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so disposed as to bear a half-conscious, half-unconscious reference to each other, and all possessing a relative beauty, both of form, situation, &c. which heightens and is heightened by the positive one. Leaving for a moment out of view the left side of this scene, let the eye now pass across this narrow break of water, and rest on what extends beyond it. Immediately from the opposite bank the ground rises,-not abruptly, as it does on the right hand on this side, but softly, and in a way that is perceptible only from its effect on the objects which rest upon it. It rises in this way for a considerable distance again, in a rich semi-circular sweep of lawn, with only one clump of firs and larches placed at about the middle of it, surrounded by a regular white fence, and looking like a single jewelled brooch placed on the forehead or the breast of a rural beauty. This sweep is also crowned by a dark diadem of trees, and forms the first distance of the view-above and behind which rise, and intersect each other, two more distances of bright green hills, the furthermost of which is also crowned with rich trees, of that peculiar kind of growth which gives them the form of clouds rolling and clustering over each other-dark green clouds clustering over and embowering open spaces of light green sky. From a point of this distance towards the left, where the trees seem to open for a space to admit it through, rises a lovely Gothic spire; and at another point considerably higher, and on the right, a grey antique turret looks forth from out the dark foliage. The reader has now before him the whole of this delicious view, with the exception of the left side; all the distant part of which, however, he must consider as just within that distance which "lends enchantment to the view," without in the least degree impairing the distinctness of it, or even taking away its home look-that look which gives it a connexion with the more immediate parts. When he has given life and finish to all this portion of the scene, by peopling the turf on this side of the water with herds of deer, dark, dappled, and white; the water itself with swans and wild-fowl; and the rising hills on the other side with flocks and cattle; he may pass his eye onward, across the whole left side of the scene, and let it rest on an expanse,—evidently beyond the precincts of the domain itself, yet seeming virtually to form a part of it,—than which nothing was ever seen more perfectly adapted to give the needful crown and finish to the whole, by inviting the imagination to wander sufficiently far to give it exercise and employment, and yet not leading it far enough away to dissipate the unity of effect which is the chief charm in sights of this kind. This expanse consists of an extensive rising plain, terminated by the range of hills which form the boundary to the sea on this coast; the whole brought into that kind of cultivation which gives an appearance quite peculiar to English scenery-an appearance as of a natural garden, no spot of which is without the most perfect cultivation, and yet on no spot of which can the actual marks of the cultivator be distinguished ;— an appearance which gives the best notion we can possibly gain of the distant views our first parents might be supposed to contemplate in Paradise.

Such is the picture which presents itself to the spectator from the principal windows of Petworth. From various other points of view in this magnificent domain (the enclosing wall of which extends for four miles along the high road) others offer themselves to the sight,

scarcely less complete in their detail, and all of the same elegant and graceful character. But I must content myself with offering this one to the reader's notice, as an example of what he will meet with among the natural objects which claim his attention here,—and turn at once to my more immediate subject-the Works of Art.

The interior of Petworth is on a scale of grandeur and magnificence commensurate with its external character; being scarcely inferior in extent and splendour to many royal palaces. Indeed the grand hall and staircase a good deal resemble those of Hampton Court; the walls, ceiling, &c. being ornamented in a similar manner, with allegorical paintings on an immense scale, by Sir James Thornhill. These we shall pass by at once, as not coming among the objects of our search; and proceed to name a few of the principal works of the old painters: premising, however, that the chief riches of this collection consists in portraits, and those chiefly by Vandyke.

The room you first enter at the right-hand corner of the Hall, called the Square Dining-room, is among the richest and most interesting. Here is what may undoubtedly be considered as one among Vandyke's choicest masterpieces in the way of portraiture-the Earl of Strafford. There is a sober solemnity in the colouring of this admirable work, which he did not always duly attend to where it was needed; in the air and attitude there is a mixture of conventional nobility, and of conscious natural power, which is finely characteristic; and the head is inimitably forcible and consistent with the rest of the figure. This is truly an historical picture, and may be perused and studied with as much reliance on its authenticity as any written portrait that we possess in history. Vandyke's and Titian's portraits of known historical characters are in this respect not less interesting and less worthy of study than those of Tacitus or Lord Clarendon-if indeed they are not more so, in proportion as men can hide and disguise their characters more easily in their words and actions than they can in their looks. A fool never looked like a wise man yet-though many a score have passed for such; and a knave can no more put on the personal appearance of an honest man, than he can be one.

The portrait of Henry, Earl of Northumberland, when confined in the Tower, by the same artist, is scarcely inferior to the foregoing in character and importance; and there is also a nobly rich, yet sombre tone of colour spread over it, which gives it a most impressive effect. There are several other portraits in this room, by Vandyke also, worthy of the highest admiration and the most careful perusal and study, but which cannot be described in detail with any good effect. I will mention in particular an exquisite one of Lady Rich, another of the Earl of Newport, and one containing three persons, one of whom is another Earl of Northumberland.

The other works in this room that call for particular mention are a curious portrait of Oliver Cromwell, in which the bent brow and compressed lips finely bespeak the character of the close and determined usurper; two very pretty rural Hobbimas; and an execrable picture of Macbeth in the Witches' cave, by Sir Joshua Reynolds-which seems to me to evince a total want of sentiment, imagination, taste, and even execution. If Sir Joshua had discoursed no better about historical painting than he practised it, his lectures would have enjoyed a somewhat less degree of reputation than they do; and they enjoy too much

as it is. In fact, a permanent and adequate treatise on this Art is still a desideratum in our literature; and it is but too likely to remain so : for where shall we look for a union of that knowledge, practical skill, and ability to develope these, which such a task requires? There is but one person among us in any degree qualified for the office; and he has neither the industry nor the will to undertake it.

In another dining-room, which I think adjoins to the above-named, will be found a most curious and elaborate work, apparently by Breughel, of a Turkish Battle; and also one or two excellent sea-pieces by Vandervelde. But we must pass on from these, through a room containing some of Charles's Beauties-all-alike-by Kneller and Lely; and fix our attention to incomparably the richest and most charming room in the gallery. It contains five more of the Beauties of Charles's court, painted by Vandyke,—which, for a certain courtly and exclusive air, added to a perfect simplicity, naturalness, and truth of expression, surpass any thing of the kind I have ever seen. The colouring, too, is delicacy itself-mixed with a clearness and richness, the effect of which is perfectly magical. Nothing can be more striking than the difference between these pictures, and those professing to represent the same class of persons by Lely and Kneller, in the preceding room, and indeed wherever else they are to be found. The latter painters had but little, if any perception of the peculiar characteristics which the habits of a court life cast over the external appearance of those who constantly partake in them—or rather, which they did cast over it in those days; and Vandyke had a more perfect and intense perception of this than he had of any thing else in nature or art. And, accordingly, the one represents his persons as they never were seen but in a court, and the others as they never were or could be seen in any court in existence. The one knew that a court beauty, while she remains innocent, is likely to be, and in fact is, one of the purest and most innocent of human beings; and he has represented them as such accordingly; witness the divine portrait of the Countess of Devonshire, in this room. The others knew

of no difference between a court-beauty and a courtezan, and represented them accordingly ;-witness almost every picture they ever painted. Pass backwards and forwards from one of these rooms (which are adjoining) to the other, and you will at every glance perceive, that, though each set of portraits profess to represent precisely the same class of persons, there is as much difference between them, generally, as well as in every particular, as there is between Polly Peachum and Suky Tawdry in the Beggars' Opera.

The ladies whose presence (for it is like their actual presence) beautifies this room, must allow their names to grace my page also, in order that the immortality they owe to Vandyke-or rather, which he repaid. them in return for that which they bestowed on him-may not be entirely confined to the frames which contain their pictures. Incomparably the loveliest of them-for a certain natural innocence, sweetness, and purity, added to an inimitable court air and grace-is the one which I have named above-the Countess of Devonshire. The others are the Countesses of Bedford, Leicester, Sunderland, and Carlisle.

There is another picture in this room, which, notwithstanding the total dissimilarity of its subject, will bear to be characterized by exactly the same phrases as I have applied to the above lovely portrait. It is a

landscape by Cuyp-not to the principal one at Dulwich, beyond comparison the most exquisite I have ever seen. I have said that I was disappointed in this gallery. I was so-but not dissatisfied. I should have been content to have gone all the way from London to see it, if it had consisted of this picture alone. It represents a perfectly open country, without either dwellings, human figures, or even foliage-except a few trees that rise at the extremity of the right-hand side. The only actual objects on which the eye is called upon to rest in particular, are two cows lying side by side on the right-one drinking on the leftone looking forth from the middle distance, and apparently lowingand three others in the second distance standing close together. How is it possible to extract an effect as of enchantment, from a scene like this-where there is a total absence of the interest arising from either beauty of form, association of ideas, variety of object or of action, contrast of colour, or any of those adventitious aids on which so much usually depends, even in the finest efforts of Art? I know not-but so it is, that, from the most unpractised to the most cultivated and fastidious eye, none can look upon this picture without feeling riveted to it, by a charm, the nature of which few of them will pretend to expound. Not I, for one. Thus much I will say, however-that there must be something in it more than a mere reflection, even the most perfect, of mere nature. The scene itself here represented, could under no circumstances call forth the feelings that this representation of it calls forth. Not but every point of its detail is absolutely true to nature, and will bear the minutest examination in this respect. But there is a something infused into every part of it, and spread over it as a whole, which can neither be described nor seen, but only felt; and which, if it is not nature, is true and responsive to it, as the needle is to the Pole-we know not why. It is, in fact, nature seen through the halo that is cast about it from the mind of genius; and like many a piece of pure description from the pen of a poet, it affects us more vividly, and touches us more nearly, than the actual scene described could do under any circumstances. The splendid vision of natural beauty, in all its richness and variety, that presents itself to the eye on looking from the windows of the room where this picture hangs, does not affect the mind more, and will not dwell upon the memory longer, and be recurred to oftener, than this simple representation of a bare open space of ground, with a few cows feeding, a group of trees, and a sunshiny sky. A volume might be written on the causes of this, and the reader of it no nearer to a solution of the problem at the end. The shorter and the better way is, to admit at once the miraculous power of genius, and bow down before it in token of a confiding and admiring love.

From the delightful room containing the above pictures, we pass into the library, which offers nothing of sufficient importance to be particularly described; though it is perhaps the most merely entertaining portion of the collection,-from the number of small cabinet gems it includes. Among these there is a sweet Magdalen, by Carlo Dolce, an interesting portrait of Anna Boleyn, and several very pleasing pieces of the Dutch school.

In an anti-room adjoining to this, we meet with two very interesting portraits one of Sir Isaac Newton, by Kneller, and another of Edward VI. by Holbien; and in the large state dining-room which follows this,

we have a most capital one of Harry VIII. by the same extraordinary artist,-who could produce—and in fact has produced in the instance before us—the most admirable force and spiritedness of general effect, not only in spite of, but by means of, an infinite minuteness of particular detail. The bluff, bold-faced, impudent, and swaggering tyrant was never represented in a more characteristic manner than in this picture of him.

Besides the pictures in this Gallery, there are many pieces of ancient sculpture; but I cannot think them of a character to merit a particular and detailed examination. They consist chiefly of single figures, most of which have been greatly mutilated, and restored by modern hands; and when this is the case, the whole of that interest which arises from their antiquity is lost. To attempt to restore the missing parts of a fine Greek statue, is worse than idle-it is impertinent. The merest fragment is more valuable in itself than any restoration of this kind can render it : for, however cleverly the work may be performed, so far from feeling satisfied that we see the object in the state in which the original artist left it, we feel certain that nothing can ever place it in that state. But if it cannot be in the same state, it may be in a better ?—So much the worse! For we want to see, not what Phidias and Praxiteles did not produce, but what they did. Let us see the fragments as you find them; and we have this wish gratified to a certain extent; but, add to them, and you must alter them, at all events. It is on this principle that the Elgin Marbles, and the Venus Victrix, are the most interesting and affecting pieces of sculpture in the world. If another Phidias were to arise among us, and attempt to restore them to what even he should deem their pristine state, he would utterly destroy their value. Let him try to rival them, if he pleased; (which he could not do, however, in our days, though he were twenty Phidiases:) but let him not touch and tamper with them.

There is one piece of sculpture in the collection at Petworth that struck me as being exceedingly valuable and fine. It is a group of Pan and a young Apollo; the latter with a set of pipes in his hand, as if learning to play. This group, in some respects, resembles Annibal Caracci's noble picture, on a similar subject, called Silenus and Apollo. The graceful awkwardness of the youthful god is very happily conceived, and executed with great truth and spirit.

LINES TO SPAIN.

FAIR Land, of whose romantic bowers
The Arab in his desert dreams,
Where chiefless halls and Moorish tower's
Hang mouldering o'er thy silent streams;

By them seen rolling to the sea

In many a bright and varied maze;
As they have view'd the tide of days
Lapse down into eternity!

No more upon their summits hoar
War's standard towers sublime;

Where battle's pennon stream'd of yore,
Waves thy green banner, Time!

22

VOL. VI. No. 32.-1823.

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