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that this evanescence diminishes their value. It is absolutely impossible to remember the smell of a rose, or the sound of an Æolian harp; but do we not long for these, and recur to them more than we should otherwise do, on that very account? For my own part, I declare, that though I am able, generally speaking, to recall at will any picture I have once seen that made a great impression on me, and can see it as vividly and distinctly as if it were actually before me, yet of these pictures by Titian, which I stood gazing on for an hour last week, now that I am absent from them I have no more recollection as to their details than if I had never seen them: I do not even recollect the attitude of a single figure, except the principal one in each picture,-and this probably on account of these particular figures being chiefly remarkable for their expression, and not their colouring. And yet I never saw any pictures that I have so strong a desire to see again and again. I feel that this subject is susceptible of a very clear and interesting developement; but I dare not trust myself to go farther into it here, or I shall exhaust my space before I have noticed half the firstrate works in this princely collection. I must therefore take leave of these two charming pictures, by recommending them to the admiration of the lover of Art, and the study of the artist, as two of the most rich, glowing, mellow, and harmonious pieces of colouring that ever proceeded from the pencil.-There are two other very fine pictures in this room, which are worthy of a much more detailed notice than I can afford them: these are, the Woman taken in Adultery, by Pordenone, and a Holy Family, in a fine landscape, by Old Palma.

Returning to the small ante-room through which we passed into this chamber, we find a few works of very singular, and indeed first-rate excellence. Let those who doubt the power of Titian to mix the highest degree of expression with the highest perfection of colouring, when it suited his views so to do, look at the Venus rising from the Sea (94). It is a most exquisite picture, possessing that wonderful truth in the expression of the flesh, which no one else but him ever gave in an equal degree. The character, too, of the whole figure, floating and undulating in every part, like the element of which it is born, is altogether delightful and appropriate.-Underneath this picture hangs an admirable example of Vandyke's portraits (189), as fresh and blooming in colour and as free in touch as Rubens, but with more truth and firmness, as well as more delicacy and nature.

To the right of the last picture, a little above, hangs a delightful head by Guido (28). It is a Madonna-full of a sweet divinity, added to a graceful yet touching air of humanity, which are to be found united in but few works from any other hand than his. Guido's Madonnas are unlike all other heads that we see, either actual or ideal; and the character they represent requires that this should be the case. They blend natural and supernatural attributes, the looks of heaven and of earth, so delicately together, that while both are apparent, neither predominates; or rather, both are so distinguished that we may make either predominate, just as the mood in which we contemplate them requires. There is a great deal of talk about "ideal beauty," but with very little meaning in it. Perhaps the beautiful Madonnas of Guido have more of the "ideal" in them than any thing else in Artmore of something that belongs not to the earth-more of "the light

that never was on sea or land." And this is the only kind of beauty that claims the name of ideal.-One of the most curious and elaborate pictures in this collection is the Last Judgment, by L. Bassano, (86) also in this room. Among the innumerable figures which this small picture contains, many are understood to be portraits, which are assigned places in the scene corresponding with the estimation in which they were held by the painter. Though not without gross faults in the design and detail of many parts of it, this is a work of very great merit, considering the extraordinary difficulties that have been overcome in it. The upper part of the picture, in particular, is very finely managed.The last work I shall notice in the Italian portion of this collection is is most charming one by Parmegiano, Cupid cutting his Bow (16). It is in a small inner-room, or passage, leading out of the centre gallery. For airy grace, and rich and harmonious sweetness, both of expression and colouring, this picture might have been painted by Correggio; but there is a lofty freedom of manner, and a decision of outline, together with an antique and poetical character, which Correggio was apt to sacrifice to something less poetical perhaps, if not less imaginative. Nothing was ever more deliciously bland and captivating than the air and attitude of this lovely boy. There are two antique statues, now in the British Museum, each of which in a striking degree resembles this picture in attitude and expression, and in the age of the Cupid. Each is a single figure of Cupid bending his bow; and one or other of them had probably been seen by Parmegiano before he painted this work. It evidently became a favourite subject with him; for there are several repetitions of it in different galleries of Europe. The two heads which are introduced at the bottom of the picture, of a laughing and a weeping child, are, in my estimation, any thing but an improvement to the picture. They disturb that unity of effect which results from the principal figure when looked at by itself.

At the east end of the central department of the Gallery is a room containing the celebrated series of the Seven Sacraments, by Nicolo Poussin, from the Orleans Gallery. These are unquestionably a very valuable and complete set of pictures; but it was not by painting such pictures as these that Poussin acquired and deserved that reputation which places him among the first of the old masters, in the first class of Art. If we forget that Poussin belonged to the French school, it is in virtue of his Deluge, at the Louvre, his Education of Bacchus, at Dulwich, his Bacchanalian Scene, at Mr. Angerstein's, his Orion, &c. These proclaim him a great painter; while those before us, as well as many others of the same class that I have seen, only bespeak him a painter of great pictures. I do not by any means desire to depreciate the larger works of Poussin; of which these perhaps offer some of the very best specimens extant. But I think that he should never have painted large works at all. His genius required confinement, and seemed to delight in it, both with respect to size and subject. He had so trained it to tread in the steps of the antique, that it felt at home no where else; he had so accustomed it to move in fetters, that it could move in them with more ease and grace, as well as more spirit, than when free. Give Poussin a simple subject requiring a unity of effect, a very limited number of figures, and a small space, and he could do wonders; but give him an acre of canvass, a crowd of figures, and a

subject at once complicated and common-place, and he was but a better sort of common-place painter. His Moses striking the Rock, which I neglected to notice, in the grand centre gallery, is much finer than either of these, both in colouring and expression. There are, indeed, some very admirable parts in it, particularly a child that seems to be drinking with its mind as well as its mouth.

ing,

We now arrive at the Dutch and Flemish department of the Gallery. The most conspicuous object here is one of Rubens's grand allegorical works, Peace and War (137). A distinguished living critic, speaking of Spenser, at once answers and deprecates all objections to allegory, by say"If we do not meddle with the allegory, it will not meddle with us."* Applying this to Rubens's pictures, (and it is at all events as applicable in the one case as the other,) nothing more can be said. If we are not to meddle with the allegory of the work before us, there is no denying that it is a vigorous and spirited representation of certain human and other forms, and a gorgeous, glowing, and harmonious mass of colouring. Moreover it includes portraits of the painter and his family; which, to be sure," do not meddle with us" any more than the allegory,-otherwise we might fairly take exception at their too frequent occurrence under similar circumstances. The two grand works by this master, which I had occasion to notice last month, and the one now before us, have each contained portraits of the painter, and two or three of his wives and children. This is, perhaps, "something too much," even in Sir Peter Paul Rubens; in almost any one else it had been a mere impertinence. The two principal Teniers' in this collection (198 and 182) are worthy of all admiration, whether for their infinite variety and truth of character, their exquisite freedom and spirit of touch, or their unrivalled clearness of colouring.-The Ostades are also peculiarly choice and fine. I can only refer generally to the rich cluster of them that hangs on the right-hand side of the largest room belonging to this department. Among these, the Courtship (179) is perhaps the best.

In the Landscape department of this school we meet with some delicious pieces, each of them full of the peculiar manner of its author; for all the Flemish landscape-painters are mannerists-except, perhaps, Hobbima, whose manner is that of Nature alone. As I have already occupied more than the space that can usually be devoted to these papers, I am compelled to defer my notice of the characteristics of this class of painters till a future number. In the mean time I must content myself with pointing out a few specimens of their respective styles. Cuyp's large picture (142), the Landing of Prince Maurice at Dort, is a singular example of this artist's power of steeping his scenes in sunshine. There are several others by Cuyp, in two or three of his different styles; but I think not one of his very first-rate pictures. By Both here are several most exquisite works, in his sweetest and richest manner; but most of them are small. I ought not to particularize any of these; for they are all delightful. By P. Wouvermans we have several rich gems. Nothing can be more charming in their way than 226, 227, and 228: the last, in particular, is a most sweet composition, as sweetly coloured.

Here are several of Wynants' best works; in particular four hang

* Hazlitt's Lectures on the Literature of the age of Elizabeth.

ing nearly together (213, 215, 217, 219). The landscape with tower, figures, &c. (217) is very rich in all the qualities of his style. Here is also one most exquisite picture by Berghem-the best that I remember to have seen; combining the warmth of Both, and the brightness of Wynants, with all his own sharpness and sweetness. Hobbima has but two pictures here, and those not among his best. No. 139 is, however, a very pretty little example of his purely natural manner.

Passing over silently (as I am now compelled to do), but not on that account the less admiringly, numerous other rich and valuable specimens of the Flemish school in all its departments, I shall close this paper by noticing Rembrandt's Samuel and Hannah, as it is called (193). The female head, in this picture, is perhaps one of Rembrandt's most extraordinary and successful efforts in this way. It is of a miniature size, but touched with that wonderful force and spirit which is so conspicuous and effective in his larger works; and yet, whether looked at close, or at a distance, it has all the effect of a highly-finished miniature. The light (which is concentrated on the face of the old female) is put on in such a way as to make it, in a great degree, cast its own shadows -if I may so speak. The paint of which it is composed is nearly all white, but so laid on as to form of itself the wrinkles and inequalities; just as the skin and flesh do by their sinkings and risings. It is, in fact, more like a piece of delicate modelling in clay, than a smooth surface receiving all its effects from different shades and tints of colour. Though as a composition-as a piece of general effect-this picture is of course not to be compared in value with Mr. Angerstein's wonderful picture by the same artist, yet, as a single head, it is, I think, finer than any one in that work. Indeed, as a single effect, regarded with reference to the apparently disproportionate means used to produce it, this head may, perhaps, be looked upon as one of the finest things in painting.

I now reluctantly take leave of this noble Collection; lamenting the inadequacy of the account which my confined space, as well as abilities, have enabled me to give of it; but hoping that I may be not without some future opportunity of doing it—or, I should rather say, doing my own feelings respecting it-more justice.

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THERE is a mood, to madness near allied,
When visions of the past-that will not rest-
And thoughts long banish'd-feelings long supprest-
Gush on the heart, in wild o'erwhelming tide-

Objects of unforgotten hope or pride,

The scenes we loved, the friends we valued best,
Tumultuous thronging thick upon

the breast,

Live o'er again,—and she for whom we sigh'd,

Perhaps now cold, uprises from the tomb;

Her look-her eyes-her voice-her melting tone,
Her bounding form-perchance from childhood known,
Revive in all their beauty-all their bloom-

Visions of bliss that faintly light the mind,

But, shifting, leave a scorching trace behind!

THE PHYSICIAN.-NO. IV.

General Rules for attaining long Life.

THERE dwelt in ancient times on the Palus Mæotis, a barbarous people, called the Alani, whose god was a naked sword, which they set up in the ground and worshipped, and whose greatest glory and happiness consisted in slaughtering their fellow-creatures, and employing their skins for horse-covers. This brutal nation was, as far as I can recollect, the only one that considered it ignominious to die of old age. This maxim, nevertheless, seems to have identified itself with the character of martial nations, the members of which are anxious to die for their country; and it may be viewed in a milder light where it loses all that is rude and barbarous, and appears in the rank of real heroic virtue. It is truly absurd to regard natural death, that is to say, the only way in which men can die of old age, as ignominious : but still it is a real virtue to sacrifice one's life for the public weal; a virtue in which the ancient heroes and philosophers were great, and in which those of modern times are mostly very little. The more effeminate and luxurious a nation becomes, and the more it is depraved by indulgence and voluptuousness, so much the more it dreads death and is attached to life. In vain would you show the debauchee the lustre of immortality that must surround his name, if he sacrifice his life for his fellow-citizens and his country. To no purpose would you promise him the pure joys of heaven, and the everlasting glories on which his soul will feast itself. He would rather be utterly forgotten from the present moment, and renounce a future state altogether, than give up a single year of his voluptuous life. Between these two extremes the wise will choose a middle course. We must not hold life so lightly as to throw it away, neither ought death to appear so terrible as to make us hesitate to surrender it, when important occasions demand the sacrifice.

Such are my sentiments, though I am a physician, and a physician ought always to espouse the cause of life. The duty of a physician extends no farther than to take care that life be not lost till natural necessity or higher purposes require it. For this reason we combat the diseases which carry off men before they have attained the natural term of life; but not to render our patients immortal: just as we should pay the most assiduous attention to a sick general, without being offended if, after his recovery, he should go forth and seek honour or death in the turmoil of battle. Besides, a physician is best qualified to determine the real value of life, and to form a comparison of the advantages and inconveniencies of age, with the degree of attachment or indifference to long life, which deserves to be termed, not only a duty but a real benefit to mankind. For, how melancholy is that life, every moment of which is embittered by the fear of losing it !-and how grievous that death, which a hopeful youth draws upon himself by culpable neglect! Old age is subject to a thousand inconveniencies. It is a lingering death, which causes us to survive ourselves, and deprives the world of the melancholy pleasure of tenderly deploring our loss. The death of one, who, in his best years, sacrifices himself for the State, is a peal of thunder that shakes all who hear it and how grateful to his spirit must be the heart-felt sorrows of all on his account! It is evident

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