means are resorted to, in this and in other countries. It often happens that an opportunity lost never returns. Many a fine picture has irretrievably gone out of the country, that might have been secured on fair terms; and many a picture has been procured on unfair terms-on absurd terms. The trustees, like most timid people, are quite profligate in expenditure, under the protection of a great name. If individually they think for themselves, and well, collectively they act very badly for the nation. There remains something to be said upon the purchase of modern pictures. Unquestionably it is a disgrace to a nation to withhold encouragement from modern artists. The gallery has, it is true, the work of one great living artist, Sir David Wilkie; but that they did not purchase. They have recently, likewise, accepted a present of one of poor Constable's pictures. If that work be fit for the nation, it might have been purchased before the artist's death. Why should an honour, if due to the genius of the man, be kept back until he can receive neither gratification nor pride from it? It is a disgrace to consider the disputed possession of the new apartments held by the Academy as a sufficient public encouragement to British art. The very argument is insulting: British artists require substantial encouragement, and are now deserving it; and a position in a national gallery will surely be a great inducement to exertion. A certain number of modern pictures should be purchased every year, and for these works we would have a separate gallery. We cannot but gladly take every opportunity of urging the importance of Professorships of Painting in our Universities. Again and again do we return to this subject. If the Trustees of the National Gallery consider themselves what they ought to be, trustees of art, guardians of art, it would well become them to bring this proposition before Parliament. Nothing could be more beneficial. It would ensure an education of art, concurrent with general literature and the sciences: it would raise the character of artists, by raising the judgment of the true patrons; and would engraft upon the educated generally a new sense, and therefore a new, and higher, and more safe means of enjoyment, than those which we too often witness and lament. How easy would it be to confer this very great benefit upon art if important persons would take it in hand. None are more proper than the Trustees of the National Gallery. BRITISH INSTITUTION. There is perhaps no country so rich in private collections as our own. Hence the certainty of an annual exhibition of very fine pictures. That we are year after year to have so great a variety, is a proof of the extent of our private collections. It is very rarely that a positively bad picture is to be found at the Institution. Some there may be to which too much importance has been attached, and an adventitious value ascribed, by a fashion of the day. For instance, we have had by far too many of Murillo's weak, washy, and ill-coloured pictures; nor do we think those by this master that have been in this year's exhibition much above that character. But, generally speaking, the pictures are good; and some are always to be found very good. And surely if one really fine picture be exhibited for months, such an Institution deserves the public thanks. The Institution is the best exhibition in London. It is thought this last has had fewer very fine pictures than many preceding: and it may be so. Still, it is good. We shall not extract from our note-book more than a few observations, and upon a few of the pictures. The large Altar-piece, No. 1, by Guido, appears to have been painted for a peculiar light. In that light the effect must have been very wonderful. Now, the lights are a little too strong -yet, when the eye is accustomed to this, the parts in half-tone show themselves, and with great power. The lower part is in perfect harmony of colour, and is very rich and solemn. Nos. 2 and 5, are both curious and beautiful" From the History of Joseph," by Francesco Ubertini. At first glance one is inclined to turn from these pictures, as eccentricities of art, rather than pictures: but they are much more, and contain many exquisite beauties, of form, of expression, and of colour. We say, of colour -though the very strong colours are too predominant, and are not very judiciously arranged, so that they melt into each other pleasingly. Yet some of the tones are very mellow, and so pure that it is difficult to imagine any medium so pure as that with which these pictures are painted. The attitudes are, some of them, very graceful, and would do honour even to Raphael, together with whom, Ubertini was pupil under Perugino. It is not difficult, therefore, to trace the peculiarities which Raphael brought to so great perfection, arising from this more antiquated and quaint school. The heads seem all to have been studies from nature, and are some of them very fine. The child riding on the ass is very lovely_these pictures are finished like miniatures. Are they in oil? We noticed, two years ago, a very finely coloured pic ture by a master whose pictures are not in general much valued-Bassano "Moses and the Burning Bush." This year has exhibited another of the same master, of similar power, No. 13. It is a pastoral scene, treated with great vigour. The effect of light is very surprising. The sky, drapery of a woman in the foreground, and dog, are very strikingly illuminated. There is here none of that crowding which is so common in his pictures. We suspect much of this picture is either copied or imitated from Titian-cer. tainly the general style of the whole background, and positively the figure of the man coming down the road, is from Titian, of which we have the print. For the effect of light this picture is very well worth studying. We were disappointed with the Titian, "Diana surprised by Actæon." The brown is so predominant that it takes away the clearness and richness of colour for which that great master is so remarkable. This dulness is the more striking from the contiguity of the splendidly coloured Paul Veronese, " Susanna and the Elders," No. 17. There are some who very greatly admire No. 16, "Rembrandt's Mill." But, surely, we in vain look for the brilliancy, and variety, and clearness, of colouring of the master. The sky is heavy, and even dirty-and the whole landscape devoid of local colour. Is the picture in a bad state? or It is difficult to believe the Angel the luminous Angel - in No. 18, "Tobit," to be by the same hand. "The Paul Potter," No. 20, is one of the very best of this master. In its kind it is perfect. There is poetry in the conception of this common subject. "The Young Buck," perfectly natural, is yet a noble and dignified fellow, inhaling the air, whose "clouds drop fatness," and make the pastures spring for his pleasures. There is much management to elevate the creature; he bears his head into the sky; and the low horizon at his feet gives him large measure. The burst of light over his back, as if to announce his presence, brings him nobly forward. He is worth a whole Georgic upon the nature of the animal. We delight in such noble beasts: but who can delight in such beasts as "Brauwer's Musical Boors," No. 39? The subject should condemn this, and all other pictures of the same stamp, to the pothouse. This picture has been engraved in "Forster's Gallery," which work it deteriorates, being among Italian pictures. Taste is like the delicate hand, that should not handle pitch. Nos. 44 and 50, Landscapes, Ruysdael, are as beautifully clear and transparent pictures as ever came from the easel of the master. Though dark, there is perfect air in every part, and separating part from part. They are carefully painted, and with all his fascinating execution. We greatly admire Ruysdael's and Hobbima's wood scenesthe former particularly, however homely the scene, is never vulgar. They are the haunts of a habitable neighbourhood, and, above all, Nature looks satisfied with her own homes and works. We must not pass by 45, "St Catharine," Guido. Faint as the figure appears at first, we are satisfied she is purposely so represented; and the sweetness of expression is not ill suited to the almost aerial presence. If here the earthly nature of flesh is ideally undergoing a change from inward celestial thought, his " Virgin and Child," No. 49, assume too much the substance of marble, yet is there much good in the picture. But what loveliness have we in No. 53, "Virgin and Child and St John-Raphael!" It is rather dark, and cannot be seen so well under its glass, yet is it most fascinating. We now pass to quite another school. Here are two portraits near each other, as it should seem purposely so placed, as if to show the peculiar me rits of two opposite styles. No. 28, "Head of an Old Woman," by Denner; and No. 90, " Man's Portrait," by Vandyke. Nearly viewed, the finish and positive nature of Denner is surprising; the Vandyke a mere hasty sketch, with splashes of paint without apparent meaning. Retire a few paces; the Vandyke comes out with the appearance of great finish, and the Denner seems to be the imperfect and weaker picture, requiring, too, that which it certainly does not need, the finishing touches. The Denner is not a disgusting picture, though more minute than we should have thought practicable with any materials. Nor is it without freedom; and is even pleasing in expression. One naturally asks the question-How is it painted? A more perfect representation of life (a very near view) can scarcely be conceived. Denner was born in 1685. Was this the wonderful specimen he carried about with him in this country, and for which he refused five hundred guineas? At the proper distance, nothing can be more true than the Vandyke. That which, seen near, is nothing but a dab or two of lighter colour about the temples, at a distance appears a highly finished lighting up of the whole character-the mental energy brightening up the whole region of vigorous thought. And this, we suspect, could not have been effected by Denner; and may therefore determine which manner is, upon the whole, best. Here are four of Murillo, Nos. 101, 104, 105, 108, 109-in not one of which do we see any thing to admire. If Diana was as ugly as Rubens has painted her, (No. 141,) "Going to the Chase," she never hunted a greater beast than herself-and none could doubt her chastity. No. 145, "Les petites Marquises"- Watteau. A very singular picture - quite a history. Fashion, character, every thing belongs to the day in which these portraits were taken-they are very natural and powerful-unlike any other master, and the "petites Marquises" unlike any specimens of humanity out of France, and these only of that day. As Watteau has shown how to paint " Les petites Marquises," so, in as new a way, has Velasquez, in No. 157, shown how a lapdog should be transferred to canvass. Gainsborough, then, as a portrait-painter, has become an old master. His portrait of the "Late Duke of Norfolk," (146,) is probably as good a portrait as any in these rooms. It is luminous and powerful if we must criticise, we should say the washy varnish is too apparent. We have already fully spoken of Gainsborough as a portrait-painter. There are some pleasing landscapes by Gaspar Poussin, but not in his best style. There are, too, in this branch of art, good specimens of Both and Berghem. Here is a modern German-Stilhe. His "Joan of Arc" occupies a conspicuous station. The face is very expressive, and evidently an imitation, and, so far, a successful imitation, of the school of Raphael; but the detail of the picture is too conspicuous, and even vulgar, the colour cold and uncomfortable, without any mellowness or effect. The sentiment is not assisted either by colour or chiaro-scuro. The attempt to illuminate, by thickening the lights, fails, because all glazing seems to have been avoided. Yet the expression of the countenance is such as to redeem the picture from its other disagreeable qualities. We have here noted but a few of the pictures. Had we gone through our note-book at greater length, we should have occupied more space than would be convenient. GOETHE'S LIFE AND WORKS. No. I. It is a secret to no one interested in books, that the name of Goethe has for several years been spoken of among us with increasing frequency and eagerness. Nor, even on a distant and external view of the case, is this surprising. He is reputed the greatest author in the most lettered of modern nations. The most philosophic race of contemporary critics, the Schlegels for instance, Tieck, and Göschel, regard him as the greatest European poet of the last two centuries. Besides this, men who have observed the ways and thoughts of others, have often been led to remark, that his hold is strongest over the best minds; that his influence is still more peculiar by the depth to which it works, than by the space it covers. Add, that this author lived for more than eighty years, and was, from his boyhood, not merely a sweet singer of his own feelings and fancies, but a laborious student of philosophy, and of many kinds of natural science, without ceasing to be a man of the world, and the friend and counsellor of a prince; and, above all, a keen and patient observer of events and of mankind. We have thus an obvious combination of advantages in his character and story, such as the life of no one else, at least in recent times, appears to present. Indeed, were it only that he had lived through, and noted all the portentous and bewildering changes of European society during the latter half of the last century, and the first quarter of this, the impression of such a series of facts on any sensitive and clear mind could not be other than remarkable. Were there nothing else, it is enough to say that among these events was the rise of democracy in France, feeding its conflagration by the old and stately system which it destroyed. Then the headlong course over the world of its new master, upsetting so many thrones and churches, and awakening by sympathy and antipathy so much new life. And contemporary with, or introductory to these political changes, the burst out of the eighteenth century of a literature totally fresh and unprecedented in its aims and spirit, and consequently, both in its laws and influences, including the whole course of German philosophy, from Kant to Hegel. Of the intellectual life of mankind, in the age which thus displayed itself, Goethe has been held by many, and those not unthinking men, the highest and most complete representative. Whether this be, or be not, a true estimate, must be decided after, not before, the study of his works. But, at all events, what he was, and what he thought, has become a common topic of enquiry, even in England. And among us it has hardly been as much remembered as it deserved, that he has told us his own story, and, by implication, that of the world during his time, with the utmost plainness and sincerity; and that the books, of which this is the purpose, are printed in his works, and may be read by all who understand German. There is, indeed, a novel English version, from a novel French one, of a part of these Memoirs, which has been advertised for some years among us. But probably a charitable silence is the only humane mode of treating the fabricators of this performance. The translation, now offered, of a portion of the poet's narrative, is free from all intentional omissions and interpolations. That it is greatly inferior in ease, clearness, elegance, and vivacity, to the original composition -that it may possibly contain some mistakes of the meaning, can be neither doubtful nor wonderful. But it has been the writer's wish that Goethe should speak for himself in English, precisely as he has spoken in German. FROM MY LIFE. POETRY AND TRUTH. PART I. As preface to the present work, which may perhaps require one more than most, I place here the letter of a friend, by which so serious an undertaking was occasioned. "We have now, my dear friend, the twelve parts of your Poetical Works together, and find in reading them through much of known, much of unknown; nay, much also of forgotten, which this collection brings back to freshness. These twelve volumes standing before us, of the same size, one cannot but consider as a whole, and one would willingly draw from them a sketch of the author and his talent. Now, it is not to be denied, that for the vigour with which he began his literary career, and for the long period which has since elapsed, a dozen volumes must appear too little. Moreover, as to the single works, one cannot conceal from one's self that particular occasions have mostly given rise to them; that they express both particular outward objects, and distinct inward steps of cultivation; and that no less do certain temporary moral and æsthetic maxims and convictions prevail in them. On the whole, in fine, these productions still remain unconnected; and often one can hardly even believe that they have arisen from the same writer. "In the mean while, your friends have not abandoned the enquiry, and seek, as being better acquainted with your way of life and thought, to unriddle many an enigma, to solve many a problem. Influenced by an old liking, and a long-established connexion, they even find an attraction in the apparent difficulties. Yet here and there it would be not unpleasant to us to have that assistance which you cannot well refuse to our friendly regard. "That, therefore, which we first ask of you, is, that you would range in chronological order your Poetic Works, distributed in the new edition The according to certain inverse relations. And not less do we desire that you would communicate, in some kind of connexion, the states of life and feeling which supplied you the materials, as well as the examples which have influenced you, and also the theoretical principles you have followed. If you take this trouble for the sake of a narrow circle, perhaps something will spring from it which may be agreeable and useful to a larger one. author ought not, even in his advanced age, to give up the privilege of conversing, though at a distance, with those whom affection binds to him. And if it cannot be granted to every one, at a certain time of life, to come forward anew with unexpected and strongly effective productions; yet precisely in the time when knowledge is most complete, and consciousness most distinct, it must be a very entertaining and re-animating task to treat those old results as new material, and to work them into a last labour, serving once more to cultivate those who have before received their cultivation with and from the artist." The desire, thus kindly expressed, instantly excited in me the wish to comply with it. For if in earlier times we travel eagerly our own way, and, in order not to swerve, impatiently reject the urgencies of others; yet in later days we cannot but strongly wish that any such interest in us may rouse us anew, and cordially determine us to fresh exertion. I therefore undertook at once the preparatory labour of distinguishing the greater and smaller poems of my twelve volumes, and of arranging them by years. I tried to bring before me the time and circumstances in which I produced them. But the task soon became more difficult, because detailed notices and explanations were necessary, in order to fill up the gaps between those already published. For, in the first place, all that is wanting in which I began to practise myself, and much that was begun and not |