nal, and about as easy, to rebuild their temples, and restore their worship, as to reinstate them in the honours and immortality which they once enjoyed on Parnassus, and which, as their only immortality, they will possess so long as the literary relics of Greece and Rome are studied and admired. On the other hand, the oriental mythology, if I may so style it, as soon as the revival of letters in the south of Europe revived the most elegant of all the forms which letters can assume; -Poetry, which is the language of the noblest minds, and itself most noble when most intelligible;-the oriental mythology at once supplied a machinery, gloomy, splendid, gay, and terrible, for every occasion, as the one or the other might be wanted. The poems of modern date, (those I mean which have outlived their century) most celebrated, and which will be longest remembered, owe half their inspiration, and more than half their popularity, to its influence. For examples we need but recollect the "Orlando Furioso" of Ariosto, the "Gerusalemme Liberata" of Tasso, the "Faerie Queene" of Spenser, and, to crown all, the “ Tempest and " Midsummer Night's Dream" of Shakspeare. But these belong to a later period.

Of the literature of the middle ages it may generally be said, that it was " voluminous and vast." Princes, nobles, and even priests then were often ignorant of the alphabet. The number of authors was proportionally small, and the subjects on which they wrote were of the driest nature in polemics-such were the subtleties of the schoolmen; of the most extravagant character in the paths of imagination-such were the romances of chivalry, the legends and songs of troubadours; and of the most proposterous tendency in philosophy, so called,-such were the treatises on magic, alchymy, judicial astrology, and the metaphysics. To say all that could be said on any theme, whether in verse or prose, was the fashion of the times; and, as few read but those who were devoted to reading by an irresistible passion or professional necessity, and few wrote but those who were equally impelled by an inveterate instinct, great books were the natural produce of the latter, who knew not how to make little ones; and great books were requisite to appease the voracity of the former, who, for the most part, were rather gluttons than epicures in their taste for literature. Great books, therefore, were both the fruits and the proofs of the ignorance of the age: they were usually composed in the gloom and torpor of the cloister, and it almost required a human life to read the works of an author of the first magnitude, because it was nearly as easy to compound as to digest such crudities. The common people, therefore, could feel no interest and derive no advantage from the labours of the learned, which were equally beyond their purchase and their comprehension. Those libri elephantini (like the registers of the Roman citizens, when the latter amounted to millions) contained little more than catalogues of things, and thoughts, and names, in words without measure, and often without meaning worth searching out; so that the lucubratious, through a thousand years, of many a noble, many a lovely mind, which only wanted better direction how to unfold its energies, or display its graces, to benefit or delight mankind, were but passing meteors, that made visible the darkness out of which they rose, and into which they sunk again to be hid for ever.

It is remarkable, that while the classic regions of Europe, as well as the northern and western colonies of the dissolved Roman empire, were buried in barbarian ignorance, learning found a temporary refuge in some of the least distinguished parts of the then known world-in Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, Scotland, and even in Ireland, And here these papers must conclude, having brought our cursory retrospect to the thirteenth century, an era at which the minds of the people of Europe were already prepared (though scarcely conscious of the turn in their favour) for those great and glorious discoveries in literature and philosophy, which, since the adoption of the mariner's compass and the invention of printing, introducing liberty of thought, and, as a necessary consequence of the latter, freedom of speech,— have made way for the diffusion of knowledge, revealing new arts and sciences, and calling up old ones from the dead in more perfect forms.

LINES ON THE CAMP HILL, NEAR HASTINGS.
BY THOMAS CAMPBELL.

IN the deep blue of eve,

Ere the twinkling of stars had begun,
Or the lark took his leave

Of the skies and the sweet setting sun,

I climb'd to yon heights,

Where the Norman encamp'd him of old, 1
With his bowmen and knights,

And his banner all burnish'd with gold.

At the Conqueror's side

There his minstrelsy sat harp in hand,
In pavilion wide;

And they chaunted the deeds of Roland.

Still the ramparted ground
With a vision my fancy inspires,

And I hear the trump sound,
As it marshall'd our Chivalry's sires.

On each turf of that mead

Stood the captors of England's domains,
That ennobled her breed

And high-mettled the blood of her veins.

Over hauberk and helm

As the sun's setting splendour was thrown,
Thence they look'd o'er a realm-

And to-morrow beheld it their own.

1 What is called the East Hill at Hastings is crowned with the works of an ancient camp; and it is more than probable it was the spot which William I. occupied between his landing, and the battle which gave him England's crown. It is a strong position; the works are easily traced.

September 1831.-VOL. II. No. v.

F

NATIONAL GALLERY.

MR. HOLWELL CARR'S PICTURES.

BEFORE the subject attracted the attention of the government of the country, the want of a National Gallery of Pictures had long been felt by those who appreciate the influence of the Fine Arts on the public mind, and who know that a ready access to the standard works of the old masters can alone afford a safe guide in the formation of taste. Perhaps the difficulty of collecting a sufficient number of paintings of a superior order deterred the government from the attempt; but this difficulty was obviated by the fortunate sale of the late Mr. Angerstein's pictures; and the praise is due to Lord Liverpool's government of having originated a national collection, which promised from its auspicious commencement to vie with the famed galleries of the continent. The collection was enriched by a later purchase of four very capital pictures. But it appears to have been wholly neglected by the government since the period of Lord Liverpool's death: a suitable gallery is yet unprovided; and for the subsequent additions to the collection, the nation is indebted solely to the public spirit of private individuals.

That the acquirement of pictures for a National Gallery through individual liberality is attended with some disadvantages can hardly be doubted: caprice or prejudice often prize works of art beyond their intrinsic value; and in cases of munificent donations or bequests, the power of selection can seldom be exercised. It may be a question whether any but paintings of the highest class ought to find admission into a national collection: there can be no question of the propriety of excluding inferior works of whatever class. But the spirit is wanting which can alone create a really select gallery. We must be content with what we can get; and while we lament the inferiority of some of the works which have found their way into our collection, our sense of gratitude should not be the less warm for the generosity to which we are indebted for many accompanying paintings of real value.

Of this mixed description, was the munificent donation of Sir George Beaumont, and, not less so, the late legacy of his friend Mr. Holwell Carr. We shall venture a few observations on the works bequeathed by the latter, which are still new to a great majority of the public. When pictures once become the property of the nation for whose improvement they are exhibited, it is fit that their merits should be freely discussed; and a candid criticism is moreover the best tribute of praise for a donation of real value.

Mr. Carr's collection does not owe its attraction to works of the highest class. Its general character is rather pleasing than imposing. His taste or fortune did not lead him to enrich his gallery with the pure and sublime productions of the Roman school; and the flower of the collection consists of pictures, which are indeed in quality equal to the best works of the masters from whom they emanate, but, from their size, are less important than their larger and more laboured compositions. Such are the beautiful little specimens in the historical works of Garofalo, Paulo Veronese, Tintoretto, and Guercino; and in the landscapes of Gaspar Poussin and Domenichino.

The picture of "Christ disputing with the Doctors," by Leonardo da Vinci, claims attention in the first place, both on account of the celebrity of the painter and of the pretensions of the work itself. There is undoubtedly something in the style of design, in the anatomical correctness, and elaborate, though too polished, execution displayed in the work, which pleases at first sight. But the higher requisites of an historical composition are wanting. The imagination dwells with no satisfaction on its cold details. The head of the principal figure is destitute of appropriate character: it has none of the energy which the subject would

seem to require: it is tame to a degree. This, and the circumstance of the figure having the appearance of youth on the verge of manhood, rather than a child of twelve years old, has led many to suppose that the painting is intended to represent Joseph interpreting Pharoah's dream; but if this version would palliate in some degree the insipidity of the principal figure, it would throw only increased objection on the others, who evince none of the deep attention and astonishment with which men would listen to an extraordinary revelation. The figures, in fact, seem more like a collection of portraits, than a group engaged in one object of interest; and the painting is perhaps more indebted for the praise, which has been bestowed upon it, to the fame of the master, than to its own intrinsic merit.

"The Holy Family" by Andrea del Sarto is a very beautiful picture, and a good specimen of the master. The virgin is characterized by graceful action, and by much sweetness, simplicity, and even dignity of expression, although the outline is too confined, and the features have too much prettiness for the elevated style appropriate to historical painting. The same censure does not apply to the figure of Elizabeth, which is finely designed. The children too are beautifully painted-particularly the St. John, but the expression of the infant Christ is exaggerated, and approaches to caricature. The composition or grouping of the figures and the disposition of the draperies are admirable; the colouring is harmonious, and we look for no more in works of this school: the general effect of the picture is grand and pleasing.

"The Vision of St. Augustin by Garofalo, though from its size a work of less importance than the foregoing, surpasses it in the higher qualities of the art. There is little fault to be found with it, except one which applies to works of this description in general-the impossibility of giving an adequate representation of the subject. The heavenly group is the finest part of the picture, and in it the figure of the Virgin is pre-eminently beautiful.

If due allowance be made for the rude age in which the painter lived, "The Holy Family" by Mazzolini di Ferrara will be found to possess great merit. The Virgin in particular is conceived in a spirit which would do credit to masters of greater fame, and is designed with considerable grace. Her action however, though graceful considered in the abstract, is inappropriate. She holds the child like a puppet. The child itself is barbarously designed, and many other parts of the picture evince the imperfect state of the art at the period in which it was painted.

We may here dismiss the " Conversion of St. Paul" by Ercole di Ferrara, an incongruous medley of gorgeous colours, grimace, and distorted action; which may interest the antiquary, but has no charms for the connoisseur.

Notwithstanding the great name of Michael Angelo, we will venture also to condemn the painting, from a design of that master, entitled " Michael Angelo's Dream" no one can contemplate with sincere satisfaction its extravagant design and disgusting details.

The portrait of a lady by Bronzino is a very pleasing picture-delicately pencilled, and painted in a broad manner. It has a strong look of nature, and a great deal of that graceful repose which is often seen in the female character.

The two little pictures of Tintoretto and Paulo Veronese afford delightful specimens of the lighter efforts of the Venetian school. The former, which is free from the violent contrast which often disfigures the larger works of the master, is pencilled with singular vivacity, and displays all the beauty which delicacy and harmony of colour can impart. The female figure is beautifully designed; a grace is imparted to it beyond the level of the Venetian school, and the head displays a breadth of manner which would be creditable even to Rembrandt. The landscape

has all the freshness and gleamy character of nature itself. The "Europa" by Paulo Veronese is no less an exquisite specimen of colouring. Its pellucid tints and warm luxuriousness of tone impart a voluptuous character to the picture highly appropriate to the subject. The design is well imagined: the idea of the bull licking the foot of Europa is felicitously conceived, and conveys in a very delicate manner the intended impression.

Of the other works of the Venetian school we cannot speak in the same terms of praise. That which is called a Titian is unworthy of the name; and the "Portraits by Sebastian del Piombo, though undoubtedly a work of some merit, is not of the high character to entitle it to a place in a national gallery.

"The Holy Family" by Baroccio has been esteemed one of the finest works of the master. If it be not in a very elevated style of design, there is nothing in it that offends. It possesses much grace, which is perhaps accompanied with too great an affectation of simplicity. Whatever is good in the picture is in a great degree borrowed from Correggio. The colouring is extravagant; and there is no compensation for the fault, the effect of the picture being extremely feeble.

Of the historical works in Mr. Carr's collection, none is more pleasing than "the Dead Christ with Angels" by Guercino. The exquisite repose which pervades the picture, the touching tenderness expressed in the countenances of the angels, the disposition of the dead body, and the broad and powerful chiaroscuro, all contribute to one prevailing sentiment, and convey a wonderfully solemn effect. The work rises not indeed to the highest pitch of art. There is something approaching to coarseness in the suffused red in the features of the angels: their grief is not poetically expressed, and at the same time it fails to give the intense pathos which may be seen in some works of more elevated design. But these are faults which are not apparent, except on a critical and perhaps captious examination of the work: its beauties far predominate. The colouring in its general effect, and, with trifling exceptions in the local tints, is excellent. Nothing can be more beautiful than the clear demi-tint in the neck and cheek of the angel seen in profile; and the violet drapery which comes in contact with it forms an exquisite contrast. The hand of a master is displayed in the vigorous drawing and illusive fore-shortening of the dead body; its limbs are beautifully disposed. The drapery is painted with singular breadth: it varies and extends, but does not interrupt the stream of light which falls upon the body, and which, by its concentration and masterly disposition, gives an effect to the picture equal in power to Rembrandt-the great master of light and shade.

The St. Jerome by Guido is a noble head-painted with wonderful force and clearness. The picture is a great acquisition to the gallery.

"The Silenus," by Annibale Carracci, formed one of the pannels of the painter's harpsicord, which was likewise adorned by the "Pan and Apollo" presented to the gallery by Sir George Beaumont. The former is a classical design; but its companion is so enriched with every elegance which can give value to the art, and teems with such poetical feeling, that it affords a test which few paintings could bear; and unfortunately the history and intention of the two works induces a comparison between them. There are two landscapes by the same master; one distinguished by the somewhat pompous title of "Prince Giustiniani returning from Huuting;" the other is simply called “ a landscape with figures." They are both clever pictures-the latter the best of the two but the colouring is rather artificial, and the merits of the works are of an order to interest the artist rather than the general spectator. We may observe in them the model upon which Domenichino formed his style of landscape-painting.

Mr. Carr has bequeathed as many as four of the smaller works of Do