fixion the soul of the great Durer seems to have found a more fitting theme on which to expend the ever unsatisfied, but never despairing depth of its melancholy musing sublimity. If it be true, that these men bave exhausted any thing, assuredly this is a discovery which neither themselves, nor any of their immediate disciples and most intelligent admirers, ever dreamed of. Although, however, Religion and the aspiration after the Godlike, was always the great centre spring of the ideas and endeavours of the old Italian Masters, there was another wide field upon which they moved with a grace and a freedom, no less superior to any thing that is ever exhibited by modern artists a field which has been less deserted by modern artists, and which they never do pretend to speak of as having been exhausted by those who preceded them-the Mythology of the Greeks. So far as I have been able to form any ideas concerning the Spirit of Greek antiquity, I am of opinion that that Spirit-the internal being and essence of ancient Life and ancient Faith, was comprehended in a far more happy and more profound way by the old Italian paintersmore, indeed, in all probability, from deep instinctive feeling of what is right and true, than from any great knowledge or learning than ever seems to be attained to by any modern painters either of Italy, or Germany, or England-least of all by those of the most would-be-classical school in the worldthe French. It might be reckoned unfair to draw any comparisons, or expect that any should be drawn, between the gigantic genius of Michael Angelo, and the mind of any painter of our day, or, indeed, of any of the ages that have elapsed between Michael Angelo's time and our own. School of Athens of Raphael, in like manner, would be rejected as beyond the fair limit of comparison. But it is not necessary to seek for the confirmation of what I have said, in the works of such men as Bounarotti and Raphael alone. The Roman power, fulness, and magnificence of Julio Romano, and the fine voluptuousness in the Antiope of Coreggio, are things clearly derived from deeper sources than any which our modern painters ever dream of exploring. And yet all these painters considered the Christian Allegory as the only true subject on which to expend the full resources of their genius-This Greek Mythology, in which they found things so much deeper than any that modern painters The can find there--was only regarded by them as a by-field of relaxation--a mere age of their art. They viewed the subject of antiquity far more profoundly than their successors do, but they always kept it in complete subjection to their own more serious and loftier faith. They sought in it only for allegories, conceptions, and images of a less overwhelming dignity than the Bible could afford, and they treated these pretty much as the old romantic poets did the fables of antiquity. The God Amur of the Provençals, is, perhaps, not much more different from the Eros of the Greeks, than the Mentegna is from the true Athenian Hermes. Perhaps one of the finest exemplifications of the success with which modern art may make use of ancient mythology, is in the famous picture of the Contest of Virtue and Pleasure, by Perugino. It was in the Louvre a few years ago: I know not where it is now. The extremities of the fore-ground are occupied by two glorious trees, the one of bright and blooming foliage, on which some Cupids are seen tangled amidst the blossoms and fruit-the other is a dark and melancholy cypress, on one of whose barest branches an owl is perched, with its wings folded. Female figures with lances, the points of which terminate in flames, contend on the side of Love, others against him. Nothing can be finer than the diversity of attitudes among the combatants-the very soul of antique luxury, and the very soul of antique severity, seem to have been caught by the pencil of the artist. The detail of the picture I have in a great measure forgotten, but the general effect I never shall-above all, the grand blue mountains in the distance, seen on the one side, over woods and wilds, full of satyrs and nymphs, and, in the other, a magnificent landscape of temples and towers, rising calmly out of solemn and orderly groves, such as we might imagine to have given shelter to the Platos and the Ciceros. A modern painter would probably have confined himself, in handling such a subject, to some merely plastic groupe, in which form would have been almost every thing-expression little-and accompaniment nothing, Above all Scottish artists with whose works I am acquainted, I should like to see Mr. Allan deserting the narrow field of modern art, and merely vulgar interest-and attempting once more to paint Scripture subjects as they deserve to be painted. The gentle and delicate character of his genius, seems not unworthy of being applied to the divinely benevolent allegories of our faith-or, if these be too much for him, to the simple, beautiful, unfailing situations of actual life, which the Bible history presents in such overflowing abundance. Should he be afraid of venturing so far from the ordinary themes in which spectators are now accustomed to find interest--the history of his country affords a fine field, which may be looked upon as intermediate between that on which he has as yet trodden, and that on which I would fain have him feel the ambition to tread. In taking hold of religious subjects in Scotland, he would undoubtedly have to contend (over and above the prejudices of which I have already spoken) with another set of prejudices, scarcely less difficult to be overcome-those, I mean, of a nation among whom Religion is commonly regarded in a way by far too specuJative, and too little imbued with pure and beautiful feeling. It was worthy only of the savage soul of Knox, to banish all the most delightful of the arts from the house of God-to degrade for ever those arts from their proper purpose and destination, among the people whose faith and Worship he reformed, only because his own rude (though masculine) mind wanted grace to comprehend what their true purposes, and destinations, and capacities are. This was indeed the triumph of a bigot, who had neither an eye nor a heart for Beauty. The light of the man's virtues should not be forgotten; but why should an enlightened nation continue to punish themselves by walking in the cold shadow of bis prejudices? But the old history of Scotland abounds in scenes of the most romantic and poetic interest; and the self-love of the nation, debarred from any exclusive pride in achievements of later days, atones for this to itself by a more accurate knowledge of the national past, and a more fervent interest in the men and actions the national history discloses, than are commonly to be found among nations whose independent existence has continued unbroken, down to the present day. Here, then, is a rich field, to which Mr. Allan may turn, not only without prejudices to encounter, but with the whole prejudices of his nation eminently interested in his endeavours, and, if be succeed, (as why should be not?) eminently and enthusiastically delighted in bis success. I hope the Murder of Archbishop Sharpe is designed as the first of a great and magnificent series of Scottish Paintings; but I think it would have been better to choose, as the subject of the first of such a series, some scene which the whole of the Scottish nation might have been more likely to contemplate with the same species of emotions. P. M. LETTER L.. TO THE SAME. THE length to which I have extended my remarks on Mr. Allan's pictures, may, perhaps, appear a little extravagant; but I think, upon the whole, that these pictures, and this artist, form one of the most interesting subjects which can, at the present time, attract the attention of a traveller in Scotland, and therefore I do not repent of the lengthiness of my observations. I wish I had been able to treat the subject more as it deserves to be treated in some other respects. The truth is that till Wilkie and Allan arose, it can scarcely be said Scotland had ever given any promise of expressing her national thoughts and feelings, by means of the pencil, with any degree of power and felicity at all approaching to that in which she has already often made use of the vehicle of words-or even to that which she had displayed in her early music. Before this time, the poverty of Scotland, and the extreme difficulty of pictorial education, as contrasted with the extreme facility of almost every other kind of education, had been sufficient to prevent the field of art from ever attracting the sympathies and ambition of the young men of genius in this country; and the only exceptions to this rule are such as cannot fail to illustrate, in a very striking way, the general influence of its authority. Neither can I be persuaded to think, that the only exceptions which did exist, were at all very splendid ones. The only two Scottish painters of former times, of whom any of the Scotch connoisseurs, with whom I have conversed, seem to speak with much exultation, are Gavin Hamilton and Runciman. The latter, although he was far inferior in the practice of artalthough he knew nothing of colouring, and very little of drawing-yet, in my opinion, possessed much more of the true soul of a painter than the former. There is about his often miserably drawn figures, and as often miserably arranged groupes, a certain rude character of grandeur, a certain indescribable majesty and originality of conception, which shows at once, that had he been better educated, he might have been a princely painter. The other possessed, in perfection, all the manual part of his art--he made no mistakes --he was sure so far as he went--he had the complete mastery of his tools. The subjects which he chose, too, were admirable, and in his treatment of many of them altogether, be has displayed a union of talents, which few, even of the very first artists the world has produced, could ever equal. But Gavin Hamilton was not a great painter. Nature never meant him to be one. He wanted soul to conceive, and therefore his hands, so ready and so skilful to execute, were of little avail. I have seen many of his works in Italy-as yet, none of them here; for the artist always lived in Italy, and very few of his paintings have ever, I believe, reached the country of his birth. At a late period of his life, indeed, he came to Scotland, where he was possessed of a considerable paternal estate, had a painting-room fitted up in his house, and resolved to spend the remainder of his days among his countrymen. But great as he really was, in many respects, and great above all comparison as he must have appeared, or, at least, was entitled to appear in Scotland then, he found little sympathy and little enthusiasm to sustain and reward his labours; and, after painting a few large pictures for the Duke of Hamilton, (with whose family he was nearly connected,) Gavin returned once more to Rome-never to leave it again. There indeed be enjoyed a high and brilliant reputation. He was a kind of Mengs among the cognoscenti, and his name, like that of Mengs, was rendered celebrated throughout the continent by the praises of French travellers and Italian ciceroni. But Mengs has since been reduced to his due dimensions; and Gavin Hamilton could have no reason to complain that he has suffered the same fate, although indeed it is very true, the dimensions to which he has been reduced, are yet smaller than those of Mengs. Such is the invariable destiny of all but the true demi-gods. For his own living hour, each may possess all the expansion of popular renown; but, when they come to take their place among the great assembly of the illustrious dead, "Behold a wonder! they but now who seemed |