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gentleman as muckle wine as ye can drink, or brandy if ye like it better.'

"But I might as weel have read the Proverbs of Solomon to a collie-dog. 'Jewy,' says he; and wi' that he dealt out the cards, and in a manner forced me to tak' up a hand. Then he put down a gold piece on the table-it was ane o' the unlucky coins I had given him amang the siller-and signs to me to do the like. I did sae, for by this time I was growing bauld, and I thought that maybe I might win; and sae I might, had the game been birkie, or catchthe-ten, or ony other I understood; but I kent na what I was about, and just put down the cards ony way, till the chield sings out 'Ahi!' flings down twa honours, and up wi' my Napoleon, as I hae seen a gled whip awa' a robin-redbreast. Neist time he put down twa; and then the conviction cam' on me that I was to be rooked by the blackguards out o' a' my siller. 'Better that,' thinks I, 'than hae my weazand cut across; and I played on wi' a kind of air of indifference, as if I didna greatly mind whether I lost or wan, which was the mair easy, because I saw very weel that they wad never stop till a' the money in my pouch, being somewhat aboon ten pound sterling, had gane in the way of ransom. Mair gowd I had, nae doubt, but it was sewed into a belt round my waist, and I was determined that the blackguards shouldna get that till I was brought to the last extremity. They werena long in rooking me-ten minutes sufficed for that-and then I turned my pouches inside out, in token that I had nae money left. Then they pointed to my pockmanty, as muckle as to say that they had nae objection to play for onything that was in it; but I let on as if I didna understand them; and just then there came a sound as if of a rush of people into the court above, and a sort of gathering cry, just like what the Hielandmen used lang syne. The twa chields they started up, and saying something in a hurry to the ill-faured, red-headed tyke, Jean, banged up the stair; and Jean was about to steek the door, but, my faith, I prevented him! I'm no a strong

man, Maister Sinclair, nor did I ever begin a tulzie; but I hae a stout Scots heart o' my ain, and I can gar my hand keep my head, if need be, as weel as mony folk that make mair brag about their courage. Besides, I was just desperate-like at the thought of being left in that den of iniquity wi' a manifest murderer; sae I caught up ane o' the chairs, and as Jean was thrawing the key, I took him sic a clour on the pow, that down he fell sprawling like an ox on the floor. I needna tell you that I whippit up my pockmanty, and ran for dear life, kenning naething and caring little where I went to, so that I got clear o' that villanous neighbourhood. Whiles I hard the huzzas o' the mob, and whiles the rattling o' the gunsI heeded naething, but ran clean on, like a roebuck on the braes of Benlomond, till I came to an open street, and nae sooner was I there than I heard the trampling o' horses, and down came a charge of cavalry, full gallop, their sabres glittering in the sun. Ae minute mair, and Mrs M'Chappie would hae been a widow! But by great good-luck I spied an open entry, and in I rushed, and up a stair, as fast as Tam o' Shanter wi' a' the witches ahint him. There was an auld man in a livery-coat keeking out of a door, but him I sent spinning like a peerie, dashed into a room, where there were three ladies and a gentleman, and flinging my pockmanty on the floor, fell on my knees, and returned thanks to Heaven, wi' a grateful heart, for having saved me from sic terrible dangers. Ye may believe that the ladies got a gliff by my sudden apparition, and the auld man didna look overly pleased; but when I told them wha I was, and what I had come through, they gave me a hearty welcome; and nae wonder, for they were a kindly Scots family frae the Stewartry o' Kirkcudbright; and in foreign lands the Scots aye help ane anither, whereas the Englishers, being a dour and suspicious race, stand aloof from men that speak their ain mither tongue, unless theyken something special about them. Sae I even bided under the same roof with my country-folk till something like order was restored, and a man might venture into the streets

without the risk of being shot like a muircock; but 0 it was an awesome sight to see that great city in the hands of the mob, lawful authority such as that which is exercised by Provosts and Bailies being overthrown, and the very scum of the population marching about wi' red caps, and trees of liberty, and siclike radical gear, in open defiance o' law, and roaring like the bulls o' Bashan! They have put away their auld king-that's him that's in Holyrood now, and they hae gotten a new one, that's him they ca' Louis Philippe; but ye'll no persuade me that he'll keep the crown on his head to the end of his natural days. Na, na! Ance show the cat the road to the kirn, and you may whistle for the cream. Ance gie the mob the upper hand, and they'll never bide quiet. I ken weel that there are grievances in this country of ours, and no light ones either, but the Lord forbid that I should ever see them redressed by the short cut of a revolution. I whiles think it

was a great mercy for Scotland that the Covenanters were keeped under till King William (that's the Dutchman, ye ken) came over frae Holland; for if the Westland folk had got the better at Bothwell Brig, it wad just have been rank massacre and confiscation, and the country wouldna' now have been what it is, rising every year in rank among the nations. The Tories are clean wrang in refusing reform, but the Whigs will do waur if they let the mob get the uppermost; and I canna see that there is ony sense in drinking sic toasts as 'The people, the source of all legitimate power,' which seems to me a kind of hint that the easiest way of altering the law is by knocking it on the head-no unlike the method I resorted to in the case of my friend Maister Jean, the fracture o' wha's skull, if it was fractured, lies at this day vera light upon my conscience. But it's time we were ganging back to the Carrabas Arms, for it's close upon the hour of dinner."

THE DIFFUSION OF TASTE AMONG ALL CLASSES A NATIONAL NECESSITY.

IT has often happened that what was once only a luxury has become a necessity. And thus it is that Taste, both in its subtle enjoyment and its more substantive application, once the heritage of the few, has now at length grown into a national want demanded for the many. It is now felt to be necessary in the education of all classes, not only that the intellect be instructed and the conscience guided, but that the æsthetic faculty-the sense of the beautiful in man-should be incited to the enjoyment of nature, to the creation of art, and to the adornment of daily life. It has been found, moreover, not sufficient that the people of this country should manufacture with a strong hand; it is now felt, as not less needful, that creative design should be informed with the beauty of line, and sensitive in all the deli

cacy of colour. Thus has it been for Sir Gardner Wilkinson an easy task to show that "the diffusion of taste among all classes," both high and low, wealthy and poor, has now become a national necessity. It is necessary that the rich and the noble patron should possess knowledge to guide and elevate his choice. It is not less needful that the manufacturer should be informed in the laws of beauty and the principles of design, in order that his products may command the market of the world. Neither is it of minor importance that the artisan should possess somewhat of the cunning skill of the educated artist, that so his work may be less of blind mechanism, and more of enlightening mind. We accordingly propose to show in the present paper, how far, and in what directions, the arts and the manufactures of this country

On Colour, and on the Necessity for a General Diffusion of Taste among all Classes. By Sir J. GARDNER WILKINSON.-London, J. Murray. 1858.

have erred from correct standards, what measures have now been taken by the Government to remove our national defects, and how far the remedies applied may insure that diffusion of taste and of beauty which has become essential to both our commerce and civilisation.

England in the arts has been less favoured and fortunate than Greece, Italy, and other countries. The climate of the South is festive, joyous, and we may say passionate. The Muses and the Graces, not housed or thickly draped from cold inclemencies, dance in the glow of open sunshine, or sing in the sheltered shade of the listening groves. Nature is herself art, and even, as it were, religion. The fountains and the woods, the sun in his strength, and the moon in her fairer beauty, seem still in these poetic lands, the emblems of deities, as when the ancient Greek built a temple or kindled an altar. And man, taking on the aspect and spirit of the scene in which he dwells, is brilliant in imagination, and glowing in emotion, neglecting, it may be, the sterner duties of life, while he feasts in the festivity of nature, or fashions in the arts a new world still more ideal. We repeat that England has been less favoured and fortunate than some other lands. Nature, in our own country, toils for man's necessities; she is utilitarian; puts on the rough everyday dress of drudgery; and while in the south she paints pictures, here she frugally weaves comforts. Man plods to his daily toil, not under the Italian blue of sky, or in the glow of sunshine painting the landscape in golden colour, but in the grey shadow of thick clouds, or in the still denser smoke of manufacturing cities. The special wealth of England, moreover, is not so much in fertile fields as in the richness of her mines and minerals. Multitudes of men wholly leave the light of day, descend deep shafts in dirty buckets, and, with a candle in the cap, grope their way, as blind to the beauty of nature as a mole burrowing in the dark. Others, as in Staffordshire and South Wales, awaiting the mineral spoil upon the surface, construct and tend the belching blast-furnace,

throw over wide lands the sterile dross, overturn the face of nature as by rending earthquake, lay waste fields as if stricken by fire and pestilence; and thus nature, once clothed in beauty and verdure, a landscape dear to art, and dedicated to homely swains, is made wild, sterile, and fiendish, shrieking with unearthly cries, blackened as by avenging fires. These are the districts which pay taxes, which coin wealth, beget the democratic unwashed mob, crying for John Bright and revolutionary reform. No wonder that the arts, cradled in Greece, and nurtured in Italy, steal frightened away. No wonder that, loving tranquillity, and dwelling in serene heights, they, like the birds of song, fly away and seek a distant home for rest. Thus the genius of England and of Englishmen, it must be confessed, is not eminently artistic. An Englishman is solid in the deep foundations of truth, rather than sensitive to the airy decorations of beauty. He is a man of plodding industry, sound reason, and common sense; gets about him his comforts, then his luxuries, but can wholly dispense with imagination, and is more likely to talk politics than read poetry. Thus English life, industry, and manners, as contrasted with those of other nations, have been wanting in the beauty and decoration of art; and hence the more manifest necessity that some direct effort should now be made, whereby correct taste may be diffused among classes of the community.

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It must be admitted, however, that this subordination of the Arts is the result of national habits, rather than of mental inaptitude. The English school of painting, as exhibited in Paris, and again in Manchester, at once took the position to which England, as one of the great powers of Europe, is entitled. In the competition for the Wellington Monument, open to all the world, no foreign artist came to snatch the foremost prize from the British competitors. In Rome, our countryman, Gibson, rivals the Greeks in purity and beauty. Even in architecture, both at Lille and Hamburg, the designs of English architects have been selected for their outrivalling merit.

And lastly, the recently exhibited drawings for public offices sufficiently show that this country possesses the talent and the knowledge fitted for the noblest works. If England, then, in the arts, have been less favoured and fortunate than some other lands, the causes of past deficiencies, we shall hereafter see, are not without remedy or beyond removal.

It has often been objected that for pre-eminence in the arts the English are too utilitarian. Now, in the undoubted art-revival in this country, nothing can be more hopeful and healthy than the close alliance which has been established between utility and beauty, construction and decoration. The best art which the world has yet known has been but the highest development and perfection of things useful and necessary. The Greek temple and the Greek statue were but the best adaptation of means to an end, of materials to the required result, so that the temple might be made the most fitting house both for thronging people and presiding deity. Descending to things of lower import, an Etruscan or Greek vase, lamp or candelabrum, was but the development of utility into beauty; lines of grace evolved out of forms of necessity; the decorative foliage growing out of the supporting stem; the flower budding in ideal beauty, only when the root had taken firm hold upon the actual. Thus did art grow out of and into the daily life. It was not a luxury, to be seldom tasted-an exotic brought from afar, to be seldom seen; but there it grew and blossomed, and bore fruit in the native soil, which daily labour tilled, so that the field which yielded the corn for food, grew the acanthus for the Corinthian capital.

We say there can be nothing more hopeful and healthful than the alliance between the useful and the ornamental, which has characterised the recent art-revival in this country. The very term "arts and manufactures" implies the interweaving of fabric with fancy. The fabric must be strong, suited to its proposed purpose; and the fancy which in decorative play adorns its surface, must not less be consonant with utilitarian uses; so that no carpet shall disdain

the tread of feet, and no object in a well-appointed house proudly refuse to do its prescribed offices. This, indeed, is but the application to the arts of the oft-repeated injunction not to overstep the modesty of nature. Simplicity and truth must indeed be the first canons of art, as in man they are the guiding principles to well-ordered life. Thus, we again repeat, the alliance of art with the constructional in form, and the useful in application, is, we think, salutary and hopeful. It precludes the intrusion of fantastic extravagance; it prescribes the observance of seemly moderation; it reconciles beauty to the necessities and actualities of life, and thus makes art the fitting companion of the man whose business is in the world.

The neglect or violation of these natural and simple truths has been the cause of many of the blunders hitherto committed. Thus, Sir Gardner Wilkinson adduces a multitude of instances, in which our architectural and ornamental designs violate the dictates of reason and common sense, no less than the laws of correct taste. A glass, for example, imitating in its form and carving a pine-apple, borrows the foot of a tumbler to adapt it for use.

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"Still more objectionable," says Sir Gardner," are the combinations of two incompatible natures to form a design; and the union of the ugly fish with the beautiful woman,' the dolphin in the wood and the boar in the sea,' denounced by Horace, are not more inconsistent than many of the anomalies produced daily by our constructors of designs. In one, a man sits on a truncated column, with the branches of a candlestick growing luxuriantly from his head, while he plays a lyre in the character of Orpheus. In another, a stork performs the unbirdly office of holding a light or a cornucopia in his beak for the same purpose, as if to add another inconsistency, and to show how little one part has any connection with the rest. The faults are frequently made worse by the same use of two different substances, and the impression is given that the whole has been made up of the remnants of several different kinds of objects, fastened together without any claim to companionship."-P. 223.

It has long been the bane of Art

that she has been made too artificial. The artist has been so oppressed by technicalities, so perplexed by confused precedents, that, in becoming an artist, he would seem to have forgotten that he was still a man; and hence, in espousing art, often he is divorced from nature. But the audience to which he appeals is happily still informed by observation, and guided by common-sense. Hence, fortunately, extravagance has ever found its limits. Hence art, after a wild, wilful fling of caprice, ever returns once more to the simplicity of truth and the sobriety of reason. But although this healthful reaction may have now fairly commenced, we have hitherto, it must be admitted, widely wandered from the true path. Thus many of our great public monuments offend against taste in great measure, because, as we have said, they outrage reason. As an example, it is sufficient to quote that climax of absurdity, the Wellington equestrian statue mounted on the arch of Hyde Park Corner, deservedly the ridicule of Europe. A Roman triumphal arch, in which size is essential to grandeur, is dwarfed into a subordinate pedestal. A colossal enormity crushes the victim basement, and seems at the same time to cast into one common ridicule all neighbouring objects. The cocked hat of the rider, the gaunt figure of the steed, hoisted into high air in a position so uncomfortable and ungainly, appear all designedly arranged as a grotesque burlesque. Again, to place a hero on the summit of a column is scarcely less absurd. To detach a pillar from its architectural combination, and to make it stand in isolation without the support of associated columns, decapitated, moreover, of the entablature which it should in turn uphold, is of itself a sufficient confusion of intention and uses. But to place upon this architectural anomaly the statue of a hero, condemned to stand on a dizzy pinnacle for the curious gaze of the lower multitude, and yet beyond their view, is to add to the injury inflicted upon art an insult to the man. Yet thus does Nelson-as if condemned to the masthead-adorn "the finest position in Europe;" and thus the neighbour

ing Duke of York equally outrages taste and propriety-is equally reckless of his neck and reputation, determined, at all events, in these supreme heights, to fly his creditors and defy his critics. Such examples as these undoubtedly show the necessity for the diffusion of taste. They not the less, however, prove, as we have said, the need of a sound reason. A work of art demands the exercise, or at least the approval, of all the faculties in man. No one power can be violated without inflicting upon the work executed a corresponding injury. Hence does the history of art abundantly show that what is false in reason is bad in taste. The decorative, we again repeat, must grow out from the useful, the ornamental in architecture must be built upon the sure basis of con-struction; and thus do the arts, fashioned from the fabric of nature and the fancy of man, preserve the actuality of our daily life, yet soar to the ideality of our poetic conceptions.

Such egregious examples as we have just mentioned would seem to indicate, that the artists who design our public monuments possess less judgment than the public who presume to condemn. Instances, however, of another description, will prove, that patron purchasers and public committees more especially constitute the class to whom the diffusion of correct taste has become a national necessity. Is it not notorious that committees of taste for the selection of architectural designs are guided by no sufficient knowledge? Is it not admitted that pretty drawings, with pleasing colour and alluring sunlight, will carry the judgment captive; and thus the plan which is most showy and pretentious, and therefore probably the most corrupt, is finally adopted? We believe that, for the correction of this evil-the ruin of countless buildings throughout the country- the diffusion of elementary and easily-acquired knowledge, would be sufficient remedy. An acquaintance with the leading styles of architecture with their fundamental principles and ideasmight readily be attained within the compass of a few days or weeks. For

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