write, nor lecture us into a sense of Art; but your brush or chisel may win, when the best pen and most eloquent tongue can avail nothing. In illustration of this, how many a traveller from this western world, who, at home, listened incredulously to high-wrought descriptions of the great masters, has, in one hour spent between the Transfiguration and the Communion of St. Jerome, felt within him the birth of a passion for Art, lasting as life? But then again how very few, except the learned artist, practised critic, or observant anatomist, can enter at once into the merits of Michel Angelo? They may have studied the hundred volumes which have been written upon his works and genius; they may have conned by heart Sir Joshua Reynolds' lectures, and prepared themselves to exclaim, as the doors of the Sistine opened before them, "Michel piu che mortel! but if any home-returned tourists, garrulous of foreign wonders and themselves, pretend that they fell into ecstacies on their first visit to the chapel, we need scarcely doubt that "They talk of beauties which they never saw, We are willing to believe Michel Angelo the first of Artists, because that rank is given him by those who are the best judges, and perhaps, in time, we might be educated into an appreciation of his greatness; yet, until then, it is a matter of faith. But when critics tell us of the mild glories of Raffaelle, sublime in his serenity, or of Domenichino's touching truth, making the beholder tremulous with sympathy, we yield a ready assent, because we can feel them. Gentlemen, you must make us feel Art, and afterwards we shall be glad to hear from you homilies upon taste. One good Artist sows the seed of a liberal harvest for many successors, not only by the encouragement of his example, but by the excitement which his works give to the public appetite for the pleasures of Art. Collections, such as you exhibit each season, made up from your various departments and styles, and thus addressed to our various taste and capacity to enjoy, must, as indeed experience has shown, call forth the latent love of many an eye and mind for beauty of form, colour, and composition. Some scene of quiet nature, with its bending trees mingling their shadows in the placid waters; or gorgeous landscape of rich autumnal hues, such as visit no land but ours; or sea piece, where the struggling vessel heaves and tosses on waves which foam around her, as the brush of Birch can give them action, will excite a desire that other spots, endeared by tender associations; or remembered view, which we lingered long to gaze upon and sighed to leave; or thrilling incident of former adventure might be present, by the magic of your art, when the reality is far distant, or long since past. The marble, which, to an unpractised eye seems cold and inexpressive, from its polished pureness and classic severity, when wrought into the form and features of the great we revere, or the faithful we have cherished, will soon assert its power to give superior dignity, or spiritual tenderness, to memorials of virtue, loveliness, and truth. If the portrait of one dear friend speak to us from the canvass, how natural is the wish that graphic images of all who form the circle of affection should remain, when the grave shall have hidden their decaying dust? Filial piety will entreat you to trace the venerable countenance of the parent whose race is nearly run; the mother, to secure her a longer enjoyment of her child's infantile graces; and the husband and father, to combine for him in loving group his pleasing wife and circling offspring. Fed by such grateful indulgence, may we not hope that a growing taste and liberality will learn to appreciate the noble talent of Epic composition? Then, instead of being content with hanging upon his walls mere family likenesses, which, however gratifying they may be to affection, the painter's skill can rarely invest with grace or dignity, the lover of his country and of virtue will seek to impress his own, and the young minds of his household, with scenes of American glory, and the attractive teachings of pic tured morals; admiring citizens will combine their gratitude, and place high upon pedestals of honour statues of our heroes and sages, inviting posterity to unite with them in doing homage to public virtue, and in learning lessons of patriotic devotion; and legislatures, representing a generous public spirit, warrant the employment of genius in giving majesty to halls of office, and elegance to resorts of the people. It is melancholy to think of the talent which now lies dormant among yourselves, gentlemen, for want of encouragement; and to see in your annual catalogues such a repetition of "Portrait of a Lady;" "Portrait of a Gentleman;" when we know that some, at least, of the pencils which produced them are capable of far higher achievement. But in a country like ours, where there are no princely houses and few large fortunes, you cannot hope for great advances in the public feeling of Art, but by reaching the people generally. In the present state of political controversy (and there is little prospect of a speedy amendment) the expenditure of public money upon works of Art would expose the best administration to defeat from the virulent assaults and impeachments of opposing partisans, many of whom know better, but are willing to use any methods, however mean, of political advancement. The people would be persuaded by their sophistries, that nothing should receive the public patronage, but that which is imme diately and palpably useful; and that, contrary to the suffrage of all history, the Arts, which refine and beautify, are unworthy the regard of simple republicans. This prejudice, so fostered, can only be met among the people themselves, by a wide diffusion of Art in its cheaper forms. It might, with truth, be affirmed that the same statues which were the admiration of Athenian democrats, or now delight the houseless lazaroni of Naples, could not stand in our public squares without mutilation until to-morrow morning. There is brutality enough among us to count it a good joke to knock off the nose of the Medicean Venus, or decapitate the Antinous. Yet the love of Art is indigenous to no particular soil; nor is it inherently confined to any particular race. The child's pleasure in his picture-book, and the crowds which gather before the print-shop window, prove that there is an innate taste, which needs but to be cultivated to acquire force in any land. It is the habit of contemplating works of Art which, in the course of years, forms the public taste for Art. The decorations and symmetry of their public temples, and their public memorials of heroic deeds and ancestral glory, taught the Greeks to identify encouragement of Art with religion and love of country. Italy, before Grecian genius shone upon Etruria, was barbarous and blind; and the Roman, as he first appeared, was only stern and warlike. Even in the time of Augustus we read of no successful native Artist, B |