than those works of art which are purely European.

In Addison's day no aristocratic mansion was considered properly furnished without a vast quantity of grotesque objects in china, or, as the ladies called them, "loves of monsters." Oriental china was then contraband; and I conclude that everything that was contraband was fashionable. Many of these "loves of monsters" may be had in the days we live in; and I trust my readers may learn not to be taken in by them, unless they chance to discover a monster of pure "forget-me-not blue " of real antiquity, and then both his mane and his tail are of value. The colour must be that beautiful tint which the French term bleu d'ail, or gros bleu, which makes some specimens of Sèvres invaluable.

And now, ere I ask my readers to walk with me through many a high-street and by-street of the various capitals I have visited, and pass with me a few hours in pure bric-à-brac hunting, I must own to being an enthusiastic lover of art, whether that art be that of the painter or the sculptor, or

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whether it arise from the noble institutions of Sèvres, Dresden, Chelsea, Worcester, Derby, Frankental, Höchst, Capo di Monte, or Buen Retiro, from the never-dying elegance of Wedgwood, or the more recent talent of Minton. To my mind there can be no purer pleasure than this unaffected love of art, nor is there any taste more elevating in its influence on a man's nature; for I most fully believe that he who possesses this taste, and cultivates it, will soon turn his back on the grosser pleasures and frivolities of life. The higher order of art is, moreover, the constant handmaid of religion; and many of the great masterpieces which adorn the collections of Europe owe their origin to the inspirations of piety, and have been for centuries, and are still, powerful aids to meditation and devotion. Art has, and ever will have, a high and noble mission to fulfil.

That man, I think, is little to be envied who can look on works of art and go forth without being in some sense a better and a happier man; if, at least, that we feel ourselves the better and the happier when our hearts are enlarged, as we sym

pathize with the joys and sorrows of our fellow

men.

I have not seldom been asked by those who have chanced to visit my cottage home-the windows of which look on a small but well-kept lawn, o'ershadowed by trees such as are rarely seen out of England, and which lies within gunshot of the winding Thames-what possible delight I can have in so small a room crammed with old china. It is true, my treasures are generally admired; true, that the specimens which during my travels I have gathered together at trifling cost are coveted by many; while the questions, "Are you not afraid they will be broken? who do you get to dust them? why not sell them?" and so forth, are asked with unfailing sameness. The reply of my only and motherless boy, if present, is as follows: "They are papa's toys; he is keeping them for me." I should be almost ashamed to confess how much pleasure these fragile treasures afford me. For hours I sit amidst my friends, pen or book in hand. That group before me was purchased under particular circumstances, and not

only recalls to mind pleasant days, but tells me much of the history of the country whence it was obtained, and the era in which it was produced.

Who will venture to say that the lips of a Pompadour or Du Barry may not have kissed those small but exquisite Sèvres cups? Is not Wedgwood paying me a morning visit with his friend Flaxman as I look on those vases? Do not the guns of Wellington's artillery sound in the distance as I contemplate that glorious group of Buen Retiro? And does not the Bay of Naples spread itself before me, and the towering peak of Vesuvius send forth its flames, as I handle that creamy china cup, with its exquisite painting of Capo di Monte? My Chelsea ware recalls the memory of Addison, who dated so many of his pleasantest essays from that locality. My Battersea reminds me of sceptical Jacobite Bolingbroke. At one moment I am at Florence, then at Vienna, Petersburg, or Madrid. For a few minutes I dwell in the Palatine, and thence take wing to Dresden. Now I touch my lips with the thin emerald

coloured glass of early Venice, then hold aloft the heavier but richer goblet of Bohemia.

Meanwhile I endeavour to create in the mind of that boy, whom love induces me to mention, and who calls these gems my toys! yet never breaks them as his own, that it is not the mere graceful work of art on which you look, whatever the pleasure, that is alone valuable, but the knowledge gained of the early art history of other countries, which adds to the ceramic collector's pleasure and instruction.

Moreover, it is pleasant to human nature to feel that you possess some work of art which is admired by those who have full knowledge of its beauties; but if this were all the merit of your researches, the reward would be light indeed.

From the earliest ages to the hour my pen traces these lines, the earth, which God has granted for the produce of man's sustenance, has also contributed to his pleasures; and science and art have united to produce from that earth comforts and luxuries, the expenditure on which rivals all the sums lavished on the other arts. Genius