must be so managed that the eye of the spectator will at the first glance rest upon the point of interest. In painting a procession, for instance, the chief personages composing it would be selected to form the prominent feature or point of interest; while the secondary persons in the procession would be so painted, not as they would appear if the eye were directed to them, but as the eye would take them in when looking upon the chief group. If the same care and prominency are given to each figure, the mind is disordered; there can then be no true pleasure, because the picture is in confusion. But not only must there be concentration given to the chief objects in a picture, but every part of it, every detail, must have its unity and concentration also. A ray of light must not be uniform in brilliance-it must have its culminating spot, brighter than the rest. We do not mean that any part of a picture is to be neglected—that the indication of the background is all that is needed; for it frequently occurs that more talent is needed in its elaboration than the chief objects, which are very much more mechanical. The highest talent and labour must be devoted to the subordinate parts of a picture, not to make them prominent, but that even a judicious eye shall not at first perceive the marks of this subordinate assiduity. The greatest art is to conceal

art.

This is not seen less in the arrangement of a picture than in any other part. Arrangement or disposition may be considered as a branch of invention, and consists in placing the objects which the mind has imagined in suitable and natural situations. When this is accomplished with success, the objects will appear unformal and easy; when the contrary of this is perceived, there are sure to be some of the objects placed at equal distances dividing the picture into equal and therefore formal parts. Variety of position is the end aimed at by the

The

painter of an historical picture; not as the old painters usually worked-marshalling their figures side by side, like so many couples in a procession; nor yet like some of the modern painters who bring a great number of persons into their pictures as if they were going to fight. We are told that in the great composition of Paul Veronese, the marriage at Cana, there are nearly a hundred figures as large as life; yet the eye is neither distracted nor confused. objects, whether consisting of lights, shadows, or figures, are disposed in large masses, and groups properly varied and contrasted. By the help of perspective, the groups are parted at proper distances. The light is supported by sufficient shadow; a certain proportion of ground is allotted to a certain amount of action; and the whole is conducted with as much apparent facility as if it were a small picture immediately under the eye. Fuseli said that the leading principle of Raphael's composition is that simple air, that artlessness which persuades us that his figures have been less composed by skill than grouped by nature; that the fact must have happened as we see it represented. Simplicity taught him to grasp his subject, to invest it with propriety, to give it character, and form, and perspicuity, to give it breadth and place.

But the crowning glory of the picture, if it have any glory at all, will be found in the very acme of the painter's art-expression. It is this that constitutes the difference between the mechanic or the draughtsman, and the artist. The one may have drawn the object correctly, but it is the drawing of a corpse; the other draws it not more accurately, but he adds expression-gives it life. It is the difference between the stuffed animal in the museum, and the fleet hound just bounding away from the leash. Every object of nature is capable of receiving this crowning touch of the painter. A tree, a leaf, a flower, a blade of grass, in the hands of the

master, may be instinct with expression, beaming with life. Catch the look of the child as it meets its returning parent, transfer that look to the canvas, and your picture lives with expression. A painting may be even very much out of drawing, as are many of the wood engravings of "Punch," but because they are full of expression they can never fail to please. Did you ever see Webster's "Slide" and "Play Ground?"-perhaps of all that vast assemblage of paintings at the Art Treasures Exhi bition, of none is a more vivid remembrance retained by the tens of thousands whose eyes were gladdened and whose hearts were warmed with matchless "things of beauty," than of those two pictures. Every figure lives-sparkles with expression. You have been in a painter's studio and watched the progress of your friend's portrait-hour after hour the artist has worked on-you have been silent; you did not like to express your doubts, but in your own mind you had resolved that it was not like: the artist smiles at your incredulous face, when, as if by accident, the brush touches the canvas, and upon the instant you recognise the old look of the longfamiliar face. The last touch gave it expressionlit it up with soul.

Much of this effect is attributable to the power which the painter has in colour. By means of colour a flat surface is made to appear raised: an illusion is presented to the eye. This effect, however, should not be obtained by what is termed "loading" the picture-putting great dabs of paint in certain places; because to effect a true illusion, the means to the desired end should not be too easily seen. It is true that Turner's pictures have this "loading;" and, doubtless, when first produced, the spectator standing a proper distance from them, they realised nature in a most enchanting manner. But look at them now. The painting presented to the British nation by Turner, and hung between two Claudes,

at his request, in the National Gallery, would seem to have been painted a hundred years before its companions, rather than more than a hundred years subsequently. Time and dirt have so effected the pigments, that only through the imagination can we realise the original brilliance of the picture. We shall do well to paint our picture smoothly; and then by a judicious blending of the colours we shall be enabled to produce any desired natural effect. Some painters paint in one tone or hue; Wilkie's pictures are always known by a peculiar snuffy colour. It is obvious that a painter will select that tone in which he is most successful; but as there is absolutely but one test-that of nature-the tone obviously is not a matter of caprice. But every eye cannot distinguish colour, and hence so many mistakes of judgment are made. Every landscape is divided into the three primary colours: red in the foreground, then yellow, which merges into blue in the horizon. Some publishers in order to assist the water colour student have blended these colours on drawing boards; they have not been much used, as nature hates anything mechanical or uniform. To be able to judge truly in regard to colour, it is needful that we study nature at all times and in all seasons, otherwise our judgment may be very faulty. We may visit the scene of any picture, and pronounce confidently that the colour is entirely wrong, and so it may be; but it faithfully represents the colour of the landscape when the artist painted it. Our judgment is then at fault-not the painting.

Style is that peculiarity of a picture which enables the connoisseur to name the artist at first sight. Styles of pictures become fashionable, as bonnets, or the cut of a coat. Pictures are bought, not because they truly reflect nature, but because they are the productions of certain artists whose works happen to be the rage. Many painters constantly reproduce some happily conceived objects, whether they are in

the landscape or not. We seldom, if ever, see a landscape by the elder Nasmyth without a certain clump of leaves in the foreground. Some painters paint so uniformly that all their paintings seem but a continuation of the same scene. The Pre-Raphaelites tell us that for their style they copy nature. If they do, we certainly think they copy it at times most abominably. Claudio, in Hunt's picture of "Claudio and Isabelle," is a clod-hopper dressed in fine clothes; the hands remind the spectator of legs of mutton. Had Touchstone met him in the forest, he would have addressed him with his usual query,-" Hast ever been at court, shepherd?" Truly he would never have taken him for a courtier.

Form, as an element of the picture, must not be overlooked. Every object has form, but every object has not a beautiful form; and as it is the province of the artist to preserve only that which is beautiful, those objects only that have this beauty will be conveyed to the canvas. Hogarth and other painters have indicated the lines in which the form of beauty is continued. It is formed by the opposite arcs of two equal circles continued in one line; the arcs being formed from either end of any line with a radius of one-sixth of the circumscribing circle. This line of beauty is found in the human figure, and in the ocean wave. If this form does not largely prevail in any picture, it is sure to be ugly. If the picture is painted from nature it must be beautiful, because nature abounds in the truest forms of beauty.

In the last place, our picture must be painted with due relation to the laws of light and shade, or what is termed "chiaroscuro." Of all things in the world the pictures painted by the Chinese are the most tame and vapid; like their women, they are senseless and unmeaning: the Chinese artist knows nothing of chiaroscuro. The splendid effects produced by the engraver, in re-presenting the most celebrated paintings, is achieved by the aid of chiaroscuro.