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period revolved. There was no one so great, was when he was seventy-five years of age. so sublime in any branch of it that did not Vasari gives us an interesting account of how look up to Michael Angelo, and consider him he worked. He says that he was remarkably as superior. It is considered that Raphael sober; and while performing the greatest of stole into the Sistine Chapel to see his won- his works, such as that at Rome, he rarely derful work, and changed his style entirely took more than a crust of bread and a glass of upon beholding it; and it is perfectly acknow- wine. This sobriety made him more vigilant, ledged by writers of that time, that in other and requiring not so much sleep. And there departments he was considered equally su- he worked away with his chisel, having made preme. Now, one might consider that this for himself a sort of helmet, or cap of pasteman, upon whom commissions poured in board, on which he put his light, so that the every day for great works, would have em- shadow of his body was never thrown on the ployed a number of artisans to assist him, work. Apropos of this, Vasari tells us an that he would have carefully prepared models, anecdote, which, though it does not directly made and entrusted to skilful artificers, so as bear on this subject, has been and is interestto lighten his labour. No such thing. There ing, as showing the character of Michael Anis every evidence, from the beginning to the gelo and his times. Vasari observes that he end, that Michael Angelo performed every piece never used wax candles for the purpose of of work which he undertook, that he began working with, but candles of goat's tallow, with the blocks of stone taken from the which Vasari says were particularly excellent. quarry, that pretty generally he did not con- Wishing to make him a present, he sent his descend to make designs in wax models, but servant one day with a large box of these immediately set to work with his chisel candles, containing about forty pounds. The and mallet until he brought out the figures servant brought the box in, and Michael, who already existing in his imagination, and which never accepted presents, told him that he he knew were as truly lurking in that inani- might again take it with him. The servant mate block. Vasari shews us in fact from his said that he had no idea of taking it back, as unfinished pieces in what way he must his arms were nearly broken from having car have chipped out the marble from the block ried it the distance he did. "Then do what which he himself had begun to fashion, and you like with it," said Michael. Well," said which many afford as a reason for his having the servant, "I will tell you what I will do; so many unfinished pieces about him. Either as I was coming, I observed before the door the idea did not come out, or he drove the a nice bit of hardened earth; I will go and stroke too far into the marble,—and so spoiled stick the candles in that, light them, and leave it; but certain it is, that most, if not all of them all burning." Michael said, "I cannot the gigantic works which he executed were allow such confusion as that would make at actually the products of his own hands, as my door; you may, therefore, leave them." well as of his own intellect. When he was This shows the homely friendly way in which getting an old man; when he was about the the artists lived among themselves. Now, we age of seventy-five, Vasari tells us that he have a very interesting account of the manner used to be just as indefatigable with his ham- in which he used to work at his marble by mer and chisel as when he was a young man. another contemporary writer, a Frenchman. He had near his bedroom, if not in his bed- Speaking of this subject, he says, "I can say room itself (for he lived in a primitive and that I have seen Michael Angelo, when he was simple manner), a block of marble; and past sixty years of age, and then, when at work, when he had nothing to do he used to be he would make the fragments of the marble hammering at it; and when he was asked fly about at such a rate, that he cut off more why he continually wrought at this branch in a quarter of an hour than three strong young of his art, he used to reply that it was for men could have done in an hour-a thing amusement, to pass away his time, and be- most incredible to any one who has not seen cause it was good for his health to take him. And he set to work with such fury, exercise with a mallet. with such an impetus, that I was afraid that he would have dashed the whole marble in pieces, making at each stroke chips of three or four fingers thick fly about the air, and that with a material in which, if he had only gone a hair's breadth too far, he would have totally destroyed the work, which could not be restored like plaster or clay." Bernard Palissy was an artist, a painter; but he seems to have been a painter of rather humble pretensions. He tells us that he used to paint figures of images, and so on; but still he was an artist to some extent. He tells us, in his biography written by himself, that in 1544 there does

He undertook at that advanced age to cut out of the enormous block of marble four figures as large as life intended to represent the Descent from the Cross. He had nearly completed the figure of our Lord, when, happening to meet with a large vein, he broke it one day into half a dozen pieces. It was seen in this state by one of his friends, who got them put together again, and transferred it to Florence, where it is now to be seen. But Vasari says, that in order to give himself occupation, he got another equally large block of marble, and began another group of the same sort. This

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not seem to have been anything approaching walls corresponds to our paper-hanging. They to ornamental pottery in France. He happened to see an Italian cup, which struck him as being very beautiful; and he thought, "Why could not this be produced in France?" He set to work. He was a poor man. He had a good talent for chemistry, and was particularly desirous of finding out a system of enamelling pottery, and especially that white enamel which he contrived to make himself. He took his work to be baked in a glasshouse, but found it completely failed. He set to work in his own house, and built a furnace. He set the ingredients in it, but found that they would not harden. Having nothing left, he pawned all his clothes. He burnt every article of furniture which he possessed. He went to his garden, pulled up the trellis, took the floor out of his house to keep up the fire, but his proportions not being exact, he could not get the glazing to set. Still he persevered, People charged him with being mad. He was subjected to every sort of annoyance, but still he went on. Finding that his furnace would not act, he built another, carrying the sand and water, mixing the lime, and building it with his own hands. He sat six days and six nights watching it. He received a little money from a commission, and returned to his work again, and this in the midst of the trials and annoyances to which he was subjected. He had everything set, the furnace lighted. He was sitting watching as before, when he heard crack after crack in every direction around him; the pebbles in his mortar flew out and stuck in his enamelled models and vessels, so that they were completely spoiled. He set to work again. He prepared materials once more; he put them into the fire, and this time there was a tremendous explosion, and all his work was again spoiled. He says that for sixteen years he persevered in this way, and at the end was crowned with success. He produced the first specimens in beautiful pottery, such as to this day are sought by the curious. He afterwards received a situation in the king's household, and ended the rest of his days in comfort and respectability. We are told by Pliny, to whom we must constantly recur for information on the subject of ancient art, that it was in the time of Augustus that the practice was introduced of painting the walls of houses. Temples had undoubtedly been painted before. The whole of the walls were covered with paintings. He tells us himself that when the temple of Ceres, near the Circus Maximus was restored, they cut away from the walls the works of Damophilus and Gorgasus, and framed them, as we do with pictures we wish to preserve. We know that on on one occasion the city was saved, when Demetrius besieged it, because he was afraid that if he destroyed it, the beautiful paintings which it contained would be lost. Now, observe that this painting of the

did it by the craft and skill of the artist. How did they do this? I again must refer you to the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. They covered not only public buildings, but also private houses with beautiful paintings. They are not mere arabesques; they are not merely ornaments; but they are such a mixture of ornament and figures, perfectly designed and coloured, as show that there was no distinction between the architect and the painter of the house. The artist was himself the performer of the work. And so beautiful are these that we have hardly anything in modern things that is superior to some of these paintings, and they were so common that they were in all the houses. And we may observe that they are found on the walls of cities remote from the capital. They give a specimen of the condition of the provincial cities of the empire. Thus we find that great artists condescended to paint the walls of private houses as well as of public buildings. We have an instance in modern times, perhaps forming in itself one of the most beautiful productions of art-the painting of the gallery to which I have already alluded. Raphael ur dertook to do what we would not now think of committing but into the hands of a common decorator. There was no distinction, in his time, between the higher and lower state of art. The whole of art was one thing. A great artist considered that it was his place, and in his power, and in reality what he professes to do, even to make the smallest work, that was insignificant in itself, great and noble, and to stamp the very highest impress of art upon the commonest and most ordinary commissions that were given to him. I must now say a few words on another class of art, both of design and production, which will probably interest you more than any of those to which I have already adverted. It is art applied to textile fabrics. I must observe that there is a great difference between what art can do in this department, and what it can do in those others through which I have passed. Because the others are of a permanent and lasting nature, which are to continue for a time, they are worthy, therefore, of the care and attention of the artist of the very highest class. The others are perishable, and in all respects capricious, and always changeable; therefore it is impossible to bestow upon them the time, the leisure, and the degree of labour that is necessary to produce a great work of art. I have read with pleasure, and bear testimony to the important suggestions contained in a lecture delivered by Mr. Potter in this city. He is quite correct in his estimate of the somewhat exaggerated ideas which may exist on the power of art in connection with that which is not durable, and in reality has necessarily its value only for a brief period. I agree with him, therefore, in all that refers to

that subject; but, on the other hand, I accept his concessions that, even with regard to that amount, that extent of art, which is compatible with the nature of the substance on which it is to be displayed, we do not what we ought to do, and that we fall short of our neighbors, that while in that which is of a secondary nature, we have, by degrees, by perseverance and study, attained equality with them, yet there is a point more delicate and perfect which we have not yet reached. This is a concession which is important to what I have to say. It appears that there is some reason why in France they can produce, even in printed fabrics, a superior, a more delicate,

and a more beautiful artistic effect than can

as yet be given here. I shall have to speak upon the reason of this, which you will find accords in principle with what I have said. Because, observe, in these works, not made actually by handicraft, but with the assistance of mechanical skill, there must be a distinction between the designer and the mere workman, the man who puts the machine in motion, and puts work through it; although there can be no doubt it is necessary for the designer also to have considerable acquaintance with the process through which the design is brought out in actual manufacture. I only wish to observe, however, how the principle comes out here. You know the cartoons-the most perfect, the most finished work of art that exists-the cartoons of Raphael at Hampton Court. They are the labour of years; for they were all worked by his own hands; and nothing can be more beautiful than the perfection of outline, the artistic distribution of the different parts of the paintings, and, in fact, the whole of their merits. Now, what were these cartoons? Why, they were simply drawings for the loom. Raphael did not think it again below him to draw patterns which were to be sent to Holland and Belgium, and there executed by mechanics who wrought at that occupation. This shows, therefore, how the very highest talent may bend without degradation to assist practical art with all its power and with all its resources --and that where the union of the two cannot be got in the same person, then we have to think of the means by which the harmonious combination of both may be brought to produce one effect. While upon this subject, from the difficulties which oppose the bringing of this sort of art to its perfection, I am tempted to quote some beautiful lines upon the subject from one of our oldest but wisest poetsone who calls himself upon his tomb the servant of Queen Elizabeth and the counsellor of King James. I mean Lord Brooke. Considering that in those days the principal impulse to industry had to be given by the ruling power, he speaks of the duty of that power in regard to the production of manufactures; and he writes in these words:

Now, though wise kings do by advantage play
With other states, by setting tax on toys,
Which, if leagues do permit, they quietly may,
As punishment for that vice which destroys,
Of real things yet must they careful be,
Here and abroad to keep their custom free.
To which end power must nurseries erect,
And those trades cherish which use many hands,
Yet such as more by pains than skill effect,
And so by spirits more than vigour stands,

Whereby each creature may itself sustain;
And who excel, add honour to their gain.

Perhaps you will excuse me having taken up
this quotation, but I will read you another
that occurs in the same page, because it seems
at that time to be so wisely prophetic of what
may be considered the commercial policy of
this day—that policy which owes its greatest
impulse, if not its origin, to this city. He
says:—

Providing cloth and food no burthen bear
So as no one rule what we eat or wear,
Then equally distributing of trade,

Or any town the gulf of all be made:

For tho' from few, wealth can be had and known,
And still the rich kept servile by their own;

Yet no one city rich or exchequer full,
Gives states such credit, strength, or reputation,
that foreseeing, long-breathed wisdom will,
Which, by a well disposing of creation,

As

Breeds universal wealth, gives all content,
Is both the nine and scale of government.

In conclusion, let us look upon art as the
highest homage that can be paid to nature.
And while religion is the greatest and noblest
mode in which we acknowledge the munifi-
cence, the all-wise majesty of God, in what
He has done both for the spiritual and for the
physical existence of man, let us look upon
art as the most graceful tribute of homage
which we can pay to Him for the beauties He
has so lavishly scattered over creation. Art,
then, is to my mind, and I trust it is so to you
all, a sacred and a reverend thing, and one
which must be treated with all nobleness of
feeling, all dignity of aim. We must not de-

press

it.

tion of our artists must always be tending We must not lower it. The educahigher and higher. We must fear the possi bility of our creating a lower class of artists, who will degrade the higher department, instead of endeavoring to blend and harmonize exist in the minds of men the distinction beevery department, so that there shall cease to tween high and low art. And I conclude by reading another beautiful sentiment taken from the same poet:

The bee may teach thee industrious care:

A worm in skill thy master thou must own; With higher spirits wisdom thou dost share; But Art, O man! hast thou alone!

than to receive every now and then a letter from People should travel, if for no other reason home; the place of our birth never appears so beautiful as when it is out of sight.

Did you ever know a Continental tourist who, if he unfortunately happened to speak English, didn't everywhere discover he was charged at least double for it?

"Then we might have waited long enough for each other."

I

"I was thinking of a most delightful adventure." "Well, then, you might as well think aloud." "With all my heart, only that you may think play somewhat too conspicuous a part in it." Pray begin; I promise you only to believe half."

"It is now about a week since I received a card of invitation to a ball. The name was wholly unknown to me, so I lighted my pipe with the note. But stay; I must fill it now. There. And now to proceed.

"Some days after, feeling rather depressed and a little out of sorts, I thought a little gay society would do me no harm. By my faith,' said I to myself, I ought to have gone to this ball.' And a moment after I said again, I wish I had gone to this ball.' Ha! there is actually a scrap of the invitation left; and it is for this evening. What is to prevent my going?' Accordingly I dressed, and that, be it remarked, en passant, for reasons best known to my tailor and myself, was a matter

of no slight difficulty. My toilet once made, such as it was, everything went on smoothly enough. I sent the porter for a cab to take me to the appointed house. You know the housethat magnificent one in the Rue St. Honoré, in front of which are those two splendid statues, before which I have so often stood lost in ada iration. I entered, was announced, and could see that my name made a great sensation. I made my way to the lady of the house to pay my respects, Beside her was a young lady, evidently her daughter, who blushed deeply, and appeared somewhat embarrassed as I approached. In s few moments, there being no listeners near us, she whispered quickly to me

"Be sure you do not forget that it was Ernest gave you an introduction."

Thereupon she left me, and joined a lady who had just entered the room.

Not to forget that it was Ernest gave me the introduction! But who and what was this Ernest? Why had he given me an introduction? As I was puzzling over it all, I was accosted by a stout gentleman

"You are taking nothing, sir. The refreshment room is quite rear."

I answered by a bow, and he immediately led the way to it.

"Where is Ernest? I want to thank him for having brought you to us."

"On the contrary, sir, it is I who am deeply indebted to Ernest."

"Can you tell me how this law-suit is going

on ?"

"What law-suit?"

"Oh, the great family suit."

"Oh! it is going on exceedingly well."

"I am glad to hear it. Have you spoken to my wife and daughter ?"

"Yes, I have had the honour."

"Now tell me honestly, do you follow Ernest's example?"

"Follow Ernest's example! You may fancy how embarrassed I was to find a ready answer to of the scrape, for my stout friend went on to saythis question, but a hem and a haw got me out "Ernest is good for nothing; he neither plays nor dances."

and if I am not, as I fear, quite too late, I would “I, on the contrary, am very fond of dancing, beg permission to engage your daughter."

I rather think her card must be full by this time. Still I know that she generally reserves a dance or two for any late comers she may wish to favour. Come, I will make your request for you." And so saying, he led me up to his daughter, whose first words, when her eye fell upon us, were

"I see you have not forgotten our engagement for the next quadrille."

"How is this?" inquired my portly friend; you said just now

"I was as much surprised as he was, but hastened to say, "I had asked the young lady, but she turned to speak to some one who was just coming into the room, and left me in doubt whether she would accede to my request."

"So you see my mediation was quite unneces sary; and now I will leave you. When you see