ever we may acknowledge his deep pathos, his calm sublimity, his mighty enthusiasm-yet, without the interest of a story, and the intervention of dialogue, or some other assistance to relieve the ear and amuse the mind, it really is almost impossible to engage the attention of an audience for five successive hours.

We owe some apology to our readers for the exceeding length of this article; but perhaps they will not think us without excuse, when they reflect upon the great variety of elementary matter, that must necessarily enter into the first essay of a series upon almost any subject. Perhaps, too, they will further recollect, that this essay is not only the first of the series intended for these volumes, but the first that was ever attempted at all, in a work of permanent construction, and the only

one in which the subject has been treated as a matter of science. It had always been the custom to decide by opinions, instead of principles; and if, like our predecessors, we had thought our authority strong enough to establish assertions without reasonings, we might have curtailed the article to half its present length. But for a publication of durable reference, we have selected what appears to us the most durable system of criticism. Opinion is of a transitory nature, and the entertaining works that rest upon it must perish in its decay: but principle is immutable and eternal, and the wri tings that are built upon it may merit the praise of utility in future time, though they want that brilliance which excites instantaneous applause.

IN recording the state of British painting and sculpture during the year 1808, there are but four galleries which deserve attention: namely, the Academy at Somerset house, the Institution in Pall Mall, and the two Exhibitions of Water Colour Paintings in Brook Street and Bond Street. Among these four, the only one which seems to require any detail, is the Academy of Somersethouse. To notice the private exertions of art would be a difficult, or, at best, a suspicious office. So much must necessarily remain unobserved, that the few performances which should be discussed would appear the choice of partiality or prejudice. He who expects public notice must content himself to make his efforts public. Criticism has not time to employ herself in seeking the hidden sweets of genius. Nor will it be requisite, in presenting an account of the Arts, to extend our remarks to the same length which we have found necessary in our account of the Stage; for the efforts of the theatrical artist are no longer to be known, but from the pages of criticism, while the productions of the painter and of the sculptor still remain, for the investigation of those who delight to explore these subjects with minuteness. It is sufficient for

us to give a general sketch of the effect produced by the exhibitions that are proper to be noticed. We shall therefore speak of those works only, which, from their intrinsic merit, or their popularity, or the fame of their authors, have contributed to the retardation, advancement, or depression of the general taste.

The Somerset-house exhibition of the year 1808 was the fortieth; and we feel a gratification in relating, that it was graced by an assemblage of talent which had been surpassed in no former display.

Among the most remarkable exhibitors were Sir William Beechey, Mr Drummond, Mr Fuseli, Mr Lawrence, Mr Northcote, Mr Oliver, Mr Owen, Mr Phillips, Mr Shee, Mr Stothard, Mr Thomson, Mr Turner, MrWest, Mr Westall, Mr Wilkie, and Mr Woodforde. We now proceed to consider their prime pictures, which, for the sake of more easy reference, we shall review alphabetically, according to the names of the artists.

The most distinguished work of Sir William Beechey in this exhibition was a portrait of the Duke of Cambridge; and it did great credit 'to the very high reputation which the painter had already acquired.

He is endowed in a very admirable degree with the power of seizing

resemblances, and his pictures are at once striking as likenesses, and interesting as works of art. For he has not only a general taste of arrangement, which, indeed, all excellent artists must indispensably possess, but has also, beyond almost any of the greatest painters, the faculty of varying and blending his colours, so as to produce tints of the highest possible brilliancy. Those who understand the difficulties of colouring will easily perceive in how high a rank they ought to place an artist, so particularly gifted with this elegant power.

Mr Drummond had a picture of the action between the Windsor Castle packet, of 150 tons, and 28 men, commanded by Captain Rogers, and Le Jeune Richard, French privateer, of 250 tons, and 92 men. This battle is represented on the Frenchman's deck; the point of view is from his starboard main rigging; and the time, when the brave captain, followed by five men, has just boarded, and is in the act of shooting the French boatswain. The two masts and forecastle belong to the packet, and the circular wood-work where the Captain steps, is the platform on which the great gun travels.

We have no reason to doubt that the naval objects, represented in this picture, are accurately drawn, though we are not ourselves sufficiently familiar with such matters, to decide upon the exactness of the resemblance; but of this, at least, we are sure that the feeling of the picture was true and touching. Every body, who has had occasion to employ his attention on the representation of battles and heroic actions, must needs have observed, that such pictures have usually an inflation or pomposity, if not in the painter's

manner, yet in the air of the individual figures, which totally destroys all effect of nature, and, of course, defeats the interest that we should otherwise feel for the agents in the scene. The grand style is very desirable; but it must be the grandeur of nature and simplicity. The mode in which heroic painting for the most part strives to arrive at its heroism, is through the same laboured bombastic nothingness, with which the French, in the earlier stages of the revolution, affected the majesty of ancient Rome. All is smoke, and swell, and bluster. In Mr Drum. mond's picture, none of this error was to be perceived. Each figure had its proper expression. Eagerness and animation were blazing in every countenance, though with the different modifications of varying character; but the general air, even of the most prominent figures, was free from affectation, and pleased by its truth and nature. It must be confessed, that there was a certain monotony of colouring, which, in some degree, injured the first ef fect, and prevented it from attract- ing so much admiration, as it might have allured by a harmony more varied: but this fault is slight in comparison of the merits which shine around it; and the judicious portion of the visitors were uniformly ardent in their commendation of the work. There was a portrait, by the same artist, of the Messrs Knyvetts, which was unfortunate only in the obscu❤ rity of its situation. It being in a dark corner of the anti-room, of course it failed to obtain the full popularity which it deserved.

How laboriously does Mr Fuseli exert himself to spoil a genius which nature seems to have meant for great deeds! No one can wish more ear

nestly than we do, to see artists following the standard of ideal excellence, and disdaining the vulgar path of actual and imperfect nature; but when any one becomes so bold as not only to go beyond, but to go against nature-not only to surpass her performances, but to violate her principles, we cannot consent to salute him with panegyric. Ideal excellence is greatly misconceived, when it is sought by such measures as these. Ideal excellence consists `in supplying the deficiences of particular nature from the principles of general nature; in seizing the beauties that are found scattered through various individuals of a species, and uniting them to form one perfect individual. It is impossible too often to recall to the critical recollection the course of the ancient painters, who composed a perfect female, by painting the eyes of one beauty, the arm of another, and so on, through the whole form that noble artifice so beautifully commemorated by a splendid poet:

So, when the Rhodian's mimic art arrayed The Queen of beauty in her Cyprian shade, The happy master mingled in his piece Each look, that charmed him in the fair of Greece:

To faultless nature true, he stole a grace, From every finer form and sweeter face: And, as he sojourned on the Ægean isles, Woo'd all their love, and treasured all

their smiles!

ing on deformity; of expression straining into madness; of lights and shadows that convey only the notion of effects that we may suppose to have been seen in the infernal world, when the devils of Milton rose from their burning lake. These things are not only distant from actual nature, but from the ideal excellence of nature: they are not the visions of genius, but the dreams of disease.

His work, in the exhibition of which we are speaking, was Cardinal Beaufort, terrified by the supposed apparition of Gloucester. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded

them!

Comb down his hair-look, look, it stands upright!

Second Part of Henry VI, Act 3, Scene 3.

This subject licensed a little fury of imagination in the painter; but Mr Fuseli has not been contented with that license. He would fain delight by disgusting, and win his way to admiration through dislike. "He has no eyes," says the Cardinal, speaking of the apparition; and the Cardinal himself seems on the verge of becoming as sightless as the ghost for his right eye has actually come forth from the inside of the head, and rather hangs on the eyelid than glares from the socket. The other figures are all drawn in attitudes, of which we know no prototype, but the performance of a pantomimic clown; and gifted with countenances surely unequalled, except by those inveterate persons of renown, the wits, who, at country fairs, make faces through a horse collar for a prize.

A very fine genius, wasted upon portrait-painting, may be found in Mr Lawrence; who has produced some works that at once demonstrate the extent of his powers, and excite

our regret for their misemployment. We do not impute it as blame to any artist, that he has cultivated portrait painting rather than the nobler styles: it must be mentioned rather " in sorrow than in anger:" For portrait painting is almost the only species of employment, which can reward the application necessary for the attainment of excellence; and, if we have few great historical painters, the deficiency arises not from the fault of the painters, but from the illiberality of the age. We hear every body talking about the necessity of encouraging the arts; but every body takes exactly that mode of encouraging them, which encourages them the least. People of fashion sit for their own portraits, and having paid, or perhaps omitted to pay, for the likeness of their invaluable selves, begin to boast of their public spirit, and blame the illiberality of niggardly patronage. Match-making matrons, when they are introducing a young lady into the world, occasion her likeness to be on view for a season or two, at the houses of the most eminent portrait painters, that her name may be repeated, and her ton decided: and soi-disant statesmen hire genius to perpetuate the image of stupidity. Thus it is that taste and patriotism are made the excuses of vanity. In the mean time, historical genius sinks, or struggles with prodigious difficulties; and who can blame an artist for employing his talents in that walk where they will be most amply paid?

Among the best of Mr Lawrence's portraits, are the likenesses of Lady Hood and of Lord Aberdeen. Both pictures are remarkable for their generally striking effect, an excellence which indeed is seldom wanting in the productions of this great painter,

for he possesses in an eminent degree all the stage-trick of his profession. He has more than almost any man in the present day of those little arts that so usefully co-operate with nature, and which, though not very serviceable in any other branch of the art, are invaluable in portraitpainting. The character in both these faces is decided and pleasing too. We have hardly ever seen any head, painted by Mr Lawrence, that did not acquire something of character on the canvas, and that without losing its own native air. Countenances naturally expressive he assists, and even to those which nature has left unmarked, he imparts an effect of mind and meaning. So in the ages of fable, at the touch of Deucalion, the stones of the earth assumed another being, and started into sudden animation.

Mr Northcote had one picture of unusual merit-a portrait of himself. It is coloured with great effect, and remarkably forcible as well as pleasing in its expression of character. We cannot say so much for his picture-of the Angels appearing to the Shepherds. He probably aimed at the sublime; but he has taken the wrong turning, and arrived at the droll.

The land bears a strong resemblance to water, and the sky to smoke. In this smoke float some chubby cherubs, and on a high jutting crag stand the astonished shepherds. Some of the grouping seems to have been borrowed from Correggio. The whole piece has an odd, misty effect, and reminds us strongly of that blue vapour, which boys elicit from a candle, by squeezing orange-peel and other substances upon the flame.

The picture, for which Mr Oliver obtained a particular notice, was en