artificial or not. I remember the astonishment it raised in me. He was a blustering, loud-talking person; and I reconciled the phenomenon to my ideas as an emblem of powersomewhat like the horns in the forehead of Michael Angelo's Moses. Baron Maseres, who walks (or did till very lately) in the costume of the reign of George the Second, closes my imperfect recollections of the old benchers of the Inner Temple. Fantastic forms, whither are ye fled? Or, if the like of you exist, why exist they no more for me? Ye inexplicable, half-understood appearances, why comes in reason to tear away the preternatural mist, bright or gloomy, that enshrouded you? Why make ye so sorry a figure in my relation, who made up to meto my childish eyes-the mythology of the Temple? In those days I saw Gods, as "old men covered with a mantle," walking upon the earth.Let the dreams of classic idolatry perish,-extinct be the fairies and fairy trumpery of legendary fabling, -in the heart of childhood, there will, for ever, spring up a well of innocent or wholesome superstitionthe seeds of exaggeration will be busy there, and vital-from every day forms educing the unknown and the uncommon. In that little Goshen there will be light, when the grown world flounders about in the darkness of sense and materiality. While childhood, and while dreams, reducing childhood, shall be left, imagination shall not have spread her holy wings totally to fly the earth. ELIA. P. S. I have done injustice to the soft shade of Samuel Salt. See what it is to trust to imperfect memory, and the erring notices of childhood! Yet I protest I always thought that he had been a bachelor! This gentleman, R. N. informs me, married young, and losing his lady in childbed within the first year of their union, fell into a deep melancholy, from the effects of which, probably, he never thoroughly recovered. In unra what a new light does this place his rejection (O call it by a gentler name!) of mild Susan P— velling into beauty certain peculiarities of this very shy and retiring character!-Henceforth let no one receive the narratives of Elia for true records! They are, in truth, but shadows of fact-verisimilitudes, not verities-or sitting but upon the remote edges and outskirts of history. He is no such honest chronicler as R. N., and would have done better perhaps to have consulted that gentleman, before he sent these incondite reminiscences to press. But the worthy subtreasurer-who respects his old and his new masters-would but have been puzzled at the indecorous liberties of Elia. The good man wots not, peradventure, of the license which Magazines have arrived at in this personal age, or hardly dreams of their existence beyond the Gentleman's— his furthest monthly excursions in this nature having been long confined to the holy ground of honest Urban's obituary. May it be long before his own name shall help to swell those columns of unenvied flattery!-Meantime, O ye new Benchers of the Inner Temple, cherish him kindly, for he is himself the kindliest of human creatures. Should infirmities over-take him-he is yet in green and vigorous senility-make allowances for them, remembering that" ye yourselves are old." So may the winged horse, your ancient badge and cognisance, still flourish! so may future Hookers and Seldens illustrate your church and chambers! So may the sparrows, in default of more melodious quiristers, unpoisoned hop about your walks! so may the fresh-coloured and cleanly nursery maid, who, by leave, airs her playful charge in your stately gardens, drop her prettiest blushing curtsey as ye pass, reductive of juvenescent emotion! so may the younkers of this generation eye you, pacing your stately terrace, with the same superstitious veneration, with which the child Elia gazed on the old worthies that solemnized the pa◄ rade before ye! THIS will be, in all probability, a short article. For, as I am now sitting in a church-yard, seventy-three miles from London, without a single book, either in my pocket or portmanteau, I must put my trust for fine phrases in my memory, which is not to be relied on - and in my brains, which are little copious. On this very account, however, I am determined, with a parity of reasoning which induced the Latins to derive lucus à non lucendo, and our late Mr. Drama to pitch on Salisbury Plain as the fittest station for penning a critique on Convent Garden (as Ld. Pwrites it), to describe a few pictures in the British Institution, and two or three prints or books besides, which, as I said before, are seventy-three miles distant from my visual eye.' I have likewise three motives for my present action, which the gentle reader shall have, whether he likes it or not: 1st, I am lying on the cool grass, on a very elevated spot not five miles from the green salt sea; and a due approximation to the wandering clouds is held by Dr. Johnson to favour the wit: 2dly, (which is the consequence of the first, though VOL. IV. Chaucer. not syllogistically so,) I have a wonderful "exposition" to gossip about Michael Angelo, Tristan le Leonnois, Major Cockburn, Goethe, (I beg pardon, respected Editor! but what, in the name of Sathanas, set somebody two or three numbers back aMistering, eight or ten times in a page, M. le Baron John Wolfgang Von Goethe?) Keats, La Demoiselle qui songeoit,' and the like: and, 3dly, I am promise-bound for not less than four pages on something this month. Therefore, my unknown friends, as soon as my messenger returns from the village with some materials for writing, I shall expostulate a few of the above-mentioned to ye. Now in the meantime, I give ye leave to express your wonder at my choice of site; and as it is rather early in the day, and as I know how ye all love my nice little preambles, I have no objection to tell briefly the why. Be it known, then, that I have three things in great estimation, viz. to sit lazily on an eminence which commands a rich prospect,―to be shadowed by the thick trees while the gay sun shines around me, and to enjoy solitude with the consciousness Y of neighbourhood. Here they are all-for the church-yard is the summit of a short but steepish hill, feathered with the finest plantations of oak, the white-barked ash, beeches, noble pines, and lofty acacias, which rise like columns out of broad sweeping meadows, soft and level as a garden lawn. Their high hedges are smothered with hazel; and the wood strawberry runs luxuriantly over the banks, decorated with wild flowers, yellow, and blue, and white.' Down in the hollow, crossing the front of the ancient white church, there is a clear trout stream, winding along like a snake, in some places among marshy ground, rugged with brambles, thorns, and snaggy stumps, forming a fine contrast with the smooth massiness of the high stemmed trees on the uplands. The church-yard itself is one of the prettiest of its kind-I am quite in love with its irregular little paths; the more ancient paved with flags and red brick; and the recent with sifted gravel. It looks as if it were clean and neat from nature, not from art: -the herbage is long and thick without rankness;-there is not a nettle in it to alarm ladies' silk-covered ancles; the few yews are dark, but not dismal;-the circling hedge of living laurel, of the brightest green I ever beheld; and its whole appearance, tumuli and all, is as domestic, cheerful, and snug, as if it were kept in such apple-pie order for the better seducing folks to come and be buried. Two of my requisites are tolerably well made out, and the third will not cost me much more trouble. With regard to neighbourhood, the village is so near that I can hear the little boys and girls playing by the duckpond at the bottom of its approach; and receive from my "honest alehouse" (what I am now awaiting, as I breakfasted at seven o'clock) a fine luncheon of home-baked bread, a cold slice of home-smoke-dried Hampshire bacon, and a mug of home-brewed sound ale, for which mine host of the King's Arms, or Head, or whatever it may be, is justly famed. And touching solitude, the situation of the ground is in itself extremely advantageous, being defended in front by some impracticable waste land; in the rear, by the pleasure-grounds and shrubbery of an elegant rural mansion; and flanked on the one hand by a range of wood-shaded meadows, and on the other by a rustic attempt at a road leading nowhere, or thereabouts. True it is, that my retreat is crossed by a thoroughfare, leading from the said road to the aforesaid meadows; but, at present, this path is barred by a convenient exclusive and excluding bull, who holds his court in these green realms,- and in the evening, not a soul would approach the yard out of respect to a monstrous black dog, with soup-dish eyes, glaring livid like blue lights, who plays at leap-frog over the tombstones, and is supposed to be the property of an ancient admiral who taketh his walks in all weathers, dressed in a red coat and yellow waistcoat!!! an attire sufficiently out of the ordinary course of nature to appal every thinking mind, if to this horrid enormity he did not add the omission of his head!!!-But here comes my smock-frocked valet-de-place, Ralph Westropp, with my forage. "Sur, Measter says as that,"-"Where is(confound ye! mind how you set down the jug!) Where's my paper, Ralph?" "There, Sur," (pulling out four soiled crumpled sheets of 4to.) I've been axing and 'quiering all up and down, and that's every bit the pleace do hold," (alack for the progress of literature!) but if you think proper, I'll just step over to T (ten miles off), and be back in no time.""No, no, I shall manage; and now I suppose landlord wants to know about dinner?-Well!-tell him to get me that leg of South-down roasted by nine o'clock; I shall dine and sup altogether-and be sure they boil me plenty of marrow-fats and potatoes!-and-and-get about your business!-and leave Blucher with me!" "Ees, Sur! I'll look up again by and by, and see if you don't want nothing.' "Aye-aye." (Exit Ralph Cornelius manet.) " Blucher! do you love-" but I beg your pardon, sweet reader; allow me to introduce Blucher, the worthy bull-headed mastiff of my hostelrie, who kindly patronizes me in consideration of certain mouthfuls of bread, beef, bacon, and cheese—“ Blucher, do you love fat bacon? (Blucher bolts a banging bit of bacon.) Good: now lie down here in this nice hollow be ARTICLE. The thoroughly grounded painter and connoisseur may safely indulge himself in admiration of every species of picture, good in its kind, from M. Angelo, to Van Anybody, the artist of dunghills and pigstyes-but this cannot, with safety to the progress of taste, be allowed to beginners, either in practice or amateurship. The art of sinking is much easier than that of rising; and though the wellconstructed mind, educated and formed by the study of the antique, and the schools of Rome and Parma, with ease unbends and enjoys the products of mere imitation, yet an instance has rarely or never occurred of the cabaret painter who has been able to feel or comprehend the true aim and excellencies of the epic and dramatic styles. Andrea del Sarto is a notable example of the Bathos; and stands out a striking beacon to windy judgments. This weak man, though unnaturally buoyed up for a time by the strong food of Florence and of Rome, on beholding some German novelties more congenial to the native contraction of his mind, abandoned the style in which it seemed he had so well succeeded; and shrank from the fulness of Buonarotti and D'Urbino, to the shrivelled meagreness of Durer-a fact, nearly as incredible as true.-If, then, one possessed of great talents (unaccompanied unfortunately by steadiness) fell, owing to the contagion of injudicious models, how much more is it needful now, at home, when the influence of taste in the Fine Arts on many branches of commerce and manufactures is so generally allowed, to endeavour, with the best of one's abilities, to direct the public in what courses their admiration may be lavished with safety and profit. I am very far from hoping that my exertions can do much, even in the sphere of our sale; but considering the undue manner in which Dutch drolleries lord it over the pure sublimity and tenderness of the sons of Italia, and the prices given by wealthy gulls to tricking picture-dealers for worthless copies from worthless originals, it becomes every one to lend his hand to restore the public scale of taste to a fitter equilibrium; and I am inclined to think, from the elegant choice displayed in three pictures in the stitution, that these exertions will be present exhibition at the British Inaided by the example of the first personage in the kingdom. paid for the trouble of writing, if At all events, I shall be amply rethree people should feel induced from the perusal, to look a little higher in art than they have been hitherto accustomed. Obstacles arise to the general diffusion, as in Italy, of the grand gusto, from different circumstances. One is, that several of the finest pictures have never been engraved at all, or so inadequately as to mislead rather than satisfy-anoprice of many of the most desirable ther is, the extreme rarity and high prints (this, however, is not without exception); added to which, supposing the amateur or artist amply provided in funds, he is not always able to put his good intentions in practice, for want of a well-selected, roughlypriced catalogue of the most faithful engravings from the most characteristic inventions of the most prominent mas ters. saved me much time and trouble Such a manual, I know, would have when I began my little_collection; and indeed, without it, Fuseli's admirable and indispensable second lecture loses much of its utility to the student in a practical point of view, who cannot be much enlightened by critiques on works which he never saw, but let it be placed before him accompanied by a proper set of illustrations, and he will acquire, in six days, as good a view of the generic have been able to do in six years. In features of the different schools as I sincere hopes that some one more capable will take it up, I shall attempt object, to be continued, if it should a little essay towards this desirable readers, by small parcels through not incur the disapprobation of our some succeeding numbers of the the leniency of the practised conLONDON MAGAZINE.--I shall entreat noisseur and artist towards my errors, which he will the more readily grant, as desire of showing my little knowledge has not actuated me, but merely of doing real service. After what I have said above, it is hardly necessary to advertize the reader, that my list will be confined chiefly to the Italian school, and that the thorough-bred print collector will find nothing to pamper his appetite for Maso Finiguerras, Baldinis, Niello plates, Robettas, Wolfgangs, &c. No further order or arrangement will be observed, than that every separate portion shall contain one or two subjects, from eight or ten different painters, which I think, by its variety, will be at once useful and agreeable to the new collector. For want of books I am not able to manage even this desultory plan so orderly as I wish, this number; therefore let us talk about what we have all seen, viz. the Exhibition of Old Masters at the British InstitutionI have almost every one of these pictures clearly before me, and they will serve as land-marks to my memory. Some other day we will run over Mr. Angerstein's together, after which we will drive to the excellent Dulwich collection. The paintings which I wish you now to look at are those of Correggio, Tintoretto, and Polidoro. We have but a fragmental specimen of Correggio-but it is precious as a gem (a small female head in fresco, Lord Mulgrave). No master is so little known in England, except Polidoro and Schiavone; not but we have many copies under his name, among which I must class Mr. Angerstein's "Christ in the Garden," the original of which is probably in the collection of the Duke of Wellington, obtained by him from the King of Spain, who thus deprived the Escurial of its greatest treasure. Harmony is the characteristic stamp of his mind, and an amorous, dream-like mystery, in .which his figures appear to float as on an enchanted lake. The manner in which his best productions affect me, is by a combination of luxuries; "all impulses of soul and sense thrill me." To lie nested serenely immoveable in down, among rich, shadowy curtains, through which should stream seraphic strains, and cool perfumes borne on the soft beams of the summer moon-this is the nearest parallel that I can make. He is truly a sentimental painter, and is therefore inimitable. The ex terior particles of his grace were refined by Parmegiano to affectation; while his suavity dwindled into unmeaning imbecility in the hands of the delicate but flimsy Baroccio. Something of a kindred feeling pervaded Reynolds, as may be seen in his " Cupid and Psyche," in the collection of the poet Rogers; and in the moonlight portrait of Mrs. Stanhope. But, in my opinion, Fuseli has several times shown more of Allegri's soul than any of his most enthusiastic followers. A picture by the professor, penes me, answers fully to the above little sketch of the prevailing powers of the Lombard. Keats, in the Eve of St. Agnes, has several lines, which harmonize sweetly with the style alluded to. If they live in my memory, I will give them to you. |