ate, contributor to these columns; always ready to aid, he was far from urging us to the adoption of opinions with which our own did not coincide, or to the propagation even of such special views as he was most zealously interested about.

"But even in the accomplishment of so vast an amount of work of the brain and the pen, Mr Combe was by no means chained to the desk as a mere scholarly recluse. He was a man of the world, recognising and discharging, as became their importance, the duties of society and citizenship; he was also a lecturer and a traveller. It was in his vocation for diffusing the principles of his favourite science by oral teaching that his journey to America originated. He spent nearly three years in the United States, lecturing in many of their chief towns and cities, and studying their manners and institutions. In his Notes on the United States' he eagerly ac knowledged and almost enthusiastically admired the many admirable qualities of that great people, but to their weaknesses and failings eyes so clear and penetrating as his could not of course be blind; and, while he praises, he censures with not less candour and force of phrase. Mr Combe indeed contemplated lecturing on Phrenology in Germany, and with that view, during a residence in Mannheim in the winter of 1841-2, made such exertions to acquire a thorough mastery of the German language as seriously affected his health, and brought on an illness that induced the abandonment of the attempt. It is thoroughly significant of the ardour and perseverance of his character to find him thus, at upwards of fifty years of age, labouring so to perfect his knowledge of a foreign tongue as to enable him to address, in their own language, a people so cultivated and critical as the Germans, on a system originally and peculiarly their own. But whatever Mr Combe did he did with all his might, pausing only when considerations of duty to himself, as well as to his friends, forbade too continuous and prolonged labour. He did deliver one course of lectures in German at Heidelberg; and though, from the cause referred to, therefore, Mr Combe's journeys and residence on the Continent were not, generally speaking, immediately devoted to the spread of his philosophy, the knowledge he acquired of the leaders and of the course of opinion throughout Europe was of much value, and was always turned to good account. His mind was always open to new impressions; he was to the last an eager inquirer and an apt scholar; he picked up information by the wayside, and gathered rich harvests of knowledge from fields that ill-prepared traversers might have pronounced barren from Dan to Beersheba. Thus even in the quiet summer tours in the country of the Rhine, in Switzerland, or in France, which of late years he took mainly with a view to the preservation of his always more or less delicate health, he kept himself alive to, and noted with pleasure, every indication of progress, agricultural, commercial, or social.

"Mr Combe married in 1833; his wife, a daughter of the great Mrs Siddons, survives to mourn the utterly irreparable loss of her twenty-five years' companion. It is not for us here to intrude on the sacred privacy of an irreproachable and singularly happy domestic life; the widow has the sincerest sympathy of all who have known the wife; and it is only those who knew our departed friend with familiar intimacy who could guess the depth and warmth of the social affections that glowed beneath that always placid, almost cold, exterior. By all his relations Mr Combe was loved as he was revered; he was the affectionate councillor and unassuming benefactor of a circle that loses in him its centre and chief bond of union. The humblest member amongst those who claimed kindred with him was never overlooked by a man who was honoured-in his latter years, at least-with flattering attentions from many high in social, no less than in literary rank, and whose multiform occupations alone might have passed as excuse for forgetfulness

6

or neglect. In friendship Mr Combe was attached, sincere, and, if occasion required, zealous, in no ordinary degree. Yet he was as considerate as he was earnest in his service; his attentions were as delicate as they were estimable. He spared no exertion to benefit those he loved; he was limited in his efforts in their behalf only by those honourable considerations of which the neglect leads to officiousness or jobbery. He was thus careful never to allow a private friendship to become a public mischief.' Without any of the offensiveness of patronage, he joyfully recognised and encouraged youthful talent of every kind, and respected and admired ability in every department of intellectual exertion. Hence, as we have already said, the hospitality he so widely and liberally exercised was catholic as it was cordial; the social meetings under his roof were no mere gatherings of a little clique or coterie -they took in the entire range which the society of Edinburgh affords, supplemented, as our society is from time to time, from many wide and varied regions.

"The great rule of Mr Combe's life may be said to have been a sense of DUTY, in the highest and widest acceptance of the word. He was, in his own sphere, as conscientious a worker, we might almost say worshipper, under the sway of that stern and beneficent genius as Wellington was in his generally very different, but in this respect, at least, similar career. Every act was one of principle, every duty truly a religious duty. It is yet premature, nor is this perhaps the place, to attempt to estimate the influence that his life so ruled, and his labours so directed, will ultimately exercise on his fellow-men. He laboured always for their material, moral, intellectual, and -we make bold even to add-for their religious welfare and advancement; it was one of the blessings he enjoyed towards the close of a career not destitute of serious discouragements and difficulties, any more than it was ultimately of honours and rewards, that he saw his work prospering under his hand, and could point, with becoming and worthy pride and satisfaction, to the manifold increase of the good seed which in earlier days he had gone forth to sow, supported only by his own strong love of truth. Indeed, it may be questioned whether, in his later writings, Mr Combe fully appreciated the extent of that ripening of public opinion to which he had himself so largely contributed, for with distrust natural to every earnest mind, he sometimes reiterated principles after they had found almost universal acceptance. This was, in fact, a sort of evidence of the modesty of his nature; he was greater than he knew;' had done more than he gave himself credit for, had exercised a wider, deeper, fuller influence than he could well believe. And however mistaken or extreme some of his views may be, few will now question that that influence was mainly for good; or that when temporary jealousies are forgotten, and when his errors of opinion can be calmly weighed and rejected by a public uninflamed by the ecclesiastical and other controversies of his own day, the name of GEORGE COMBE will maintain an honoured and unquestioned place in the still too scanty yet increasingly illustrious roll of benefactors of the human race."

In conclusion, while we heartily concur in the well merited encomium on Mr Combe by his friend Mr M'Laren, we would add our own tribute of respect to his memory, by simply mentioning a characteristic which distinguishes him from almost every other living English writer. We refer to the simplicity, clearness, and vigour of his thoroughly Saxon style. It is impossible for any one to rise from the perusal of any of his works with confused ideas as to the author's meaning. They are so plain, simple, and forcible, that the views suggested remain indelibly impressed upon the mind, and being

thoroughly practical in their tendencies, form ever after a guide to his reader's practical reason. His brother, Dr Andrew Combe, evinced great clearness in his popular medical treatises, but Mr George Combe in this even excelled him; and had he done nothing else but shewn the importance of clearness and force of expression as an English writer, he would have deserved the hearty approbation of mankind.

OUR SCOTTISH ARTISTS.

No. I. THE WORKS OF J. NOEL PATON.

VERY recently we have heard more than enough about Vindication of Scottish Rights. As for the position or deposition of the Unicorn and the Scottish Lion, we leave that to the heraldic enthusiasts. Regarding the allegation, that Scotchmen are neglected in offices of State, we believe that little is to be gained by collective abuse, for only individual cases can be searchingly dealt with. Considerable acrimony has been displayed on the north side of the Tweed, excited by the constancy of insult with which Scotch affairs are mentioned in London fugitive literature. Complaints arise because of the attempts by Journalists to maintain a laugh at the sister kingdom; their malicious insinuations of meanness and incompetency, of bigoted sectarianism, of illiberality in all classes, as being customary in Scotland, are also naturally resented. We believe the best answer to all this sweeping falsehood is not counter-abuse, but quiet indifference. When special charges are wrongly made by writers of talent and position, let them meet refutation from whosoever is competent for the task; but the insolent remarks by nameless scribblers are as undeserving of notice as the licentious ribaldry of Punch. Scotland can afford to treat these with silent contempt. Instead of vaunting our own land or depreciating others, let us prize the men of genius and courage, who have been the actual disprovers of such slanders, by their lives of usefulness. The memory of such men as Walter Scott, Burns, and Wilson, is the best answer to attacks on our literature; and the works of David Scott, Raeburn, Wilkie, Duncan, and William Allan, are the vindication of Scottish art. In science, medicine, and other departments of learning, we have no cause to blush for the land that produced James Watt, Hunter, and old Buchanan. The healthy agriculture that has converted our barren moorlands, swamps, and bleak mountain-sides, to luxuriant pasturage and corn-fields, requires no attestation here; whilst the faithful portraiture of rustic life in our national poet's "Cotter's Saturday Night," is sufficient testimony to the unobtrusive domestic piety. In some commercial and banking matters, it is true, we have deserved grave censure; but we are unaware that we have acted in or degree worse than our brethren of the South, and of America. We

believe that in no department has Scotland of late been inferior to that rival kingdom, which ought to have been her friend and sympathiser, instead of her calumniator.*

We propose a consideration of the recent works which have attained celebrity for Joseph Noel Paton, whose genius is equally recognised amongst his English and Scottish brethren. We may, hereafter, review the labours of George Harvey, Robert Scott Lauder, and others of our greatest living painters. We need not fear but that they will hold their place beyond the walls of their own Academy.

In 1845, Noel Paton's largest design, "THE SPIRIT OF RELIGION," secured the approbation of the best judges at the Westminster Cartoon Competition, and obtained a prize of a thousand guineas. Vigour, correctness, and beauty were in these life-sized figures, which represented Man withstanding the temptations of the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. James Hunt, Esq. of Pittencrieff, purchased and presented it to the city of Dunfermline. It has been lithographed.

Noel Paton's popular triumph was won in 1846-7 by his picture of "OBERON AND TITANIA,-the Reconciliation," speedily followed by its companion representing their "Quarrel." The display of inexhaustible fancy, of graceful groupings and minutest labour, was hailed as a novelty. Noel Paton came modestly and industriously, was untrumpeted and uninflated, and by the loveliness and purity of his imagination secured many hearts. His advance was rapid. The crudity of the "Reconciliation," was followed in his "Quarrel" by a mellower tone, whilst a dreamy haze of phosphorescent light pervaded his enchanted forest. The groups of fairies were not only generally lovelier, but had a deeper significance; the mythical dreams of various lands were impersonated, and many a separate tale was enwoven in the general view of Fairydom; so that, wherever the eye penetrated, the mind found suggestions for abstruse meditations. Yet the visionary spell remained unbroken; the capricious feud between the sovereigns was still the central idea, and the whirl of incidental details duly subordinated in this Midsummer Night's Dream. The pictures remain ornaments of our New National Galleries.

So the years went on, sometimes producing a highly finished gem of art illustrative of Dante or Keats, such as the "DEATH OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA," or "The Escape on the EVE OF ST AGNES," (purchased we believe by John Mood, Esq. of Rosehall), the delicate fancy of "EGLE," or the outline illustrations of Spenser's "Faëry

* Even in the question of consumption of spirits, the supposititious national drunkenness, with which ignorance and conceit have taunted " Scotland, our auld respeckit mither," we fearlessly assert that the charges have been grossly exaggerated; thanks, principally to the unblushing falsehoods of the Maine Liquor Law fanatics, and the Total Abstainers. We do regret the widelyspread demoralization which intoxicating habits have caused in our large cities; but we are certain that an increase of the evil has been caused by the persecuting coercion which has driven so many thousands of human beings to desperation, after their social reputation had been libellously blasted for an early failing.

VOL. XXVI.

L

Queen," and Goethe's "Faust.' The "Triumph of Pleasure" gave evidence of noblest powers. Instead of fancy, imagination began to prevail. His loveliest work, in point of time, that evinced this, was the "DANTE meditating the episode of Fransesca da Rimini." The austere Tuscan poet was represented sitting at evening, with drooping head and quiet melancholy, the shadowy forms of the lovers flitting across the sky above. Soul-touching was the sweetness of this picture, affecting as the mournful episode of the Commedia to which it refers. Loneliness and thoughtful grandeur also characterized the figure of "MICHAEL ANGELO musing on the last Judgment," an inferior companion-work. "BEATRICE AND DANTE," his latest return to the mighty Florentine Poet, was exhibited in 1854, along with his "Dead Lady. The public had learnt to expect great works from him by each success, and his former self was brought before him as a stimulator to advance, but also as a rival when he adventured fresh fields of study. Ideality and elegance were in all his works, and the outline drawing of "VANITY FAIR," in 1855, was a marvellous specimen of intricacy and beauty. It held a witchery of entanglement, so that the eye was led onward, as if in a mazy dance, ever unresting, yet delighted with the gracefully dispersing figures. After the gambols of fairyland he had become intensified in allegory, and was approaching greater power and reality with every year.

When we recal to memory the many beautiful works which Noel Paton has produced, and find that in almost all of them he has chosen she sweet hour of twilight, we are guided to the secret of his power over our hearts, and to the bias of his nature. No other one amongst our Scottish artists has so thoroughly revealed the dreamy loveliness of what in our northern speech we call the gloaming; when the air seems filled with a stillness that is more musical than song, and the gathering darkness enfolds a mystic glow that reveals holier beauties than the daylight could display; when the earth appears almost a living thing, breathing a hymn of adoration, and the heavens above seem wooing us to their serene depths, far, far away from all those cares and struggles that had bound us captive. The hour when we pause and listen to the whispers of our own soul, and yearn for purer joy and freedom, with tearful eyes fixed on the one star that waits for us, shedding its mild and melancholy beams, as if in pity for the agonies and sin that have defaced the world. All is hushed and solemn; not like the dull torpor of midnight, but tremulous with imagined messages and visions, so mystically interwoven that the separate functions of sight and hearing almost lose distinction, and become inextricably blended. We are no longer imprisoned in this fragile body, for our spirit is drawn upward to the skies, away past all those filmy streaks of cloud, into the pure expanse; away across the distant streams that lie thus motionless and lit by lurid light, as if from some internal source of brilliancy; over the purpled hills, the darkening fields or moorlands pulsing with strange vapoury exhalations that lend fantastic unreality to familiar objects; away into a dreamland, haunted only by the perfect holiness and beauty that feel