their performances, of forming their taste on the most approved models of antiquity. If we except the Greeks, whose extraordinary and inventive genius seems to form an exception to every thing else that we observe in human history, all the nations who have risen to any celebrity in the fine arts have had their taste formed on the models of antiquity. It was amidst the ruins of Rome, and with their minds chastened and elevated by the sight of the Pantheon and the Colyseum, that Raphael, and Michael Angelo, and Dominichino, arose; and it is on the same spot, and from the influence of the same cause, that the art of sculpture has been revived in modern times, and that Canova and Thorwaldson have taught the age in which we live, that the Venus and the Apollo may yet be rivalled in modern art. It is not from the force of a blind imitation of the monuments of ancient genius, that the vicinity of such productions contributes in so striking a manner to the advancement of art. Much, no doubt, is to be ascribed to the influence which the study of such models has in improving the taste and enlarging the conceptions of the artist; but much more is to be traced to the influence which it has on the public mind, and the degree in which it purifies and exalts the public taste. It is altogether impossible that artists can arrive at any degree of perfection till the popular voice assumes a despotic sway over their productions, and till that voice is exerted only in behalf of works of real genius. Where the knowledge of art is confined to mere artists, just as where the knowledge of philosophy is confined to schoolmen and professors, the efforts of genius become cramped, and an artificial taste is created, than which nothing differs more widely from genuine beauty. The vanity of the art ist becomes predominant over the genius of the man,-a peculiar and unnatural standard of perfection is selected, which has no reference to the feelings or the capacities of ordinary observers, and, by a deplorable mistake, connoisseurs and professors of art imagine that they are superior to the rest of mankind, because they have established for themselves a language, and created a taste, which those around them do not under stand. The very perversion of that taste, by drawing a line of distinction between the initiated and the uninitiated, tends to perpetuate the vanity and artifice from which it arose,—the admirers of painting become distinguished by a peculiar language, hardly intelligible to the rest of the world, and this great and noble art, which was destined to address itself to the general sympathies of the human heart, and to speak a language which should be intelligible to all mankind, sinks into the expression of a peculiar dialect, and becomes intelligible only to a limited and despicable class of society. The influence of the general sentiments of mankind is the great corrective to this unfortunate propensity. It is not less essential to the advancement of art and purification of national taste, than to the progress of true philosophy, or the establishment of civil liberty. It lets in the feelings of the great body of the people to influence and determine the direction of art, and, like the fly-wheel in mechanics, prevents the other parts of the machine from becoming too powerful, or running into eccentricities which might be fatal to itself. But it is not at once that the generality of mankind, even among the higher classes of society, become either alive to the beauties of art, or capable of judging of its excellencies. The formation of an elevated and simple public taste is the work of many years, and can be promoted only by the attentive study of the models of ancient genius which have been produced in situations more favourable to the perfection of art. Nothing is more certain, than that an individual, whatever may be his native taste or genius, is incapable, at first, of appreciating the merit or understanding the design of the greatest paintings which the world has produced. The exact imitation of nature is naturally considered as the principal object of painting, and those which approach nearest to the reality which they see before them are at first imagined to be the best pictures. It is by slow degrees, and by the continual study of great models, that this universal and natural error comes to be corrected,—that men learn that painting cannot express every thing in nature, and that many of its finest inci- . dents are wholly beyond her reach,and that, from the limited extent of her powers, she must arrange objects in a different manner from that in which they appear in real life, and throw into a single moment the expression which is often diffused over many different objects, and spread over a lengthened period of time. It is the study of the great models of ancient art, therefore, which is the great means both of diffusing a taste for such productions among the well informed classes of society, and of pro-, ducing that admiration for their beauty, and taste for their excellencies, which leads to the formation and improvement of the national taste, and through it to the advancement and perfection of art itself. It has often been observed, that a traveller will meet with more real taste and unaffected admiration for the works of art among the inferior class of artizans in Italy, than among the higher classes in this country; and no one can travel for a single week in that country without perceiving the truth of the observation. It is in this universal taste among the Italian people for painting and music that we shall find the cause of the unrivalled perfection to which they have arrived in both these arts; and if we examine the cause of this extraordinary diffusion of taste among the middling classes, we shall find it in the constant exhibition of the works of art in their churches and public galleries. The story of the poor woman at Athens who corrected the Grecian orator for an inaccuracy in his expression is universally known; and Quintilian ascribes to that precision and delicacy in the Athenian taste, their unrivalled excellence in poetry and eloquence. His observation is equally applicable to the Fine Arts; and illustrates in the best manner the influence of the public mind upon the direction of human genius. But it is not merely by purifying and exalting the national taste, and diffusing a love for the works of art, that the exhibition of the models of ancient times is instrumental in promoting the advancement of the Fine Arts. The effect of such an exhibition is not less immediately beneficial upon the Artists themselves. Its first and most obvious effect is to give them the means of studying the most approved models of antiquity; of forming their style of drawing and colouring upon those of the greatest masters who have gone before them, and of inhaling, amidst the study of their works, some parts of the spirit by which they were animated. This is in itself a great and incalculable advantage. But besides this, there is another effect less obvious, indeed, but perhaps hardly less important. This is in the check which it gives to the presumption of modern artists, and the necessity which it imposes upon them of exerting themselves to the utmost, in order to rival the great works of ancient art upon which the public taste is formed. Experience has shown, that of all men, artists, or those who address themselves to the imagination or the taste, are those who are most apt to become vain of their own performances. Such vanity, with reference to the individual, is ludicrous or contemptible; but when considered in relation to the progress of art, its effects are too serious to be overlooked. When an artist becomes vain of his own performances, when he thinks he has got to the summit of his ambition, and that future labour can add nothing to his skill or his reputation, there is an end of his improvement or of the addition which he is to make to the works of human genius. Nothing is more certain, than that to make a great painter requires a life of as great and as incessant labour, as to make a great lawyer or an accomplished statesman; and that the moment when he first begins to relax in his exertions, or to cease to aim at improving his style, is not only the termination of his excellence, but the commencement of his decline. It has too often happened, however, that artists in this country, possessed of real genius, and whose earlier works gave the promise of future excellence, have stopt, as it were, by common consent in their career, and so far from improving in their later productions, have sensibly declined both in the vigour of their designs, and the merit of their execution. This melancholy fact is to be ascribed, no doubt, in a great measure, to the want of that fostering encouragement from the public which is absolutely essential to the advancement of art; but it is to be imputed also, in a certain degree, to the vanity of these artists themselves, who weak ly imagined that they had already attained to perfection, or that the force of their genius could compensate for the want of that unremitting toil which in other pursuits is indispensable to real excellence. They associated with themselves, or with a small circle of friends in clubs or little societies, and despising the rest of the world as incapable of appreciating their performances, combined to praise each other in a manner equally disproportioned to their deserts, and fatal to their future improvement. In literature, poetry, or philosophy, such a ridiculous self-sufficiency on the part of modern authors could not obtain; because the public have their performances in their own hands, and have an opportunity of comparing them with the works of the great men in former times, whose compositions have stood the test, and formed the opinions of ages. A club of literary men or philosophers who should praise themselves and each other, till they relaxed the vigour of exertion, and the desire of improvement among their members, would certainly fail of success; because the rest of the world would form an opinion for itself, and judge of their works by a comparison with the authors of antiquity. But in a country in which the love for the Fine Arts is confined to a narrow circle, and the knowledge of their beauties to a still smaller, it is quite possible for a set of artists and amateurs to set the public opinion at defiance, and to persuade themselves into a belief of their own excellence, in which they never will be followed by any succeeding generation, and which is the surest means of destroying such merits as they in reality pos sess. It is a most important advantage, therefore, of an exhibition of the works of ancient art, that it brings the great works of antiquity at once into collision with the productions of modern artists, and thus both creates in the public a power of judging of their comparative excellence, and stimulates the artists to strenuous exertion to rival those who have gone before them. It is by these means, and by these means only, that modern art can be brought to perfection. It is where the national taste is set upon a high model; and when artists have "tasked themselves high," in order to keep pace with it, that the Fine Arts arrive at their merited perfection. Had not Shakespeare, and Milton, and Virgil, formed the taste of the age, we should never have seen in our times the immortal works of Scott, or Campbell, or Byron arise. It is in the struggle with ancient excellence, and by employing the weapons which it has furnished, that the genius of living artists is brought to maturity. A Scipio never appeared in the Roman armies till they were brought to measure their strength with the arms and with the fortune of Hannibal. It may be mentioned as the last and perhaps the most important effect of such an exhibition, that it tends, by increasing the taste for the Fine Arts among the wealthy classes of the community, to promote the purchase of the works of modern artists. Nothing can be more apparent, than that, without this effect following, all attempts to create a school of painting in this country must be entirely abortive. But experience has shewn that the effect of such an institution is decidedly favourable to the encouragement of living artists. The direction which it gives the public mind towards such objects,-the interest which it occasions in the conversation of fashionable society,-the momentary distinction which it bestows upon the proprietors of fine paintings,-all contribute to create a desire to possess them. Could such a desire, however, be rendered universal, or even general, it is incredible what an encouragement would be given to the Fine Arts, and how great a school of painting would immediately arise amongst us. The quantity of superfluous wealth which is annually devoted to the purchase of articles of mere ornament for the furniture of houses, is very great, probably greater than ever yet was directed to the same objects in any other nation. If a small part of this wealth were to be devoted to the encouragement of the fine arts, it would be amply sufficient to secure their progress, and to lay the foundation of their perfection. If the sums which are annually expended upon a single article of drawing-room furniture, as, for example, upon mirrors, marble chimney-pieces, paper for the walls, or ornamental window-curtains, were devoted to the purchase of statues or 1 paintings, Britain would soon become the greatest school for painting in the world. If, however, it could once be made fashionable to have such ornaments in the furniture of a house, as it is to have fine mirrors, or handsome equipages, the effect would be secure. The institution of such an exhibition as has lately been established in Edinburgh, is more likely than any other circumstance to give such a direction to the public taste. And, when it is considered how great a part of the celebrity of a nation depends upon its excellence in the Fine Arts, how materially it tends to purify and exalt the public feeling; and how much more permanent the superiority which is established on such a basis is, than that which rests on victory, or military renown; it is difficult to imagine any institution whose success is more earnestly to be wished for by every friend to his country. Nor is it to be apprehended that such an institution, by creating an excessive admiration for the works of ancient masters, should occasion an undue partiality for their performances in preference to those of modern times. If the taste for the Fine Arts became at all general, the ancient paintings would become of such va lue, that they would be wholly beyond the reach of ordinary purchasers, who would be compelled to content themselves with the works of living artists. The taste for the Fine Arts, when it is once created, becomes quite insatiable, and creates a demand which requires the perpetual supply of fresh productions. It is mentioned by Gibbon, that, on the sack of Rome by the Goths, upwards of a million of statues existed in that city; and those who have seen what numbers have been discovered in the few places where excavations have been made, will have no difficulty in crediting the statement. Experience has shown, in modern times, that, whenever the admiration for the works of ancient art is the greatest, the demand for modern pictures and statues has been the greatest also. There is no city in which the Grecian sculpture, and the Italian painting, are held in such estimation, or are to be found in such numbers, as in Rome, and there is none where modern artists meet with such permanent encouragement. Such are a few of the advantages which attend the collection of the finest specimens of art, in one great Museum, which is open to public inspection. They are so obvious, and have been felt in so remarkable a manner, in all ages and countries, that institutions of this kind have, at one period or another, been established in every city where the attention of the public has been turned towards the Fine Arts. The Brera of Milan, the Academy of Venice, the Gallery of Florence, the Studio of Naples, the Academy of Bologna, are all institutions of this kind, intended to exhi bit, in a small compass, the greatest works of art, in situations where they are not, as in the Louvre of Paris, and the Vatican at Rome, collected in one splendid museum at the public expence. Wherever they have been established they have been attended with the greatest advantages. In the Brera at Milan, a large edifice is devoted to the works of art, in one division of which the works of the ancient artists are displayed, while in another the productions of the students of the academy are exhibited, and in a third, casts of all the celebrated statues of antiquity are preserved. We understand it is in the contemplation of the directors, if the present institution succeeds, to establish a si`milar institution in this city, and certainly no plan can be devised more likely to be conducive to the advancement of the Fine Arts. There is no country, indeed, where the want of such an establishment has been so severely felt, or in which its existence seems to be so essential to the growth or encouragement of painting as in Great Britain. The habits of country life to which its nobles and principal landed proprietors have long been accustomed, while it has been productive of incalculable benefit to the nation at large, and has, without doubt, been the great cause both of the national virtues and freedom by which it is distinguished, has contributed, in a most important manner, to retard the progress and improvement of art. Proprietors who live always in the country, naturally endeavour to embellish the place of their permanent residence. The pictures which they possess are hung up in their state apartments, and perhaps are not studied by six persons during the whole year. To a few of the immediate friends of their possessors they furnish the highest gratification; but to the nation in general, they are as completely lost as if they were placed in a foreign state. It is in great towns, and in great towns only, that the arts ever have, or ever can flourish. But, from the cause which has been mentioned, the numbers of fine pic tures or statues in our great towns, not even excepting the metropolis, is exceedingly small. To artists who have not travelled into foreign countries, the great works of art are entirely unknown. To the public in general, even the slightest acquaintance with the merits of the different schools of painting is rendered almost impossible. Nothing is more common, accordingly, than to meet with persons possessed of the most cultivated taste in literature or poetry, and who are alive to all the beauties of nature, who yet are utterly ignorant of the object, or the importance of the Fine Arts. This must continue to be the case till great collections of pictures are formed in the metropolis, and the national taste is formed by the continued study of the works of antiquity. But there is no probability that any of our great collections of pictures will ever be removed to Edinburgh from the country seats of their proprietors; and it certainly is not to be wished that our great landed proprietors should come, like the Italian or Spanish noblesse, to spend their time in cities and courts, to the neglect and ruin of their country possessions. This, however, renders it the more essential, that an institution such as the present, which forms a great collection from the accumulated contributions of many different and distant proprietors, should be encouraged by the public, and be enabled to extend its beneficial exertions. Should the time ever arrive when a great institution shall have arisen from the present infant establishment; when all the works of art which the country possesses shall have been suc The case is quite otherwise with the collections on the Continent. The foreign nobles living almost exclusively in great towns, their palaces and galleries are all brought together, and exhibit, at one coup d'oeil, the whole riches which the nation possesses. Whatever may be the moral or political effects of such a style of manDers, it is unquestionably eminently favourable to the progress of art. cessively presented to the public, and an exhibition of paintings by modern masters, and models of the statues of antiquity, shall be connected with the same institution, it may fairly be said that an impulse will be given to the progress of the Fine Arts, which nothing will be able to obstruct. The genius of Scotland may then become as distinguished in painting and sculpture as it now is in poetry, history, and philosophy; and the same nation which has produced a rival to Ariosto, and a successor to Guicciardini, may emulate the genius of Michael Angelo and of Raphael. If such a period shall ever arrive, the world will know how to appreciate the exertions of those patriotic men, who risked their most precious possessions, and lent their valuable time, to the formation of an institution for their country's benefit; and impute to their taste and public spirit, the first step which Scotland has made towards the attainment of excellence in the Fine Arts. We have heard that some of the inferior artists in this city (for our first artists are far above such a weakness) have expressed some disapprobation of the institution, and their doubts of the beneficial effects which it will produce. There cannot be a surer indication that it already has done great benefit, and is in the course of working a salutary change in the public mind. In proportion as true taste and good feeling gain ground, will artists feel the necessity of unceasing efforts to keep pace with the improving taste of the age. The querulous language of such men is like the tears of a child for the discipline which is to lay the foundation of a strenuous and manly character. Among the pictures which are exhibited this season, we decidedly give the preference to the Claude Lorraine. Not but that other pictures may exhibit greater genius, or a truer copy of nature, or a bolder conception; but there is none which shows so fine a mind, or in which the beau ideal is his scene, and in the choice of his coso perfectly represented. In selecting lours and his light, this great painter seems to have aimed at expressing the most enchanting object in nature, the rising of the sun, in a clear morning, and the diffusion of his light over the romantic towers, and wooded hills, and trembling sea of an Italiam |