shadow which wanders down the bank at its own free will, with no substance whatever to account for it-an independent, strong-minded shadow, living on a separate main tenance, and bidding defiance to all laws of optics? And above all, will he tell us whether his experience of alpine bridges is that it is common to find black curtains suspended from them? or if not, how it happens that the eye of the spectator, which wanders freely into distance over the bridge, is denied the satisfaction of seeing anything whatever under it, where in nature either the opposite side of the ravine, clothed in its lovely garment of heather, fern, or moss, or a landscape of some sort near or distant, must have presented itself, instead of the triangular black patch with which he has filled up the space?

It is impossible to comprehend to their full extent the absurdities comprised in this sketch without careful examination of the cut itself; but they are so obvious, that any eye with the slightest practice will detect them at once; and it is marvellous how any one who has seen so many drawings as Mr Ruskin must have done, should be capable of putting such a design upon paper without being startled and shocked at his own performance. It adds one to the many instances which prove how volubly a man may talk, and how many cubic feet of paper he may cover with ink, upon a subject of the very rudiments of which he may remain to the last profoundly ignorant.

We shall content ourselves with these two examples of the success with which Mr Ruskin, when he has trusted himself with the pencil, has shown his contempt for perspective and optics, and shall proceed to examine an instance of equal daring in the use of the pen. In the first volume of Modern Painters, Mr Ruskin lays down the law upon the subject of the effect of shadow on water in the following words :

shadow; and when it has itself a positive colour, as in the sea, it will take something like shadows in the distant effect, The horizonbut never near.

tal lines cast by clouds on the sea are not shadows, but reflections."

Then follows Mr Ruskin's usual assertion

"These rules are universal and incontrovertible."*

It is difficult to say whether this passage betrays more ignorance of fact, confidence of assertion, or confusion of language. Mr Ruskin appears not to know what shadow is. Wherever the rays of the sun are intercepted by an opaque substance, all objects beyond that substance would be in total darkness, were it not that they become partially illuminated by means of the rays reflected upon them by other surrounding objects. Shadow, therefore, is simply a

deprivation of the direct rays of the sun; and to assert that water receives no shadow, is either an absurdity or a confusion of terms. If a cloud, a rock, or the hull of a ship, is interposed between the sun and the surface of the water, the water receives the shadow; or, to speak with more accuracy, it does not receive the direct rays of the sun. Now let us examine what effect is produced upon the eye of the spectator by this deprivation of light on the surface of the water. If the water were as transparent as the air on its surface, the eye would be unconscious of its existence-the ray of light which defines the edge of the shadow would pass through the water as it passes through the air, and the shadow of the object would be seen at the bottom, in the same way (allowance being made for refraction) as if there were no water at all.

Such absolute transparency is, however, never found in nature. There is always practically some shadow on the surface of the water, the degree of intensity of that shadow being dependent on several circumstances, but mainly on the degree of transparency of the water. The reader may test this for himself by a very simple experiment. Let him take a

wash hand basin, half-filled with clear water, and place it in bright sunshine; then let him hold a pencil or brush so that the shadow shall fall partly on the side of the basin above the water, and partly on the water, he will see the shadow on the bottom of the basin refracted at the point where it impinges on the water; but he will not be able to detect any perceptible shadow on the surface of the water. Then let him darken the water with a little sepia; he will now see at the edge of the water two shadows, one on the surface of the water and the other on the basin, seen imperfectly through the semi-transparent water. As these shadows approach the centre of the basin where the water is deeper, he will find the one on the basin gradually disappear, and the one on the surface of the water become deeper and more distinct.

What Mr Ruskin means by saying that the water of the sea has itself a positive colour," and that, therefore, it will take something like shadows," but which we suppose are not shadows, it is utterly impossible to say. The nearest approach to absolute transparency that we have ever seen in water, is in deep sea. Mr Ruskin's notions of the positive colour of sea-water may perhaps be taken from Brighton, where the sea generally looks as if Neptune had been shaving himself, and had thrown the soap-suds into it.

To any one who watches with care the ever-varying appearance of the ocean, or of any large body of water under the influence of sunlight, clouds, and wind, it will at once be apparent that the effects which delight his eye are produced by the action of shadow falling on the constantly-changing surface, combined with the reflection of the forms of objects more or less disturbed by the irregularities of that surface. He will easily discern how much is due to one cause, and how much to the other, by keeping in mind that the reflection of any object must always be in a direct line between that object and his own eye, whilst the position of the shadow cast by the same object depends altogether upon its position in relation to the sun. Thus

the shadow cast by a cloud falls upon that part of the sea between which and the sun the cloud is interposed, whilst the reflection of the same cloud is upon that part of the sea which appears to the eye to be in a direct line below the cloud. So, too, in regard to the effect of ripple upon the water; the side of each tiny wave which is presented towards the sun is in light, whilst the opposite side is in shadow. The same is true of all waves. It must, however, be always borne in mind that the appearance presented to the eye by water depends greatly upon the angle at which it is seen, and also that, owing to its highly polished surface, it sends back, even in its shaded part, a far greater portion of the reflected light which it derives from the atmosphere and from surrounding objects than land does, and these circumstances produce an infinite variety of effects.

Be

We have said enough to put the student upon his guard against supposing that he can derive any benefit from the teachings of Mr Ruskin. When he has acquired some knowledge and proficiency in his art, he may, if he likes, read Mr Ruskin's book to see what ought not to be taught. The rule of contrary_is almost a safe one in this case. fore we quit this part of the subject, however, we must give the student a few words of advice as to what he safely may do, keeping in mind that we are addressing ourselves to those who follow art not as a professional study, but as a means of useful and delightful self-instruction. To acquire accuracy of eye and correctness of hand, he cannot do better than copy carefully, first in pencil and afterwards in pen and ink, Retsch's outlines, illustrative of "Faust," "The Song of the Bell," and "The Fight with the Dragon." The illustrations of Shakespeare's Plays are very inferior. This practice will teach him accuracy and delicacy of execution. He should draw the hands, feet, and faces with extreme care, which will prepare him for afterwards drawing from the round, or from the living model. Pinelli's etchings are also excellent practice. He should study, and, when more advanced,

may, with great advantage, copy the facsimile engravings from the sketches of the old masters by Bartolozzi and others. Here, however, he must be upon his guard, as these etchings are full of the "pentimenti" or corrections of the artist; things invaluable, as showing how great men worked, and how sedulously they corrected any errors into which they might happen to fall, but not to be imitated. The student may rely upon it that he will make abundance of mistakes of his own without copying those of other men. In landscape, he will be fortunate if he can procure a copy of David Coxe's Young Artist's Companion, and wise if he will work diligently through it. Failing this, Harding's Elementary Art is a safe and useful guide. Let him study woodcuts, but not copy any except such as have been drawn expressly for that purpose. The reason for this advice is, that the process of woodcutting is precisely the reverse of that of drawing with the pencil or pen. In woodcutting, the stroke of the graver produces a white, in drawing, the pencil, in etching or engraving, the needle or graver, produces a dark stroke. This reversal of the process renders the woodcut, which has its own peculiar advantages in the rendering of sparkling effects (especially observable in the exquisite works of Bewick, and also in the cuts from Mr Birket Foster's designs), unfit for a student to copy. If possible, copy drawings, not lithographs. In the lithograph the action of the hand is unavoidably reversed; and the best way of copying them, therefore, is to place them before a glass and to copy the reflection. Always remember that the eye requires more education than the hand: and that the most important knowledge to be acquired is to know accurately what you see. To one who does not pursue art as a profession, this is the principal advantage of practising it. Even a moderate proficiency is almost equivalent to a new sense; and a man who does not draw may almost be said not to see. The student will soon feel that he hardly sees any object thoroughly until he has drawn it, or at least looked at it with the view of doing

so. Do not meddle with colour until you have acquired some facility in representing form accurately. Seize every opportunity of seeing and carefully examining the sketches and studies of first-rate artists-of men who can draw. Whatever Mr Ruskin may say to the contrary, you will be fortunate if you are able to possess yourself of the works which he directs you to throw into the fire-the works of the great line-engravers! It is the only way in which a familiarity with the greatest works of art can be acquired by the vast majority of people. A journey to Rome or Florence, or even to Paris or Antwerp, is not possible to all men; and even when possible, it is but a very small portion of a man's life that he can afford to spend in picture-galleries. But the engraving may be always with us. It is a household friend; an armchair-and-slipper companion. We go to it from the turmoils, disappointments, and vexations of life, sure of a welcome. We have at this moment lying on the table beside us, Doo's admirable engraving from Etty's great picture of "The Combat; Woman interceding for the Vanquished." What glorious images crowd on our brain as we gaze upon it! Let us enter the portals of that temple where the original is enshrined -our own National Gallery of Scotland. What associations of genius and heroism greet us on the very threshold!

There the matchless beauty which inspired Reynolds, Hopner, and Romney-which speeded Nelson to victory, and shared his thoughts with his ungrateful country in the hour of his crowning glory and death-still glows on the canvass of Lawrence. That lithe agile boy, who stands ready to vault into his saddle, is one whose

"Lion port and awe-commanding face," in days when genius had shed its full effulgence on his brow, and linked the name of Wilson in kindred immortality with those of Burns and Scott, was again stamped in undying colours by the pencil of Watson Gordon. There Gainsborough tells us how lovely, in all the charm of perfect womanhood, was the earthly form of her whose spirit hovered over Graham on the

bloody field of Barossa; and here, surrounded by noble works of Tintoretto, Vandyke, and Velasquez, by the sweet fancies of Noel Paton and the glens and moors in which Thomson of Duddingston delighted, stand five grand pictures by Etty. In three of them he tells how Judith, the daughter of Merari, clothed in holiness and chastity, went forth to deliver the people of God from the might of Holofernes, the general of the Assyrians; how she put from her the garments of widowhood, and put on her the garments of joy; how she anointed her face with ointment, and tied together her locks with a crown; how her sandals ravished his eyes, and her beauty made his soul captive; how the Lord struck him by the hand of a woman, and the angel of the Lord kept her both going and abiding, and did not suffer his handmaid to be defiled, but called her back unpolluted to the people she had saved. Next he tells how Benaiah, the son of Jehoiada, who killed the lion in the pit on a snowy day, and plucked the spear that was like a weaver's beam out of the hand of the Egyptian, slew two lion-like men of Moab. And last, greatest and most lovely of his works, he shows how Mercy, clothed in the garb of the most perfect work of God, arrests the uplifted arm of the victor, and tells him that vengeance is not his. Mr Ruskin has looked at these pictures, but he has not seen them; he has gazed upon them with an eye insensible to woman, and a heart that has no sympathy with man. He tells us that Etty is "gone to the grave, a lost mind!" Let the blasphemer quicken his steps, and hurry stealthily past the tabernacle of Holofernes, lest the flashing sword of Judith should fall upon his head! A "lost mind" indeed! Let the student of art read diligently the story of that mind. Let him note the patience, the courage, the undaunted determination with which, through poverty, neglect, obscurity, and disease, Etty worked his way to fame; then let him listen to the tales that are told by men now great in art of how the kind word, the wise advice, the generous encouragement, which he had never received,

fell from his lips amongst the youths with whom he sat labouring in age at the task he had loved with a lifelong constancy.

But we must tear ourselves away from these associations, with all that is lovely, and all that is noble, to go back to Mr Ruskin and his book.

We have still a heavy task before us, and one which our limits will by no means permit us to do full justice to. Not content with art, Mr Ruskin extends his teaching to History, Religion, Metaphysics, Political Economy, and about every cognate and correlative branch of study. His views on most of these subjects, when they happen to be intelligible (which is not always the case), have at least the charm of novelty. We can, however, only notice one or two salient points which appear to us, to adopt Mr Ruskin's language, to be " very precious."

The history of the world, according to Mr Ruskin, is to be divided into three great periods: the Classical, extending to the fall of the Roman Empire; the Medieval, extending from that fall to the close of the fifteenth century; and the Modern, thenceforward to our own days.

The first was the age of pagan faith, when men believed in the gods of their country, such as they were; the second was the age that confessed Christ; and the third (our own wicked days, and our own wicked selves inclusive) is the age that denies Christ. Of course we need not say that the second age, which culminated in burning John Huss as a heretic, and Joan of Arc as a witch, is the age which, according to Mr Ruskin, has comprised all the little virtue ever to be found in the world. The change to "Modernism," which took place just at the time of the Reformation, when, under the teachings of the leaders of that fatal movement, we began to "deny Christ," was a change from better to worse, a change backwards from the butterfly to the grub; or, as Mr Ruskin rather irreverently expresses it, "like Adam's new arrangement of his nature."

The great and fatal act which inaugurated the opening of this un