preserve the noses upon the figures of our departed kings, since at present even the remarkable proboscis of William III. may soon disappear, to the delight of those parliamentary members by whom the "glorious and immortal memory" of King William is deemed little less than treason to "Ould Ireland." The like fate will also soon befal the other monstrosities seen on all sides.

There seems to be a fatality attending our public works, and not less the works themselves than the selection of them. What a miserable monument, fit enough for a barrack-yard, has been erected in one of the best positions in the metropolis! We mean that in Waterloo-place. What an artistic effort for a public site! It recals again the "would if we could" system. If a monument is to be erected in a public place, it should not only be worthy in reputation and be an example as to art, but it should, if it did not elevate, at least not depreciate the character and the artistic taste of a people. We fear that committees so constantly formed, and in many respects rightly formed, as far as setting plans afloat and raising the funds go, and in certain plain cases deciding in common matters, are not, after all, adapted for selecting the superior subjects for monuments out of the models brought before them. Such a choice to qualify any individual is a matter of initiation in art, which is rare in English society, and does not come by intuition. Elevations on paper look well, and by them alone is a judgment too frequently formed of the effect when executed.

This prevalent mediocrity in the fine arts arises from several causes too long to touch upon here. We are inclined to think all exclusive societies bad as respects the progress of art, which can never be great unless it be independent of influence and servile patronage. A few years ago there were always some particular paintings in the Academy Exhibition, for example, and out of it too, which attracted the attention of the visitor, and made a noise upon the town. We hear of nothing of a like kind at present all may be summed up in the word "mediocrity." The march of mind in this respect has produced none of those effects which it was expected would ensue. The knowledge that once was deep, confined to a few comparatively, and dealt out like the waters of a spring flowing in several streams, is now a shallow lake, being diffused over a larger surface. Hence it is doubtful whether any future examples of first-class excellence in the arts, any more than in literature, will again appear to delight and surprise the world. Envy on the part of shallow acquirement, too, will contribute to keep down the standard of excellence. A smattering in art, of which individual conceit is vain, will never be moved to admire out of its own vanity that which it will consider rivalry, however superior in reality to itself. Boys of eighteen now put on the critic, both as regards literature and art. The value of the diatribes of such is as great with the many as if they were the deliberate result of accomplished criticism. When we consider the influence of the press upon the common mind, such a course must tend to lower merit where it exists. The mass of readers are no judges, out of the want of ability to estimate aright, if there were nothing more in the case. We have seen the worthy part of our stage exhibitions disappear, and are continually disgusted with the theatrical placards which announce only the merest childish diversions, which seem to satisfy the public. All “ grow downwards" in this respect. Sometimes it seems hard to credit the banishment of Shakspeare, Otway

and others, from our theatres. Neither regular tragedy nor comedy will answer now, because if they are of the better order, they are far above the feeling of the masses.

If there are no glaring faults in a work of art which will strike multitudinous vision, things are considered to proceed as well as can be desired. But this will not answer for the character of art in a nation like ours. It is true that princes have become patrons of art in several countries of modern Europe, but it would be difficult to find a judge among them who was acquainted with the radical principles under which works of art are or ought to be produced. There is nothing so easy as patronage of which to acquire the credit as the donor. It is an easy way to become notorious among artists. Literary men have long unshackled themselves from similar trammels. The royal founders of academies intended, in the first place, to glorify themselves, and get honour for their reigns, or from some similar motive, not in itself discommendable, but too apt to abrogate independence in the mind of the artist. Still such a species of patronage is not so prejudicial as the intrigues of academies, who will receive or exclude, not from motives arising out of the meritorious claims of the candidate, but from the spirit of cabal. Academies, too, acquire certain notions which do not, or ought not, to belong to an artistic body: "This man was originally a scene-painter, and that man was an heraldic artist, therefore, not having attained his fame in our school of drawing, we will not have him among us, no matter for his originality of excellence or indisputable ability in execution."

What relates to painting and sculpture in this respect will apply to the fine arts generally, to architecture as well as to painting, the reference being only illustrative. It is painful to see what vast sums are expended in the metropolis after abortive tastes, what extraordinary monstrosities are perpetrated, and how little that is tolerable is produced. If an artist sets out with proper sentiments, and is above the meanness of soliciting patronage; if he studies, divested of all pecuniary views, as the great artists of the past time did study, we fear our own native soil will be no paradise for him. To teach a young artist how he shall acquire the spirit that will conduct him to true greatness in sculpture, painting, or architecture, would not be theoretically difficult, if he possessed the natural requisites. He must be ardent for reputation, not gain; he must think and acquire an affection for the great imaginative writers, for poetry and nature, besides essentials connected with the practice of his art, and the different styles of the great masters of antiquity in sculpture as well as in painting, for the mighty names in Italian art were often architects, sculptors, and poets as well as painters. Michael Angelo was all four, and even in the Netherlands Rubens added the diplomatist to his artistic acquirements. It was only by thus enlarging the sphere of knowledge that great names in art produced transcendent works under all or either of the branches of the fine arts to which allusion is here made. We would hope the best in all things for our own noble country, but we linger between doubt and fear as to any further progress she may make in art beyond the past. In science she will ever be resplendent. Perhaps it may be said, "She has glory enough already; look at the extent of her empire and her vast commerce!" We would fain add another wreath to her civic crown, the glory of which should outlast both.

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The foregoing remarks were in the printer's hand when, singularly enough, the debate of Monday, the eighth of last month, took place in the House of Commons. Lord Elcho moved that it was not desirable the new Foreign-office should be executed in the Palladian style. Nothing but the Vandalism of the middle ages appeared to meet his lordship's taste-a taste which appeared not to relish Greek or Roman architecture, but to repose with pleasure upon their corruptions, in brick more especially. Mr. Buxton seconded the motion, because the classic models were losing their hold upon the public taste-if they ever had any hold upon it to lose! There is no "public" taste of moment in this country; all that exhibits taste has been done without consulting the public, most fortunately for the little we possess that is good. The world is grown "weary" of the purer styles, according to Mr. Buxton, and he would substitute that which grew out of a medley under the reign of the barbarism of the middle ages. The world is "weary" of the Parthenon, and the edifices of Pericles, and those of Rome in its glory, while Jones and Wren here are become obsolete names! He would build to suit the taste of the rising generation, which, by-the-by, gives no promise. That the principles of art are invariable, as affects their truth, cannot be disputed. The classic models have stood the test of time, and any abortions of a new generation-for the present has exhibited its share of suchwill only contribute a further addition to the list of our architectural humiliations in the sight of foreign countries. People are tired of St. Paul's, St. Stephen's, Bow, and St. Bride's churches, in London, and desire the exquisite specimens of Gothic, of which some have been mentioned above, to supersede them. Now little as the public taste in England really appears to mend, it is not half as bad as Mr. Buxton desires it should become under his notion of the weariness of the age about it. Does Mr. Buxton think so meanly of high art that its conveniences and excellencies go out of fashion in the season like those of the Westend milliner? If there were ground for surprise at the foregoing statements, others made by different members exhibited an equal ignorance of the subject-a deplorable ignorance.

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Lord Palmerston answered the objections made most satisfactorily, and those of Lord Elcho more particularly, who spoke so much to so small a purpose. Lord Palmerston quoted Canova as saying, "If London were but whitened,' it would be a paradise." His lordship might have added, that the same great man observed, that our streets were only brick walls with holes in them," which Lord Elcho would no doubt have heard with great satisfaction, through his affection for smoky brick uncovered with cement. The premier made a clear, satisfactory, unanswerable reply to objections which in some quarters, it is true, were natural and consistent, as in that of Lord John Manners, of "Young England" fame, who was consistent in advocating the Gothic style, to which his old expressed desire for the destruction of arts and commerce, and the bringing back of our "old nobility" naturally pointed, the grim vizors of those old gentry being well adapted in fancy to all that is Gothic in creed and intellect, as well as architecture.

The result must have been highly satisfactory to the premier, after a speech which showed clearly enough a masterly comprehension of the subject exhibited by no other speaker. The majority of ninety-three against the amendment of Lord Elcho showed that the feeling of the

House was upon the right side, and no doubt the late experience of the Houses of Parliament in their construction and expense, so little satisfactory, had its effect.

The design by Mr. Scott is well spoken of by those who are judges of its object. It is to be hoped the building will have a sufficient elevation. Our public edifices are always a story too low. There is economy gained by height: brick is plenty enough, and London smoke as well to blacken it, even up to the taste of Lord Elcho. C. R.

As the dove, of love, near his nest, from breast

Ever warm with passion, coos

Where, 'mid leaves, he grieves with a faint complaint
For the silent mate he woos;

So my soul now sings through the vibrant strings

Of this heart by anguish torn,

Through the trembling voice that now craves thy choice
Ere the vision-dispelling morn.

Wake

Ere the break

Of the vision-dispelling morn!

TOUCHING CARD HOUSES.

BY EDWARD P. ROWSELL.

A CHILD rearing a house of cards has accomplished the fourth story. He sits for a while amazed at his success. Now for the fifth story. Rendered nervous by previous failures, with heart beating and hands trembling in spite of him, he places the two middle cards. They stand. He deposits one of the side cards. All well. He ventures the other side card, and-the frail structure collapses to the second story. The child is disgusted. He scatters the remnant of his work, then stamps on the floor, and screams.

Like unto the child building his card house is a man ill skilled in logic attempting a difficult argument. As the child has plenty of materials for his mansion, so has the man abundance of ideas for his reasoning. But to arrange these ideas, and to build them into a regular, compact, sub- ́ stantial edifice, is the trying task. And such task will prove beyond his power. The pile will reach a certain height, then it will nod and give way. The smiling face will become clouded by doubt, and doubt will deepen into deplorable confusion. And the resemblance will hold further. The man will burst into anger. He will abandon argument, and reproach himself with having essayed it. His house has fallen. Foolish was he to seek to build it.

Like unto card houses, O friend reader, are these bodies of ours. Beautifully and marvellously are we fashioned, but sickness creeps in at a thousand inlets, and in the end decay claims us as a sure prize. The first story of infancy and childhood is reared only with difficulty, the second story of boyhood and early manhood is beset with peculiar dangers; at the third story-between the ages of forty and sixty-how many fleshly tabernacles come to the ground; at the fourth story-between sixty and eighty-the human edifice arrives at utter craziness; and at the fifth story-between fourscore and a hundred-a touch will level it. Evil is always lurking about us. Just as the child, when placing the upper cards, by an unlucky movement of his wrist strikes the supports underneath, and for an instant fears he has demolished the entire fabric, so the man, often without the slightest warning, incurs a danger so terrible, that, for the moment, he hardly knows whether he is in the world or out of it. Some one opens the window, and the wind rushing in, makes off with the roof of the poor card house, and would presently disperse the whole building. Even so the apoplectic stroke, when least expected, perhaps, falls with resistless force, and the dwellingplace is shaken to its foundation. Maliciously the little sister jogs the table. The card house trembles, and the builder shrieks. That ugly pang about the heart, which comes so suddenly and alarms so much, is the jog of the table. Two, three, four stories of the card house stand, and are perfect. In an instant not one remains. A single second suffices for the passage of the soul to the eternal world.

I repudiate altogether, my friend, any notion that in thus comparing my body to a card house I am casting any slur upon its Great and Good Aug.-VOL. CXXII. NO. CCCCLXXXVIII.

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