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upon the less striking and more unobtrusive subject, which has passed through the mind of an imaginative man, and by his thought has been elevated into poetry. We wish, still, to confine attention to the imaginative style of landscape painting. Speaking generally, we may discern two great classes into which this style divides itself. The one is contented with broad and simple effects of color, and of light shade, deliberately sacrificing all minor details in order to produce a picture which shall stimulate the imagination, and not fatigue" it by the effort of minute attention. David Cox is the chief representative of this style. His work gives unfailing pleasure to those who have a knowledge of art and vivid fancy. It is full of suggestions. It rouses our imagination in the same agreeable way as sketches and designs by the great masters do. Much is left to be conceived and filled in by the spectator. This communicates a sense of activity to his intellect, and makes him feel himself to be a fellowworker with the artist, in the effect produced upon him. But great as this style may become in the hands of an artist like Cox, it can not be considered the highest sphere of landscape painting. The other, and in our opinion the greater school, aims at a more downright rendering of actual fact. It neglects no characteristic detail, since every accessory may in itself be suggestive, and contribute to the general effect. Pictures of this order can not be understood at a glance. They require attention, and repay it by the new beauties which may constantly be found in them. Turner is the chief master of this style. In his works we see that he has sought to give the most perfect realization of the object which he studied, and at the same time to communicate to us the impression which it made on him. The greatest? landscape painting is that which is fullest, which represents most, so long as every detail be subordinate to one dominant conception. Therefore, in considering his subject, the artist should not neglect the geological features, the vegetation, the character of the soil, the trees, the animal life, the cultivation, the houses, and the people—everything, in short, which may render his portrait of
the scene complete. He should pay especial attention to weather, for upon the changes of the sky depend those effects which we before compared to expression in the human countenance. In this miute and patient labor he will follow the steps of the greatest masters, of Tintoretto, Titian, Raphael, and Velasquez; nor need he be afraid of the scorn which has been thrown on the preRaphaelistic school for forcing every detail on our attention with equal power. Since it must be remembered that all pictures which commit this error are entirely wrong in their ideal of art. The cardinal rule that can not be too much insisted on is this:—That detail is only valuable in so far as it builds up a single and characteristic scene. Any fact which is superfluous, or which strikes a note at all discordant with the keynote of the picture, must be ruthlessly discarded, however beautiful. The neglect of this rule has led the pre-Raphaelites often into error. But their failure must not deter painters from the true road to the loftiest ends of art.
We may now turn from a consideration of the scope and aims of landscape painting to review the present state of its appreciation in our country. Whatever may be said about the rank which different styles of painting ought to take, landscape is clearly the most genuine production of the present century. We have been far surpassed in figure painting by the great masters of Italy. Sculpture can hardly be said to exist, so feeble are its achievements in our day; but landscape has attained a dignity and a power in England to which all efforts of all other schools have only been the prelude. But though this art has such important claims upon our sympathy, full justice has not yet been done it. The system of classifying styles of painting into high and low tends to mislead our judgment. Newspaper critics always speak in terms of disappointment of an exhibition where there is much landscape, and regret the grand old days of figure painting. No doubt the greatest grasp of intellect, and the deepest comprehension of human interests are exhibited in producing such works as those of Raphael and Michael Angelo. Their value, as the means of education, inasmuch as they display the passions, thoughts, attempts, achievements, and aspirations of humanity, far transcends that of any landscape paintings. We might as well compare Wordsworth's studies of nature with Shakspeare's plays, as place Turner on a par with Raphael. Both are good, but the kind is different. We must look for excellence in each, and to weigh them in the scales against one another is mere nonsense. Besides, it must be remembered that at the present day we have no Raphaels or Shakspeares to distract attention from our Turners and Wordsworths. It is more honorable to produce original works of an excellence which has been never equalled in some narrow sphere of art, than to strive in vain for ever to ascend those heights which have been climbed before us by a race of giants. What we have to do, if we must follow out this line of criticism, is to compare the landscapes of our day with the figure pictures of our day, and to judge which style of art has, after its oicn kind, succeeded best. We have no hesitation in giving the palm to landscape painting; but, in order to appreciate its beauty, we require some special education, trained habits of attention, familiarity with nature, and kn owledge of the difficulties of art. The painter strives to copy nature. With him ars eat celarc artem. And when he has produced some careful, temperate, and studied work, the uncultivated critic says: "Any one can imitate what he sees. I saw just such a landscape yesterday. Give me imagination, loftiness, and power."' As very few people care for the beauty of poetry and music, there are few who really love nature. What most of us seek among the Alps is air and exercise and novelty; and very few indeed have eves to see, or memories to recollect, the finest scenes which they have visited. Their impressions pass away from them, and nothing is left behind. It is natural that landscape painting should be tedious, unintelligible, and insignificant to critics of this class. But every one can appreciate figure painting. Here we have a story, a glimpse of life, something with which our own nature renders us familiar. Most men are dubious about mountains, trees, and the colors of the sky or sea, but every one thinks that he can judge a face. Is it pretty or ugly, rare or com
mon? What does it pay? What is that man telling to the woman with the fan t To read expression is our daily task, and the outward gestures of the body we can interpret from experience; but to understand the significance of a landscape requires more natural susceptibility to form and color and composition—more interest in beauty for its own sake, and a truer love of art and nature. Therefore, though we believe that Cultivated people take a genuine delight in landscape painting, it follows that the ignorant and those who have a smattering of knowledge gained from histories of art, quote the verdict of Sir Joshua Reynolds in dispraise of landscape, and exalt themselves by fancying their taste too lofty to admire its trivial charms. Setting aside the higher claims of landscape painting, the difficulties it meets and conquers may reasonably be adduced in its defence. The grandest things in nature must be painted from memory. Her effects are evanescent, and the impressions stamped by them upon the painter's mind must be so vivid as to remain there and to reproduce themselves, when wanted, with reality. This implies vast powers of memory, long study, and complete command over the materials of art. He who has the greatest knowledge of natural facts, and the most vigorous imagination, will succeed best. The figure painter can get more help from his models than the marine and landscape painter from his studies. The one can recur again and again to nature, the other has seen once, and sens no more, the phase of loveliness which first suggested to his mind the picture. We do not, of course, mean to deny that the difficulties of the artist who imagines some dramatic scene, and paints (as he must do) the passions of its characters from memory, are greater far.
Landscape painting in oil, which must be considered the highest branch of this art, has hardly had a fair chance of influencing the public during the past ten years. The tendency has been to swamp all other exhibitions of oil painting in the Royal Academy, while the space which the Royal Academy commands for its exhibitions remains the same. Before we proceed to consider the treatment which landscape painting there receives, it will be well to review rapidly the his- i tory of other establishments for the dis-! play of pictures. The British Institution [ is Bo badly managed, that all our best painters who are not Academicians have ceased to send their pictures there. No law, whatever, seems to regulate the | hanging, whence it follows that the exhibition has grown worse and worse.' Those artists whose works are not of the j vulgar and flashy style which predominates in the British Institution, are afraid to expose pictures refined in color, and remarkable for no violent contrasts of light and shadow, to the neighborhood of coarse and gaudy paintings. Land- [ scapes are especially damaged by the "killing" contiguity of brilliant ad cap-' land mil pictures; for their effect depends upon their truth and subtlety of color.; This is not so much the case with figure subjects. Their greatest qualities may still be seen when the beauty of their coloring has partially been lost But a fine landscape among bad pictures must be ruined. Turner used to say that his drawings would be "killed" if exhibited at the Water Color Exhibition. These remarks may be applied with equal force to the Society of British Artists. This institution was founded with a royal charter, and regulations closely modelled upon those of the Royal Academy, to supply room for the pictures of those artists who, for want of space, could not exhibit on the walls of the Academy. Soon after its formation, the Academy,' finding that it would be a formidable rival, p . ised a rule that no painter should be eligible to election as Associate who belonged to any society of artists. The working of this rule has brought the Society down to its present low level, and our best artists of established reputation, as well as the young rising men, have almost ceased to exhibit there. We must add, however, that the rule in i question was last year rescinded in con-' sequence of the Parliamentary Commis- j sion on the Royal Academy. Another exhibition of oil pictures at the Portland Gallery, in Regent Street, came to an end about two years ago. It was formed on the plan of exhibitors paying for hanging space, their pictures first being subjected to the approval of a committee.' This scheme answered well for a time. \
The exhibition proved a great help to young painters, especially to landscape painters, and some of the finest landscapes of late years have been exhibited in the Portland Gallery after their rejection by the British Institution and the Academy. However, as the members and the exhibitors could not work well together, and the public did not patronize the exhibition, it expired. The failure of these various institutions has increased the pressure of pictures on the Royal Academy, so that its want of space has been severely felt, and in the bitterness of disappointment the justice of its verdicts has been called in question. If success be a proof of superiority, the Royal Academy stands still highest; nor are we prepared to join in any blame which may be thrown upon a society that has flourished independently for years, and has produced so many noble and illustrious painters. Still, it must be admitted, that landscape painting suffers more than other styles of art from the small accommodation which the rooms of the Academy afford. While figure pictures have still the chance of being hung according to their merits, landscapes are being gradually excluded or placed in positions so unfavorable as to render them invisible. It is better not to be exhibited at all than to be hoisted up beneath the skylight Last year only four landscapes, by outsiders, were hung upon the line, excepting one or two little scraps a few inches long. The reason for this neglect must be sought, first, in the fact that figure pictures draw more shillings than landscapes do, for reasons which we have explained above; and, secondly, that a prejudice still clings against the style as being lower in the scale of art. We have already combatted this objection, but it is one which can not fail to have weight with judges trained in the traditions of high art If we examine the list of Royal Academicians, we shall find that only two painters of pure landscape— Creswick and Cooke—have been elected during the last five-and-twenty years. It 'would be ridiculous to suppose that some effects should not proceed from these causes, though we do not mean to cast the least suspicion on the Royal Academy itself. Landscape is a new thing in the annals of art, and academies are prover
bially conservative of rules, observances, authorities, and formulae.
But be this as it may, the combination of influences which we have endeavored to describe has proved most prejudicial to our school of landscape painters in oils. The younger men, feeling that they have no chance of showing what they can achieve, become dispirited, and paint small pictures to attract purchasers. The larger works on which they might have spent both energy and knowledge remain unpainted, because they know that, if produced, they are not likely to be hung. Several of our most promising landscape painters have abandoned oil for water color from the same despair. This can not but be looked upon as a misfortune, since, without depreciating water color, the greatest things are only possible in oils. Oil can represent everything better than water, except, perhaps, a very dark middle distance, and some effects of luminous haze. These effects have as yet been only imitated in oils with success by forcing strong colors and decided masses of dark upon the foreground, which is Linnell's method. The difficulty of getting air and space in oils is greater than in water colors, in so -far as they are more dependent upon quality of coloring. Still, when the end has been achieved, success is glorious. In every other respect, the method of oil painting is far superior to any other. It affords scope for more downright and real imitation—for more labored and conscientious effort. Oil painters never fail to aim at, and accomplish, much more in their pictures than can fall within the province of the water-colorist In order to test the truth of this remark, it is only necessary to visit the Old Water Color Exhibition after that of the Royal Academy. Then we feel how much smaller is the demand made upon our intelligence in the former than in the latter. Indeed, the very popularity of water colors depends upon the greater ease with which they can be understood, and also on the practical acquaintance with this method possessed by many persons. It would be a serious injury to art if our water-color school of landscape painting were to fail; but the injury will be far greater if this school absorb the coloristu
in oils. Water-color painting would suffer in itself without the stimulus of emulation to achieve, as far as possible, the more perfect realization of the other method. Yet such an event may be anticipated with some show of reason, unless during the years to come more public justice is awarded to landscapes in oil, or unless the space for exhibition is extended.
This brings us round again to the chief point of difficulty, the narrow room of the Academy. With their present accommodation the utmost desire to do justice would fail. What we want in England are halls as large as those of the new Pinacothck at Munich, or of the Brera at Milan, where pictures, good, bad, and indifferent, are hung with philosophical respect for the* proverbially tender feelings of the artist world. At a time when the South Kensington Museum is drawing large sums from the nation, it would scarcely be but fair to place a wider ground for exhibition at the disposal of an institution which has done so much and has received so little. Tho National Gallery is overcrowded. The Academy requires more space. Burlington House is still unoccupied, except by a scientific society, which could not be unfavorable to the arts. But whether in a year or two our native talent will be better able to display itself, is still an unsettled question.
O wild raving west winds ....
Oh! where do ye rise from, and where do yc die?
The question which is put in these lines is one which has posed the ingenuity of all who have ever thought on it; and though theories have repeatedly been propounded to answer it, yet one and all fail, and we again recur to the words of Him who knew all things and said, "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence itcometh or whither it goeth."
However, though we can not assign exactly the source whence the winds rise or the goal to which they tend, the labors of meteorologists have been so far Miceessful as to enable us to understand the causes of the great currents of air, and even to map out the winds which prevail at different seasons in the various quarters of the globe. The problem which has thus been solved is one vastly more simple than that of saying why the wind changes on any particular day, or at what spot on the earth's surface a particular current begins or ends. Were these questions solved, there would be an end to all uncertainty about weather. There need be no fear that the farmer would lose his crops owing to the change of weather, if the advent of every shower had been foretold by an unerring guide, and the precise day of the break in the weather predicted weeks and months before. This is the point on which weather-prophets—" astro-meteorologists" they call themselves now-adays—still venture their predictions, undismayed by their reported and glaring failures. It has been well remarked that not one of these prophets foretold the dry weather which lasted for so many weeks during the last summer; yet, even at the present day, there are people who look to the almanacks to see what weather is to be expected at a given date; and even the prophecies of " Old Moore" find, or used to find within a very few years, an ample credence. In fact, if we are to believe the opinions propounded by the positive philosophers of the present day, we must admit that it is absurd to place any limits on the possibility of predicting natural phenomena, inasmuch as all operations of nature obey fixed and unalterable laws, which are all discoverable by the unaided mind of man.
True science, we may venture to say, is more modest than these gentlemen would have us to think it; and though in the particular branch of knowledge of which we are now treating, daily prophecies (or "forecasts," as Admiral Fitzroy is careful to call them,) of weather appear in newspapers, yet these are not announced dogmatically, and no attempt is made in them to foretell weather for more than forty-eight hours in advance. We are not going to discuss the question of storms and storm-signals at present, so we shall proceed to the subject in hand— the ordinary wind-currents of the earth; and in speaking of these shall confine
'ourselves as far as possible to well-known and recorded facts, bringing in each case the best evidence which we can adduce to support the theories which may be broached.
What then, our readers will ask, is the cause of the winds f The simple answer is—the Sun. Let us see, now, how the indefatigable agent, who appears to do almost everything on the surface of the earth, from painting pictures to driving steam-engines, as George Stephenson used to maintain that he did, is able to
; raise the wind.
If you light a fire in a room, and afterwards stop up every chink by which air can gain access to the fire, except the chimney, the fire will go out in a short time. Again, if a lamp is burning on the table, and you stop up the chimney at the top, the lamp will go out at once. The reason of this is that the flame, in each case, attracts the air, and if either the supply of air is cut off below, or its escape above is checked, the flame can not go on burning. This explanation, however, does not bear to be pushed too far. The reason that the fire goes out if the supply of air is cut off is, that the flame, so to speak, feeds on air; while the sun can not be said, in any sense, to be dependent on the
• earth's atmosphere for the fuel for his fire.
j We have chosen the illustration of the
I flame, because the facts are so well known. If, instead of a lamp in the middle of a room, we were to hang up a large mass of iron, heated, we should find that currents of air set in from all sides, rose up above it, and spread out when they reached the ceiling, descending again along the walls. The existence of these currents may be easily proved by sprinkling a handful of fine chaff about in the room. What is the reason of the circulation thus produced? The iron, unless it be extremely hot, as it is when melted by Mr. Bessemer's process, does not require the air in order to keep up its heat; and, in fact, the constant supply of fresh air cools it, as the metal gives away its own heat to the air as fast as the particles of the latter come in contact with it. Why, then, do the currents arise? Because the air, when heated, expands or gets lighter, and rises, leaving an empty space, or vacuum, where it was before. Then the surrounding cold air being elas