Though we may allow the foregoing observations to be perfectly just, when taken in a general sense, yet when they are applied to Wilson's picture of Niobe in particular, they certainly must be considered as forced, and as the effect of petulant pique, rather than the correction of just criticism.

• This assertion is justified by the following inaccuracy: It is asserted, that Wilson's pictures fare" too near common nature, to admit supernatural objects:" but the question here does not concern his other pictures, but relates to that of Niobe only, and consequently whatever improprieties may be selected from his other works, they cannot warrant a charge against this picture in particular.

'But to form a just estimate of the work in question, we should first consider the species of objects of which the landscape is composed, whether they be, or be not, appropriate to the subject of the picture; and, upon such examination, it may certainly be allowed, that they all are of that kind, which can only be selected from what are universally considered as the grandest and most classical features in nature. But if the fastidious critic is displeased with those which have been selected by Wilson, let him suppose his mind to be "thrown back two thousand years, and, as it were, naturalized in antiquity," what objects could then be selected from nature, by his imagination, which differ from her productions in the present day? The natural materials of landscape have been the same in all ages. The only difference which characterizes antiquity, originates in the works of art, and if these had been introduced as antique features, they would certainly have counteracted the simplicity and grandeur of the picture as it now stands.

'Sir Joshua next observes, that " the figure of Apollo is placed in an uncommon situation, the clouds on which he kneels not having the appearance of being able to support him." By this remark it seems that Sir Joshua did not recollect the picture, or examine the print, when he wrote his critique, for the figure in question is by no means so disposed, as to give the spectator any idea of pain from its want of support; and the size is perfectly suited to its place or representation upon the picture, as the appearance of the cloud is fully equal to the weight which it is supposed to sustain; and, indeed, the figure appears to be floating upon that species of cloud, which is often seen rolling along in a thunder-storm, near the surface of the earth, while the rest of the atmosphere is loaded, and uniformly obscured, by those dark and heavy vapours that occasion

the storm.

'The severity of Sir Joshua, as before remarked, was in some degree attributed to private pique, and not without reason, for Sir Joshua and Mr. Wilson were often observed to treat each other, if not with rudeness, at least with acrimony. But that we may not seem desirous of concealing the defects in this artist's productions, we must observe, that Wilson, in the executive part of his works, was rather too careless, a defect which increased in the decline of his life, and that his foregrounds were at all times too much neglected and unfinished.' P. 84-86.

In a difference of opinion, on a point of criticism, between Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Edwards, we should not have speculated on dividing with the latter gentleman. And could we still be satisfied that this great artist had expressed his unprejudiced sentiments, we should correct our own, and bow to his superior judgment. But firmly as Sir Joshua appeared seated in the opinion of the public, his jealousy quickly took the alarm; and of two evils, he chose rather to suffer in his own good opinion, than bear a brother near the throne. Of this feeling he has left sufficient evidence in his critique on the works of Wilson and Gainsborough, and particularly of the latter, whose power of giving a just resemblance he formally denies; and as Gainsborough could boast of possessing little other merit in this department of art, he was thus annihilated as a rival. That his portraits could bear any competition with those of Reynolds, no one possessed of the least feeling for art, would assert; but the aim, as well as the power of these distinguished painters, was different; and while the first was content to represent the body, it was the ambition of the latter to express the mind.

of

But the portraits of Gainsborough differed not more from the works of Reynolds, than his landscapes did from those of our great landscape painter, Wilson, whose very first attempts, in this walk of art, were distinguished by an unusual elevation of style and character. The glowing and rich scenery of Italy, with its numerous classical remains, warmed into action the latent feelings of a cultivated and elegant mind, and he viewed nature at once with the enthusiastic eye a poet. We recollect no painter, who, with so much originality of manner, united such truth and grandeur of expression; and although, in the opinion of Mr. Edwards, his pictures were incomplete, we feel assured that while he was in possession of his full powers, negligence was in no degree the cause of this imaginary defect; but that every touch of his pencil was directed by a principle that required the subserviency of particular parts to the full establishment of the whole. In Wilson's landscapes, even the figures are rendered accessary to the general effect; while in the works of other masters, inen and women are introduced apparently to keep the scene alive, though in other respects they seem to be, as sometimes in nature, rather ornamental than useful.

The early works of Gainsborough, on the contrary, are rendered touching by the simplicity of their execution, and choice of scenery. His uplands are the abode of ruddy health and labour; the by-paths, the deep intrenched roads, the team, and the clownish waggoner, all lead us to the pleasing contemplation of rustic scenery, and domesticate us with the objects which he so faithfully delineated. This sensibility to sylvan scenery, however, became weaker, as he grew more intimate with the works of the Flemish and Dutch masters, whose choice of nature he appears to have thought better than that which he had been

accustomed to study; and he may be traced through those schools, from the mere imitations of weeds and moss, up to the full enjoyment of Reubens. The admirers of cultivated art will find him most varied and beautiful at this period, as his works, strengthened and enriched by the study of Reubens, still possessed a uniformity of character, which, if not so simple as his first representations of nature, is not polluted by the extravagance of a style making pretensions to a higher character. His last manner, though greatly inferior to that immediately preceding it, was certainly the result of much practice and knowledge, with some leaning perhaps to the suggestions of indolence. Its principal defect seemed to be, that it neither presented the spectator with a faithful delineation of nature, nor possessed any just pretensions to be classed with the epic works of art; for the first, it was both in its forms and effects, too general; and for the last not sufficiently ideal or elevated. The studies he made at this period of his life, in chalks, from the works of the more learned painters of landscape, but particularly from Gasper Poussin, were doubtless the foundations of this style; but he does not seem to have been aware, that many forms might pass, and even captivate, in drawings on a small scale, where an agreeable flow of lines, and breadth of effect, are principally sought, which would become uncouth and unsatisfactory, when dilated on canvass, and forced on the eye with all the vigour that light and shade, and richness of colour could lend to them. But this, it should be remembered, is the language of cold criticism, and very ill expresses the high admiration which we have long cherished for the various and fascinating talents of this distinguished artist. If we have unwittingly, therefore, furnished one argument to the young gentlemen who are drawing for the silver, or painting for the gold medal, to speak slightingly of what they should reverence, we request them to cultivate a little modesty, and to consider that no great expectations can be formed of that student who is a critic before he becomes a lover.

Of Gainsborough, whose eccentricity of character furnished such abundant materials, Mr. Edwards says little that can interest the reader. But he has reminded us of some amusing anecdotes respecting him, which appeared in a work entitled "The Four Ages,' by Jackson, of Exeter; to which we refer the reader, as Mr. Edwards has contrived to lose much of the characteristic humour of his extracts, by his injudicious mode of combining them.

The author, who apparently feels with Iago, that he is nothing, if not critical, lays aside all pretence of candour towards the conclusion of his work, and amuses himself through two or three pages, with demolishing the character of the wretched Low, who, it appears, had once borne away a prize, which, in the opinion of Mr. Edwards, should have been awarded to himself. Having fleshed his valour here, he does not suffer it to abate, but rushes, in the last place, to the attack of the once formidable, but now breathless monster, Barry.

His criticisms on the talents of this unhappy artist, are a tissue of ignorance and spleen; and the exposure of his infirmities, when they could no longer interrupt the harmony of the Royal Academy, as useless, as it is cruel. The great and comprehensive work executed by Barry, under circumstances from which the feeble mind of the critic would have shrunk in despair, must remain a monument of his abilities, when all of art that pertains to Mr. Edwards, will have quietly sunk in that untroubled stream where all things are forgotten.'

If we have abstained from expressing ourselves more at length on the subject of Sir Joshua Reynolds, it is not in consequence of Mr. Edwards' having made no remark on his talents, that called for reply or investigation. But the merits of ONE with whom the arts rose and set in this country, cannot be discussed in a few words, and an occasion will soon present itself for taking up the subject with more effect than the present affords.

ART. IV. Woman; or, Ida of Athens. By Miss Owenson, author of the "Wild Irish Girl," The "Novice of St. Dominick," &c. 4 vols. 12mo. London. Longman. 1809.

B

ACCHANTES, animated with Orphean fury, slinging their serpents in the air, striking their cymbals, and uttering dithyrambics, appeared to surround him on every side.' p. 5.

'That modesty which is of soul, seemed to diffuse itself over a form, whose exquisite symmetry was at once betrayed and concealed by the apparent tissue of woven air, which fell like a vapour round her.' 'p. 23.

'Like Aurora, the extremities of her delicate limbs were rosed with flowing hues, and her little foot, as it pressed its naked beauty on a scarlet cushion, resembled that of a youthful Thetis from its blushing tints, or that of a fugitive Atalanta from its height,' &c. &c. p. 53.

After repeated attempts to comprehend the meaning of these, and a hundred similar conundrums, in the compass of half as many pages, we gave them up in despair; and were carelessly turning the leaves of the volume backward and forward, when the following passage, in a short note to the Reader,' caught our eye. My little works have always been printed from illegible manuscripts in one country, while their author was resident in another,' p. vi. We have been accustomed to overlook these introductory gossipings: in future, however, we shall be more circumspect; since it is evident that if we had read straight forward from the title page, we should have escaped a very severe head-ach.

The matter seems now sufficiently clear. The printer having to produce four volumes from a manuscript, of which he could not read a word, performed his task to the best of his power; and fabricated the requisite number of lines, by shaking the types out of the boxes at a venture. The work must, therefore, be considered as a kind of overgrown amphigouri, a heterogeneous combination of events, which, pretending to no meaning, may be innocently permitted to surprise for a moment, and then dropt for ever.

If, however, which is possible, the author like Caliban (we beg Miss Owenson's pardou) ' cannot endue her purpose with words that make it known;' but by illegible means what may be read, and is, consequently, in earnest; the case is somewhat altered, and we must endeavour to make out the story.

6

Ida of Athens, a Greek girl, half ancient and half modern, falls desperately in love with a young slave; and, when he is defeated and taken prisoner, in a fray more ridiculously begun and ended, than the wars of Tom Thumb the Great, marries a Disdar-aga,' to save his life. This simple personage, instead of taking possession of his bride, whom he has placed on an ottoman of down,' couleur de rose, rushes from the apartment 'to see a noise which he heard:' and has scarcely thrust his head out of the street door, when, to his inexpressible amazement, it is dexterously sliced off by an agent of the Porte ;* and Ida, without waiting for her thirds, runs joyfully home to her father. Meanwhile the Greek slave, who had, somewhat unpolitely, looked through the Disdar-aga's casement,' and seen Ida in his arms, very naturally takes it in dudgeon, and enrols himself among the Janissaries. Ida, on her side, having no engagement on her hands, falls in love with an English traveller, who offers her a settlement, which she very modestly rejects. A long train of woe succeeds. Her father is stripped of his property, and thrown into a dungeon; from which he is delivered by the Janissary on duty, (the prying lover of Ida) who, without making himself known, assists them to quit the country, and embark for England. They launch into the Archipelago, that interesting sea, so precious to the soul of genius;' iv. p. 45, and after many hair-breadth scapes, arrive in Lon don. Here they are cheated, robbed, and insulted by every body; and the father, after being several days without food, is dragged to a spunging house, where he expires! Ida runs frantically through the streets, and falls into the arms of the English traveller, who is now become a lord, and very gallantly renews his offers, which are again rejected. In consequence of an advertisement in the public papers, Ida discovers a rich uncle, who dies very opportunely, and leaves her the most opulent heiress of Great Britain."

*

The fair Greek abuses her prosperity; but before her fortune and

Wrong:-he turns sick as he is running after the “ Capadilger Keayassa," and dies in a ditch.-See vol. iii. p. 143.

Printer's Devil.