amateurs-from Royalty downwards to the merchant-have always fostered the arts; not alone encouraging living artists, but coming forward, with alacrity, to possess themselves of really valuable specimens of bygone times, when offered, at intervals, in the market. And the English Government also displays unremitting zeal in the acquisition of works caleulated to encourage the public to interest themselves in the higher excellences of painting. It would be matter of real gratification to feel that these could be exemplified in the performances of modern professors. Let us hope that such will be forthcoming at no distant day.

The very narrow space into which it has been requisite to compress this sketch, precludes the addition of farther remarks suggested by the actual condition of art, and the influence of opinion bearing upon it in this country. I must content myself with saying that if, indeed, "the many" now form the bulk of the purchasing class, and bestow the widest fame upon professors of art, it may safely be added that never were "the many" so well served as now. For every variety of taste, a painter brings the supply; (often, indeed, creating it ;) yet the teeming abundance of artistic talent-diffusing itself, as it does, along countless channels, and offering meritorious and attractive works in all styles,-seems destined, in some degree, to supplant the cultivation of the noble and elevated type. If each period of history bears its characteristic stamp, surely in none has the impress of contemporary feeling and thought been more discernible than in the art, and I must permit myself to add, the literature of fiction, of our own era.

It may be fairly presumed, I think, that the important step taken in a high quarter, within these few years, to improve the means of art education among the people, was owing to

a perception of the ten lenties above but I f so the humble patil solen mitrasy, assistance in Summing a taste for the Higher attributes of art, ani, next, in carrying even into the material products of the wantry some traces of their refiting infine, was in leed, a project Ertated by a Cacering comprehension of the vale of a und elementary soly. The foundation of the South Kensington Mosenm. due in great part to the Prince Consort's agency, my, it is so be boped, operate as a ounterpoise to the causes which for some considerable period would seem to have modifed ani in a measure, vulgarized the character of British Art. That reich for striking effect, both of eclour and expression, für exyskitely High-wrought finish, and for melo-dramatic evaposition, which now pervales the community, may possibly be one day superseded by a preference for offer qualities in painting. Should such a change arrive, we may subtly ascribe much of it to the salutary, the instructive, study of the masterpieces of all kinds and all countries, ancient and modern, which are to be seen in our principal national depositories: accompanied and seconded by the lessens of competent professors under the direction of the managers of the Kensington Museum, working in harmony with the great echools of the Royal Academy.

The Sailor Boy.

66

E rose at dawn and flushed with hope
Shot o'er the seething harbour-bar,
And reached the ship and caught the rope,
And whistled to the morning star.
And while on deck he whistled loud

He heard a fierce mermaiden cry,

Boy, though thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie. The sands and yeasty surges mix

In caves about the dreary bay;

And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,

And in thy heart the scrawl shall play!"

"Fool!" he answer'd, "Death is sure

To those that stay and those that roam:

But I will never more endure

To sit with empty hands at home.

My mother clings about my neck,

My sisters clamour, Stay, for shame!'

My father raves of death and wreck,

They are all to blame, they are all to blame. God help me! save I take my part

Of danger on the roaring sea,

A Devil rises in my heart,

Far worse than any death to me."

ALFRED TENNYSON.

Mountains.

MOUNTAINS! inaccessible, nigh Heaven,
We gaze in wonder,

Hearing your deep mysterious answers given
To God's voice, Thunder.

Ye seem to hold communion with the Immortal:
First on your summit,

The fiery steeds, let loose from Heaven's portal,
Strive to o'ercome it.

And while in impotent wrath they split the pine roots,
And downwards hunt them,

Tearing up valleys where the tender vine shoots ;-
Unmoved, ye front them.

Unmoved, regard the tongue of fire that splinters
Forests beneath ye;

Your crowns, impearled with snow of countless winters,
Still proudly wreathe ye.