Pagina-afbeeldingen
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ples which are pursued in respect to light and shade obtain; individuality and accident are its primary laws.

In addition to their adoption of these portions of the means which, as here employed, are in distinct subserviency to the purpose of their art, the Venetians in their practice present a peculiarity intimately connected with that purpose, which was first and most distinctly exemplified by them. This is the signification of variety of surface and texture, which the pros cesses adopted in the practice of Ves netian painting afforded superior facis lities towards carrying into effect, and which was eminently adapted to assist in the expression of its distinctive character.

But, as before adverted to, each of these elements, or means of the art, on particular occasions, hold a station in the productions of this school which is distinct, being altogether dependent upon its material character. In nus merous instances colours, facts of light and shade, individualities of form, and detail of decoration or ornament, become the field of its expression. They are recognised to be identical with the most thorough signification of its intention-the final end to be gained

the metæ of its purpose. The peculiarity of a colour, a texture, or a kind or effect of light, in this instance, becomes an ultimate fact, beyond which there is no connected significa tion, it being directly and wholly res impressive of the object or the idea intended to be referred to. Thus the expression of either of these frequent

ly, but most often that of colour, which alone characterises many objects to vision, becomes ultimate, in connexion with that intimation of material and physical qualities which is here pursued. On occasions, they separately become one with the distinctive nature of this range of painting-the law of its law.

Such are the wider features of the

means as adopted in the material and sensuous art of the Venetians, which, in their varied combinations, are the instruments through which that character is kept up, in connexion with an extensive range of subjects; and (as frequently takes place in the instance of the other schools) it must be seen to result, that the idea or the sentiment of the subjects of their pictures was necessarily very often not at all sustained, or even attempted. Each looks from his own point of view towards the horizon which bounded his domain, beyond which he was apparently either indifferent in respect to what existed, or unapprehensive of it. Thus Titian, in carrying to its highest consummation that particular reference which constitutes the characteristic of the school to which he belongs, is frequently altogether at variance with the just expression demanded by the subjects of his pictures.* But the character of his time admitted, and even very much favoured the predominance of those qualities which he was most adapted to express, in addition to their generally insinuating nature. Indeed, after a certain period, throughout all Italian art, there is a decided preponderance towards rendering ideas, which have their existence only in the mind, by substantive realities of an ordinary and unelevated character. It is this, but in a refined application, which led to the deviation from an ideal representation, and dictated the substitution of moral beauty, signified in the Madonnas of Raphael, in which there is no attempt to quit the region of human feeling; their elevation consisting in the strength of their sentiment, not in its being of a superhuman nature, which may, in most respects, be considered to have been their proper sphere. In the same subject, which, in the hands of his predecessor and master, Giovanni Bellini, still retained a mythic character to a considerable degree, Titian becomes altogether earthly. His Madonnas are certainly womanly, and full of animal vigour; but it was the worshipped head of canonized holiness, represented by the mistress of the painter. Without, however, in the present instance, entering into a reference to particular works, it may be observed, that it has been seen, that in the attempt to characterise the works of Titian, different qualities have been brought forward, and different appellations bestowed upon them, which, from their nature, may separately be resolved into the more extensive and ultimate grounds of distinction that have been recognised; in which the cause of that deficiency of mental signification and intercommunion, which has always been brought against this school, becomes fully apparent. It has been noticed, that colour and ornament have been singly considered to present the distinctive quality of Venetian painting; while, it must be observed, that the nature of its light and shade, design, composition, and varied surface, have been left without being referred to any cause. But it is impossible that different qualities can alike essentially distinguish one subject; and it is no less so, that those qualities which have remained without being taken into consideration, should be entirely without any connexion or originating source of those particular features which they present. This we have endeavoured to supply: but, in separately considering the individual works of this school, while the essential characteristic which most strikingly distinguishes them is recognised, ognised, it must be recollected that such is only a part, though the most distinct part, of their whole combination; and their greatness in other respects (but which come upon a ground common to different schools and masters) must be distinctly kept in view.

gether. As far as mere correctness is concerned, within a certain sphere which does not embrace science or selection, the design of Venetian painting has been more objected to than it merits. But this has arisen from its reference or purpose not having been recognised,

* Here has arisen another of those stumbling-blocks in the way of judgment on art, which have led to preposterous results. The expression of the figure of the Christ crowned with Thorns, in the gallery of the Louvre, one of the greatest of the works of Titian, has been commended as divine, because he was known to be one of the most eminent painters; while in reality it is the reverse of that, in every respect, in counte nance and action,

From the nature of the painting of Titian, and his immediate predecessors and followers, as it has now been stated, its particular tendency, and the

cause of its engrossing influence, become apparent. The elevated relation of the works of Michael Angelo and Raphael (for their distinction is such, that unless in particulars it cannot be expected to be common to any class or school) is of necessity generally admitted; but individually, in most instances, as the more permanent or operating law, it is only nominally. The sensible world surrounds the consciousness of every one. In it, it may be said almost entirely, the many move and have their being. But, amidst the less vital manifestation of the beautiful in intellect and in human relation-morals, still none can be without their moments, although the general rule of their action is not under such influence, when the soul or mind recognises its proper being in rejoicing energy, and in these-the confession and triumph of its final relation-the distinction of humanity is sustained, throughout all; but which, existent in an eminent degree, constitutes the source of human dignity, giving birth to the great and good in contemplation and in action, through intellectual and moral power. Truly to touch the heart-strings by either, is an inheritance of fame. It is this which has enkindled a pharos-light from humble deeds, and made the voice of the poet thunder.* But all effort is not alike borne upwards by this strength. The range of human consciousness may be figured as a segment of the circle of being, the angle of which meets the centre, or intelligence, whence existence proceeds; and its basement, the widest and most extended and outward portion of its quantity, reaches that distance from the centre, beyond which humanity is lost, and mere animal life commences. To this wider or more diffused range outward being belongs, while mental existence may be said to reach, by different gradations, to a nearer approximation to the centre.† But the angle narrows as it advances. While all are necessarily existent in the outward-proceeding, the participation in the inward-proceeding is limited. Here, then, we are landed on the area of conflicting preferences-of fixed and of temporary reputation-of ultimate value, or that which is contingent of permanency and fashionof worth and worthlessness. But at the same time we recognise their division and separateness; and, in recognising this division, an immediate standard of judgment is supplied, by which the station and reference of the different objects of human exertion must be assigned.

* Some of those poems, usually denominated minor, in virtue derived from this source, become the Lares and Penates of the mind; and, were there one general language, would far outvie in effect or influence the destruction of a navy, or the burning of a capital, the means of the animal assertion of the right-war. Every word of Gray's Elegy, vainly criticised as it may be, is worth thousands of carronades and bayonets.

† The gods, demons, and heroes of the Greeks, might supply a filling up or completion of an analogy of this kind.

Judged by this standard, the influence of the works of the head of the Venetian painters are found to take a station which is subordinate and unelevated. Still, keeping in view their necessity in painting, and importance as one of the greatest exemplifications of the re-production of the constituent, or condition of the operation of all knowledge and art, sensible images, (although that had even limited their intention, which, on many

occasions, it does not,) their separate or distinct reference holds its place in that portion of the human constitution, which is immediately constitutive of sensible existence, and which is without direct reflex operation. It proceeds upon the unvarying necessity of exterior life, and descends in its appeals to that circle of perception where the union of the human with the merely animal nature takes place. It has not a part in the distinction of humanity. This is the degradation of the genius of Titian. Its elevation consists in the width of the circle to which his works belong, and in their being exemplifications of an intention or object, consummated to a degree which places them among the most eminent in. stances of human exertion :-not that it is meant to be implied that this intention was adopted and effected through a premeditated purpose, but that such is the result by different steps arrived at, in Venetian painting.

WALTER AND WILLIAM.

"'TWILL be a wild rough night upon the Moor:
And hark! though three miles off, the sullen roar
Of that deep-booming surge. God's mercy keep
The wayfarer, and wanderer on the deep.
The moon's but young-she'll give no help to-night:
Look out, my boys! if Beacon-head burns bright;
And, lads! take Carter Joe with ye, and see
All snug about the place; more 'specially
At the new Penfold and dun Peggy, too,
Give her and her sick foal a passing view-
Old Mark away, I've lost my right-hand man;
You must replace him."

Off the striplings ran,

Proud happy boys! forth rushing in their haste,
Ere well the words their father's lips had pass'd;
The elder's arm, with loving roughness, thrown
Round his young brother's neck-the fair-hair'd one.
"God bless the lads! and keep them ever so,
Hand in hand brothers, wheresoe'er they go,"
Eyeing them tenderly, the father said
As the door closed upon them: Then his head,
Sighing, let fall on his supporting palm,
And, like the pausing tempest, all was calm.

Facing her husband, sate a Matron fair,
Plying her sempstress task. A shade of care
Darken'd her soft blue eyes, as to his face
(Drawn by that sigh) they wander'd, quick to trace
The unseen, by sympathy's unerring sight-
Reading his heart's thoughts by her own heart's light.

Ten years twice told had pass'd, since Helen Græme
For Walter Hay's exchanged her virgin name.
Of life's viscissitudes they'd had their share,
Sunshine and shade; yet in his eyes as fair,
And dearer far than the young blooming Bride
Was she, the long-tried partner; who espied
No change in him, but such as gave a cast
More tender to the love would time outlast.
They had rejoiced together at the birth
Of six fair infants: Sorrowing, to the earth
(With mutual sorrow, but submissive heart)
Committed three. Hard trial 'twas to part
(Young parents!) with their first-born bud of bliss;
And they who follow'd!-with the last cold kiss
Their hearts seem'd breaking, that on each they press'd.
But He so will'd it "who doth all things best."
Out of their sight they hid their early dead,
And wept together and were comforted.
And of their loved ones, now a lovely three
Were left, that well a parent's boast might be.
Those two bold, blithesome boys, of stature near,
(Their ages differing only by a year,)
Walter and William named in reminiscence dear,
And a small sister, like a green-hill Fay,
Younger by eight-a little Helen Hay,
The household darling. To her father's ear,
'Twas ever music that sweet name to hear.
And now she sate, as still as still could be,
Her little stool drawn close beside his knee;
Her paly ringlets so profusely shed,
In the warm hearth-glow gleaming golden red,
As o'er the book upon her lap she bent,
On Jack the Giant-killer's feats intent.

Fit subject for some limner's skill had been
That quiet, tender-toned, heart-soothing scene,
All in fine keeping! The old spacious room,
Half hall, half kitchen, dark'ning into gloom,
As it receded from that cavern vast-
The open hearth; whence blazing oak logs cast
Rich, ruddy beams on rafter, beam, and wal
'Twixt monstrous shadows that fantastic fall.
And all around, in picturesque array,
Hung rustic implements for use and play,
For manly sport and boyish holiday.
Basket, and net, and rifle, rod, and spear,
Coil'd lines, and weather-season'd fishing gear,
And bills and hedging gloves; and, modell'd neat,
A little schooner, (Willy's proudest feat,)
Matching a mimic plough, with graver thought
"On improved principles," by Walter wrought-
Proud folk the parents of those works, I wot!
And tatter'd straw hats, plaited once so white
And neat, in leisurely long winter night,
By the boy brothers; while their father read
From one of those brown volumes overhead,
(No mindless untaught churl was Walter Hay,)
Some pleasant theme, instructive, grave, or gay:
His list'ning household, men, and maids, and all,
Assembled round him in his rustic hall;
Together closing the laborious day,
As in the good old time, the good old way.

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There stood a spinning-wheel, whose humming sound
Accompanied the reader's voice, not drown'd.
There hung a half-done cabbage-net; and there,
Nursing her kitten in the old stuff'd chair,
Purr'd a grave Tabby; while a faithful friend,
A worn-out Sheep-Dog, to his long life's end
Fast hastening, slumber'd at his master's feet.
It was a pleasant picture! -very sweet
To look upon, its beautiful repose-

One earthly scene, undimm'd by human woes.

Alas! was ever spot on earth so bless'd,
Where human hearts in perfect peace might rest?
One bosom sorrow, one corroding thought,
(The dark thread with his woof of life enwrought,)
Help'd on the work of time with Walter Hay,
Stole half the brightness of his smile away,

And streak'd in manhood's prime his dark curl'd locks with gray.
A hasty quarrel-an intemperate cup,

A hard word spoken when the blood was up,
A blow as madly dealt, but not in hate,
Repented soon and sorely, but too late-
Too late! Ah! simple words of solemn sense,
Avenging disregarded Providence!

Remembrance of these things, and what ensued,
It was, that clouded oft his sunniest mood,
Casting a dark cold shadow o'er the life
Perhaps too prosperous else. His gentle wife
Whose wife-like tenderness could scarce descry
A fault in him she honour'd, oft would try
To pluck away the thorn he sternly press'd
(Severe in self-infliction) to his breast.
"Not yours alone," she soothingly would say,
"The blame of what befell that luckless day;
You had borne much, my husband! well I know,
Much before anger overcame you so :
And both of you that night had made too free
(Alas! that youth should so unthinking be!)
With the good ale in careless company.
How could you bear such taunts before them all,
As he unjust and violent-let fall?
He knew your heart, to him so warm and kind,
That passion could but for a moment blind;
Passion, that love as suddenly would check,
And cast you, all-repentant, on his neck:
But he was gone before a word could pass-
Gone in his furious mood, before the glass
Ceased ringing, where he dash'd it on the floor
With that rash oath to see thy face no more!"

"But I-but I-that ever it should be
Betwixt us so! had told him bitterly
I never more desired his face to see.
I prosperous-He, a disappointed man-
Quick temper'd, spirit vex'd. Say what you can,
Dear comforter! you cannot take away
The stinging mem'ry of that fatal day."
Thus soothingly, a thousand times before
The loving wife had utter'd o'er and o'er
Mild consolation; on his heart that fell
Balmy, though there no settled peace might dwell:
And thus again, that night whereof I tell,

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