a Letter, by Reynolds. 
 A Sea View, by Gainsborough. 
 A View of Tablet/, "by Wilson. 
 The Calling of Samuel, by Opie. 
 
 The Marquis de La Fayette, with his Wife and Daughter, in Prison at Olmutzf 
 
 by NORTHCOTE. 
 
 A Sleeping Nymph; and a Lady dancing, in Turkish Costume, by Hoppner. 
 Picture of a Girl, by Shee. 
 
 A Young Woman leading a Child across a Brook, by Thompson. 
 A Girl taking up Water in a Pitcher, by Owen. 
 A Landscape, by De Loutherbourg. 
 
 The Fall of the Rhine at Schaff-hausen, and two other Landscapes, by Turner. 
 The Mill, and another Landscape, by Callcott. 
 Two Landscapes, by Sir F. Bourgeois. 
 A Picture of Dogs ^ by Ward. 
 
 The Artist finds with pleasure, that other Patrons of 
 The Arts, besides those mentioned in a preceding number, 
 are also forming English Galleries* Sir Francis Baring is 
 in this respectable class; and Lord Mulgrave and Sir 
 George Beaumont are said to have begun collections of 
 the same kind. A further account of the other galleries 
 will be given. 
 
 No. XIII. On the Higher and Lower Provinces of The 
 Arts; and Remarks on Mr. Stothard?s Picture of " The 
 Procession of Chaucer'^s Pilgrims .^^"^ will be published on 
 Saturday, June 6. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XIII. Saturday^ June 6, 180? ♦ 
 
 Singula quaque locum teneanti 
 
 THE Liberal or Fine Arts are endowed with two distinct 
 (^[ualities ; the one, of instructing, the other, of pleasing ; 
 ^nd their highest praise arises from the combination of" 
 these two qualities, and from their success in thus con- 
 veying instruction by the means of pleasure. 
 
 In regard to the former of these qualities, it is, at most 
 times, a very easy task to decide whether the powers of an 
 art hav6 been justly exercised : it is easy to say, of any 
 particular w^ork, whether it has afforded instruction or ap- 
 
 No. 13. B 
 
2 
 
 peared destitute of it; and mankind, of course, are generally 
 agreed on the value of works of art in this respect. In the 
 other point, which regards its pleasing qualities, although 
 it would at first seem the easier question of the two, yet 
 the tastes of men are either so differently bestowed by 
 nature or so diversified by habit, that the question of 
 what is, or is not, agreeable in art has been always 
 open to controversy ; and if there be no other ap- 
 peal than to the promiscuous multitude of sentiments 
 entertained on the subject, it must be for ever impossible 
 to fix any standard of the pretensions of the arts on this 
 head. One man gives the preference to visible and 
 existing, the other to ideal, beauty. The one wishes to 
 see a resemblance as exact as possible, of familiar, and, 
 if I may say so, of bodily sentiment ; the other requires 
 that the skilful pen or pencil of the artist should be em-^ 
 ployed in delineating the most refined operations of spirit 
 and intellect. Both conceive they have a full right to 
 maintain their opinions, since they claim from nature's 
 charter ; and certainly, if the maxim " De gustibu^ non^ 
 est disputandum?'^ be admitted as an axiom, all inves-$ 
 tigation must be fruitless, and all hopes of satisfactory in- 
 
f<juiry are at an end. Every man has a right to think his 
 i)wn wife or mistress the handsomest woman in the world, 
 and if his indiv idual liking is to be taken for a perception 
 of the rules of beauty, then there is no longer any diffi- 
 culty in the philosophical question of what is beautiful^ 
 since there are, every day, in every court and city, at 
 least a million distinct, perfect examples of beauty. 
 . It has been the fate of the arts, says Reynolds, to be 
 enveloped in mysterious and incomprehensible language, 
 " as if it was thought necessary that even the terms should 
 correspond to the idea entertained of the instability and 
 4incertainty of the rules which they expressed." — But must 
 we then resign all hope of discovering a clue, by which 
 the disagreement of contradictory opinions may be 
 brought under rational discussion and the obscurity re- 
 pioved ? Or must every question of discrimination with 
 regard to the true judgment of the arts be for ever thrown 
 back into the absurd and ridiculous chaos of theories con- 
 cerning genius ? 
 
 It is at least fair to try what can be done by sifting the 
 principal materials of dispute. 
 
 I scarcely know the reason why art is so generally 
 spoken of in opposition to nature, since the whole 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 business of art is to exhibit a representation of nature in 
 some manner or other. This is a position universally 
 allowed, and therefore I conceive the difficulty of the 
 question to lie, not so much in any misunderstanding of 
 whsit is equally by all denominated ar/, as of what each 
 party calls nature. 
 
 How often do we hear those who are not conversant 
 with the art of painting, condemning pictures of high ce^ 
 lebrity, because they do not imitate nature ! To judges 
 of this description it is certainly difficult, and perhaps 
 impossible to explain, that it was not the intention of 
 the painter, in the province of art which they are contem- 
 plating, to imitate nature in the manner in which they 
 understand those words ; that painting is sometimes " not 
 only not to be considered as an imitation^ operating by de* 
 ception^ but that it is and oughttobe,inmany points of view, 
 and strictly speaking, no imitation at all of external na- 
 ture that " perhaps it ought to be as far removed from 
 the vulgar idea of imitation as the refined civilized state in 
 ^hich we live, is removed from a gross state of nature 
 and (what will appear still more strange to them) that 
 there is a pleasure arising to the informed spectator, from 
 refined or select imitations of nature, at least equal, proba-^ 
 
s 
 
 bly superior, to that which they derive from the ordinary 
 and far more obvious imitation, which alone they are ca-!^ 
 pable of enjoying. 
 
 Yet it is equally certain that if the very same persons 
 were to apply themselves to the study of that art, they 
 would gradually become sensible of these various sources 
 of pleasure. All studious men are agreed that this in- 
 crease of perception is the consequence, as the delight it 
 affords is the reward, of diligent application to the study 
 of any art whatever, - 
 
 It has been well, because obviously, said, that there can 
 be no art without art, and I imagine the art of art to con- 
 sist in the skilful choice and distribution of those objects or 
 parts of nature, which it assumes for representation. Of 
 course every art must comprize within itself different 
 classes ; for as the expression of nature by means of art 
 may be divided into many distinct modes of exhibition, 
 (as is evident from the variety of opinions respecting what 
 should be called nature in works of art) that compre- 
 hensive range of skill, which aims at embracing all the 
 various modes of natural expression, must consist of se- 
 parate classes, some of higher, and some of subordinate 
 degree, ^ 
 
It is difficult in the arts, as in all other subjects of pro- 
 gressive study or skill, to ascertain with precision the 
 nice gradations by which one class approaches and enters 
 -the confines of that which is next in order ; but it is 
 easy to separate, and to distinguish the separation of, the 
 fixtremes* Without, therefore, pretending to fix their 
 precise unquestionable boundaries, or to account for the 
 mixed appearances of neighbouring objects, I shall only 
 venture to say that the art of representing nature, or in 
 other words, every liberal and imitative art may be divided 
 into three classes sufficiently distinct : 
 . 1st, The representation of obvious, and ordinary or 
 familiar, objects, which is vulgarly called The Imitation of 
 Nature ; 
 
 2dly, The Selection of Nature, or the representation of 
 ^objects selected from the great common mass, under 
 some particular influence, or with some particular view ot 
 design; 
 
 3dly, The representation of remote, and in Mr. Locke's 
 •phraseology abstract, images of the mind, which I would 
 wish, in the same sense, to be allowed to call The Jd" 
 straction of Nature* 
 
 Having thus far explained my meaning in the terms 
 
which I propose to use, I shall assume them as so al-« 
 lowed, for brevity's sake, and shall proceed to consider the 
 provinces or classes of art, as they consist in the imitation, 
 the selection, and the abstraction of nature. 
 
 In the first or lowest class therefore, (as in the powers 
 of the artist so in the provinces of art), stands Imi^ 
 iation^ or the representation of the obvious and common 
 forms or objects. Both the adepts and the admirers of 
 this class are far the most numerous of any, because, as it 
 requires no exertion of mind to comprehend that one 
 mode of speech or form is the exact counterpart of another, 
 and the artificial resemblance always excites a kind of 
 animal joy in the person to whom it is shown, far the 
 greater part of our species is necessarily included in the 
 number of those who either accomplish or attend to works 
 of this sort. 
 
 In this lowest class of art are comprized all imitations 
 performed by vulgar or obvious means, such, in the 
 Arts of Design, are forms produced by shadows, wax work 
 or other coloured sculpture ; in Music, imitations of the 
 squeaking, lowing, or other noises of birds or beasts 5 in 
 
 f See No, 2, 
 
Acting, drunlcen hiccups, symptoms of nauseous loathings 
 excessive laughter, distortions of form imitating natural 
 defects^ dying screams, or other actual convulsions of the 
 frame ; all of which, whether comic or grave, aspire to no 
 higher name than mimickrij^ a term appropriated to the 
 lowest species of imitations. 
 
 In the second class stands Selection, This province also 
 comprehends a numerous assemblage of votaries, because 
 there will always be very many, who have a delight in 
 applying the general accumulated knowledge of mankind, 
 and the general powers of their species, to such purposes 
 as are grateful to their peculiar bent or humours. The 
 cultivation of the mind, requisite for the knowledge and 
 attainment of art, for the most part renders this bent gra- 
 dually propitious to virtue, and therefore the greatest 
 number of works of a select nature assume an instructive 
 or moral air ; although the instances are not wanting in 
 which this power of selection has been accommodated to 
 base dispositions, and used for purposes that degrade the 
 social animal. But virtuous or vicious, still it is selection, 
 and indicates a refinement of sensibility, which is no way 
 apparent in the exhibitions of the former class* 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to observe to the reader, that this 
 
class compreliends the wliole list of second raj;e poets. In 
 iPainting it comprizes an extensive range from Carlo Ma- 
 ratti and Luca Giordano up to the Caracci. In Musical 
 Composition, having no knowledge derived from practical 
 study, I hold it my duty to offer no particular opinion oa 
 that head. 
 
 Last and supreme stands the province oi Abstraction ; ex- 
 hibiting the power of generalizing all that we have learned 
 of individual nature, losing, as it were, the parts in the 
 whole, and touching, as far as our imperfect faculties will 
 allow, the essential springs and feelings of existence. 
 
 In this field of labour, the labourers will be few^ 
 because the exertions that must be made demand the 
 Iiighest, and of course the rarest, faculties of the human 
 intellect. The harvest also will be sometimes scarce^ 
 •because the obstacles to exertion are difficult to be sur* 
 jnounted, and the reward of admiration will be slowly 
 and scrupulously bestowed. But, the task once achieved, 
 comdction enforced, and praise acknowledged due, the 
 meed of exalted fame exclusively crowns the candidate in 
 this arduous sphere of enterprize. It is in him that we 
 behold and confess the sovereign master of our bosoms. 
 There is no longer danger that his merit should not be 
 
 No. 13, c 
 
10 
 
 known, but there arises a danger of an opposite kind, 
 that he should become the topic of absurd and inconsistent 
 encomium in the voices of those who are without ade- 
 quate faculties to appreciate, perhaps even without re- 
 quisite ones to feel, his real value. ' A critic of the higher 
 style of art is required to possess the same refined taste,' 
 I had almost said the same exalted powers, ^ as those 
 which directed the artist in the execution of his work 
 
 The distinctions which have been here stated in the 
 classes of art, hold good, I conceive, in every art which pro- 
 fesses to transmit to our senses the images of nature. As the 
 proofs of what has been advanced are, as I have already 
 observed, more generally familiar in poetry than in the 
 other arts, I do not propose to enter on any particular ex- 
 amination of works or masters of that art with a view to 
 the present subject ; but it may not be useless at a future 
 opportunity to inquire by what clear and acknowledged 
 instances this doctrine can be farther elucidated in painting, 
 where it does not appear to be equally obvious to the 
 public judgment. 
 
 At present also it may be worth while briefly to 
 observe, that the greatest perplexity in our criticisms on 
 painting arises from inconsiderately mixing the subjects of 
 
 * Reynolds's Discourse, 1786. 
 
11 
 
 one class with those of another. It is remarkable that we 
 talk familiarly of the higher and lower provinces of art 
 as objects really distinct, yet, in our animadversions on 
 particular works of art, we sometimes mistakenly praise 
 them for beauties which do not appertain to their class, 
 and we are much more frequently disposed to quarrel 
 with them for not possessing beauties of the same descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 Expectation, surely, can only demand to be gratified in 
 proportion to the promise which is held forth by the 
 adventurer for fame or favour. He who undertakes to 
 play the rustic is not to be questioned for the want of air 
 and grace, and he who only proposes to please is not to be 
 looked on with contempt, becausfe he fails to elevate and 
 instruct. 
 
 P. H. 
 
 AS it is the first wish of The Artist to promote the 
 interests of ingenuous merit, he gives immediate insertion 
 to the following Letter communicated by Mr* Cum- 
 berland, and accompanied with his remarks. 
 
 c2 
 
n 
 
 May 30, 1807. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 You desire me to give you some account of the Pro-* 
 cession of Chaucer's Pilgrims, painted by Stothard, and 
 the task is a pleasant one; for the praise called forth by 
 the merits of a living artist, from a rival in the pursuit of 
 fame, is, I feel, like mercy, twice blessed—* 
 
 ^' It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.'* 
 
 , The painter has chosen that moment for his picture 
 when the Pilgrims may be supposed to have disengaged 
 themselves from the multitude that bustle in the envi- 
 rons of a great metropolis, and are collected together by 
 Harry Baillie, their guide and host. The scene is there-t 
 fore laid in that part of their road from London that 
 commands a Yiew of the Dulwich hills, where, it may 
 be supposed, the host could, without fear of interruption, 
 proclaim his proposal of drawing lots, to determine who 
 should tell the first tale. He is represented standing iji his 
 gtirrups, and appears to exult in the plan he has formed 
 for their mutual entertainment. You see the group 
 gently pacing forw ard< — ^all are in motion, — yet too well 
 satisfied with each other to be eager for their journey's 
 end. The features of each individual are touched with 
 
13 
 
 the most happy discrimination of character, and prove 
 the painter to have studied the human heart with as much 
 attention, and not less successfully, than the poet. 
 
 This intelligent group is rendered still more interesting 
 by the charm of colouring, which though simple is strong, 
 and most harmoniously distributed throughout the picture. 
 The landscape has a deep-toned brightness that accords 
 most admirably with the figures; and the painter has 
 ingeniously contrived to give a value to a common scene 
 and very ordinary forms, that would hardly be found, 
 by unlearned eyes, in the natural objects. He has ex- 
 pressed too with great vivacity and truth the freshness of 
 morning, at that season, when Nature herself is most fresh 
 and blooming— the Spring; and it requires no great 
 stretch of fancy to imagine we perceive the influence of it 
 on the cheeks of the Fair Wife of Bath, and her rosy com-» 
 panions, the Monk and Friar. 
 
 In respect of the execution of the various parts of this 
 pleasing design, it is not too much praise to say, that it is 
 wholly free from that vice which painters term manner; 
 ?ind it has this peculiarity beside, which I do not remem- 
 ber to have seen in any picture ancient or modern, that it 
 bears no mark of the period in which it was painted. 
 
14 
 
 but might very well pass for the work of some able artist 
 of the time of Chaucer. This effect is not, I believe, the 
 result of any association of ideas connected with the cos- 
 tume, but appears in a primitive simplicity, and the 
 total absence of all affectation, either of colour or 
 pencilling* 
 
 Having attempted to describe a few of the beailties 
 of this captivating performance, it remains only for me to 
 mention one great defect— The picture is, notwithstanding 
 appearances, a modern one* But if you can divest your- 
 self of the general prejudice that exists against contempo- 
 rary talents, you will see a work that would have done 
 honour to any school, at any period. 
 
 I atti, Sir, &c. &c. 
 
 J. //. 
 
 TO niClID* CUMBERLAND^ ESa* 
 
 I am much beholden to Mr. Hoppner for his candid and 
 ingenious remarks upon this picture, which confirm with 
 judgment what I without judgment was disposed to 
 admire. At the same time, I feel in its full force the great 
 defect which he alludes to ; and as I am afraid there is 
 
15 
 
 not to be found any dauber of board or canvas contempo-^ 
 rary with Chaucer, upon whom to father Mr. Stothard's 
 forgery, I fear it is not bad enough to recommend itself to 
 any collector of true taste for the antique, and of course 
 despair of its popularity. I cannot doubt however but 
 that the author of this composition, and every man who 
 has merit in art or science, knows too well the value of 
 praise that springs from real genius, to be much discou- 
 raged by the neglect of those whom prejudice enslaves. 
 
 The peculiar satisfaction I derive from Mr. H.'s 
 letter is, that by the publication which I am allowed to 
 give to it, I present to the reader a sample of that 
 species of criticism, which, if adopted and pursued on an 
 extended scale, would do honpur to the age we live in. 
 If our reviewers were generally convinced that there is no 
 use or credit in dissecting works that are unworthy of 
 their notice, they would find their burthen lightened, and 
 their task no longer irksome ; for it is not in nature to 
 suppose that it is not a pleasure to them to bestow praise, 
 and I have ever given them credit for their self-denial upon 
 noticing how sparingly they indulge in it. If they would 
 criticize by the inch instead of the ell, what a fund of 
 intellectual voluptuousness would be at their commancj I 
 
16 
 
 They would then write with pleasure, and be read with 
 pleasure ; whereas there can be no amusement in works, 
 that only treat of the distempers of mankind, without 
 prescribing any modes of cure for them. 
 
 From such observation as I have been enabled to make 
 in the course of a long life, and very general acquaintance 
 with mankind, I am decided in my opinion that there 
 cannot be an act of greater disloyalty to the interests of 
 literature, than the ungracious method, which some who 
 profess criticism seem to pursue, for no other purpose but 
 to depress and ridicule their contemporaries. 
 
 LECTURES ON PAINTING, 
 
 The Lectures on Painting delivered by the late Mr. 
 Opie, at Somerset House and at The Royal Institution, 
 will be published by subscription, with a Portrait of the 
 Author. 
 
 No. XIY. Causes of the present inferior State of Ar-» 
 chitecture in England ; and On the Abuse and the Use 
 of Novel-uriting^ will be published on Saturday, June 13. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XIV. Saturday^ June 13, 1807. 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. 
 
 Miserum est aliorum incumbere fatnce. Juv. 
 
 IT is generally felt by all who profess the science of 
 Architecture in this country, that it labours under very 
 considerable disadvantages, yet I have not observed that 
 any attempt has been made to assign causes for its de- 
 pression, or why the eminent in that art should be so few. 
 
 With a hope of inducing some attention to the subject, 
 that may be useful, I venture to suggest what has ap- 
 peared to me to produce this depression, and the want of 
 eminence in the professors. 
 
 I do not consider the present disposition of the commu- 
 nity favourable to the architect ; as an artist, strictly so 
 
 No. 14. B 
 
2 
 
 considered, he is not sufficiently employed ; his profes- 
 sion is too liable to the assumption of persons who have 
 no claim by education, or ability ; and these are admitted 
 to that patronage without which the architect has no 
 chance either of fame or emolument. There are there- 
 fore very few persons solely engaged in the study and 
 practice of Architecture ; the great mass of those whom 
 we here call Architects^ though many of them respectable 
 in talents as Artists, are under the necessity of combining 
 with their study of the science, pursuits not strictly ana- 
 logous; and are in consequence, and to their great discou- 
 ragement and mortification, assimilated with another de- 
 scription • of professional men called Surveyors ; and that 
 name is again assumed by all sorts and classes of building 
 workmen, and others, till it becomes utterly contemptible. 
 
 These are amongst the principal circumstances which 
 operate disadvantageously and against the improvement of 
 the science ; the stock from whence the bud is to spring is 
 contaminated, and the fruit of the tree is accordingly of an 
 ill form, and without flavour; it is even rendered noxious, 
 and should be hewn down and cast into the fire. 
 
 The painter and sculptor rely wholly upon their own 
 individual talents for celebrity; but the architect, when 
 become eminently superior in taste and skill, must neces- 
 
3 
 
 sarily depend in a great degree upon the ignorant and 
 unskilful to form and imbody his conceptions, and to 
 produce that which his genius has planned. Hence he 
 is always liable to be placed in situations that will render 
 his ability doubtful, and no care or attention, no possible 
 accuracy of delineation, can positively, and at all times, 
 secure him against the consequences of the necessity he is 
 under thus to commit himself. This is a difficulty pe- 
 culiar to his art, and absolutely unavoidable ; and if he 
 escapes the effects of ignorance and want of skill, he is 
 liable to other evils resulting from the same necessity, of 
 which I will speak hereafter. 
 
 Let us trace the progress of the architect, from his first 
 advance, to that period when all his love for the science is 
 obliterated and his zeal destroyed by the combined effect 
 of the circumstances thus generally described. When the 
 student in architecture has qualified himself in the best 
 manner our public institutions afford, when, in com- 
 pliance with their rules, he has spent a considerable por- 
 tion of his life abroad, in the study of works of art and 
 magnificence, which by general consent have for ages 
 been considered the most approved models, whereby a 
 knowledge of design may be acquired and the taste re- 
 gulated ; when, added to this, he is become proficient in 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 the construction of buildings, he considers hinaself as 
 having a claim to that patronage and employ, which he 
 will not fail to seek with the enthusiasm of an artist. 
 
 At his very entrance into the practice of his profession, 
 however sanguine his expectations of fame and compe- 
 tency, he cannot fail soon to perceive that the buildings 
 which alone will afford opportunities for the display of 
 superior talents and taste, are very few, that there are for 
 them numerous competitors, and that place and office 
 preclude him in many instances. This, however, is the 
 mortification of a moment ; his self-love induces him to 
 expect at no distant period to rival all his contem- 
 poraries ; he hopes to succeed, in time, those who now 
 fill the stations which are the object of his ambition. 
 
 But till these important victories are gained, he walks 
 more humbly in private employ, and probably is fortu- 
 nate enough to obtain a sort of demi-public patronage of 
 a board, or committee, appointed by the legislature to 
 act for some considerable portion of the community ; but 
 this patronage, which he will consider as highly advan- 
 tageous, may avail only to produce the first serious dis- 
 gust and exasperation of his feelings as an artist ; he finds 
 that the members of this board, or committee, are nume- 
 rous, and that they do not appreciate his talents quite so 
 
5 
 
 highly as he had flattered liimself; they have perhaps 
 individually their own notions of architecture and taste, 
 upon which however they differ with each other, and cer- 
 tainly with himself, so that by the time the design which 
 they have appointed their architect to lay before them 
 for their opinion, is approved by the majority, it is 
 become as heterogeneous as their ideas. 
 
 Here is a new school for the architect, the principles 
 of which he feels it not convenient absolutely to dispute, 
 although they appear to him to differ from the Grecian 
 and Roman, and, when he has sufficiently digested them, 
 he is to enter upon a task which certainly his studies 
 abroad had not prepared him for, he is forthwith to make 
 up his mind upon all the parts and finishing of the 
 buildings, and to estimate and dehcribe them piece by 
 piece, with all the decorations, if he is fortunate enough 
 to be suffered to introduce any, so that a contract for its 
 execution may be entered into at the cheapest rate, 
 and to enter into this contract, the several classes of 
 building workmen are ealLed by public advertisement. 
 
 Thus are the offerings of his study and genius de- 
 formed suid cramped, and he has the additional mortifi- 
 cation to find, that he must now direct the most stupid, 
 ignorant, and unskilful of workmen, and strictly watch 
 
6 
 
 and control that disposition to dishonesty, which the low 
 rate of the contract is perpetually exciting, and which, 
 if not detected, will most seriously injure his repu- 
 tation, directly or remotely; but if he escapes the conse- 
 quences of this mode of erecting some of our most con- 
 siderable buildings, if he is fortunate enough to hare 
 under him workmen that are tolerably expert, since all 
 his drawings, combining arrangement, construction and 
 taste, are of necessity in their possession, and are of course 
 explained and entered into in detail, in a way that 
 must lead and instruct even those who want compre- 
 hension, and quicken and extend the conceptions of others 
 who possess some little general ability, these workmen, 
 ignorant of the necessary process of previous study, imme- 
 diately imagine that they are become his rivals, and pre- 
 sume to think themselves equal to a competition with the 
 artist; and, as I have before observed, such is the present 
 disposition of the community towards the architect, that 
 the ungrateful contest is not only permitted, but urged 
 and encouraged, and that appellation which ought only 
 to distinguish the acknowledged professor, is indiscrimi- 
 nately assumed by mechanics and others who are not in 
 the remotest degree allied to any art, either by education, 
 early practice, or study. Nor is it alone in the practice 
 
7 
 
 of an architect that these men are allowed to interfere; 
 the contest is continued through all those pursuits, I have 
 adverted to, as not strictly analogous to the study of archi- 
 tecture, but which are altogether professional, and increase 
 the probability of that superior employ which the artist is so 
 desirous of obtaining: all the patronage and appointments 
 relating to such pursuits are open, and unfenced by opinion: 
 there is no exclusive privilegegranted to the artist, no superior 
 encouragement to the man of science, ai\d education ; he is 
 obliged to solicit in a strain equally humble, and is constantly 
 opposed to persons of low consideration and vulgar manners. 
 
 This, Sir, is a sketch of what those, who are now emi- 
 nent, have suffered in a slight degree, and others who 
 have not attained celebrity, in a greater ; it is what all 
 candidates for architectural fame must prepare themselves 
 to encounter: and can it then excite surprise that the 
 science of architecture in this country is at so low an 
 ebb ? Is it strange that the professor, thus degraded and 
 embarrassed, should abandon his love of the arts for 
 emolument, and pursue his profession for bread rather 
 than for fame ? Is it to be expected that the artist is to 
 furnish an example of disinterestedness and contempt for 
 riches, not evinced by other superior classes of men, or by 
 the general actions of society ? 
 
8 
 
 The history of great art ists and other men of transcendent 
 genius and high emulative spirit, who are departed, can offer 
 no inducement for such sacrifice ; many of these became 
 celebrated in their graves after a life of difficulty and 
 distress, of neglect and contempt; and they w^ere pro- 
 bably prematurely consigned to them by the operation of 
 all these evils upon the mind : merit and diffidence in 
 rags did not in their time, nor will they now, obtain a 
 decided, admitted preference over the pretensions of ig- 
 norant effrontery, and of those whose claims, however 
 audacious, are assisted by an appeal to the refined taste 
 of their patrons at the dinner-table ! 
 
 No, Sir, before the state of architecture can be im- 
 proved and the professors excited to that species of emu- 
 lation which only can render them eminent, strong and 
 marked distinctions must take place ; those who have pa- 
 tronage must consider it a sacred trust and deposit, the 
 meed only of science and genius* The claims of the 
 untaught, ignorant, and presumptuous, must not only be 
 disallowed, but repelled with indignation and contempt, 
 till at length they are consigned to that obscurity 
 whence they ought never to have been suffered to emerge. 
 
 J. 5. 
 
TO THE ARTIST 
 
 Sir, 
 
 IF the critical knowledge of an art was invariably 
 combined with the successful practice of it, I would 
 here proudly take my rank among artists, and give in- 
 structions on the art of writing Novels.- — But though I 
 humbly confess that I have not the slightest information 
 to impart, that may tend to produce a good novel; yet it 
 may not be wholly incompatible with the useful design of 
 your publication, if I show— how to avoid writing a very 
 bad one. 
 
 Observe, that your hero and heroine be neither of 
 them too bountiful. The prodigious sums of money 
 which are given away every year in novels, ought, injus- 
 tice, to be subject to the property tax; by which regula- 
 tion, the national treasury, or every such book, would 
 be highly benefited* 
 
 Beware how you imitate Mrs. Radcliffe, or Maria 
 No. 14. " c 
 
10 
 
 Edgeworth; you cannot equal them; and those readers 
 who most admire their works, will most despise yours. 
 
 Take care to reckon up the many times you make use 
 of the words " Amiable," " Interesting," " Elegant," " Sen- 
 sibility," " Delicacy," " Feeling." Count each of these 
 words over before you send your manuscript to be printed, 
 and be sure to erase half the number you have writ- 
 ten you may erase again when your first proof comes 
 from the press— again, on having a revise — and then 
 mark three or foiir, as mistakes of the printer, in your 
 Errata. 
 
 Examine likewise, and for the same purpose, the 
 various times you have made your heroine blush, and 
 your hero turn pale — the number of times he has pressed 
 her hand to his " trembling lips," and she his letters 
 to her " beating heart"— the several times he has been 
 " speechless" and she all emotion," the one " struck to 
 the soul;" the other " struck dumb." 
 
 The lavish use of " tears," both in " showers" and 
 " floods," should next be scrupulously avoided; though 
 many a gentle reader will weep on being told that others 
 are weeping, and require no greater cause to excite 
 their compassion. 
 
11 
 
 Consider well before you introduce a child into your 
 work. To maim the characters of men and women 
 is no venial offence; but to destroy innocent babes is 
 most ferocious cruelty: and yet this savage practice has, of 
 late, arrived at such excess, that numberless persons of 
 taste and sentiment have declared — ^they will never read 
 another novel, unless the advertisement which announces 
 the book, adds (as in advertisements for letting Lodgings) 
 There are no children. 
 
 When you are contriving that incident where your 
 heroine is in danger of being drowned, burnt, or her 
 neck broken by the breaking of an axle-tree- — for without 
 perils by fire, water, or coaches, your book would be 
 incomplete — it might be adviseable to suffer her to be 
 rescued from impending death by the sagacity of a 
 dog, a fox, a monkey, or a hawk ; any one to whom she 
 cannot give her hand in marriage; for whenever the 
 deliverer is a fine young man, the catastrophe of your 
 plot is foreseen, and suspense extinguished. 
 
 Let not your ambition to display variety cause you to 
 produce such a number of personages in your story, as 
 shall create perplexity, dissipate curiosity, and confound 
 recollection. But if, to show your powers of invention, 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 you are resolved to introduce your reader to a new 
 acquaintance in every chapter, and in every chapter 
 snatch away his old one; he will soon have the conso- 
 lation to perceive — they are none of them worth his 
 regret. 
 
 Respect virtue — nor let her be so warm or so violent 
 as to cause derision i — nor vice so enormous as to resemble 
 insanity. No one can be interested for an enthusiast — 
 nor gain instruction from a madman. 
 
 And when you have written as good a novel as you 
 can — compress it into three or four short volumes at most; 
 or the man of genius, whose moments are precious, and 
 on whose praise all your fame depends, will not find time 
 to read the production, till you have committed suicide 
 in consequence of its ill reception with the public. 
 
 There are two classes of readers among this public, 
 of whom it may not be wholly from the purpose to give 
 a slight account. The first are all hostile to originality. 
 They are so devoted to novel-reading, that they admire 
 one novel because it puts them in mind of another, which 
 they admired a few days before. By them it is required, 
 that a novel should be like a novel; that is, the majority 
 of those compositions; for the minor part describe fic- 
 
13 
 
 .titious characters and events merely as they are in real 
 life :■ — ordinary representations, beneath the concern of a 
 true voracious novel-reader. 
 
 Such an one (more especially of the female sex) is in- 
 different to the fate of nations, or the fate of her own fa- 
 mily, whilst some critical situation in a romance agitates 
 her whole frame ! Her neighbour might meet with an 
 accidental death in the next street, the next house, or 
 the next room, and the shock would be trivial, compared 
 to her having just read — " that the amiable Sir Altamont, 
 beheld the interesting Eudocia, faint in the arms of his 
 thrice happy rival." • 
 
 Affliction, whether real or imaginary, must be re- 
 fined,- — and calamity elegant, before this novel-reader can 
 be roused to " sympathetic sensation." Equally unsuscep- 
 tible is her delicate soul to vulgar happiness. Ease and 
 content are mean possessions ! She requires transport, 
 rapture, bliss, extatic joy, in the common occurrences of 
 every day. 
 
 She saunters pensively in shady bowers, or strides ma- 
 jestically through brilliant circles. She dresses by turns 
 like a Grecian statue and a pastoral nymph : then 
 
14 
 
 fancies herself as beautiful as the undone heroine in 
 " Barbarous Seduction and has no objection to become 
 equally unfortunate. 
 
 To the healthy, that food is nourishment, which to the 
 siclily proves their poison. Such is the qualit} of books 
 to the strong, and to the weak of understandiig. — Lady 
 Susan is of another class of readers, and has gooi sense. — 
 Let her therefore read certain well-written novels, and 
 she will receive intimation of two or three fcibles, the 
 self-same as those, which, adhering to her conduct, cast 
 upon all her virtues a degree of ridicule.' — These failings 
 are beneath the animadversions of the pulpit. They are 
 so trivial yet so awkward, that neither sermons, history, 
 travels, nor biography, could point them out with pro- 
 priety. They are ludicrous, and can only be described 
 and reformed by a humourist. 
 
 And what book so well as a novel, could show to the 
 
 enlightened Lord Henry the arrogance of his extreme 
 
 condescension ? Or insinuate to the judgment of Lady 
 Eliza —the wantonness of her excessive reserve ? 
 
 What friend could whisper so well to Lady Autumnal 
 —that affected simplicity at forty, is more despicable 
 
15 
 
 than affected knowledge at fifteen ? — And by what better 
 means could the advice be conveyed to Sir John Egotist 
 — to pine no more at what the world may say of 
 him ; for that men like himself are too insignificant for 
 the world to know. 
 
 A novel could most excellently represent to the valiant 
 General B — , that though he can forgive the miser's 
 love of gold, the youth's extravagance and even pro- 
 fligacy ; that although he has a heart to tolerate all 
 female faults, and to compassionate human depravity of 
 every kind ; he still exempts from this his universal cle- 
 mency' — ^the poor delinquent soldier. 
 
 The General's wife, too, forgives all injuries done to 
 her neighbours : those to herself are of such peculiar 
 kind, that it would be encouragement to offenders, not to 
 seek vengeance.' — The lovely Clarissa will pardon every 
 one — except the mantua-maker who spoils her shape. — 
 And good Sir Gormand never bears malice to a soul 
 on earth^ — but to the cook who spoils his dinner. 
 
 That Prebendary is merciful to a proverb — excluding 
 negligence towards holy things — of which he thinks him- 
 self the holiest. Certain novels might make these people 
 think a second time. 
 
16 
 
 Behold the Countess of L ! Who would presume to 
 
 tell that once celebrated beauty— that she is now too 
 wrinkled for curling hair; and her complexion too faded 
 for the mixture of blooming pink? Should her husband con- 
 vey such unwelcome news, he would be more detested than 
 he is at present! Were her children or her waiting-maid to 
 impart such intelligence, they would experience more of 
 her peevishness than ever ! — A novel assumes a freedom of 
 speech to which all its readers must patiently listen; and 
 by which, if they are wise, they will know how to profit. 
 
 The Novelist is a free agent. He lives in a land of 
 liberty, whilst the Dramatic Writer exists but under a 
 despotic government.' — Passing over the subjection in which 
 an author of plays is held by the Lord Chamberlain's 
 office, and the degree of dependence which he has 
 on his actors — he is the very slave of the audience. He 
 must have their tastes and prejudices in view, not to 
 correct, but to humour them. Some auditors of a theatre, 
 like some aforesaid novel-readers, love to see that which 
 they have seen before; and originality, under the oppro- 
 brious name of innovation, might be fatal to a drama, 
 where the will of such critics is the law, and execution in- 
 stantly follows judgment. 
 
17 
 
 In the opinion of these theatrical juries, Virtue and 
 Vice attach to situations, more than to characters: at least, 
 so they will have the stage represent. The great moral 
 inculcated in all modern plays constantly is — for the rich 
 to love the poor. As if it was not much more rare, and a 
 task by far more difficult- — for the poor to love the rich. — • 
 And yet, what author shall presume to expose upon the 
 stage, certain faults, almost inseparable from the indigent? 
 What dramatic writer dares to expose in a theatre, the 
 consummate vanity of a certain rank of paupers, who 
 boast of that wretched state as a sacred honour, although 
 it be the result of indolence or criminality? Who dares 
 to show to an audience, the privilege, of poverty debased 
 into the instrument of ingratitude ? — " I am poor and 
 therefore slighted"— cries the unthankful beggar: whilst 
 his poverty is his sole recommendation to his friends; 
 and for which alone, they pay him much attention, and 
 some respect. 
 
 What dramatist would venture to bring upon the stage 
 ^that which so frequently occurs in real life — a bene*^ 
 factor living in awe of the object of his bounty ; trembling 
 in th€ presence of the man whom he supports, lest by one 
 inconsiderate w ord, he should seem to remind hinx of the 
 
 No. 14. D 
 
18 
 
 predicament in which they stand with each other ; or by 
 an involuntary look, seem to glance at such and such 
 obligations ? 
 
 Who, moreover, dares to exhibit upon the stage, a bene- 
 volent man, provoked by his crafty dependant — for who 
 is proof against ungratefulness? — to become that very 
 tyrant, which he unjustly had reported him? 
 
 Again. — The giver of alms, as well as the alms-receiver, 
 must be revered on the stage.^ — That rich proprietor of 
 land. Lord Forecast, who shall dare to bring him upon 
 the boards of a theatre, and show — that, on the subject of 
 the poor, the wily Forecast accomplishes two most im- 
 portant designs ? By keeping the inhabitants of his do- 
 main steeped in poverty, he retains his vast superiority 
 on earth ; then secures, by acts of charity, a chance for 
 heaven. 
 
 A dramatist must not speak of national concerns, ex- 
 cept in one dull round of panegyrick. He must not 
 allude to the feeble minister of state, nor to the ecclesi- 
 astical coxcomb. 
 
 Whilst the poor dramatist is, therefore, confined to a 
 few particular provinces ; the novel-writer has the whole 
 world to range, in search of men and topics. Kings, 
 
19 
 
 warriors, statesmen, churchmen, are all subjects of his 
 power. The mighty and the mean, the common-place 
 and the extraordinary, the profane and the sacred, all are 
 prostrate before his muse. Nothing is forbidden, nothing 
 is withheld from the imitation of a novelist, except — other 
 novels. 
 
 E. 1. 
 
 TO THE ARTIST. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I HOPE it will not interrupt the plan you have proposed in the progress 
 of your publication to mention a circumstance, which, if not immediately 
 conducive to the advancement of the arts, will not fail, I trust, to be in some 
 degree interesting. I mean. Sir, the late expression of affection and grati- 
 tude of the Students of the Royal Academy to Mr. Fuseli, in presenting him 
 with a Silver Vase of the value of 50/. for the kind and impartial manner in 
 which he has directed and superintended their studies in his office of Keeper 
 of the Royal Academy. 
 
 During the time Mr, Fuseli has filled this situation in the Academy, it has 
 been his greatest care and anxiety that the students should receive the fullest 
 advantages from the regulations and provisions of the institution, and by the 
 most assiduous attention to their improvement, he has encouraged them to con- 
 nect with their studies the ideas of immediate pleasure and future eminence, 
 rather than those of severity and restraint. He has thus inspired confidence 
 and a spirit of inquiry, which his extensive knowledge as an artist and a 
 scholar never failed to gratify. In short, to communicate instruction to the 
 different classes of students with impartiality and success, has appeared to be 
 his peculiar study and happiness. 
 
20 
 
 Actuated by these motives, the Students united to present hm with a small 
 tribute of their gratitude and respect, and on Wednesday l;st assembled at 
 his apartments in the Academy, requesting his acceptance «f this mark of 
 their regard and esteem. 
 
 Mr. Fuseli expressed himself gratified by their conduct oi this occasion ; 
 assuring them, however, that no inducement or reward was v\anting to stimu- 
 late him to a discharge of his duty. At the same time he wshed to impress 
 upon the Students the consideration, that they had in this iistance given a 
 public pledge of their determination to profit by his instructiois, and by their 
 future application and success in the art, to prove to the word that his exer- 
 tions had not been misapplied. 
 
 Mr. Flaxman, who had kindly encouraged the intentions jf the Students, 
 and presented them with a design for the vase, favoured then with his pre- 
 sence on this occasion, and addressing them at some length, took occasion to 
 inculcate with warmth and affection a becoming regard for virue and morality 
 among the students, as the best foundation of all excellence, and calculated 
 to give lustre to every future attainment. 
 
 In the hope that your readers may in some degree participate in the satis- 
 faction of those concerned on this occasion, 
 
 I remain. Sir, your most humble Servant, 
 
 A STUDENT. 
 
 I shall make some remarks on this letter in the ensuing 
 Number. 
 
 J. 
 
 No. XV. Of the Methods most easily jjracticable^ for 
 preserving and purifying Water ^ will be published on 
 Saturday, June 20. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XV. Saturday^ June 20, 1807. 
 
 DURING a period of several centuries, mankind has 
 reckoned water a simple, homogeneous, elementary sub- 
 stance,— a necessary component of animal, vegetable, and 
 even mineral bodies ; but itself not a compound of other 
 simpler suibstances. Modern chemists have deprived it of 
 that elementary character; having discovered, that it 
 consists of two aerial fluids, which, in their natural state, 
 are elastic and invisible ; but when properly united, form 
 the well known fluid, called water. They have also de- 
 vised methods of forming water by the combination of its 
 
 No. 15. B 
 
2 
 
 two aerial constituents, as well as of resolving it into its 
 components. But if the chemists have deprived that 
 fluid of its elementary character, they have by no means 
 diminished its importance in almost the whole extent of 
 natural operations. 
 
 Independent of its being indispensably necessary to the 
 economy of animal and vegetable life, the important ope- 
 rations of purifying the air, of moistening the ground, of 
 purifying the water itself, and an endless variety of other 
 purposes, are accomplished by a perpetual circulation of 
 water under various shapes, which the hand of the Cre- 
 ator has providently established- — That admirable cir- 
 culation which has been justly admired by philosophers 
 and celebrated by poets. 
 
 It is difficult to find a spot of ground where w^ater is 
 not to be found by moderately digging, or where natural 
 springs do not form salubrious streams. Those streams, 
 in their courses, w ash the surface of the earth, and carry 
 away several of its materials to that immense receptacle, 
 the sea, which gives life to a numerous and peculiar class 
 of beings ; — which opens an easy communication between 
 the various parts of the habitable world, and, at the same 
 time, fixes their unalterable boundaries. From the sea 
 
3 
 
 and other places, the water, purified by evaporation, is 
 raised into the atmosphere A^^ere it forms the clouds, and 
 from those clouds the rain falls to refresh and purify the 
 air, to recruit the exhausted reservoirs of rivers, to wash 
 and to fertilize the earth. 
 
 - Pater omnipotens faecundis imbribus ^ther 
 Conjugis in gremi urn Isetae descendit, et omnes 
 Magnus alit, magno commixtus corpore, foetus. 
 
 ViRG. Geoug. Lib. 2. 
 
 ' This fluid so essentially necessary, so generally dissemi- 
 nated, and so constantly circulating, is frequently found 
 combined with a variety of foreign ingredients, from the 
 minutest to the greatest possible quantity. Those com- 
 binations render it more or less impure, and more or less 
 fit to answer the common purposes of civil economy ; 
 namely, drinking, washing, cooking victuals, brewing, &c. 
 hence it acquires the various denominations of hard water, 
 soft water, brackish water, acidulous water, mineral water, 
 sea water, and so forth. 
 
 If the quantity of foreign ingredients be small, the 
 water may still be used, though perhaps not to the best 
 advantage. When the quantity of foreign ingredients is 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 considerable, and their quality dangerous, the use of that 
 water must be abandoned. But in other cases ithe state 
 of the water is such as to admit its being easily purified, 
 and rendered fit for use. Now since such cases fre- 
 quently o3cur in a variety of situations which otherwise 
 are very eligible, I shall, in the following pages, briefly 
 describe the proper methods of ascertaining the quality 
 of the water ; and, when practicable, the mode of ren- 
 dering it fit for the common purposes of life, as well as 
 of preserving it in that state. It must be observed, how- 
 ever, that here I mean to treat, not of the most com- 
 plicated mineral waters, nor of the chemical analysis ne- 
 cessary for ascertaining the quality, quantity,, and pro- 
 perties of each ingredient ^ but of those methods only 
 which may be easily put in practice by the nnaster of a 
 family or by his domestics ; using a few simp>le articles^ 
 and a small apparatus. 
 
 Water, as it occurs in nature, may be dis^tinguished 
 into rain water, spring and well water, minteral water, 
 river water, lake water, and sea water. 
 
 Pure water does not exist in nature ; butt common 
 water may be rendered so by means of distillaition care- 
 fully performed. Pure water is destitute of tastej smell 
 
5 
 
 and colour ; and may be preserved for ages, provided it 
 be kept separate from such substances as have an action 
 upon it. Thus in glass vessels well stopped, distilled 
 M'ater suffers no change. Though pure distilled v^^ater 
 is perfectly wholesome, yet its taste is flat and insipid ; 
 which is owing to its being deprived of that quantity of 
 air which renders it pleasant to our palate. 
 
 In rain water the accuracy of modern chemistry has 
 detected some aerial, and other saline, substances ; but 
 their quantity is extremely small, so that rain water may 
 not only be nised for all economical purposes, provided it 
 be properly kept ; but may be considered as the purest 
 natural water existing, the purity of which, indeed, is 
 exceeded by distilled water only. 
 
 Spring water, being originally rain water, acquires 
 various properties from the different substances it meets 
 with in its passage through the earth. For water being 
 the most general dissolvent existing, easily combines with 
 aerial fluids^ with salts, with earths, with sulphur, and 
 even with imetallic substances. And when those in- 
 gredients remder it useful for medical purposes, or re- 
 markable foir its smell, taste, and other sensible qualities, 
 it is then mcore particularly denominated mineral waier^ 
 
6 
 
 It must, however, be observed that the name of mineral 
 water is used in a vague and unlimited sense ; for very 
 frequently, pure springs, or such as contain a remarkably 
 small quantity of heterogeneous matter, are called mi- 
 neral waters, and are accordingly used in medical cases 
 as well as for all sorts of economical purposes. 
 
 Well water is the same as spring water : yet from its 
 being longer in contact with heterogeneous substances, 
 and deeper in the earth, is generally more impregnated 
 with those substances, than the springs of the adjoining 
 districts, w hich merely pass through certain strata, and 
 then issue from the surface of the earth. 
 
 River water derives its origin from springs and from 
 rain water, therefore it ought to partake of the qualities 
 of both. It is to be observed, however, that though the 
 original spring may yield indifferent water, yet the river, 
 at some distance from its source, may afford a good and 
 wholesome fluid. This is owing to two causes; first to the 
 admixture of rain water, and secondly to the spring water 
 being in its course exposed to the atmosphere, in conse- 
 quence of which several of its contents are deposited, 
 whilst others of a volatile nature escape from it. Hence 
 a river of unwholesome water seldom occurs. 
 
1 
 
 On the other hand, the waters of rivers, by running 
 exposed over the surface of the earth, are liable to be 
 mixed with animal, vegetable, and earthy substances, 
 which frequently render them muddy and opaque. But 
 in general, if such waters be kept a certain time, the ex- 
 traneous matters subside, either immediately or after 
 having undergone a certain fermentation, and then the 
 water remains sufficiently pure. Such is particularly the 
 case with the Thames water, which, after having been in 
 casks a few days, undergoes a sort of fermentation, and 
 stinks intolerably. It becomes covered with a scum, 
 yielding an inflammable gas, which often takes fire on the 
 approach of a lighted candle to the aperture of the cask. 
 But when this fermentation has thus decomposed the 
 animal and vegetable substances, (which takes up a few 
 days,) the components of those substances partly fly off in 
 the form of air, and partly fall to the bottom of the cask ; 
 leaving the water quite sweet and clear. 
 
 Lake water, and the waters of marshy grounds, are 
 collections of rain, river and spring waters ; hence their 
 properties are various and uncertain. Adding, that, in 
 consequence of the stagnation, animal and vegetable 
 bodies putrefy in those waters, and contaminate them in 
 
8 
 
 various degrees; yet most stagnant waters iiuy be pu- 
 rified by keeping or by filtration, viz. by passing them 
 through the fine pores of certain bodies, which will not 
 permit the passage of gross matter. 
 
 Sea water is utterly unfit for drinking and for other 
 economical purposes; owing to its containing a consi- 
 derable proportion of extraneous matter. This quantity 
 varies a little, according as the sea water is taken nearer 
 to or farther from the shore, and nearer to or farther 
 from the surface; but, at a mean, a wine pint of sea water 
 has been found to contain about three hundred grains 
 (viz. nearly three-quarters of an ounce) of matter, con- 
 sisting of common salt, a bitter purging salt, a little lime, 
 with some animal and vegetable extracts. By keeping, 
 the sea water acquires a putrid offensive smell ; nor does 
 it become more useful after this putrefaction. 
 
 Since fresh water is frequently found by digging close 
 to the sea, several persons have been led to suppose, that 
 by passing through the pores of the earth, the sea water 
 may be deprived of its foreign ingredients. But if it be 
 doubtful whether this purification actually takes place in 
 nature, certain it is that no human art could ever effect 
 it by mere filtration. Two methods only are known, by 
 
9 
 
 which sea water may be separated from its foreign ingre- 
 dients, and may be rendered fit for drinking, &c. and 
 these are dtsiiliation a.nd Jreezing, - . 
 
 ' The substances which, with very few exceptions, have 
 hitherto been found in waters, are certain aerial fluids, 
 acids, alkalies, earths, neutral salts, sulphur, animal and 
 vegetable substances, and two metallic bodies ; namely, 
 iron and copper. — A greater or lesser number of those 
 Substances is found in all sorts of water, in a state either 
 of suspension or of combmaiion. 
 
 Substances are said to be suspended in water, when, in 
 Consequence of their being minutely divided, and nearly 
 of the same specific gravity, they remain entangled 
 amongst the particles of water, as clay and other bodies 
 are apt to be. In this case, if the water be left at rest 
 for a certain time, the extraneous matter will either fall to 
 the bottom, or it will float on the surface, and of course 
 it may be easily removed. Otherwise it may be sepa- 
 fated from the water by means of filtration. 
 
 Substances are said to be combined -with water, when, 
 in consequence of an affinity or attraction between the 
 particles of water and of those substances, they form as 
 it were a new compound body; and such is the case 
 
 No, 15, c 
 
1# 
 
 when common salt, or sugar, is mixed with water. In 
 this case, filtration will not separate the extraneous 
 matters from the water. 
 
 Another state of combination must likewise be noticed, 
 which is when a substance that has no affinity to water, 
 is rendered capable of mixing with that fluid by the in- 
 termediation of a third substance. Thus sulphur, which 
 by itself will not combine with water, may be rendered 
 miscible with it by the intermediation of an alkali or a 
 certain aerial fluid. And in this case, if the third sub- 
 stance be removed by any means, the other substance 
 will necessarily be separated. Thus in the above-men- 
 tioned combination with sulphur, &c. if the third sub- 
 stance be the aerial fluid ; by heating the water, or by 
 merely exposing it to the atmosphere, the aerial fluid will 
 be expelled and the sulphur will be separated. If the 
 third substance be an alkali ; by the addition of a little 
 acid, the alkali will combine with the acid, and will 
 leave the sulphur, which will then fall to the bottom, or 
 will form a pellicle on the surface of the water. 
 
 This chemical law explains the formation of the earthy 
 crust usually formed in the inside of tea-kettles, and of 
 the ochreous sediment on the beds of certain streams. 
 
11 
 
 When you wish to examine the quality of a certain, 
 kind of water, let a clean and clear glass vessel be filled 
 with it, and observe whether it has any taste, or smell, or 
 colour, and if you find it destitute of those qualities, let it 
 stand exposed to the air during a few hours, after which 
 observe whether it has acquired any of the above-men- 
 tioned qualities, and, in addition to it, whether it has 
 deposited any thing on the surface of the vessel, or formed 
 any pellicle on its own surface. And, if no one of those 
 effects has taken place, your next trial is to be made 
 by dissolving a little common soap in it ; for if it makes 
 a smooth solution without curdling the soap, you may 
 conclude that the water is perfectly fit for all common 
 purposes. 
 
 If greater certainty be required, place a determinate 
 quantity of the water which has undergone the above- 
 mentioned trials, such as a quart or a pint, in a clean 
 vessel of glass, or of silver, or of compact earthen-ware, to 
 evaporate over a gentle fire : and when all the water has 
 been evaporated, you will generally find some sediment 
 at the bottom of the vessel. If this sediment be of a 
 whitish colour, and weigh not above four grains per pint 
 of water, it may be concluded that the water is good 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 and useful; it being scarcely possible to find any water, 
 (distilled water excepted) perfectly free from all extra* 
 neous matter. Most of the springs in and abbut London, 
 contain more than five grains per pint of chalk and se- 
 lenite, which render them hard and unfit for washing, at 
 the same time that they do not prevent their being 
 pleasant and fit for drinking. 
 
 If in the course of the above-mentioned trials, the water 
 appears to have any particular taste, or smell, dir colour, 
 or to make a notable deposition, and to curdle soap ; you 
 may conclude that a considerable quantity of extraneous 
 matter is contained in it, and if those bad qualities are 
 not very slight, either the use of that water must be aban- 
 doned ; or if no better can be found at hand, it must be 
 purified by means of one or more of the following pro- 
 cesses, which, being easy, may be tried one after the 
 other, until you succeed in divesting the water of its bad 
 qualities. 
 
 (c.) 
 
 (To be poncluded in the ensuing Number.) 
 
J3 
 
 Mr. Artist, 
 
 Ut pictura poesis erit. - • 
 
 I AM desirous of offering to the public some opinions 
 on topics relative to the two arts of poetry and painting ; 
 but I find my sentiments so widely differing from those of 
 all the writers I have read on the same subjects, that unless 
 I obtain the sanction of your paper, I fear I have little 
 chance of procuring a decent attention to what I have to. 
 propose. 
 
 In the first place, I must tell you that I felt a great 
 inclination to begin my letter to you (in imitation of one of 
 Yorick^s sermons, which having as much of poetry as of 
 religion! in them, ought not to be unknown to you) by 
 giving a flat denial to my motto. But on reflecting^ 
 that it is more my interest to persuade than to surprise^ 
 relinquiished the artifice, and design to state my thoughts 
 to you in the plain ordinary method of epistolary address. 
 
 Sir, Painting, sculpture, writing, and music, are so 
 many distinct modes of mechanical communication of 
 thought and sentiment, and when added to language and 
 action (including all their respective subordinate divi- 
 
14 
 
 sions) make up the total amount of The Arts of Human 
 Expression, 
 
 I shall particularly select for my present consideration 
 the first of these modes of expression, and I hope to be 
 able to convey to your readers a competent idea of its 
 extensive powers, by making it the subject of comparison 
 with another of their favorite studies. 
 
 Painting has been said, without sufficient discrimination, 
 to resemble, or in figurative language, to be the sister 
 of poetry. 
 
 " Ui Pictura Poesis (erity* 
 
 has been adopted from Horace by Du Fresnoy, who has 
 added 
 
 Si mi Usque poesi 
 Sit pictura : refert par aemula quseque sororem, • 
 Alternantque vices ei nomina. Muta poesis 
 Dicitur heec ; pictura loquens solet ilia vocari. 
 
 The rival sisters, fond of equal fame. 
 Alternate change their office and their name ; 
 Bid silent poetry the canvas w^arm. 
 The tuneful page with speaking picture charm. 
 
 (Mason.) 
 
 Now, Sir, if you are versed in the Latin classic authors, 
 you must know that a particular expression of Horace, 
 
15 
 
 merely illustrative of the various qualities of different 
 poems, is here enlarged into the declaration of a general 
 maxim ; not to mention some obvious suspicions that, for 
 this generalizing purpose, the true punctuation of the 
 original line is deranged. But the mischief done to gram- 
 mar is not greater than that which thence ensues to truth* 
 Du Fresnoy seems to have laid, in this sentence, the foun- 
 dation of modern belief in a doctrine teeming with 
 difliculties, absurdities, and disputes. Translators and 
 commentators have supported him by quotations from 
 Greek and Italian poets, and thus established the point 
 as incontrovertible. But notwithstanding these higlv 
 authorities, it may be very fairly imagined, that one of 
 the principal causes why the real properties of painting 
 have been so much questioned, and so little understood 
 amongst us, arises from this very source, viz. its having been^ 
 made the invariable object of comparison with poetry. 
 
 I shall endeavour to make it appear that the com- 
 parison of painting to poetry is the comparison of the 
 whole of one art^ to a part of another.^ and is a just one, 
 as far only as it is allowable to apply the name of the 
 whole to a part, or vice versa ; which I trust. Sir, yoi» 
 
u 
 
 know as well as myself, to be a very common form of 
 rhetoric. 
 
 Although I am v^ry willitig to grant that o«e brancH 
 or a province of painting does pecutiarly and inti- 
 riiately coincide with poetry in all its various powers, 
 combinations and intentions ; yet, with all due defe- 
 rence to your practical skill, I conceive that there are 
 very many parts of painting, nay, by far the greater 
 number of its divisions, which neither make pretensions 
 to poetry, nor havie the least connection with it. 
 
 Poetry is defined by Dr. Blair to be " the language of 
 passion' or of enlivened imagination, fornied most conii- 
 inonly with regular numxbers." But what part of this 
 description is to be found, for instance, in the represen- 
 tation of an escutcheon or other objects of heraldry, 
 ilvhich yet form a branch of painting ? What is there po- 
 etical in the most accurate resemblance of a comb, a 
 tea chest, or a regular slielf of books ? What in the 
 J)icture of a gentleman's house or lawn, or the strict por- 
 trait of his pointer or racer? Is there any thing poetical 
 in the spacious sign of Mr. d'Brien, the Irish Giant, 
 lately displayed in the Hay-market, or in that of the 
 
17 
 
 female infant Hercules and Lady Morgan, in Oxford 
 Road? Surely, Sir, the most zealous advocate for 
 painting, can never pretend to discern in these works 
 any of the essential quality mentioned by Blair. But 
 I perceive this is tender ground. I am in danger of 
 stirring up 
 
 Ignes suppositos cineri doIosa« 
 
 In desiring the insertion of my thoughts in your paper, 
 I have put my head into the lion's mouth, and you may 
 chop off my delivery at a blow whenever you please. I 
 will not therefore invade the territories of painting any 
 farther in this track; but, notwithstanding the imminent 
 danger I have mentioned, I will boldly confess, that so 
 far from their requiring any exertion of superior talents 
 resembling the divine gift of Poesy, I perceive in the or- 
 dinary productions of painting nothing that can challenge 
 the smallest right to the admiration due to superior 
 powers, either of intellect or habitual skill. Every one, 
 you yourself acknowledge, can paint a little, more or 
 less, if he tries, just I suppose, as every school-boy can 
 write a period, or frame an Hexameter or. Pentameter 
 verse ; and surely a man would expose himself to no less 
 No. 15, D 
 
ridicute by asserting that every sign in London w&S 
 poetical, than by raying that every measured period 6t 
 every verse was poetry. 
 
 Every thing becomes liable t-o contempt aft^ ridiciile 
 when it pretends to be what it is not> I oftett walk 
 by a tomb-stone, in a provincial church neiar to my 
 country residence, oft which there i« hti inscription to the 
 memory of a citizen of the place, consisting of four lines 
 most bunglingly tacked together, of mioderate meti^e, hut 
 without any essential quality of ptretry* The lihes how- 
 ever contain a serious truth ; they acquaitit the j^assin^ 
 reader of the loss of a worthy man, and refiaind him of 
 his own mortality. So far they are sure td be perused 4t 
 least with a grave countenanee. But unhappily thes^ 
 four lines are in rhyme, that is^ they have Words of sounds 
 something similar appended at each end; for which 
 reason the writer has thought fit to add to them the fo!** 
 lowing quotation from Horace: 
 
 bignum laiidfe viruiti Musa v6fet iaoii. 
 
 t have observed that it Very seldom hdjjpens that 
 the admonition conveyed in the former lines has 
 
bad sufficient effect to repress a, smile oij the lips at 
 the reader, when he learns this consummation of the 
 tribute to the deceased. The total- disconnection of the 
 Muses^ on this occasion, witli any one but Horace is 
 palpably evident. 
 
 But if you, Sir, should, from good nature^^ iujcline to be* 
 friend this rhyming moralist, and, to say that by reason of 
 the form of his inscription he stands on the tjlreshold of 
 poetry, yet you will not d^ny, as? a general position, that 
 many parts of literary composition (whether from inferiority 
 or dissimilarity of structure I shall not now examine), stand 
 wholly distinct from the Art of the Poet, and are never 
 classed in any one of its branches. 
 
 Now, unfortunately, the painter cannot in a similar 
 ma/nner vindicate the honor of his art^ by asserting that 
 those very ingenious representations of combs, tearchcsts, 
 <Src. which hold so conspicuous a rank in the ornaments 
 of our shop-windows in the metropolis, or those larger 
 signs of the prodigies of nature above-mentioned, do not 
 rank under the denomination of painting. Yet they have, 
 in my opinion, and I make no doubt in yours also, as 
 little to do with the/Ze^^, the Contemplative Angela or the 
 Robin Good-fellow of Reynolds, as the History of Polly 
 
20 
 
 Primrose and Jack the Giant-killer, or the doggrel rhymes 
 of a Country Church-yard, with Homer and Anacreon. 
 
 It appears, therefore, from the statement I have given, 
 that there is either *a total dissimilarity between the two 
 arts in a very important point, or that there is a want 
 of a more clear "and subordinate arrangement of our \oca^ 
 bnlary of arts. The difficulty, as I eonceive, lies in this 
 manner. The word painting, it is clear, is used as a 
 generic term, .and poetry as 3, special one. 
 
 And how. Sir, is this difficulty to be removed? 
 
 If Painting be the name of that part only of the graphic 
 art which resembles Poetry, cannot you find some other 
 term for the general representation of objects hy lines and 
 colours f Or, if Painting be that generic term, can you 
 invent some term of especial preference, which shall de- 
 note one high branch of the art, bearing the same refer- 
 ence to the whole, as Poetry does to the whole art of the 
 writer? 
 
 I leave the subject to your reflection, and remain, 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 A Speculator, 
 
21 
 
 THE promise given in The Artist of Saturday, to make 
 some remarks on the Student^s letter inserted in that 
 number, was not with a view to censure, but to 
 offer admonition to the writer. The glow of youthful 
 zeal in the prosecution of well directed purposes has 
 always in it something not only interesting but grati- 
 fying. The voluntary tribute to their instructor (un- 
 precedented in the Academy) implies a rising spirit among 
 the Academic pupils, which, adequately sustained and 
 happily guided, may be effective of a new advance of art 
 in our country; and it is easy to conceive the pleasing 
 sentiments, which led them to the desire of testifying 
 their esteem of a person, who has so many claims to 
 their gratitude. I hope and trust they are also apprized 
 of the full importance of the step they have taken, 
 as it affects themselves. 
 
 Their action, carried on by united deliberations, 
 belongs not to them as individuals, but to the hody of 
 students^ whose names are publicly registered in the 
 Royal Academy, and I interpret their desire of pub- 
 liishing the account of their conduct in this paper, as 
 
a confirmation of the public view in which they regard 
 their gift. 
 
 They are, no doubt, aware that the Present, which 
 they have voted to a Keeper of the Acadenay so emii 
 nently deserving of their respect, is not a tribute of 
 gratitude called for by a long series of beneficial in-? 
 structions, but must be regarded as a lively expression of 
 sensations arisen in them at the view of advantages ju^, 
 diciously placed within their reach. 
 
 The zealous spirit of art and of improvement, therefore, 
 which they have thus publicly declared, they are bound by 
 every generous feeling to maintain unimpair;ed and unn 
 4iminished ; nor do I doubt that this ifi m obligation 
 perfectly congenial with t^ir inqlinations,, but it is one 
 neither of! slightmoment orof feebly ;e^rt> Their offering is 
 indeed^ as they were justly t^l4» a pledge which thiey have 
 voluntarily given, of future ex;^rtippi^ in, stndy. It is a 
 tribute honourable to Mr. Fuseli in every point of view; 
 but it can only become honou^rable to the givers by the 
 subseqjuent merits of their works, by tJieir demonstrating 
 in future thp ground they have now assumed^ and evinc- 
 ing the fruits of valuable instruction. It is the duty 
 of The Artistx ,tp mxn ttiem. tha^ in, proportion tq 
 
23 
 
 this result, their present offering will be esteemed re- 
 spectable or rash. His hopes look forward to their 
 success. May the vestal flame of Painting be lighted I 
 Esio perpetual 
 
 No. XVI. Essay on the Connection betxneen Anatomy 
 and the Arts of Design^ and Conclusion of The Methods 
 most easil'sf practicable for preserving and purifying 
 fTater^ will be published on Saturday, June 27. 
 
 N. B. The writer of a letter signed An Artisi may depend in future oa 
 finding ail French quotations translated. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XVI. Saturday^ June 27, 1807. 
 
 [The following Conclusion of the Epsay on the Methods most easily practicable, 
 for purifying and preserving Water, occupying a larger portion of this 
 paper than was expected, the Essay on The Connection between Anatomy 
 and the Arts of Design is necessarily deferred till next week.] 
 
 THE processes of purifying water are, 1 . keeping during 
 a certain time ; 2. boiling ; 3. filtering ; 4. adding cer- 
 tain substances ; and 5. distillation. 
 
 1, Rain, river, and pond water, by coming in contact 
 with various bodies on the surface of the earth, generally 
 carries away such substances as are merely suspended in 
 
 No. 16. B 
 
it; hence, by leaving those waters undistmrbed for a 
 certain time in open vessels, the extraneous matters 
 fall to the bottom of the vessel, and the water remains 
 sufficiently pure. If the water contain earthy par- 
 ticles only, a few hours may suffice for the deposition. 
 If animal and vegetable substances be in it, a much 
 longer time will be required ; as has b'een already 
 observed vrith respect to the Thames water. 
 
 2. By boiling the water, and often by merely heating 
 it, the aerial fluids and a few other volatile matters 
 are expelled from it. And, as some of the aerial 
 fluids enable other substances to remain combined 
 with the water; by the expulsion of the former, the 
 latter are compelled to fall to the bottom of the vessel. 
 Hence certain hard waters, by merely boiling them, are 
 rendered soft and useful for washing, &c. Hence also 
 those sulphureous waters, and those chalybeate or 
 steely waters, in which the sulphur or the iron is kept 
 suspended by certain aerial fluids, are efl^ectually de- 
 prived of their sulphureous smell, or steely taste by 
 boiling. 
 
 But whilst the boiling separates from the water va- 
 
3 
 
 rious extraneous matters, it expels at the same time 
 that quantity of air, to which the pleasant taste of 
 water is owing; hence the boiled water has a flat 
 or insipid taste. However, by keeping a few days 
 in open vessels, and especially by frequently pouring 
 it backwards and forwards from one vessel into another, 
 the boiled water will be enabled to recover its air and 
 with it its pleasant taste. 
 
 3. The process of filtration may be accomplished in 
 various ways; for any substance sufficiently porous, barely 
 to admit the passage of water, and at the same time not 
 capable of communicating any thing to it, may be used 
 for the purpose of filtration. Of this nature are the stone 
 basons commortly known and used under the name of fil^ 
 tering stones. Also basons of earthen ware, rendered porous 
 by the admixture of sand with the clay. These, how- 
 ever, when not properly burned, are apt to communicate 
 Viti unpleasant smell of burnt bricks to the water. Water 
 may also be filtered through paper; and the paper fit for 
 this purpose, is an unsized paper called filtering paper, 
 or blotting paper ; it being the same as is used in count- 
 ing-houses under the latter name. If a cone of this paper 
 be placed in a funnel of glass, or tin, or wood, and then be 
 
 B 2 
 
filled with muddy water ; the water will pass through it 
 very clear, whilst the mud will remain in the paper. But 
 a larger and more permanent filtering machine may be 
 made in the following manner. Take a small cask with- 
 out its flat ends, or rather one of those earthen-ware 
 tubes, called chimney pots, and place it straight up in 
 the middle of a tub, or cistern of nearly the same height, 
 but of larger diameter. Then take some sand, that is 
 not very fine, and wash it repeatedly in boiling water, so 
 as to deprive it of clay and saline particles. Fill about three 
 quarters of the height of the above-mentioned vessels with 
 this washed sand, and the apparatus is completed. Now 
 if you pour muddy water upon the sand in the interior 
 vessel, or chimney-pot, the water will descend through the 
 sand in that vessel, and will ascend through the sand 
 between the two vessels; emerging quite clear out of 
 the surface of the latter ; and may be removed either 
 by means of a ladle, or by fixing a stop-cock on the 
 side of the external vessel, about two or three inches 
 above the level of the sand in it. Thus by fdling at 
 intervals the inner vessel with muddy water, a constant 
 supply of clear water may be obtained. And this need 
 not be suspected to contain any sand, provided the vessel 
 
5 
 
 be not agitated. This is a process naturally performed 
 /within the earth ; hence, we find the purest water to 
 come out of sand, or siliceous rocks. Water olTensive 
 in consequence of its containing putrid animal and ve- 
 getable matter, may be readily purified by agitating 
 in it the powder of fresh made charcoal; that powder 
 being afterwards removed by filtration. On account 
 of this property of charcoal, some persons in France and 
 elsewhere, in preparing the above-mentioned filtering 
 machine, have mixed charcoal powder with the sand, 
 which renders that machine capable of purifying Mater 
 both muddy and stinking. But it must be observed 
 that the charcoal powder must be renewed frequently; 
 for charcoal will not purify more than a limited quantity 
 of water. In general two ounces of the former will 
 be required to purify one pint of the latter, 
 
 4. Water may be deprived of various substances that 
 may happen to be mixed with it, by the addition of 
 other substances. But in order to determine the nature 
 of the substance that ought to be employed for this 
 purpose, the operator must ascertain the quality of the 
 ingredients which are contained in the water. This, 
 however, requires a considerable degree of chemical 
 
6 
 
 knowledge ; I shall therefore confine myself to the use 
 of such substances only as may be easily applied, in 
 consequence of certain plain indications. 
 
 Two metals only may properly be said to be found in 
 waters, viz. iron and copper; the former much more fre^ 
 quently than the latter, If either from the taste, or from 
 other indications, the water be suspected to hold any cop- 
 per, it may be ascertained in the following manner. Place 
 a clean piece of iron or steel (as the blade of a knife) 
 in some of the water in question, and let it remain 
 therein for an hour or two. If after this time the 
 iron or steel appears to be covered with a brown cop^ 
 pery colour, you may be certain that the water contains 
 copper, in consequence of which it must not be used; 
 but if the iron contracts no such coppery colour, the 
 water may be pronounced free from that metal. 
 
 The presence of iron in water is manifested by 
 an astringent inky taste, and in general by an ochery 
 brown or reddish deposition. 
 
 The iron is kept suspended in water either by the 
 intermediation of an aerial fluid, called carbonic acid^ 
 or by another acid. Place a quantity of such water 
 in a vessel over the fire, and if the iron be combined 
 
7 
 
 with carbanic acid, after a short boiling the iron will 
 be deposited, and the water loses its steely taste ; other- 
 wise you may conclude that the iron is kept suspended 
 by another acid; and in this case the addition of 
 a little alkali (as soda or pearlash) will occasion a pre- 
 cipitation of the iron. But the alkali must be added 
 to this water by small quantities at a time, and no more 
 of it must be used, than is barely sufficient to produce 
 the effect. 
 
 The addition of a little alkali to hard waters, will, 
 ift certain cases, render them fit for washing and boiling 
 vegetables*, A quarter of an ounce of the alkali may 
 be added to a gallon of the water, after which the 
 Water having remained at rest for an hour or two, 
 must be removed from over the sediment, if any be 
 formed, and must be tried with soap; for if it still 
 curdles the solution of soap, it is useless to add the 
 alkali. 
 
 Water stinking in consequence of its containing putrid 
 animal and vegetable matter, may be purified either 
 
 * The ashes of fern, or wormwood, which contain a considerable quantity 
 of alkali, are frequently used in various parts of this kingdom, for rendering 
 hard waters fit for washing, &g. 
 
8 
 
 by means of charcoal, as has been mentioned abore, 
 or by adding quicklime to it. A pound of the latter 
 may suffice for each gallon of the water. Let them 
 remain together during six or eight hours, stirring them 
 at intervals. Then the water must be filtered, and 
 the filtered water must be exposed to the atmosphere, 
 and frequently agitated during a few hours, after which 
 it may be safely used, or at most it may be filtered a 
 second time before it be used. 
 
 It has been said above that when sulphur is kept sus- 
 pended in water by an aerial fluid, the least boiling will de- 
 prive the water of its sulphureous smell; but if boiling does 
 not produce the desired effect, then the sulphur is kept sus- 
 pended by an alkali, and in that case the addition of 
 a little acid, such as vitriolic acid (now called sulphuric 
 acid) or spirit of salt (now called muriatic acid) will 
 occasion a deposition of the sulphur. But this acid- 
 must likewise be added drop after drop, until it ap- 
 pears to be barely sufficient to answer the purpose. 
 
 5. Distillation is the only method of purifying water 
 which now remains to be noticed. The various in- 
 struments of distillation under the names of stills, alem- 
 bics, retorts, ^c. are so well known, as to render a de- 
 
9 
 
 scription of them superfluous. I shall, therefore, only 
 subjoin a few observations respecting the operation itself 
 and its result. 
 
 The same degree of heat which will convert water into 
 vapour, will not volatilize a vast number of other sub- 
 stances; hence when water that contains those other 
 substances, is heated in a distilling vessel, it is itself con- 
 verted into vapour, which rises within the vessel and is 
 afterwards condensed into pure water, whilst the other 
 substances remain at the bottom of the vessel. But this 
 pure distilled water has an insipid taste in consequence of 
 its containing no air, therefore it must be treated like 
 boiled water ; viz. it must be kept exposed and fre- 
 quently agitated during a few days, before it be used for 
 drink, &c. 
 
 This process of distillation will purify all hard waters, 
 and is the only practicable method of purifying sea water, 
 so as to render it fit for drinking and other economical 
 purposes. But when the water contains any volatile in- 
 gredients, and especially the putrid effluvia of animal 
 and vegetable bodies, simple distillation will not render it 
 quite pleasant. In this case it is adviseable to mix some 
 quicklime with the water previous to its being put 
 
 No. 16. e 
 
10 
 
 into the distilling vessel. Besides distillation, there is 
 another method of purifying sea water, viz. by freezing ; 
 for if sea water be exposed to a sufficient degree of cold, 
 a part of the water only will be congealed, and the saline 
 matters of this part will in the act of freezing be driven 
 into the fluid part; hence if the congealed part be re- 
 moved from the rest, and be melted, it will be found 
 almost entirely divested of any saline taste, and is thereby 
 rendered sufficiently useful. A second congelation of 
 the same water will render it still purer. But in order 
 to freeze sea water it must be exposed to a temperature 
 at least 34 or 36 degrees colder than the usual freezing 
 point of fresh water, which of course can only be obtained 
 under particular circumstances. 
 
 With respect to the preservation of water w^hen once 
 purified, it is hardly necessary to add any particular 
 remarks after the foregoing observations. A general 
 rule is, to keep the water in clean vessels of such sub- 
 stances as are not likely to communicate any thing to it ; 
 and when wooden casks are to be used, it is highly useful 
 to have them pretty well charred in the inside. 
 
IT is high time for me to begin the performance of a 
 duty to which it may justly be thought requisite that I 
 should pay attention ; I mean that of noticing those respect- 
 able correspondents, who, although not wishing to appear 
 as Essayists in this pubhcation, have jet honoured The 
 Artist with the communication of their thoughts. 
 
 The following passage of a letter lays claim to 
 preference, both in point of time and on account of 
 \ the important topic of which it speaks. 
 
 " I HAVE always ventured to express my opinion, that 
 " the cultivation of the Arts, under proper regulations, 
 
 was highly favourable to the cause of religion and 
 " virtue, and that by softening the manners, cultivating 
 " the taste, and awakening the finest feelings of the 
 " heart, we promote the interests of the most benevolent 
 " of all Religions. But it must be allowed that the bewitch- 
 " ing influences of Poetry, Painting and Music, are often 
 " employed to vfery different ends, particularly on the 
 " Stage; and if your views extend (as I hope they do) beyond 
 
 the mere amusement of an . hour, I should think you 
 
 2 
 
might do a most acceptable service to society, by point- 
 
 ing out the important purposes, to which these elegant 
 " arts may be employed. This, however, is a subject 
 " on which I am not qualified to speak, but it opens a 
 " wide field, and I cannot help expressing my hope 
 
 that such talents as are to be employed in your work, will 
 " not be confined only to please the eye or the ear, 
 
 but to mend the heart.*" 
 
 March, 1807. 
 
 That the object here proposed, forms in no small 
 degree a portion of the views of The Artist^ has, he 
 hopes, been already perceptible : and although the full 
 consideration of the subject may not come within the 
 present period of his papers, it w ill, he trusts (if he may 
 trust in hope), find a place in them in future. 
 
 It may indeed offer no uninteresting subject of inves- 
 tigation, if we should inquire whether Society derives 
 more benefit from the influence produced on conduct by 
 the most instructive rules for present action and the most 
 faithful records of past ones, or from such works as tend to 
 regulate the imagination, and to give a right turn to the 
 desires of the mind. Conviction, adopted from judgment 
 
13 
 
 merely of what ought to be done, or enforced by the 
 most frequent reasonings on past events and their conse- 
 quences, in the instances of others, is seldom found to make 
 any very durable impression on our minds. We wait for 
 experience in our own individual case, before we attain to 
 any settled degree of precaution. But every regulation of 
 the imagination, every considerate restraint induced on 
 the impetuosity of desire or the fallacy of hope, may have 
 a tendency to establish that just and even direction of the 
 mind, which, at last, is our chief strength in defending us 
 from error, and that uniform conduct, which precludes the 
 dangers of devious experiment. — If this argument appear 
 to my readers a little too hypothetical, they will, I trust, 
 be better satisfied with the following short remarks, which 
 I have just received on the same subject, and which, (as a 
 note from the writer informs me,) I owe to the mention 
 made in my last number but one, of Mr. Flaxman's 
 address to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the oc- 
 casion there described. 
 
 " With respect to the necessity of cultivating moral 
 principles in aid of refined intellectual studies, there can 
 be no doubt that virtue is indispensably requisite to ex- 
 cellence in every art. No mind destitute of the percep- 
 
14 
 
 tion of virtue can be regarded as at the highest eminence 
 of intellect, and the painter, in particular, may do well to 
 consider the perception of virtue as intimately connected 
 with a sense of perfect beauty. 
 
 " Painters must know well enough from their general 
 reading, that there are no instances of a vicious dispo- 
 sition, in the memoirs of artists, but that some signs of 
 it may be traced in their works. The same deformity, 
 that exists in the mind, must pass into that which is the 
 product of the mind, and therefore, caeteris paribus^ the 
 best man must be, in all intellectual parts of painting, the 
 best painter. 
 
 It may not be improper to illustrate this by the drama, 
 where the characters of the writers are clearly distin- 
 guishable in their writings. The spectator of Shaks- 
 peare's plays is readily confident that Shakspeare was a 
 virtuous man. The peculiar sensibility of Fletcher, the 
 moral temperance of Massinger, the volatile revelry 
 of Farquhar, the licentious profligacy of Gibber, are all 
 equally evident in their productions. 
 
 " Writers of depraved minds may indeed adopt, or 
 assume in the characters of their heroes, certain superior 
 sentiments, which are momentarily imposing on all, and 
 especially on the multitude; but, unless the sentiments 
 
15 
 
 are written in words likewise borrowed from others, the 
 leaven of the mind will infallibly mix with the expression 
 of them, and the hypocrisy cannot fail to be detected. 
 The want of sound principle will sap the whole super- 
 structure of wit and ingenuity, nor will the brilliancy 
 of the surface be found to contribute any thing to its 
 stability. 
 
 This then may claim to be ranked among the moral 
 advantages of the arts. The cultivation of virtue is as 
 necessary to the artist, as to moralists of any other de- 
 scription. If he means to reach the summit of his art, 
 the sense of virtue must be in the strongest manner fixed 
 and exalted in his mind, and its re-action, or, in other 
 words, the beneficial influence of his art on mankind 
 will therefore be proportionate to the higher merits of 
 his works." 
 
 June 23, 1807, 
 
 No. XVII. On the Connection between Anatomy and 
 the Arts of Design.^ will be published on Saturday, 
 July 4. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XVII. Saturdaij^ July 4, 1807. 
 
 Nec tamen hoc tribuens, dederim quoque caiera. 
 
 THE Royal Academy of Arts in London, like the 
 other academies of painting and sculpture in modern 
 Europe, has adopted anatomy into its system of elemen- 
 tary education. 
 
 Professors of anatomy for the instruction of artists have 
 usually been chosen from among the teachers of the 
 medical art ; but the application of this knowledge to 
 professions so widely dilTerent requires a combination 
 of talents rarely met with. Minute details of the humaa 
 structure, so necessary in physic and surgery,, are totally 
 
 No. ir. B 
 
2 
 
 useless in historical painting and sculpture ; they may be 
 compared to the Linnaean system of Botany in the hands 
 of a landscape painter. Every man, who has attained to 
 any real or supposed proficiency in any one branch of 
 knowledge, is naturally desirous of attracting the public 
 notice towards his line of pursuit, and of soliciting pre- 
 eminence for that system, which he himself best under- 
 stands. Perhaps these motives have induced anatomists 
 to look for more influence in the fine arts than their 
 studies can justly claim; whilst artists, disposed to respect 
 a branch of natural knowledge so interesting to all en- 
 lightened men, have sometimes passively agreed to this 
 over-rated utility of anatomy. 
 
 The necessity for this union, between anatomy and 
 the fine arts,, has been admitted by competent judges, but 
 the mode of their alliance remains unsettled. If general 
 knowledge should on any occasion be allowed to possess 
 value, it is when applied to the education of an artist; a 
 man whose views and feelings are always separated from 
 individuality and minute particulars. Upon this ground 
 it is, that anatomy seems capable of serving the purposes 
 of the fine arts, and then only as an , auxiliary. 
 
5 
 
 The most refined people of the world have left the 
 models for taste in every branch of the arts of design, 
 and even in mechanical skill they appear to have been 
 equally successful ; but the processes and methods, which 
 were employed for instructing their youth, are unhappily 
 lost. If we may be allowed to judge of the state of 
 anatomy in the Greek schools, from the remaining books 
 of their philosophical and medical writers, we must con- 
 clude their knowledge to have been very limited. At 
 the most flourishing periods of the fine arts, the dissec- 
 tion of human bodies had not been practised. 
 
 Hippocrates, who may fairly be considered the best 
 and most ancient authority upon this subject, lived in the 
 80th Olympiad, upwards of 400 years before the Chris- 
 tian aera. His writings contain many curious, but inci- 
 dental, observations on anatomy, totally deficient in 
 systematic arrangement, excepting on the bones, which 
 he mentions having studied from a real skeleton. Pau-^ 
 sanias reports, that he caused a brazen skeleton to be 
 made, and dedicated to the Delphian Apollo, which 
 sufficiently indicates the prevailing dislike of that age to 
 anatomy. 
 
 The immediate successors of Hippocrates, who taught 
 
 B 2 
 
anatomy as a part of medical instruction, lived among 
 the greatest artists of the Grecian state. The scattered 
 fragments, which remain of these professors, and the 
 quotations from their lost works by subsequent authors, 
 prove that the knowledge of anatomy had not then as- 
 sumed the regularity and culture of a branch of natural 
 philosophy. The metaphysics and sophistry of the 
 schools had directed the attention of anatomical in- 
 quirers towards final causes, such as those of generation, 
 &c. The Hisloria Animalium of Aristotle is chiefly 
 occupied in physiological researches, without any allusion 
 to the fine arts, although Aristotle was the contemporary 
 of Apelles, Praxitiles, and Lysippus. 
 
 After the arts and sciences had been transferred from 
 Greece to Alexandria, the regular investigation of human 
 anatomy was commenced by the two celebrated professors, 
 Erasistratus and Herophilus, both of whose books are 
 lost. But, it appears from the writings of their suc- 
 cessors, that they had industriously investigated the 
 heart, lungs, and blood-vessels, the brain, stomach, liver, 
 and several other organs. 
 
 Galen lived in the middle of the second century. He 
 was a great physician, and a learned man, having studied 
 
5 
 
 in the Greek schools, and travelled to Rome in the reign 
 of Adrian, as a medical practitioner. He was a prac- 
 tical anatomist, but appears chiefly to have studied from 
 apes and other animals. He was also a great compiler 
 from the writings of his predecessors, and to him we are 
 indebted for what remains of the works of many cele- 
 brated anatomists. 
 
 Galen is the earliest writer on the dissection of the 
 human muscles; he describes their connections and situa- 
 tions with general acccuracy : he had the care of the 
 Athletae, and, from his great reputation, must have known 
 all the artists of his time, but he never intimates any 
 connection between anatomy and the arts of design, 
 Julius Pollux, a learned Greek, and contemporary 
 with Galen, who wrote expressly on the names of the 
 parts of the human body, and on many other curious 
 subjects, is silent on the nomenclature of the muscles. 
 One of his chapters, entitled " Pictorum Opera et In- 
 strumenta," contains a disquisition on the terms of art 
 and on painting ; such as the colours to be used, the 
 drawing of lines, shadows, &c.; but he says nothing about 
 the application of anatomy to this art. The great 
 compiler of all the scattered knowledge of his period, 
 
6 
 
 Pliny, is very diffusive on the ancient manner of painting 
 and sculpture, but he never associates anatomj with these 
 arts. We may, therefore, safely conclude, frcm the con- 
 curring testimony of all these sources, that the know- 
 ledge of anatomy had no share in giving thai excellence 
 to Greek art, which we acknowledge it to possess. 
 
 If we admit that the Greek artists attained to the 
 highest rank without the aid of anatomical knowledge, 
 the question of its absolute necessity is decided ; but, it 
 remains to be examined, whether any peciliar causes 
 operated to favour the success of their studies, and which 
 are now wanting in modern Europe. 
 
 The climate of Greece allowed of a more considerable 
 exposure of the human body than the climate of 
 Northern Europe. The mythology of the Greeks fa- 
 voured the cultivation of beauty and aptiiude in the 
 human form. Where all the virtues weie associated 
 with corporeal attributes, they adapted their dresses, 
 their actions, and their pastimes, to the same ends. 
 They had the naked human figure continually before 
 them. Its infinitely varied change of coniour was fa- 
 miliar to the eye, and deeply impressed upon the mind. 
 At their public games and other exhibitions, they were 
 
r 
 
 enabled to select the most appropriate forms and actions 
 from a multiplicity of examples. They succeeded in 
 giving soul and sentiment to the imitations of flesh and 
 bones, without exposing the bare mechanism of our 
 animal nature. 
 
 Under such happy auspices, anatomy could not be 
 essentially required, and the disgust which it excites 
 in general feeling, would be enough to condemn it as 
 a mere collateral aid. On the revival of learning, at the 
 close of the thirteenth century, the arts and sciences were 
 associated with it, and their united progress was similar to 
 what the history of the world affords in all such cases. The 
 rude manners of preceding ages, the uncouth dresses of 
 northern nations, and the bad taste of fanatical or barbarous 
 courts, had debased the very features of nature, but most 
 especially in the human character. To emulate the Greeks 
 in art, under such unfavourable circumstances, required 
 heroic courage and efforts of industry never before thought 
 of. The extreme difficulty of representing those forms, 
 which cannot be referred to geometrical rules, the eva- 
 nescent motions of the parts of the human body, the 
 difficulty of making such representations with truth, 
 and the facility with which the slightest errors strike 
 
8 
 
 the eye, all concurred to render the fine arts perhaps 
 the most difficult of all human undertakings; but the 
 genius and energy of Lionardo da Vinci, of Michel 
 Angelo, and of Raffael, were superior to every obstacle. 
 These men cultivated all the arts and sciences, which 
 might favour their ultimate pursuit. 
 
 Lionardo da Vinci seems to have had a more ex- 
 tensive knowledge of anatomy than any other artist; 
 he was the intimate friend and coadjutor of Marcus 
 Antonius Turrianus, commonly called de la Torre, 
 Professor of Anatomy at Verona, and they, in conjunc- 
 tion, appear to have designed some great anatomical 
 work. But Turrianus died in 1512, at the prime of 
 life. The volume of Lionardo's sketches preserved 
 in his Majesty's Library, contains many anatomical di- 
 agrams, better calculated to shew the uses of parts 
 than their natural history. Indeed few of his anatomi- 
 cal sketches are accurate copies from Nature. He has 
 traced the nerves from their rem^otest extremities to 
 central parts of the brain, and appears to have held 
 the same physiological opinions, which Des Cartes af- 
 terwards promulgated in his Book entitled " De Ho- 
 mine." Lionardo studied geometry with the same zeal 
 
€ind the same happy facility of making it useful; 
 but neither this, nor his knowledge of anatomy, is 
 suffered to appear in his paintings. 
 
 Titian was the friend and companion of Vesalius, 
 who together with John de Calcar have produced the 
 finest book of Anatomy, as to its art, erudition, and 
 original research, that ever appeared. The kn^owledge 
 of Titian in anatomy carmot be doubted^ but his paintings 
 exhibit no traces of its influence. Raffael, the friend 
 of Realdus Columbus, a celebrated professor of Anatomy 
 at Rome, is said to have witnessed his dissections, and 
 to have joined in his studies^ but the works of thi« 
 great master display nothing of the dissector's art. 
 
 Michel Angelo is the most conspicuous for exhi- 
 biting the details of anatomy ; he had cultivated this 
 subject with great industry and success, and, perhaps, 
 intended to have applied it more especially in his works 
 of sculpture, where the bold manner of marking the 
 masses of flesh to characterise the actions of the body 
 is more allowable than in painting. If any man, but 
 an artist, should be allowed to comment on the works 
 of Michel Angelo, the present writer would feel dis- 
 posed to regret the anatomical display in all his grand 
 
 No. ir. c 
 
10 
 
 pictures, but the excellencies and faults of such a man 
 are beyond ordinary measurement. He was incapable 
 of little things, and if this is an error, it still affords 
 instruction of the highest kind to all his followers. 
 
 If then we conclude that anatomy is not essential 
 to the arts of design, it remains for us to consider in what 
 degree it may be rendered useful^ and whether, if im- 
 properly cultivated, it may not prove injurious. 
 
 As a branch of natural history, or as a part of phy* 
 siological science, anatomy becomes valuable to every 
 cultivated mind, but such curious particulars are wholly 
 inapplicable to painting and sculpture. These branches of 
 the fine arts do not profess to gratify the curiosity of phi- 
 losophers, but to shew nature under the most interesting: 
 and graceful forms, always concealing her internal 
 machinery. 
 
 Anatomy is useful to fix the attention of artists upon 
 the most difllicult of all the forms in nature, those of the 
 human body. Anatomy is subservient to precision and 
 truth in design; it may secretly give correctness to 
 drawing, but if urged further, it will create disgust. 
 
 It is a vulgar error to suppose that the object is de- 
 signed according to its image in the eye, and that one 
 
11 
 
 eye may be fixed on the object, and the other on 
 the picture, whilst drawing. In practice it always hap- 
 pens that the object is transferred from the organ 
 of vision to the mind, and the hand is obliged to 
 delineate the image as it is perceived by the mind, 
 because the eyes are then occupied on the work. It 
 consequently follows, that any rules which furnish the 
 mind with more exact perceptions, the same must neces- 
 sarily assist the artist. 
 
 For straight lined and regular curvilinear figures, the 
 rules of geometry are of great use, as they supply the 
 mind with exact views ©f such objects. But although 
 the knowledge of such rules may prove serviceable in 
 every kind of art, yet the display of them is wholly in- 
 admissible in all works of taste or poetical imagery. 
 
 Anatomy is capable of affording instruction to the mind, 
 but, except in works of natural history, it should not 
 be seen in the pencilling of an artist. For sculpture it 
 seems more applicable than for painting ; and like many 
 other elementary studies, it may come in aid of the 
 greatest powers of genius; but the display of its ap- 
 plication requires judgment. Teachers of anatomy 
 should not be allowed to dictate the rules for painting 
 
 c 2 
 
and sculpture from the narrow limits of their auxiliary 
 art, or they will induce the unwary student to draw asid© 
 the veil which gives that pleasing concealment to our 
 nature, and thus expose to the world subjects of horror 
 and disgust, instead of those which excite the noblest and 
 tenderest feelings. 
 
 Chastity in design, and genuine taste, are not to be 
 acquired from any settled rules. Each man of genius 
 will arrive at his aim by the road which he finds most, 
 agreeable and convenient to himself; and the only ad- 
 vantage he ought to expect from elementary instruction,^ 
 is the cultivation of his art according to those methods; 
 which judicious and successful masters have pursued. 
 
 Anthony Carlisle^. 
 
13 
 
 Mr. Artist, 
 
 June 29, 1807. 
 
 I HOPE your correspondent Speculator will continue 
 his speculations on the proper boundaries of Painting 
 and Poetry. Many more of your readers than he sup- 
 poses, will be willing to agree with him that the best way 
 of shewing the just extent of the powers of any one 
 particular art, is to exhibit its several degrees of im- 
 portance in relation to other arts of a congenial nature, 
 —as the comparative weight and value of a metal as- 
 certain the worth of the coin. 
 
 I am not, however, without apprehensions that, in ex- 
 amining the productions of the various provinces of Paint- 
 ing, he will occasionally meet with a few Non-descripiSy 
 whose pretensions he will find it no easy matter to as- 
 certain. — Take the following instance ; 
 
 I knew an old Painter, at a watering place about a 
 hundred miles from town, who without talent for any 
 part of his art beyond what might constitute him a 
 Landscape-carpenter, used once every year to olfer 
 to the benevolence of his friends a picture of what he 
 
14 
 
 named a moon''lighi* — -Tlicy were too polite to contra- 
 dict him. 
 
 It was indeed undeniable that a white circular figure 
 appeared, in the annual canvas, in that portion of 
 space, which in landscapes is for the most part allotted 
 to the sky, and which, in the pictures of this artist, greatly 
 resembled a sheet of thin lead, interspersed with occa- 
 sional edges or seams of tin, which he called clouds. The 
 7'oiind form which I hare described, might, for dimension 
 and appearance, (if it had not been on canvas,) have 
 helped its companions to ascertain the state of the game 
 at any card-table in the place. As to the other portions 
 of the work, called Trees and Figures, I shall pass them 
 over in silence, and your correspondent may, if he pleases, 
 use them, at some future opportunity, to prove the su- 
 periority of Painting over Poetry; — for they exhibited 
 by means of colours what no language is able to de- 
 scribe. 
 
 This gentleman would have been wholly unable to 
 restrain his indignation, if any one had questioned his 
 being A Fainter; and I now venture to send you the 
 above account of his works, only from the assurance that, 
 in the natural course of years, the Painter sleeps in the 
 
15 
 
 peaceful grave, or, as he would himself have expressed 
 it in more dignified phrase, 
 
 " Decidit 
 
 Quo plus ^neasj quo Tullus, dives et Ancus," 
 
 In the grave he rests his head, 
 "Where now Anchises' pious son is fled ; 
 Where wealthy Ancus, and where Tullus lie. 
 
 For it is but fair to add, that Education had at once 
 singularly polished and elevated his manners, and the 
 poverty, vi^hich could not humiliate his spirit, having 
 recommended him to the general respect of his acquaint- 
 ance, he maintained on all occasions a superiority of 
 character, which no condition of life can bestow or take 
 away from such a mind, and which would certainly very 
 ill have brooked any doubts of his professional rank; nor, 
 indeed, have I forgot that, when he once visited a friend 
 of mine, accoutred in a very rusty suit of old-fashioned 
 black Court-dress, he lifted up one of the long flaps of 
 his waistcoat, and shewed beneath it a sword-belt and 
 buckle; adding, with an air of conscious, but somewhat 
 self-complacent, dignity — " The customs of B — alone 
 prevent me from fastening my sword to this belt, which I 
 put on in readiness every day." 
 
16 
 
 But this is digression. — I therefore only request that 
 you or your correspondent will please to inform me in 
 what class an artist, of the description I have mentioned, 
 is to be ranked in painting. 
 
 I remain, Mr. Artist, 
 
 Yours at command, 
 
 Scruple* 
 
 P, S, It may assist a Speculator'^ s proposed improve- 
 ment of your vocabulary, if you will acquaint him that 
 Mr. Richardson, in his admirable work on Painting, calls 
 inferior artists by the name of Picture^makcrs^ and the 
 highest only by that of Painters* 
 
 I PROPOSE to answer very fully the question stated above, 
 when I examine the Nature and Properties of Painting; 
 which will form no small part of my employment during 
 a future period of this publication. 
 
 A. 
 
 No. XVIIi. On the Influence of the Imitative Arts on 
 Manners and Morals; will be published on Saturday, 
 .Tuly 11. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XVIII. Saturday^ July 11, 1807. 
 
 - Sacer, interpresque Deorum - 
 Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque leones, 
 
 THE effect of the cultivation of the Imitative Arts on 
 the Manners and the Morals, though an object of curious 
 investigation, does not seem hitherto to have received suf- 
 ficient attention from the critic. In attempting to supply 
 this defect, it will be necessary to separate Manners and 
 Morals, for, though alike in derivation, they are very 
 distinct in their signification in the English language, and 
 the confounding of them has been productive of much 
 error, especially in Epic and Dramatic criticism. 
 
 Under the imitative arts are comprehended. Painting, 
 No. 18. B 
 
2 
 
 Sculpture, Music, and Poetry. The tendency of the 
 liberal arts to polish and soften the manners has been 
 noticed by a Roman poet, and individually it is strictly 
 true. The education that is necessary to qualify a per- 
 son to excel in any of the fine arts, and the mode of 
 employment he must be occupied in, to shew that ex- 
 cellence when properly qualified, must certainly tend 
 greatly to polish the manners of the individual. But it 
 is not so obvious at first, whether a general polish of 
 manners is the cause or the consequence of the study of 
 the liberal arts. Perhaps, hoAvever, on examining the 
 rise and progress of the arts as recorded in history, we 
 may be induced to think that the influence of them on 
 general society has been nearly congenial with that on 
 the individual, and that, though some degree of refine- 
 ment must have taken place before they could have at 
 all occupied the attention of mankind, their power in 
 increasing that refinement was in an infinitely greater 
 proportion. 
 
 In Greece, as early as the time of Homer, the imitative 
 arts had attained a high degree of perfection. The de- 
 scription of the shield of Achilles affords no mean 
 specimen of the powers of sculpture and painting, and 
 
3 
 
 the art of music is always mentioned by the poet with 
 particular veneration. With regard to poetr}^, the Iliad 
 itself is a work that has been perpetually imitated, but 
 never equalled. But what shall we say of the Manners 
 of the time ? It would be a bold paradox to assert that, 
 notwithstanding the general opinion to the contrary, 
 manners had then attained a degree of polish, and yet 
 that paradox I shall hazard; and I will instance the 
 picture of Achilles, as drawn by Homer. That he was 
 violent, vindictive, and a slave to his passion, there 
 is no doubt; but I am now speaking of Manners, not of 
 Morals. Let us examine the conduct of Achilles, when 
 presiding over the games at the funeral of Patroclus, 
 among his friends, and under no influence of passion ; — and 
 under such influence, the best bred men of modern times 
 will find it difficult not to deviate from the rules of polite- 
 ness. The attention of the Hero of the Iliad to the 
 difierent chiefs, his liberality in the distribution of the 
 prizes and in settling amicably their disputes, and his 
 respectful behaviour to Agamemnon when he offers to 
 contend for one of the prizes, exhibit a conduct that 
 may now strictly be called gentleman-like. 
 
 But what are we to infer from the Manners of a much 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 later era, and at Athens, where the arts of painting and 
 sculpture were in the highest state of cultivation, and where, 
 in addition to the poems of Homer, the imitative powers of 
 poetry and music, with the assistance of personal represen- 
 tation, were united in the tragedies of Euripides and Sopho- 
 cles? lam not defending an hypothesis, but investigating 
 facts, and when I trace the convivial conversations of the 
 time in the writings of Xenophon and Plato, and read the 
 comedies of Aristophanes, truth compels me to confess 
 that Athens, in the age of Socrates, was not the seat of 
 politeness. But if the progress of Athenian refinement 
 had not been checked by the loss of Athenian indepen- 
 dence, the succession of the comedies of Menander to the 
 farces of Aristophanes shews (as comedy is the most 
 faithful reporter of Manners), the rapid steps that Athens 
 was taking towards politeness. 
 
 Rome very soon felt the effect of the importation (if 
 I may use the expression) of the fine arts, fojr they were 
 not indigenous with her ; and quick must have been 
 the progress of the civilization of her maniers, from the 
 time of Plautus to that of Terence. Ard itt appears 
 that Horace was in every respect a finishei gentleman, 
 Rome also furnishes us with an example of t he decline, 
 
5 
 
 as well as the progress, of refinement, and her manners, 
 as well as her morals, seem to have exactly kept pace 
 with the deterioration of her excellence in the imitative 
 arts. 
 
 The introduction of the imitative arts into modern 
 Europe, under any thing but the grossest forms, must be 
 traced to the crusades, and their effect on Manners was 
 astonishing. Their first influence was on those who 
 immediately introduced them, and from the rude and 
 barbarian masses of the feudal system, by their assistance 
 rose the beautiful and romantic fabric of chivalry, from 
 which has sprung the delicacy of politeness and gal- 
 lantry, which so eminently distinguishes the society of 
 modern times from the most polished periods of an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 As we proceed to inquire into the effect of the imi- 
 tative arts on Morals, it will be necessary first to examine 
 a little the peculiar power and excellence of each, 
 always considering that imitation only where the means 
 of imitation are apparent, and not such imitations as 
 are really deceptions, and which rather create surprise 
 than rational admiration. 
 
 The imitative powers of Sculpture, a^ distinct from 
 
6 
 
 Painting, are thus defined, in the words of a very in- 
 genious critic, Mr. Knight. " The art of sculpture (he 
 says) is a much fairer, and more impartial representer 
 of beauty of form than that of painting ; for as it ex- 
 hibits form only, it can employ no tricks of light and 
 shade, to give preternatural distinctness to one part, or 
 preternatural obscureness to another; and, as its imi- 
 tations are distinct, as far as they extend, it can leave 
 nothing to the imagination, nor employ any of that 
 loose and sketchy brilliancy of execution, by which 
 painting gives an artificial appearance of lightness to 
 forms which in nature always appear heavy." 
 
 The advantages, that painting, as an imitative art, de- 
 rives from this difference, are immense; and, in fact, every 
 form and every action, that can come within the span of 
 that most comprehensive of our senses, Sight, are the 
 objects of picturesque imitation. 
 
 Something like the same distinction that exists between 
 Sculpture and Painting, exists also between Music and 
 Poetry. The imitation of sounds by Music is complete, 
 and that of Poetry very defective indeed; the imitated 
 sound of bells, of religious or martial symphonies, 
 &c. are obvious to the dullest ears ; but that echo of 
 
7 
 
 the sound to the sense in verse, which is so much talked of 
 by the critics, I could never find to be perceptible by 
 persons of the most correct ear, who were not acquainted 
 with the language. But the moral powers of poetic 
 imitation are universal, and in one instance, viz. the 
 Drama exhibited on the stage, exceed every species of 
 imitation short of actual deception. 
 
 The effect of Sculpture on morals is very trifling; 
 that of Painting is greater, but not permanent. 
 
 The representation of an heroic or interesting action, 
 will for the moment excite congenial sentiments in 
 the spectator; a strong instance of which I witnessed in 
 a young man on seeing the first exhibition of Mr. West's 
 picture of the Death of Wolfe ; but the impression will 
 not be permanent. Music, as an imitative art, can have 
 no moral effect, but it certainly possesses other powers 
 that have. Though far, very far from being tremblingly 
 alive to musical influence, I yet feel enough from simple 
 and pathetic melodies, not to doubt the effect of it on 
 those who are; and on the same principle, I am not 
 inclined to question entirely the marvellous accounts 
 handed down from antiquity of the influence of Music 
 and Poetry united, though we see nothing like it in 
 
8 
 
 our own ^fmes, where poetry seems only considered as 
 the vehicle of musical notes, and which office is equally 
 well performed by prose. 
 
 In considering Poetry as an imitative art, we must dis- 
 tinguish between imitation and description: in the last 
 class is comprehended what is emphatically styled de- 
 scriptive poetry; in the first, such compositions as paint 
 manners, actions, and passions, by the introduction of 
 imaginary persons, and under which are comprehended 
 the Drama and the Epopee, both in prose and verse; for 
 (without recurring to Aristotle, who tells us the inven- 
 tion, and not the v€rse, constitutes the poet) surely, if 
 we allow the name of poet to the writer of a modern 
 Comedy, we need not withhold it from the writers of 
 the Romance or the Novel. 
 
 This last species of imitation takes the firmest hold on 
 the imagination, and has by far the greatest influence 
 on the morals. It may seem singular,- — but the fact is 
 clearly so, — that though, as I have before observed, the 
 drama, well represented, is the most perfect of the imi- 
 tative arts, (indeed in a modern comedy the imitation is 
 perfect) yet the effect on the imagination does not seem 
 at all equal to what we read of the Athenian drama, 
 
9 
 
 which was by no means so close to Nature, or what we 
 see with regard to the effect of Romances and Novels, 
 though only read in the closet. 
 
 Both these consequences seem derived from the same 
 source, viz. the superior attention paid to them, and the 
 stronger impression which from this cause they make 
 or made (for the Romance is equally obsolete with the 
 Greek Tragedy) on the imagination. We know how 
 the attention of the Athenians was rivetted to the Scene; 
 and such was their love for the Drama, that they sat to see 
 several Tragedies performed one after another in im- 
 mediate succession. But when we consider that part 
 of a modern audience, who are likely to be most strongly 
 impressed by scenic imitation, only let us reflect on how 
 much of their attention is taken up with their own dress, 
 and that of other persons, the attentions they receive 
 from our sex, and the idea at present so fascinating to 
 their own, that they are in a place of public amusement ; 
 and to these must be added the frequent calls of Box- 
 keeper!^ and the noise and insolence of that most rude, 
 and at the same time most unmanly race that ever dis- 
 graced any age or country, the Box-lobby Loungers. 
 
 To the perusal of the ancient Romance and modern 
 Novel the most uninterrupted attention has been generally 
 
 No. 18. c 
 
10 
 
 dedicated, and to the pursuit of the interesting tale the 
 hours of rest and reflection have often been sacrificed. 
 From the celebrated work of Cervantes, (which would 
 never have been so popular, had it not given a faithful 
 picture of the times), besides the exaggerated description 
 of the distracted knight, we see how strongly the mania 
 of reading books of chivalry had pervaded all ranks of 
 persons in Spain ; the consequence of which was a 
 high refinement in manners, and in morals, the virtues 
 of heroism in war, and constancy in love, elevation of 
 sentiment and fervor of piety, carried all indeed to excess 
 in some enthusiastic minds, but which had a considerable 
 eifect on all; and to this we still owe the mild features 
 of modern warfare, when compared with that of the 
 most polished eras of antiquity. 
 
 The effects of the Novel are different. The Romance 
 held up an example, which set exact imitation at de- 
 fiance; but the Novel presents scenes that we seem all 
 likely to be engaged in, and by drawing not so much 
 exaggerated as deceptive pictures of actions and manners, 
 they have in many cases a pernicious influence on morals,, 
 especially in the female mind. 
 
 A marriage of reciprocal and ardent aff'ection is the con- 
 stant reward of female love ; but in real life how very 
 
11 
 
 seldom do such marriages take place? Norels, it is true, 
 sometimes give precepts how a wife should conduct herself, 
 if unfortunately linked with vice, but no hint as to her 
 conduct, if wedded to deformity; inconstancy and jea- 
 lousy the novel writer does suppose to exist in human 
 nature, but infirmity and personal decay are entirely 
 out of the catalogue. The unhappy heroine is never 
 instructed how to support with fortitude and complacency 
 the society of an unworthy husband; the story always 
 holds out to her the time when the hand of fate shall 
 free her from her misery^ and leave her to the arms of 
 the man of her choice*. Happily or unhappily (for 
 I will not determine which, as perhaps the remedy may be 
 worse than the disease) the perpetual round of amusement, 
 in which all the higher and a very large proportion of 
 the middle ranks of society are engaged, leaves very 
 little opportunity for the young and thoughtless to be 
 deeply impressed by the imitative arts; and those of 
 firmer years and mind, who are deeply involved in the 
 
 * I once heard a girl at work in the fields, sing these Hues : 
 
 " When my parents came to know 
 I lov'd Dick the Drummer so ; 
 O, said they, you had by half 
 Better marry Plow-hoy Ralph," 
 
 I said to myself, this is at once the fable of all the Novels I ever read. ; 
 
 C 2 (^-) 
 
12 
 
 serious duties of life, will find only salutary elTects from 
 their cultivation. In a word, there can be no question 
 but that refinement of manners has been, in general, 
 the immediate and obvious consequence of the extended 
 influence of the imitative arts; and with regard to morals, 
 so friendly do they seem to their improvement, that 
 I should have no high opinion of the social virtues of 
 that man, who was insensible to their powers, and be 
 ready to apply to him, who was entirely unmoved 
 by this universal harmony of sensation, this music of the 
 mind, what our great poet applied to the man, who is 
 not moved by the concord of sweet sounds. 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE ARTIST. 
 
 YOU were polite enough to express a wish, dear Sir, 
 that, when I might have a few leisure moments, I would 
 communicate a brief abstract of the theatrical events 
 of the season, which has just closed. As far as such 
 an abstract shall be historical, it may afford documents 
 to those who shall hereafter think the progress of the 
 stage deserving of inquiry; and, as I believe the stage 
 to be a very efficient school of morality, I am persuaded 
 
13 
 
 it will gradually become a. subject of great, of popular, 
 and of worthy research. I know not how far what I 
 am about to write may answer the end you had in view, 
 but I can only give a general outline, or sketch ; having 
 neither time, materials, nor intention to finish the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 The question that first presents itself is — What are 
 the novelties the season has produced ? We next ask — ^ 
 In what degree of estimation were they held ? Answers 
 to both these inquiries may impartially be obtainedj 
 from the play-bills of the time. By these we are in- 
 formed that, including comedies, plays, operas, farces, 
 and pantomimes, no less than twenty new pieces ap- 
 peared ; eleven at the Theatre Royal Drury-lane, and 
 nine at Covent-garden. Eleven of these were after- 
 pieces, of various descriptions ; and nine claimed the 
 superior rank of comedy, play, or opera, six of which 
 were brought forward at Drury-lane, and but three at 
 Covent-garden. 
 
 Beside these, a comedy called The Faro Table, was 
 announced at Drury-lane, written by the late Mr. Tobin, 
 author of the Honey^moon; which was suddenly with- 
 drawn. The reason was supposed to be, that a discovery 
 had been made of an incident, which might be thought 
 
14 
 
 personal, though it related to a deceased Lady. To sup- 
 press scandal might be a duty ; but to accept a comedy^ 
 put it in rehearsal, repeat it till it was ready for repre- 
 sentation, and not to discover this incident, on which the 
 success of the piece, as it was said, greatly depended, till 
 the eve of the performance, appears to be as extraor- 
 dinary an incident as either this or any other comedy 
 could afford. However, so it was; and it has been 
 and may truly be asserted that many of the real events 
 of life are too incredible for dramatic purposes. 
 
 The first fruits of the season were tasted at Covent- 
 garden : a piece, by Mr. Dimond, was there produced, 
 entitled Adrian and Orrila, and favourably received. 
 Being serious, it was entitled a play, and, in a certain 
 sense, gave promise of improvement, for the language 
 had the frequent fault of being too flowery: in eager 
 search of metaphor, simile, and poetic figure, it shewed an 
 aptitude to forget or neglect passion^ of which however 
 it was far from destitute, and on which its success 
 wholly depended. In the exhibition of the princi- 
 pal female character, Miss Smith gained no small 
 increase of reputation: nor was it easy to determine 
 whether she did herself or the author most service. 
 
 The comedy that next appearedj November 20, 180^, 
 
15 
 
 was The Vindictive Man, by Mr. Holcroft. Its life 
 was short ; it was performed but twice. — Authors, like 
 the makers of escutcheons, frequently write Resurgam 
 under their labours ; whether with the same certainty 
 can only be decided by time. Those persons who think 
 it worth the trouble, may in the present instance make 
 their own calculations ; for the piece, being published, 
 is at the mercy of every man. For obvious reasons, I 
 am silent. 
 
 On the same evening, November 20, The Deserts 
 OF Arabia, announced as a grand operatical entertain- 
 ment, was performed, at the Theatre Royal Covent- 
 garden. Mr. Reynolds was the author, and the piece 
 was so far well received that it was played twelve or 
 fifteen times; and, though it did not add greatly to the 
 author's fame, neither did it greatly detract. 
 
 On the 24th of the same month, Tekeli, a melo- 
 drame, from the French, by Mr. Hooke, the music 
 by Mr. Hooke senior, was first represented. It had 
 considerable interest, but reminded us a little too 
 much, in its construction, of The Escapes^ and other 
 French pieces: however it became a favourite, and 
 was the best support of the Theatre, Drury-lane, before 
 Christmas, 
 
16 
 
 At the same Theatre, December 10, a new farce, 
 ■vTith the whimsical title, Mr. H — , was performed. 
 Mr. 11 — was ashamed of the vulgarity of his name, 
 Mr. Hogsflcsh: the author had great humour, but he 
 endeavoured to make this single incident supply ma- 
 terials for the whole piece, and therefore failed. Au- 
 thors are generally too soon satisfied with their efforts : 
 audiences are so different, that there are no means of fore- 
 seeing how they will feel and act; at some times their lenity 
 excites amazement; at others their severity is little less 
 than outrageous. This Theatre, in particular, had, through 
 the season, repeated proofs of the latter propensity. 
 
 The following evening, December 11, at the other 
 house, another new farce, entitled Arbitration, made 
 its first appearance. Mr. Reynolds, the author, was 
 w^ell aware of the danger of pre-coiiceived opinions, 
 and personal prejudices; he therefore kept himself 
 incognito, and it w\as whispered through the house to 
 be the first effort of Mr. Lewis, who performed the 
 principal character in a truly pleasant manner. It was 
 received with applause, and, in concert with its twin 
 brother. The Deserts of Arabia^ kept possession of the 
 house till the high and mighty Mother Goose served 
 them with an ejectment. 
 
17 
 
 Christmas now comes, and with him brings his gam- 
 bols; mask, mime, and pantomime. The Enchanters, 
 at Old Drury, took the lead, but were soon obliged 
 to fall into the rear, and end an inefficient march. 
 This pantomime came out on the 26th of December, 
 drew but little attention, and on the 29th was wholly 
 eclipsed by Harlequin and Mother Goose. The al- 
 liance between these renowned persons was a memorable 
 event in the annals of Covent-garden : it nightly as- 
 tonished Door-keepers, filled the Box-book, enriched the 
 Treasury, rejoiced the Proprietors, and relieved the 
 Manager from disquietude. " Incessant praise to thee," 
 they cried and continue to cry, " Oh Mother Goose, 
 " for thine were truly Eggs of Gold! Upward of eighty 
 " nights they dropped from thee ; somewhat diminished 
 " in size, at length, but still sterling, still of Gold !" 
 
 Immortal shade of Shakspeare, say, did not 
 Thy canonized bones, hears'd in death, burst 
 Their cearments ? Did not the sepulchre ope 
 His ponderous and marble jaws, to cast 
 Thee up again ? 
 
 Mother <^ COSE and The Tempest^ Mother Goose and 
 Macbeth^ Mother Goose, Arbitration^ and The Deserts of 
 No. 18. D 
 
IS 
 
 Arabia*^ the most sublime or the most farcical of effu- 
 sions, alike, are dainty fare, served up to table with 
 Mother Goose: she has a relish so divine, that any 
 cookery, sanctioned by her presence, is most excellent I At 
 such times, the potent alderman. Appetite, is never absent. 
 
 Old Drury endeavoured to make head against this- 
 sudden influx, this torrent of popularity : a comic opera, 
 of three acts, called False Alarms, by Mr. Kenny, 
 the music by Messieurs King and Braham, appeared 
 on the 12th of January, 1807, at that Theatre, and 
 was performed above twenty nights. 
 
 On the 28th of the same months Assignation, a co* 
 medy, by Miss Lee, was brought forward, at the same 
 house ; but, though not still-born, its death was sudden ; 
 it fell with the curtain. With laudable industry, the 
 Duchess, Drury, renewed her efforts, and, on February 
 19, produced The Curfew, a play, by the late Mr. John 
 Tobin, of the language of which it would be difficult 
 to speak in praise too high, or too much to censure its 
 improbability of plot; however, it rather tended to in- 
 crease than diminish a respect for the talents of the 
 author ; it had not less than twenty representations. 
 
 Fortunately, it may be supposed, for the pockets of the 
 * Jan. 6f 1807, these three pieces were the entertainment of the evening. 
 
19 
 
 author, while the popularity of Mother Goose was un- 
 diminished, Town and Country, a comedy, by Mr. 
 Morton, was represented, on the 10th of March, sup- 
 ported by several of the best actors of the house, among 
 whom was Mr. Kemble. It had not quite so great a run 
 as the Curfew, 
 
 Two nights afterward, at Drury-lane, an after-piece, 
 called The Young Hussar, by Mr. Dimond, made its 
 first appearance, and the author was a second time 
 this season successful : but in either instance, he brought 
 with him no great tide of popularity. 
 
 With April fools, or, to speak more intelligibly, on 
 the first of April, a more terrible successor, The Wood 
 DAEMON, a melo-drame, burst to view! A dreadful spec- 
 tre ! To much astonishment he added much delight, 
 while acclamation bad him come again, and many 
 times again. Mr. M. G. Lewis was his lawful father ; 
 his children are wont to give delight and terror. 
 
 On the 10th of April, Covent-garden produced Whis- 
 tle FOR IT, an after-piece, said to be written by the Ho- 
 norable Mr. Lamb; and on the 16th, The Ogre and 
 Little Thumb, an entertainment, attributed to young 
 Mr. Harris, appeared,. and survived: but neither of these 
 
20 
 
 had power to resist the incantations of Mother Goose: 
 they lived, but lingered. 
 
 In order of time, I should first have mentioned a comedy, 
 by Mr. Cherry, called A Day in London, vrhich appeared 
 April 9, at Drury-lane, but, which, after the third re- 
 presentation, was laid aside. 
 
 On May 8, at Covent Garden, the same author had a 
 piece brought forth, called Peter the G reat, which w as 
 performed a few times. 
 
 Two other pieces were brought out, for benefits; 
 one, April 30th, called Adelgitha, for the benefit 
 of Mrs. Powell, which was afterward adopted by the 
 Theatre, and several times performed. The other, May 
 9th, for the benefit of Mr. Fawcett, was entitled Miseries 
 OF Human Life; but with his benefit these miseries 
 seemed to end, for we heard no more of them. 
 
 Except the performers, Mr. Melvin, Miss Ray, and a 
 few others who, if they have merits, will hereafter make 
 them known, I know of no other novelties, and here, dear 
 Sir, my summary ends. I am much afraid you and your 
 readers will think it much too long. 
 
 T.H. 
 
 No. XIX. Classes of the Human Ponrcrs of Intellect; 
 will be published on Saturday, July 18. 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XIX. Saturday.^ July IS, 1807. 
 
 TO THE ARTIST, 
 
 Sanctius his anmul, mentisque capacius alt(R 
 
 Natus homo est,-^ Ovid* 
 
 WHILST I perceive it to be the aim of your work to 
 present successire objects of study for the improvement of 
 our minds, it may not be wholly from your purpose to 
 enter on a short examination of the general composition of 
 those minds, which you are thus labouring to adorn. I 
 propose therefore to offer you some thoughts on the various 
 degrees of power, which appear in the human intellect; 
 or, to speak more correctly, of the various degrees of 
 
 No. 19. s 
 
2 
 
 intellectual capacity, which distinguish the human animal. 
 For though all men are, as we trust and believe, capable 
 of the divine faculty of reason, the first and last numbers of 
 the following classification excepted, yet it is not to all 
 that the heavenly beam is disclosed in its splendour,. 
 Rare indeed is that perfect 
 
 I ■■ " creature, who not prone- 
 And brute as other creatures, but endued 
 With sanctity of reason, bears erect 
 His stature, and upright with front serene 
 Governs the rest, self-knowing ; ' T hence, 
 Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, 
 And grateful to acknowledge whence the good 
 Descends; thither with heart, and voice, and eyes 
 Directed in devotion, to adore 
 And worship God supreme, who made him chief 
 Of all his works." 
 
 I shall merely, in the present paper, throw out a few 
 hints on a subject, of which I may hereafter treat more 
 copiously, and shall briefly state the general heads of a 
 classification of human beings with regard to intellect. 
 
 1. In the first and lowest order I place the idiot;-— 
 the mere vegetative being, totally destitute of intellect*. 
 
3 
 
 2. In the second rank I shall mention that description 
 of Being just lifted into intellectuality, but too weak and 
 imperfect to acquire judgment; who can perform some 
 ef the minor offices of life — can shut a door — blow a fire^ — 
 express sensations of pain, »fec., and, although faintly en- 
 dowed with perceptions of comparative good, is yet too 
 feeble to discriminate with accuracy. A Being of this degree 
 may, with sufficient propriety, be denominated the weak, 
 silly, poor creature, — the DoU» 
 
 3. The third class is best described by the general 
 term of Mediocrity^ and includes the large mass of 
 mankind. These crowd our streets, -these line our "iiles, 
 these cover our seas. It is with this class that the world 
 is peopled. These are they who move constantly in the 
 beaten path; these support the general order which 
 they do not direct; these uphold the tumult which they 
 do not stir; these echo the censure or the praise of what 
 they are neither capable of criticising or admiring. 
 
 4. It is the best praise of the foregoing class, tha^ 
 from its highest point there is but one step, in the na^ 
 tural progress of intellect, to the central state of our en- 
 dowments, or to what may be considered as the state of 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Menial Perfection^ as far as it is capable of advancing 
 among men; the happy union of all the faculties of the 
 mind, which conduce to promote present and future 
 good; (^f all the energies of genius, valour, judgment. 
 In this class are found the men whoj surveying truth in 
 all her loveliness, defend her from assault, and unveil her 
 charms to the world; who rule mankind by their wis*^ 
 dom, and contemplate glory, as the Eagle fixes his view 
 on the Sun, undazzled by the rays that surround it. 
 
 From this point Intellect again diverges j but, as I have 
 described it advancing from cold inanimation to gradual 
 warmth and life, so we find it retiring through an in- 
 creasing heat, in which it appears to be finally con-^ 
 sumed. 
 
 1 . In the first class from the centre on this side of the 
 scale, stands Eccentricity^ with all its pleasant and un- 
 pleasant concomitants : camprehending all such men as 
 are distinguished for great peculiarities — ^high flights of 
 fancy — unsteadiness of character ;< — ^ungovernable either 
 by the advice or admonition of friends ; strangers to 
 discretion ; for the most part highly irritable ; always 
 in extremes of conduct, extravagantly generous and bene^ 
 
5 
 
 volent, or miserably penurious: — ^who excite the wonder, 
 the laughter, or the contempt of the world. * 
 
 I have in this class a very numerous acquaintance. 
 
 2. In the next class, reason begins to suffer, and loses 
 ground, but only in a partial manner. Here arises 
 that derangement, that peculiar confusion of ideas, 
 which characterises Insanity, This is perhaps the 
 most affecting of all the conditions of men. We 
 compare the extensive brightness of the mind, that suffers 
 eclipse, with its local deprivation, and estimate the loss by 
 the scale of accompanying possessions*. 
 
 * ^Mv. Hayley has very feelingly described this state of intellect, in his life 
 of Cowper. 
 
 The misfortune of mental derangement is a topic of such awful delicacy, 
 that I consider it the duty of a biographer, rather to sink, in tender silence, 
 than to proclaim, with circumstancial, and offensive temerity, the minute 
 particulars of a calamity,, to which all human beings are exposed, and perhaps 
 in proportion as they have received from nature those delightful, but dangeiv 
 ous gifts, a heart of exquisite tenderness, and a uiind of creative energy." 
 
 " Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight. 
 Each yielding harmony, disposed aright; 
 The screws revers'd (a task which if he please 
 God in a monvent executes with ease ;) 
 Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose ; 
 I-ost, till he tune them, all their pow'r and use." [Cowper.] 
 
6 
 
 3. The last class is that of the Maniac — Here reason is 
 ^ lioUy driven from her rule, and the wreck of the mental 
 faculties is complete. The man becomes a being without 
 sympathies and without consciousness, without love of .his 
 fellow creatures, or sense of his creator. Element wars 
 on element, and the last glimmer of the intellectual 
 flame is extingui shed. 
 
 It will not fail to strike some of your readers that the 
 number of the classes, into which I have divided the human 
 faculties, is that of seven ; a number so celebrated and so 
 often discussed on account of its mysterious qualities and 
 analogies. This is not a question into which I am disposed- 
 to enter; but I think it requisite to observe, that the inter- 
 mediate numbers in the above scale admit of a variety 
 of modifications, and if we were to subdivide them into 
 classes, they would be a compound of the number im- 
 mediately above or below, till they insensibly glided into 
 4)ne of them. 
 
 Thus, if we subdivided mental perfection (No. 4) into 
 six modifications, three of them might partake more or 
 less of the quality attributed to No. 3 in the scale; and 
 the other three, of the quality attributed to No. 5, and 
 so on. 
 
 It would perhaps be impossible minutely to analyse the 
 
7 
 
 minor degrees of intellect which various individuals may 
 possess. Yet, though no clue has hitherto been found 
 to conduct us through all the mazes and intricacies of the 
 human mind, the preceding observations may probably 
 facilitate the inquiry. 
 
 THE Reader may recollect, in an early part af these 
 papers, a short address from an unfortunate Artist, whose 
 memoirs form the subject of the following letter. Although 
 I will not take on me to say how far it may prove enter- 
 taining to my readers in- general, I am in hopes that, 
 with some of them, it may have a moral tendency, by 
 pointing out the pitiable consequences of misapplied in- 
 dustry in those who, either from youthful conceit, the 
 fond partiality of parents, or the inconsiderate flattery of 
 friends, have been led on, step by step, to espouse a 
 profession for which nature never designed them, and for 
 which they have forfeited nearly all the blessings that life 
 has to bestow and embraced, in their stead, poverty and 
 contempt; when the same industry and the same mode- 
 
8 
 
 rate talents, which failed in the pursuit of celebrity^j 
 would have been their security in a more ordinary track, 
 and might have brought them every requisite to compe* 
 tency and comfort. 
 
 From others' harms learB to beware. 
 And you shall do full well. 
 
 Gallant Lady's Fall. 
 June 20, 1807. 
 
 Good Mr. Artist, 
 1 CONCLUDE you are well informed by your scientific 
 mind and professional knowledge, that all thiugs seen in 
 perspective make those parts appear the largest which 
 approach nearest to our. eye, A similar effect is produced 
 by the influence of that partiality which every man feels 
 for himself ; and although I am well aware that to some 
 I may appear so distant in the horizon that I am almost 
 lost in the vanishing point, yet, in my own view of the 
 prospect, I am not only by very much the largest, but 
 also the most finished figure in the whole extensive circle, 
 and with this prepossession, I can have no doubt that 
 whatever relates to myself or my concerns must be infi- 
 nitely interesting to you. 
 
9 
 
 It was my ill fortune to have been born in one of the 
 counties of England the most distant from the metropolis, 
 and this untoward circumstance debarred me from every 
 means of early improvement in my darling study. It 
 would be mere affectation (which I detest) were I not in- 
 genuously to confess that I think I had, from my birth, a 
 genius for puinling^ which in my own opinion was evi- 
 dently proved by the early love I shewed towards the art, 
 notwithstanding my father, good man, never would give 
 me the least encouragement in such a notion ; for al- 
 though he was a wise man in many respects, yet it seemed 
 to me that he had too much of the dry philosopher about 
 him, and did not think it consistent with prudence to 
 trust any thing to the risk of fortune or chance, if it were 
 possible to avoid it, and with whatever eagerness I urged 
 my claims to eminence in the art, he still answered coldly, 
 insisted on its being a very precarious undertaking, and 
 said that none but such as were by nature blessed with 
 uncommon abilities would succeed in it ; adding that he 
 should much rather see me a good honest shoemaker, as 
 that was a safe and sure maintenance, since every body 
 at some time or other must be in want of good shoes, but 
 that nobody at any time would be in want of bad pictures. 
 
 No. 19. e 
 
10 
 
 All this pithy advice sounded in my ears little better than 
 folly or ignorance. It was still a fixed tlimg in my owa 
 mind that / had a genius^ and drawhg; was my only 
 delight, which he called idling; indeed it might to him 
 have that appearance, for I must hones ly confess that I 
 always felt an aversion to every thing whbh was given me 
 to do as a task, and instead of trying to write a good round 
 hand, or to cast up a sum in arithmetic, I generally spent 
 the time in scrawling figures and landscapes on my copy- 
 book. Whenever a strolling painter came into the town, I 
 was sure to be his constant follower, greatly to the dis- 
 pleasure of my father, who generally checked my ardour 
 by dryly saying, Hold I hold! this intimacy will end in 
 his borrowing money of me, and then we must take the 
 debt out in pictures, or get nothing, which is the same 
 thing. You may conceive how all this sounded in my ears* 
 -—Thdit genius should be thus treated ! — All my friends and 
 acquaintance persevered in their opinion of my wonderful 
 talents, and although my father would not take their 
 word, I did, I therefore grew impatient, and determined 
 to take the first opportunity of quitting his house, whether 
 with or without his consent, being fully convinced that I 
 ghould make my name illustrious in the art. Accordingly 
 
11 
 
 on a fine May morning I set out for London, filled with 
 all the enthusiasm of youth, and elated with my ideal 
 prospects of future success. 
 
 As I approached the great city, which I had never seen, 
 it seemed to me that I trod on the clouds, and was at 
 the entrance of Paradise ; however, when in London, I 
 had powerful competitors to encounter, and I found 
 myself in the state of the harper in the fable, who, after 
 having been the wonder of his native town, was astonished 
 at being hissed off the London stage. Nevertheless, I 
 persisted undismayed, and now resolved to become a Por- 
 trait-Painter. 
 
 But here also I soon found a considerable difference in 
 the face of the world towards me : At my father's house, 
 where I had never offered my works for sale, I had been 
 used to have the most excessive praises bestowed on my 
 performances, for that cost the donors nothing; but now, 
 as I was to be paid for them, the case was materially 
 altered, since all who came had a right to speak their 
 mind, and to examine sharply whether they had got an 
 equivalent for their money. I took care always to make 
 my likenesses uncommonly strong, — they sometimes 
 perhaps bordered a little on caricatura^ which occasioned 
 
 c 2 
 
my being often told they were not handsome enough ; 
 and not unfrequently even the likeness was disputed, and 
 all that I could say in my own behalf went for nothing: 
 it was only lost labour for me to assert that it was impos- 
 sible for resemblances to be stronger, even if Raflfaelle him- 
 self had drawn them ^ no one would take my word, and 
 I was obliged to submit patiently to have it proved by 
 a very severe, and as I thought, a very unjust trial, as it 
 was carried on before a numerous jury, of whom many 
 were certainly not my Peers,^ and yet I was not allowed 
 the power of challenging a single one amongst them* 
 The portrait I had drawn was to stand the test of being 
 known and approved of, not only by my employer, but 
 also by a long train of sycophant followers, to wit; ig- 
 norant, affected ladies' maids, humble, flattering, depend- 
 ent cousins, nursery-maids both wet and dry, new born 
 babes and favorite dogs ; and if all these did not give a ver- 
 dict in my favour, my work was left upon my hands, and 
 my employers became my inveterate enemies, with as much 
 rage against me as if I had made their own persons as hi- 
 deous as they said I had made their pictures: indeed they 
 told me I had given it under my hand that they were so. 
 I now despaired of succeeding in this line, and began 
 
13 
 
 to grow weary of my life ; yet something was to be 
 done for a livelihood. I therefore looked about, in 
 hopes of hitting on some new invention, by which I might 
 yet captivate the world : but this was a difficult matter ; 
 for every thing I could think of appeared to have been 
 done already. At one time I thought of painting with 
 Hiy toes instead of my fingers, as such an essay at a 
 striking novelty would have been a sure means of 
 bringing all London at my feet, and my heart leaped 
 for joy when the thought came first into my head. I 
 reflected with deligLt that I was so fortunate as to be in 
 that country and in that very city, so eminently known 
 above all others in the world for their liberal and splendid 
 encouragement of quackeries of every species, and my 
 elated heart made me look down with contempt on all 
 the other schemes of making pictures, whether in silks, 
 in worsted, in wool, with bits of coloured rags, marble 
 dust, sand, or a hot poker. These had passed their day and 
 w^ere forgotten, having been pushed from their places 
 to make way for newer wonders. But there was one 
 sorrowful obstacle to the completion of my scheme, which 
 was, that some little time was requisite foracquiring the pro- 
 per practice; though I knew a very moderate degree would 
 
14 
 
 have been sufficient to satisfy the eager curiosity of an idle 
 multitude, glad to catch at any means by which they may 
 get rid of themselves and a tedious hour: but as I was 
 actually without either money or credit, I had great 
 apprehensions that I should have run the hazard of 
 being starved in my novitiate, and this fear alone made 
 me give up the scheme altogether, to my no small morti- 
 fication. 
 
 My next determination was to become the inventor of 
 the V metian ground^ on board and on canvas, by which 
 means every painter should be enabled to paint exactly 
 like Titian ; and thus, like most other teachers, I boldly 
 proposed to point out that road to others, which I had 
 not been able to find for myself. 
 
 This lucky hit for a time proved very successful, and 
 I was employed to prepare canvas for some of the high 
 painters in town ; but fortune soon left me again in the 
 lurch, for in a short space of time some of the pictures 
 which had been painted on my grounds became ex- 
 ceedingly cracked, others fell piecemeal from the can- 
 vas y — so that I have been informed that the house maids 
 used to bestow curses on the painter for dirtying the 
 rooms with his dropping pictures. But that which gave 
 
 9 
 
15 
 
 the finishing blow to my credit in this line of Ar(^ was 
 an accident that happened to a portrait, which had been 
 painted by a very celebrated artist on one of my primed 
 grounds. It was hung over the chimney of a very 
 close warm room, and from the great heat, the ground 
 became soft to such a degree, that the eye floated down 
 tlie face as low as the mouth ; and really I must own 
 that it quite spoiled the likeness *. 
 
 I next professed myself a picture-cleaner, having an 
 invaluable nostrum for this purpose, which was imparted 
 to me by a friend. But having had a picture by Vandyke, 
 of some value, entrusted to my care, I unfortunately, from 
 ignorance in the method of using my nostrum, nearly 
 rubbed it out, and lost the skin from the tops of my 
 fingers into the bargain. This hurt my character so 
 much, that I could not get any one to trust me with 
 another job, for I had neither the wit or the knavery to 
 paint over again those parts which I had cleaned away, 
 as then I should have stood a good chance of delighting 
 my employer, and making him think the picture much 
 
 * A safer method of preparing grounds and suitable colours, has lately been 
 rewarded by the Society of Arts with a premium of twenty guineas, and their, 
 silver medal. 
 
IS 
 
 better than ever it had been ; but, when I shewed him 
 the canvas quite bare, he dismissed me with rage. 
 
 I was now driven to such streights that the Arch-fiend, 
 who, they say, never sleeps, took the opportunity of my 
 distress to tempt me to become a dealer in pictures; 
 but, thank heaven, I was able to resist him, for I had 
 always a spirit far above such a traffic, and I am [happy 
 in this place to declare that, in all the melancholy 
 hours of my frequent distress from cold and hunger, 
 even when driven from my lodging and my bed to 
 the street and a bulk (not being able to pay my rent), 
 I have never yielded to the temptation, but although 
 guilty of many sins, I have kept my hands clean from 
 that business; and I hope they will so remain to my 
 life's end, and be laid unspotted in my grave, for I 
 am a true-born Englishman and a lover of my own coun- 
 try. But I am apt to think that Satan, because he could 
 not prevail, has owed me a grudge ^ever since, and, in con- 
 sequence, has reduced me to such a state of misery, 
 that I was glad to catch at a shadow, and have now 
 taken to drawing profiles by lamp-light, and cutting 
 them out in paper and blacking them over with ink 
 or black-ball; and by these means at present I pick 
 
17 
 
 up a precarious livelihood. But, after all, my good 
 father's words come frequently to my mind, when he 
 used to say that all the world at times want shoes ; — 
 which is precisely my own case at this present moment, 
 and for which reason I am not able to come out of 
 doors, especially in wet weather. Dear Mr. Artist, if 
 you will be so good to lend me a two-pound note, on 
 my honour as a painter and therefore a gentleman 
 (although without shoes), I will honestly pay you again 
 from the profits of the very first shadows I can catch. 
 
 I shall not disclose my name, (for indeed I have, 
 from necessity, been obliged to adopt so many, that 
 I now scarcely know which was the original one) but 
 shall sign myself, as before, by that which I know is my 
 right, 
 
 Your humble Servant, 
 
 A Disappointed Genius, 
 
 No. XX. On (he Imitation of the Stage in Paintings 
 will be published on Saturday, July 25. 
 
 No. 19. 
 
 D 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XX. Saturday^ July 25, 1807, 
 
 Quo spectanda modo, quo sensu ? 
 
 IN a former paper it has been my endeavour to point 
 out some of the evil consequences that might ensue to the 
 Student in Painting, from his not having a proper 
 conception how highly important it is to him, that 
 he should look up to nature as the great archetype 
 and the source of all truth. In that paper I dwelt 
 chiefly jon the danger of his being led away by Poetry: 
 I shall now finish my subject by a few observations also 
 on the hazard of his imitating the Stage. 
 
 Young minds, from their inexperience, are prone to be 
 No. 20. B 
 
2 
 
 captivated with all such appearances as are most palpable 
 to the senses, and it requires time and nice observation to 
 enable them to select and discriminate those higher beau- 
 ties, which the more mature mind expects and demands 
 from any work of Art that attempts to gain its ap- 
 probation. 
 
 The young Student in Painting perhaps may view with 
 astonishment and delight the expression of the passions 
 on the Stage, and think this copy even preferable to the 
 original in Nature itself, because it is more obtrusive and 
 glaring, and he may therefore conceive it needless to seek 
 for better models as examples. 
 
 It is true that the Stage offers him an opportunity of see- 
 ing representations of awful situations, which he may never 
 obtain a sight of in nature. But it behoves him to examine 
 carefully whether this be a true portrait of nature, or not; 
 as well as to consider also the great distinction which 
 exists of necessity, between a theatrical representation and 
 a pictures there certainly are some important and funda- 
 mental differences ; for notwithstanding that they are, 
 each of them, imitations of nature, yet they are shewn 
 under very different circumstances. 
 
 It is to be remembered that the Painter can represent 
 
only one moment of time, yet the picture may remain 
 long before your eye, and thus enable you to investi- 
 gate its merits or defects with the most critical exactness: 
 therefore the highest delicacies of expression may be given 
 without the least risk of the most subtile beauties being 
 overlooked. He has also an unlimited power over the 
 persons of his drama, so as to suit them to the characters 
 they represent, in every requisite. But the Actor, not 
 having these advantages, must supply the deficiency by 
 violent and decided gestures, actions, and expressions of 
 the countenance, such as may be seen and understood at 
 all distances, and by all the various capacities that com- 
 pose his audience; and, in as much as his voice is raised 
 above all common modes of speaking, so his expression of 
 the passions and their actions, may be carried beyond 
 all common modes of expression or action, and this may 
 be at times an excuse for his out'Stepping the modesty of 
 Nature, as Shakespere terms it, which he sometimes does. 
 But the Painter has no such motives to check his highest 
 attempts at refinement; his work is to remain long for ex- 
 amination, and for the discovery of all those excellencies 
 which may be shewn in it of expression, character, situa- 
 tion, and action, together with all those effects of refined 
 
 b2 
 
4 
 
 and deep observation on nature, which are characteristic 
 marks in the works of the greatest masters of the art. 
 
 These refinements, if the Actor could exhibit them, 
 would be of too delicate a nature to be discerned under 
 the circumstances with which representations on the Stage 
 are seen; and for this reason they would be in danger of 
 appearing insipid, and his character under-acted. The 
 ancients seemed so sensible of this, that, to avoid the error 
 here mentioned, they are said to have run into the con- 
 trary extreme, if it be true, as some of the learned 
 antiquarians suppose, that their stage representations were 
 performed with actions the most violent, the expres- 
 sions of the passions in the face supplied by the 
 distortions of a mask, and the voice assisted by a 
 species of speaking-trumpet, or some such artifice. 
 By an exhibition like this, the Painter, to be sure, 
 would be in no danger of being led astray, for here was 
 nothing of Nature to inform or to allure him; yet I cannot 
 but repeat in this place the apprehension I have before ex- 
 pressed, respecting the hazard which attends on a bigoted 
 and indiscriminate admiration of any model to be found in 
 the circle of art; for, although the painter might not be 
 in danger of being led away by a scene which offered to his 
 
view CO awkward a spectacle as that above described, yet it 
 is to be ob erved that this rude, immense yet despicable, 
 Stage was defined to exhibit scenes conceived by men en- 
 dowed with powers of the first magnitude, illustrious geni- 
 uses reduced to the necessity of conforming their works to 
 the barrenness of their theatrical apparatus; and that, not- 
 withstanding they were unable to display the full extent 
 of their powers in this limited scenery, still the dazzling 
 splendour of their invention has so blinded succeeding 
 critics, that those bigoted devotees, unable in the heat of 
 their admiration to distinguish that which was praise- 
 worthy from that which v/as defective, have mistaken 
 those accidental accommodations contrived by the poets 
 to adapt their works to their scanty means of stage effect, 
 and construed them into beauties, have boldly drawn 
 rules from the whole together, and delivered them down 
 to posterity as laws, which proceeded from infallible 
 guides, for all succeeding dramatists, and as excellence fit 
 for everlasting imitation. This instance alone may serve 
 as an awful example to show how careful we ought to be, 
 both as professors and critics, that, whilst we admire, 
 we should be very circumspect to make the just distinction 
 and separation between that which is the proper object of 
 
our admiration, and that which is its accidental accompa- 
 niment, and which may be, and often is, a drawback on 
 its merit. This, however, is not so easy a task as at first it 
 seems, and many a young student has been ruined and 
 made a- mannerist from the want of this very power of dis- 
 crimination, since we have seen that the splendour of cer- 
 tain excellences often so deludes the judgment, that the 
 whole mass is received together as the entire model of perfec- 
 tion. How frequently do we hear the young practitioner in 
 painting bestow an equal praise on the work of a great mas- 
 ter for thatwhich he has not done, as for that which he has, 
 and how frequently is he apt to think himself thereby excused 
 in not doing well those things which he does not find ade- 
 quately accomplished in the work, which is the object of his 
 study! Instances of a similar kind, as Ihave before remarked, 
 we find clearly exemplified in those modern dramatic authors, 
 (and some of them not mean ones neither), who, overcome 
 by the captivating genius of the antient dramatists, and 
 without taking into consideration the embarrassed state to 
 which they were reduced by the necessities of their Stage, 
 have therefore slavishly imitated all their accidental defects 
 as if they were the greatest beauties. 
 
 It was the apprehension of this dangerous kind of 
 
7 
 
 bigotry which made Nicolas Poiissin say of Pietro da 
 Cortona that he was born into the world to be the ruin 
 -of Art, because the splendour of his beauties eclipsed egre- 
 gious defects ; and of the latter it is that the imitator 
 carries off the largest share, because the excellences of an 
 ^ original genius, as they are produced by the force of hii 
 own nature, are always inimitable. 
 
 Under a similar infatuation, the Painter, in his ad- 
 miration of the merits of some favourite actor, might 
 blindly take too large a portion of the individual for his 
 model: And we often see instances, even amongst the 
 works of great masters, where they have made a favourite 
 individual, either a mistress or wife, the sole model 
 for their highest efforts towards giving an example of the 
 most perfect beauty. 
 
 There is a natural bias in mankind, which Inclines 
 them to imitate that which they admire, and is the princi- 
 pal cause that we so often have occasion to remark in 
 Poets, Players, and Painters, &c. a propensity towards 
 copying, or being of the school, as I may say, of some 
 native genius of each class: but this is an ill omen, a dan- 
 gerous state ; because, in the end, it will produce what we 
 call a mannerist. If this practice be a means to strengthen 
 
8 
 
 the weak, it will surely enfeeble the strong, and is not 
 the way to be on a par in value with the object of their 
 admiration. 
 
 Those favourites of nature whom she has endowed with 
 superior talents, display an essence in all their efforts, 
 which is able to bid defiance to imitation, and keeps it 
 ever at a humble distance; we can copy only their gross- 
 ness, the obvious quality, but none of that indescribable 
 zest which gives the whole its value and power to delight. 
 
 The mimic of genius is like the monkey to the man; there 
 is a rude superficial similitude, but the action is without its 
 proper motive or its use ; although its general effect to the 
 eye may be something alike, yet the cause is totally different, 
 
 which renders it useless: you may imitate the external 
 
 / 
 
 action and manners of a wise man, but that is neither 
 being wise, nor the way to become so. 
 
 A splendid display of high art is so captivating, 
 that at the same time that it is a lesson, it is but too 
 apt also to delude the unwary; and it becomes a difficulty 
 that demands the utmost exertion of judgment, to disen- 
 tangle and separate the part, which might be of service, 
 from that which might be prejudicial as an example. 
 We have seen this error of delusion demonstrated in most 
 
9 
 
 eminent instances in what we may call the late school of 
 French painters, who, evidently, instead of looking at 
 nature as their guide, assisted themselves almost entirely 
 from the poets and the stage, which has given to all their 
 historical paintings of that period the exact air of a scene 
 in an opera. Enamoured by the artificial spectacle, 
 which seemed a picture already done to their hands, 
 they believed they had thus a much more easy means by 
 which to make the arrangement of their pictures, than 
 by searching out and selecting the refined and subtile 
 beauties in the stores of nature: they thus took that 
 which was most obvious to them and came first to hand, 
 not giving themselves the trouble to examine into the 
 difference between this fabricated mass and nature un- 
 adorned, or to investigate the reason why an opera 
 has such charms ; — that it was solely from its being a 
 combination of most exquisite art,- which a little 
 consideration would have been sufficient to have in- 
 formed them of, had they not been too idle to examine 
 or analyse it, and to convince themselves that it is too far 
 removed from nature to answer the painter's purpose. 
 
 The remark is obvious to all, that, when you see an 
 opera performed, your whole attention is taken up by 
 
 No. 20. a 
 
10 
 
 the excellence of the composition of the music, and of its 
 various performers. The circumstances of the Drama, or 
 the fate of the personages it represents, engage but a very 
 small part of your interest, nor is it designed that they 
 should attract a greater? the little of nature which ig 
 there displayed, is moulded to serve a particular purpose, 
 and therefore will neither create or gain your sympathy ; 
 your whole attention is taken up in admiration and 
 pleasure in the contemplation of fine art. I have already 
 remarked that it is considerably the same in poetry, which 
 is high art engrafted on the stem of nature; but the art 
 still predominates, and is so intended ; and I might add 
 that an equal caution may be applied in regard to 
 Painting when proposed as the example for any other art; 
 but Such a remark is here unnecessary. 
 
 As a general rule it may be remarked, that, by as 
 much as you- see the artifice obtrude or prevail, by so 
 much it diminishes that interest which ought to be the 
 first and predominating quality of every w^ork which 
 aspires to be a representation of fine nature. 
 
 It is a well known observation that when you read 
 fine poetry, you think of and admire the genius of the 
 author, but when you read the simple history or relatim 
 
11 
 
 of a fact, 5011 are absorbed and interested by the 
 narration only, and never once think of the relator, be- 
 cause in the first case it is the art which prevails and 
 catches your attention, in the last it is only simple nature 
 which creates the highest interest. The student of paint- 
 ing therefore should never suffer his mind, which ought 
 to range at large, to be fettered by any bigoted adoration 
 of another's work, but should consider the dignity of the 
 art which he professes, and the extent of its powers, and 
 that all nature is before him and courts his choice. 
 
 Never rest content with the word of another when you 
 can have free access to the fountain of all truth* 
 
 Yet after all that I have said, let me not be misunder- 
 stood. I well know that, to form the mind of an accom- 
 plished painter, every possible knowledge would assist; in- 
 struction should be received and cherished from whatever 
 quarter it may chance to come, and poetry, painting, and 
 the stage, will each afford their ample lessons when judi- 
 ciously surveyed, and not held up in our minds above their 
 rank or value. 
 
 It is the characteristic quality of genius to comprehend 
 much at one view. By means of that quality alone it is 
 that we can justly ascertain the true comparative worth or 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 importance of things, as the reverse is conspicuously dis- 
 coverable in persons of narrow intellect, who viewing 
 every object with a microscopic eye, see small things 
 great, with a disproportionate effect; and to this 
 cause it is owing that in all the imitative arts, poetry, 
 painting, &c. we so commonly perceive parts only of a 
 work well done, and not of a piece with the rest, nor 
 in harmony with the general effect of the work. 
 
 To make an union in the whole together, to give it the 
 appearance of a work done by that presiding power which 
 sees the whole, while executing each particular part, is 
 the grand excellence and difficulty of art. When this 
 can be accomplished, it proves beyond all doubt the mind 
 of genius and the master's hand. 
 
 J. N. 
 
15 
 
 TO THE ARTIST, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 SO strenuous an advocate for the arts and for their in- 
 fluence on society as you are, cannot fail to take an equal 
 interest in the manners of the age we live in ; and 
 although I perceive you do not amuse yourself with spe- 
 culations on the trivial fashions of the day, yet I trust you 
 will allow me to send you a very short account of a set of 
 young Artists of fashionable rank, whom I saw during an 
 accidental visit a few days since, at the house of an 
 English nobleman. 
 
 Having paid my respects to the master of the house, 
 on my return from his apartment, I was conducted, 
 by the mistress of it through a spacious drawing- 
 room, then under the appropriate denomination of the 
 School^room^ where I saw a young family, seven in 
 number, disposed in various parties, and in different 
 quarters of the room, all busily occupied in their several 
 studies. 
 
 At one table, a governess was instructing two little boyi 
 and the youngest girl in reading ; at a second, the two 
 
14 
 
 children next in age ^ere tracing geographical divisions ; 
 at a third, a boy was employed in drawing; and at a 
 fourth, the eldest daughter was practising lessons in the 
 most familiar points of musical composition. Each of 
 these separate parties had its respective preceptor, and 
 the whole was superintended by the judicious care of a 
 mother. On a paper at one end of the room, I perceived 
 that the general instruction of the pupils was divided 
 into Reading, Drawing, Geography, History, Music, 
 and Belles Lettres. 
 
 Every sensible Englishman must have a pleasure in 
 thinking that this is the ordinary system of employment 
 for the younger part of a family in the elevated classes of 
 England ; and every one of the same description must 
 equally regret that this system continues, on the part of 
 the female pupils, only till they are allowed to mix in 
 general society, or carried to the drawing-room, when 
 they are said to come out^ a phrase apparently borrowed 
 from the Theatre, where it is applied to the first public 
 performance of an actor on the stage, and in conformity 
 wdth which derivation, the young candidates are afterwards 
 regularly to be seen in character every evening in the 
 public scenes of diversion and fashion. 
 
15 
 
 This reflection considerably damped the satisfaction I 
 had derived from my morning visit. I was grieved to 
 think that, where the seeds of domestic pleasure were so 
 richly sown, and the budding plants nurtured with such 
 care, their blossoms should be liable to be at once torn 
 off at the moment of their opening, and their sweetness to 
 expire in an uncongenial atmosphere. " Either," said 
 I to myself, " a creature, into whom such rudiments of 
 moral refinement are instilled, is fitted for the enjoyment 
 of a more tranquil and dignified career in society, or the 
 sweet restraint of instruction has been a chain unneces- 
 sarily imposed, and a mere waste of the fleeting moments 
 of youthful spirits and happiness I" 
 
 I silently gave my vote on the side of the former of 
 these two opinions, and continued my walk, lamenting 
 that the precious and delightful uses of mental discipline 
 should at any period of youth be wholly cast aside, and that 
 so few examples of return should be ^een (though every 
 way so gratifying to the heart, when they occur,) from the 
 extensive influence of levity, and vacant bustle, from being 
 everywhere visible, everywhere talking, everywhere trifling, 
 and everywhere finally insignificant- — ^to the quiet paths 
 of thought, study, and silence. In short, accustomed as 
 
i Iff 
 
 I hare been to observe the endless fatiguing idlenesses 
 of fashionahle intercourse, I remained deeply impressed 
 with the engaging spectacle which I had just left, and 
 could not help thinking that such an assembly formed the 
 most lovely, as well as the most interesting. At Home^ to 
 which I had ever had the good fortune to be invited. 
 
 My Publishers having requested my consent to insert in 
 the covers of these concluding numbers of the Artist, a no- 
 tice of such late publications as are of peculiar interest with 
 -regard to the state of Science and Art, I conceive such 
 notices to be perfectly suitable to the general design of 
 this undertaking. 
 
 A. 
 
 No, XXI. Retrospject and Conclusion of the present 
 period of (he Artists will be published on Saturday, 
 August 1 J 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 No. XXI. Saturday^ August 1, 1807. 
 
 Ksto brevis. 
 
 THE Artist having in the last week completed the number 
 originally designed for this period of his publication, has now 
 only to make a summary revisal of his task, and to part 
 with his readers on the best terms that they will allow him. 
 • By reason of the numerous topics, which have crowded 
 his latter papers, and sometimes swelled their pages at 
 the imminent hazard of the reader's patience, several pro- 
 mises, made in the course of the publication, have been 
 neglected for want of opportunity to fulfil them, and will 
 therefore be here briefly noticed. 
 No. 21. B 
 
2 
 
 The letter announced at the end of No. 3, (and there 
 said to of a humorous cast ) was re-claimed by the writer 
 after his perusal of that Number, " conceiving," as he ex- 
 pressed himself, " that the gentleman, for whose reflection 
 his jokes were principally designed, had been sufficiently 
 noticed by the Artist." This declaration of for- 
 bearance was received with pleasure, and the Artist 
 takes the occasion of repeating, that none of his 
 papers have been, or will be, directed against any indivi- 
 dual, and that opinions only are the objects of his concern. 
 Indeed, it must have been evidently unjust to cast a cen- 
 sure on an estimable individual, whose chief proposition is 
 said to have been, not long before, sanctioned by the ex- 
 ainple of one of our Great Public Establishments *. — But 
 let us, at this the first evening of our task, lay aside every 
 unpleasing recurrence. 
 
 * Too much respect is due to the abode of Science, to let it be imagine^ 
 that any of its learned members, if they had been fully acquainted with the 
 merits of our own Sculptors, would have harboured a thought of under- 
 valuing their just claims on the occasion of a great national monument. It is 
 but justice to add, that the amiable mind of Canova was sensible of the mistake. 
 With the candour and modest judgment, which, noless than his professional abU 
 lities, adorn the first Sculptor of his country, he declined the splendid task. 
 
For several speculations, announced as future topics 
 of Essays, and not resumed, the reason at first given 
 must for the present be admitted, and a better apology, 
 it is hoped, will be offered, if the intended renewal of 
 this publication should take place in the ensuing winter; 
 a circumstance, to which, it would be unjust to omit 
 adding that the writers have received great and pow- 
 erful encouragement. 
 
 The notice of the present state of Patronage, as ex- 
 hibited in the collections of the works of English Painters, 
 is too interesting to be left unfinished or delayed. 
 
 GALLERIES 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH PAINTINGS. 
 
 IF Sir J. Leicester's Gallery, already noticed, be the 
 first in splendour, it yields in precedence of time to 
 the Collection formed by Thomas Bernard, Esq.; a col- 
 lection begun in the year 1797, and augmented an- 
 nually ever since that period. This gentleman, to whom 
 the admirers of the Arts are every way indebted, and 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 whose zeal for the promotion of liberal refinements is the 
 proper accompaniment of his humane exertions in the 
 cause of the Orphan and the Poor, possesses a very con- 
 siderable number of the works of our native artists, with 
 little or no mixture of those of any other school. The 
 principal are, 
 
 Venus chiding Cupid, by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Sir Artegall and the Iron Man ; and Banditti, by Mortimer. 
 
 Presentation in the Temple, by Opie. 
 
 Delivery of the Law, by (W.) Hamilton. 
 
 Flight into Egypt, by Wootton. 
 
 Goats, by Gainsborough. 
 
 Sea Piece, by Morland. 
 
 Psyche; and a Landscape, by (Sir W.) Beechey. 
 
 Two Pictures from the Tempest, and Two from the Merry Wives of Windsor, 
 by Smirke. 
 A Landscape, by (Sir F.) Bourgeois. 
 
 Holy Family; Sappho; St* Cecilia; Thresher, and Sower; a Cottage Family; 
 Gleaner; and a Landscape, by Westall. 
 Zadig ; and a Picture of Flora, by Angelica Kauffman. 
 St. Francis, by Northcote, 
 Conway Castle, and another Landscape, by Taylor. 
 Lancaster Sands, by Renton. 
 Cottage Child, by Paye. 
 Romeo and Juliet, by Rigaud. 
 
5 
 
 Next in its claims to notice in this place, and, in one re- 
 spect also, the first in rank, is the Gallery belonging to 
 Alexander Davison, Esq. 
 
 The distinguishing character of this collection is its 
 consisting wholly of a series of Pictures of Historical 
 Subjects, taken from the annals of our own country. 
 
 The Founder of the collection considers it but as begun ; 
 it already contains 
 
 Alfred in the Neatherd's Cottage, by Wilkie. 
 
 Lord John Warren, Earl of Surrey, vindicating the Tenures and Liberties of the 
 Antient Barons, by Tresham. 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen Dowager of Edward IV, in the Sanctuary at Westminster, re- 
 ceiving the Deputation, sent from the Council to demand her younger Son the Duke qf 
 York, by Smirke. 
 
 The Princess Margaret, eldest Daughter of Henry VIL presented by Henry Percy, 
 fifth Earl of Northumberland, to James IV. King of Scotland, at Lamerton, near 
 Berwick, by Northcote. 
 
 The Crown offered to Lady Jane Gray, by the Lords Deputies of the Privy 
 Council, by Copley. 
 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, embarking in a fishing-boat for England, by Westall. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, mortally wounded, rejecting the Water offered to him, and 
 ordering it to be given to a Wounded Soldier, by West. 
 
 Detection of Babington's Conspiracy against Queen Elizabeth by Sir F* 
 Walsingham, by Devis. 
 
 Death of the late Earl of Chatham, by Copley. 
 
6 
 
 In: the collection just mentioned, the choice of each 
 subject was left to the respective artist *. 
 
 The Collections of Thomas Lister Parker, Esq. and 
 of Charles Hoare, Esq. are such as likewise deserve 
 consideration. 
 
 In the former, besides pictures by Reynolds^ Wilson^ 
 Gainsborough^ Morland^ and Gilpin^ are 
 
 Douglas ; and Girls at a Cottage Door, by Opie. 
 
 Tygers; The good Shepherd; Hamlet; and other Pictures, by Northcote. 
 
 Three Sea Pieces, by Calcott. 
 
 Two Landscapes, by Ha veil. 
 
 A Girl fetching Water, by Clarke. 
 
 T/ie School-boy on his return to School, by Thomson. 
 
 .The Road Side, or Peasants resting, by Owen. 
 
 The latter chiefly consists of 
 
 Rinaldo and Armida in the Enchanted Garden; and Tancred and Clorinda, 
 (from Tasso;) and a Figure of Victory, by Hoare of Bath. 
 Village Doctress; and Village Toilet, by Northcote. 
 
 Cupid admitted at the Window in a rainy Night ; and Cupid tvarmed at the 
 Fire, by Thomson. 
 
 Storm and Shipwreck, {from The Tempest,) by De Loutherbourg. 
 
 * A descriptive catalogue has been printed, with the letters Of the Painters 
 en the occasion. 
 
7 
 
 The collection of Sir Francis Baring, Bart* besides 
 considerable works of Portrait by Reynolds, West and 
 Lawrence, contains 
 
 BeHsariuSj by West. 
 
 Perditajrom the Shakespeare Gallery ; and Lady Jane Gray, from the Historic 
 Gallery, by Opie. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet; Mortimer in the Toiver, both from the Shakespeare Gallery, 
 by Northcote. 
 
 Scene in Much Ado about Nothing; and Falstaff in the Basket, both from the 
 Shakespeare Gallery, by Peters. 
 
 Two Pictures from the Shakespeare Gallery; and several allegorical subjects, Scc» 
 for a Library, by Smirke. 
 
 The Fire of London, by De Loutherbourg. 
 
 Sir George Beaumont's valuable Gallery of Pictures 
 is generally known, and as he has recently begun to en- 
 large his English collection, that part of it, as well as the 
 collection begun by Lord Mulgrave, may with more 
 propriety be noticed at a future time. 
 
 On the English portion of the Marquis of Staf- 
 ford's Gallery, (at present so well known, from the 
 magnificent liberality of its possessor,) The Artist can- 
 not more exactly express his sentiments than by quoting. 
 
8 
 
 a passage from a work already published on the subject 
 of the cultivation of the Arts in England ; 
 
 " Amidst the traffic of pictures, to which the present 
 revolutionary times have given rise, a late distinguished 
 nobleman added to the ornaments of our metropolis a 
 gallery of the most celebrated works of which France 
 and other countries were once possessed. How desirable 
 were it, that to this stately collection were adjoined a 
 room filled with a single work of each considerable artist 
 of his own country ! What splendour would be added to 
 the accumulated treasure, if it appeared subservient to 
 the excitement of national emulation, and if its possessor 
 at once held forth to living competitors the challenge, the 
 opportunity, and the means, of rivalling the fame of past 
 ages !" 
 
 His sentiments, he has reason to hope, do but second 
 the intentions of the present Owner. A Gallery so 
 sumptuous, so truly noble, well deserves to include in it 
 a principal work of each of our greatest Painters, such, 
 to mention only those of days now past, as Hogarth, 
 Reynolds, Wilson, Gainsborough, Barry, Gilpin*, and 
 
 * In a collection of Mr. Gilpin's works, now exhibiting for sale at Mr. 
 Garrard's, is a picture of Gulliver conversing tvith the friendly Hounhymns, 
 which has scarcely a competitor in expression, and no superior in execution. 
 
9 
 
 Opie; names not less indelibly inscribed on the records 
 of Fame, than those of any other school, age, or country 
 whatever. Some of these are already to be found in the 
 Gallery, and every English admirer of Painting must 
 view with pleasure the gradual increase of this depart- 
 ment every Englishman feels that something of a fair 
 national comparison is due from a Gallery, which stands as 
 a test of the productions of graphic genius in as many va- 
 rious parts of the world. 
 
 National Patronage o/*//ie Arts^ a subject chosen by 
 our lamented Opie for his first contribution to these papers, 
 was designed to be here treated of, together with the 
 state of the public mind in regard to the arts; but, on trial, 
 they form too ample a theme for the present moment. 
 
 The most grateful symptoms of favour tow ards Painting 
 have been already delineated in the examples of individual 
 Patrons, and many others may, no doubt, be found, since 
 the purchases of pictures in the British Gallery have been 
 
 • A greater scope is perhaps designed to be given to this pait of the col- 
 lection, which is not confined solely to the natives of Britain, but, as th« 
 half-length Portrait by Sir Peter Lely seems to indicate, connects with thera 
 the foreign Masters who have resided in England. 
 
 No. 21. c 
 
10 
 
 nearly twice as numerous in this year as they were in 
 the last. It may not be uninteresting to add an account 
 of the principal Public Undertakings in the Arts of Design, 
 which fall at present under the knowledge of the Artist; 
 These are ; 
 
 In Painting,— properly speaking, in England , none. 
 Mr. West's Picture of Christ receiving the Sick, who are 
 hrovght to him to be healed, painted for the Hospital at 
 Philadelphia, is the only public work he knows of, at pre- 
 sent executing in this country. 
 
 Of what maybe considered as the public undertakings 
 of individuals. The Death of Lord Nelson, for Mr. Alder- 
 man Boydell, is the principal. The Painter is Devis. 
 
 Under private patronage, the most splendid work is 
 Michael, on the arrival of the Messiah, reporting to him 
 uhat he has done in battle (the principal figure between ten 
 and eleven feet in height) painted for Lord Rivers by 
 Mr. Fuseli. 
 
 Mr. Loutherbourg is employed in painting the Battle of 
 Maida, for Earl Manvers. The design is from a draw- 
 ing made by an Officer who was in the engagement. 
 
 To these are to be added a picture of Tenants paying 
 their Rents, by Wilkie ; and some other historical 
 subjects for Lord Mulgrave and Mr. Hope. 
 
11 
 
 In Sculpture, the principal public works now executing 
 or designed for execution, are 
 
 A Statue, in Bronze, of the late Duke of Bedford (to be placed in Russell- 
 square), by Weshnucoll, 
 Monument of General Abercrombie, by Westmacolt. 
 
 * Monument of Mr. Pitt (to be placed over the West Door of Westminster 
 Abbey), by Westmacott. 
 
 ' Monument of Mr. Pitt (to be placed in Guildhall), by Bubb Junior, 
 Monument of Mr. Pitt (for Liverpool). 
 
 * Monument of Lord Cornwallis (to be placed in St. Paul's), by Rossi. 
 Monument of Mr. Pitt, to be placed in the Senate House at Cambridge. 
 
 * Monument of Lord Nelson (to be placed in St. Paul's), by Flaxman. 
 Monument of Sir Joshua Reynolds (to be placed in St. Paul's), by Flax?nan. 
 
 * Monument of Lord Cornwallis (to be erected at Bombay), by Bacon. 
 
 * Monument of Captains Cooke and Duff, by Westmacott and Bacon. 
 
 * A Group in honour of Lord Wellesley, by Bacon f . 
 
 In Engraving, some of the principal undertakings are 
 
 The Cartoons of Raffaelle at Hampton Court, by Holloivay. 
 Mr. West's Picture of the Death of Lord Nelson, by Heath. 
 The Milton Galhry, with additional designs from Shakespear and Dante, 
 by Haughton, 
 Designs for Blair's Poem of The Grave. 
 Mr. Devis's Picture of the Death of Nelson. 
 
 Mr. Stothard's Picture of the Procession of Chaucer's Pilgrims, by Bromlei/. 
 Mr. Garrard's Woburn Meeting. 
 
 t The Monuments marked* have been lately adjudged to the respective 
 Sculptors in consequence of the merits of their models, submitted to the ConU 
 mittee of Taste, 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 Other works of interest, in regard to the Arts, are 
 
 Mr. Treshain*s British Gallery of Pictures, and Rev. Mr. Forster's British 
 Gallery of Engravings ; each with an accompanying History of the Art and 
 its Professors. 
 
 Mr. Britton's Architectural Antiquities of Great Britain, of which several num- 
 bers are already published. 
 
 Architectural and Scientifc Investigation of the Cathedral Church of St, Paul, 
 with an Essay on the Life, Writings, and Designs, of Sir Christopher Wren, 
 hy James Elmes, Architect. 
 
 A series of Ancient Paintings in Fresco, discovered on the Walls of the Chapel 
 of the Trinity, at Stratford upon Avon. 
 
 Reverend Mr. Dibdin's New Edition of Topographical Antiquities. 
 
 The British Academy, published by Bell ; and 
 The British Gallery, by Vernor and Hood. 
 
 There now remains to the Editor the welcome task 
 of declaring those who have been his assistants in 
 the support of this work. Public curiosity, fortu- 
 nately, for his publishers, has considerably forestalled 
 him in this point, and it is now rather to fulfil his 
 promise, than to convey information, to his present 
 readers, that he adds the following list, which will be 
 found to correspond with the various signatures, initial 
 or full, as annexed to the Essays in the respective 
 niun^bjer^. 
 
13 
 
 Nos. 2. 9. 20. JAMES NORTHCOTE. 
 3. 11. 13. JOHN HOPPNER. 
 5. 10. 13. RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 8. — THOMAS HOPE. 
 12. — JOHN FLAXMAN. 
 U. JOHN SOANE. 
 
 ELIZABETH INCHBALD. 
 
 17. — ANTHONY CARLISLE. 
 
 18. — HENRY JAMES PYE. 
 
 THOMAS HOLCROFT. 
 
 19. — EDWARD JENNER. 
 
 Nos. 6. 8. 15. 16. bear the initial signature of a name highly respectable 
 from the Philosophical Researches and Wkitings of its owner. 
 
 Among the additional Contributions^ R. C. as before, 
 is Mr. Cumberland. In the Memorial of Opie, (No. 7) 
 the initials are those of Mr. Northcote, Mrs. Inchbald, Mr, 
 Boaden ; the remarks on his style of Painting (said 
 to be from high Authority in Art) are from Mr. West, 
 and the Poetic Tribute from Mr. Shee. 
 
 The letters signed A Disappointed Genius are also by- 
 Mr. Northcote, and the Ode to the Hon, W L 
 
 by Mr. Hoppner.- — Of what remain?, whether Essays 
 or Adjuncts, with the exception of the letters signed A 
 Perpetual Reader^ An Englishman^ A Student ; Com^ 
 munications in No. 16. and those contained in the 
 
14 
 
 present number, the Editor alone must await the 
 praise or censure. Of all those excepled^ the names 
 of the writers have been known to him, without which 
 caution nothing has been offered to the Public. In what 
 degree he may be thought to have supplied all that 
 has depended on his particular exertions, is a natural 
 object of his solicitude : — -the satisfaction, arising from 
 grateful recollection of the valuable abilities, which have 
 been so readily employed in his undertaking, is of a 
 nature more interesting to him than praise. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Reader, 
 
 In these numbers, agreeably to my promise, I have 
 brought before you the fruits of my various studies, 
 in the hopes of contributing to the good taste of our 
 countrymen, by furnishing them with the best ground 
 on which it can be built — practical experience ; I 
 am now anxious that I may not be misunderstood, 
 
15 
 
 by being supposed to consider it as the only one. I there- 
 fore extract for your perusal the following passage from 
 the letter of a very candid judge, and patron, of Painting. 
 
 " Although I myself have only toyed with the Art, 
 " I have experience enough to know that it is very difFi- 
 " cult, if not impossible, to obtain a profound know- 
 " ledge of the executive part without considerable prac- 
 " tice. Nevertheless, I should be sorry to think that 
 " none but professional men could feel the essential beau- 
 " ties of a picture, especially those excellencies which 
 " address themselves to the mind rather than the eye, 
 " for this would be a most discouraging circumstance (I 
 " should think) to Artists themselves. Perhaps therefore 
 " you may deprive yourself of the advantage of many 
 " valuable remarks, by limiting the communications you 
 " receive, too severely, to men absolutely professional." 
 
 There is no subject which I am more desirous to see 
 competently discussed than the just limits of professional 
 and unprofessional writers on the same topics ; and as 
 this is a point which I esteem of considerable interest to 
 the present progress of public taste, I shall add some far- 
 ther extracts from the letter of another correspondent, on 
 the particular plan of this publication, and the just value 
 of professional writings. 
 
16 
 
 " I am persuaded, with you, that popular Essays, to be 
 useful, can only be written by persons of sound and accu- 
 rate knowledge in the particular subject; for, if this know- 
 ledge be wanting, talent and genius, though they may 
 produce an agreeable paper, will ultimately lead to error. 
 
 " A series of papers on Art and Science, if properly con- 
 ducted, will form, in a certain degree, canons of elemen- 
 tary criticism; and to reduce a Science, or Art, to its ele- 
 ments, requires the most accurate and comprehensive 
 knowledge. 
 
 " Nothing can be taught elementarily, but what is suffi- 
 ciently ascertained to be reduced to rule. What floats on 
 the imagination, and what flashes from genius, perhaps 
 what is only felt by superior sensibility, may improve the 
 adept, but will often be worse than useless to the un- 
 instructed. 
 
 " With regard to your undertaking, as far as it regards 
 Painting only ^ I conceive your paper is intended 
 
 " 1st. To teach the public how to judge properly of 
 pictures ; 
 
 " 2dly. To point out the various intellectual excellen- 
 cies necessary to form a great painter ; 
 
 " 3dly. To appreciate the merit and utility of Painting, 
 as an Art ; 
 
17 
 
 " 4thly. To prore the influence of Painting on morals. 
 In this, as in other branches of knowledge, I have 
 no doubt that professional men of eminent ability will 
 be fully competent to write such a paper, as I conceive 
 you intend — I only doubt their exclusive competence — 
 my doubts arise from the following reflections. 
 
 In regard to the first of the points mentioned, the j udgment 
 of painters will command respect: but if I may reason from 
 analogy, their judgment cannot be considered exclusive, — 
 for if your paper is to be considered as forming canons 
 of criticism — many of the standard books of poetical 
 criticism have been written by men who were not poets. — 
 Genius combines. Criticism separates — the two faculties 
 may exist in the same head, but they may also exist 
 separately. 
 
 " On the second head I admit Painters the only competent 
 judges: — also on the third, as far as merit is considered; 
 but if the utility of the Artto general Society isto be appre- 
 ciated. Painters may deceive themselves from bigotry, and 
 deceive the world from interest — your coadjutors are too sen- 
 sible, for me to apprehend the first ; and too respect- 
 able, to suspect the second ; but still, their being painters 
 will, to a certain degree, decrease the weight of their argu- 
 ments, and lessen their testimony. 
 
 No. 21, D 
 
18 
 
 ^' In the last point I see no advantage on tlie side of the 
 professional Artist — from his greater susceptibility, from 
 association, from habitual studies, from superior knowledge 
 of form, I conceive a skilful artist really sees more in a 
 picture than the unskilful observer can ever perceive^ — 
 hence, judging of the impressions on the minds of others 
 from the feelings in his own, he will always be liable to 
 error in his estimation of the positive moral effects of 
 painting on the mass of mankind. 
 
 " By these doubts, I do not mean in the slightest degree 
 to deny the entire competency of able artists to write well 
 and conclusively on the Arts.^ — I only mean to suggest, 
 that as the doctrine of exclusive competency is question- 
 able, it may be advisable that those, who support it, should 
 be particularly careful not to over-step the limits of their 
 professional studies." 
 
 I may be allowed, at the moment of parting, to recom- 
 mend the observation last quoted to the attention of all my 
 future coadjutors and correspondents in this work, if it 
 should be continued in a future season. Nor do I fear, 
 Reader, that I shall in any way derogate from the merits of 
 what I have already offered you, if I frankly confess to you 
 my suspicion, that the occasional deviations which I have 
 made from the peculiar ground of any of my several studies, 
 
19 
 
 (sometimes unavoidable in moments of discussion) have 
 not formed the most profitable part of my labours, and 
 that I have better discharged my duty to the public, when 
 I have been wholly busy in furnishing you with such opi- 
 nions, as can only be properly contested (if they should be 
 contested at all) by professors, or persons equally learned, in 
 the same department of skill or study. In this latter and 
 most valuable point, I trust the balance is in general con- 
 siderably in my favour, but if I have been found too 
 often failing, I entreat you to make a fair allowance for those 
 many natural frailties, from which all my numerous posses- 
 sions of Art and Science are insufficient to secure me. 
 
 In encouragement and confirmation of these my honest 
 confessions, I shall here report the sentiments of the great 
 Lord Chancellor Bacon — -at the same time cordially bid- 
 ding you and all my readers, Farewel ! 
 
 — The manner of dispersed writing in this kind of argu- 
 ment I acknowledge to be best. For who can take on him to 
 write of the proper duty, virtue, challenge and right, of every 
 several vocation, profession and place? For although some- 
 times a looker on may see more than a gamester, and 
 there be a proverb more arrogant than sound, that the 
 V ale best discovereth the Hill, yet there is'small doubt but 
 that men can write best, and most really and materially, in 
 
20 
 
 their own professions : and that the writing of speculative 
 men on active matter for the most part doth seem to men 
 of experience, as Phormio's Argument of the war seemed 
 to Hannibal, to be but dreams and dotage. Only there 
 is one vice which accompanies them that write in their 
 own professions,— that they magnify them in excess. But, 
 generally, it were to be wished, as that which would make 
 learning indeed solid and fruitful, that active men would 
 or could become writers." 
 
 There belongeth farther to the handling this part 
 touching the duties of professions and vocations, a relative 
 or opposite touching the frauds, cautels, impostures and 
 tices of every profession ; which hath been handled — 
 but how? rather in a satire and cynically, than seriously 
 and wisely, for men have rather sought by wit to deride 
 and traduce much of that which is good in professions, than 
 with judgment to discover and sever that which is 
 corrupt. For, as Solomon saith, " he that cometh to seek 
 after knowledge with a mind to scorn and censure, shall be 
 sure to find matter for his humour, but no matter for his 
 instruction." But the managing of this argument with 
 integrity and truth, which I note as deficient, seemeth to 
 me to be one of the best fortifications for honesty and 
 virtue that can be planted." 
 
 Aug. 1, 1807. 
 
 JHercier and Co. Printers, 
 King's Head Court, St. Paul's Church Yard. 
 
I