Those who are accustomed to lament that the battle of Waterloo ever took place, either forget, or do not attach a proper value to the fact, that it caused to be dispersed all over the civilized world, those miracles of art which were collected within the walls of the Louvre : and if it did no other good but this, it was worth all that it cost. It is not in human nature duly to appreciate that which it obtains with ease, or can have by asking for; or that which it cannot help seeing if it would. This is one reason why the French artists and critics have not made one progressive step in art, during the last five-andtwenty years. Not that they did not sufficiently admire the works of the old masters that were collected in the Louvre; for they thought many of them nearly equal to their own David's! They admired, without being able to appreciate them. Another reason for this, and one which makes the French artists and critics more excusable, is that, in point of fact, beauty, of whatever kind it may be, does in a great degree counteract itself, when it is present in several different objects in nearly the same degree of perfection. As two perfect negatives in our language destroy the effect of each other, so do two perfect beauties. Two such sights within the same hour as the Venus de' Medici and the Transfiguration, is what " no mortal can bear," to any good effect: not because their influence is too much, but because it is none at all. They kill each other, like ill-assorted colours. And this is not a matter of taste, of habit, or even of feeling -as far as consciousness is concerned ; it is a matter of nature, and therefore of necessity. True lovers of nature love the sun, the moon, and the stars, each with a perfect love. But if all were to appear together, they could love neither, except as a part of the whole. And thus it was with the Louvre. As a convocation of all beauty and power in art, it was duly appreciated, even by the French. It was adequately admired as The LOUVRE. But in this general admiration, all detail was merged and lost ; and of consequence, all the effect of detail was lost too; for it is not galleries that make artists but pictures. Individual efforts alone can produce individual effortslike can alone engender like. Great national collections of pictures may produce good on the same principle--by engendering their like, and thus collaterally aiding high art, by giving it that encouragement without which it cannot extend itself and flourish. But it is greatly to be feared that, even in this point of view, they are, upon the whole, mischievous, rather than beneficial; since they are more calculated to diffuse than concentrate the efforts which they may call forth, and thus lose in quality more than they gain in quantity. It is to private collections alone that the lover of art should, perhaps, look for the true encouragement which art needs, and without which it cannot support its due claims to the attention and admiration of mankind : and these can never, like the late collectiou at the Louvre, counteract their natural and proper effect by growing to an inordinate and unnatural size, and, (like Aaron's rod, swallowing up all the rest.' British Galleries. We cannot attempt to enter minutely into the variousand interesting details connected with the different import ation Vol. XXIII. N.S. 2 B that have enriched our native land with a large proportion of the most illustrious productions of European art; but we bave put at the head of this article, the titles of three works which will give ample information on this head. Mr. Buchanan is any thing but a fine writer, but he narrates with precision, and criticises, generally, with judgement. The great value of his . work consists, however, in the information it contains, and this is not only valuable in itself, but diligently collected, and sufficiently well arranged. Of the two small volumes which stand next in order, the first is by far the best. The first great event in the modern history of Art, in connexion with England, was decidedly the transfer from Paris to London, of the magnificent Orleans collection. Philippe Egalité, let him be ever remembered by the name of his choicewas compelled, by the expensiveness of his debaucheries and intrigues, to alienate the treasures of his splendid gallery, and they ultimately found their way to this country. The portion which comprised the Italian and French schools, was bought by the Earl of Carlisle, the Marquis of Stafford, and the late Duke of Bridgewater; and the paintings which were not reserved by the proprietors, were sold, part by private contract, and theremainder by public sale. The speculation was a most gainful one, since the purchasers obtained a noble collection of pictures gratuitously, the part sold covering the value of those which were retained. This enterprise was followed by the importation and sale of the Calonne, Trumbull, Bryan, and other collections of great value and interest; and the effect of these successive dispersions has been to enrich, to an extent unequalled in any other country, excepting perhaps Italy, the private collections of English gentlemen. The most interesting part of Mr. Buchanan's volumes is, in our preference at least, that which relates to the agencies of Messrs. Irvine and Wallis, who were respectively employed by Mr. B. to purchase, on his account, in Italy and Spain. They seem to have been men of superior ability; and if they had been freely supplied with money, would have made a glorious spoil: —as it was, they did wonders. Mr. Wallis, who visited Spain at a critical period, was, at times, in much personal danger. Under date of Madrid, August, 5, 1808, he writes, • Two days past, in going to examine a fine picture of Rubens in Madrid, I met the populace armed, dragging the naked body of the president of the Havanna, with a cord round his neck, crying, Death to all traitors—long live Ferdinand the Seventh. In going to Loeches, about twenty miles from Madrid, to see the famous pictures of Rubens, painted for that convent of Nuns, and paid for by the Duke of Olivarez, the people of the town took me for a Frenchman, and with great difficulty I got off with my life. We have seen two most dreadful revolutions; one with the loss of several thousands of French and Spaniards, and of small affairs of danger a vast number.' Buchanan. If Mr. Irvine's adventures were less hazardous, the attainment of bis object frequently required great management, and the dexterous employment of intermediate agents. He seems, moreover, to have been a good deal trammelled by his instructions; and the following paragraphs contain some pithy criticism on the hints which were thrown out in the communications of his employers. • As to an oil picture of Raphael on his great, grand, and broad manner, not above six, perhaps, exist in the world, and certainly are not to be acquired for any money. I may you that another landscape by Rubens cannot be expected from Italy. I am rather at a loss to know what is meant by Guido's striking pictures, as many of his finest works are not remarkable for striking effect, which is all they look for or understand in England. I am certain, that if Raphael's works in the Vatican were carried there without its being known they were such, nobody would look at them. • As to Sir Richard Worsley's observations, they give a just account of the present low state of taste in England, and his preference of a Magdalen by Guido to the Raphaels, does not surprise me, as that country has always been taken by sleight of hand. Guido may astonish for awhile, but does not go deep; but Raphael is like a philosopher, who will not mislead the judgement in order to gain general applause, but contents himself with addressing the hearts of the few who have feeling to relish him. Sir Richard is a voluptuary, and judges accordingly. Buchanan. As a sample of the way in which competitors in virtu, endeavour to give each other the go by, the following rather long, but amusing detail, may not be unacceptable to our readers. Amsterdam, Aug. 25, 1817. • After writing to you from Paris, a piece of information came to my knowledge, which has brought me here in all haste. I learnt that the fine Paul Potter, belonging to the Burgomaster Hoguer, would be sold in the course of a few days, and that several amateurs a were on the look out for it. • A few days ago, Monsieur le R. did me the honour of a call, evidently for the purpose of learning my movements for the rest of the season. The conversation turned on the beauty of the South at this season of the year ; and fearing that my views might have been directed towards Flanders or Holland, he strongly recommended my seeing the banks of the Loire before leaving France, especially as the vintage was fast approaching. I told him, that I had long intended to make an excursion to Orleans, Tours, &c. and had some thought of going there before returning to England. This seemed to quiet his suspicions of finding me a competitor in the north ; for, having so recently purchased the Talleyrand collection, which excited some degree of jealousy among the Parisians, he imagined to find me bis opponent also in Flanders and Holland. I enquired where he meant to spend the Autumn, when he said he was going in the course of a short time, on account of his health, to drink the mineral waters of Mont-d'Or. After some further conversation upon indifferent matters, he then took his leave of me, and we parted, wishing each other bonne santé et un bon voyage.? Mr. Buchanan was not a man to lose the effect of all this generalship by sleeping on his laurels. Having made this masterly demonstration on Mont-d'Or, he broke up without an hour's delay, put himself in march for Brussels, and very soon took up his quarters in that city. Having thus gained the start of his opponents, who were following him with heavy • metal,' he waited only to secure a few valuable pictures then on sale, and set forward for Antwerp. We arrived at that city in time to gain admittance, although the gates had been shut, and were re-opened to us per favour ; but at the post-house, we were informed, that no one could get out without an order from the Governor of the place. Being determined, however, to make the attempt, and having agreed to pay for the hire of fresh horses, whether we should or should not succeed in passing the gates, we obtained them, and drove up to the post, when I handed out to the guard of the night my passport and a small piece of paper enclosing a Napoleon, saying rather loudly, “ Voilà, Monsieur, mon passeport, et l'ordre du Gouverneur." The order was instantly recognised, and the massive gates moved on their hinges. The following morning we breakfasted at Breda, at an early hour, and by the route of Gorcum and Utrecht, we arrived at Amsterdam the same evening.' • It now became a matter of some importance to see the collection of Van Hoguer privately, without encountering my Parisian friends. This I easily succeeded in doing through the means of the bankers on whom I had credits; while to keep competitors in the dark as to my intentions, I adopted the following projet. • Antoine, as I have already said, is an old campaigner, and a fellow of much humour and drollery, with a countenance of most immoveable muscle. He was well known as Antoine to all my Parisian friends ; but when tolerably rouged, with a suit of black clothes, and a well-powdered wig, no one would imagine he had ever before seen Monsieur Jolli.' My own attendance at the sale as a bidder, would have been imprudent, and was likely to meet with opposition from more quarters than one ; I therefore determined on relinquishing the contest to Monsieur Jolli, who, having received a his instructions, acquitted himself à merveille, and had the honour of seeing his name entered in the sale-roll of the Burgomaster Hoguer as the purchaser of the famous young bull of Paul Potter, for 7925 guilders; and of being congratulated by many of the dilettanti present, as a gentleman of most undoubted taste and good judgement. The aid which this auxiliary afforded, enabled me to enter the room as an indifferent observer. The first person who caught my eye, was Monsieur le R. whom I had so lately left in Paris. We recognised each other with a laugh- Eh bien, Monsieur, comment vous trouvez vous des eaux de Mont-d'Or ? Et vous, Monsieur, que dites vous de la belle Statue de Jeanne d'Arc sur la place d'Orleans?' We can only afford one extract from the spirited little volume which stands second on our triple heading, and which contains sketches' of the Angerstein, Dulwich, Stafford, Windsor, Hampton Court, Grosvenor, Wilton, Burleigh, and Blenheim galleries, beside a pithy criticism on Hogarth's. Marriage a-la-mode. There is, however, one exception to the catholic language of painting, which is in French pictures. They are national fixtures, and ought never to be removed from the soil in which they grow. They will not answer any where else, nor are they worth Customhouse duties. Flemish, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, are all good and intelligible in their several ways we know what they mean-they require no interpreter: but the French painters see nature with organs and with minds peculiarly their own. One must be born in France, to understand their painting or their poetry. Their productions in art are either literal or extravagant, dry, frigid fac-similes, in which they seem to take up nature by pin-points, or else vapid, distorted caricatures, out of all rule and compass. They are, in fact, at home only in the light and elegant; and whenever they attempt to add force or solidity, (as they must do in the severer productions of the pencil,) they are compelled to substitute an excess of minute industry for a comprehension of the whole, or make a desperate mechanical effort at extreme expression, instead of giving the true, natural, and powerful workings of passion. Their representations of nature are meagre skeletons, that bear the same relation to the originals that botanical specimens enclosed in a portfolio, flat, dry, hard, and pithless, do to flourishing plants and shrubs. Their historical figures are painful outlines, or graduated elevations of the common statues,-spiritless, colourless, motionless, which have the form, but none of the power of the antique. What an abortive attempt is the Coronation of Napoleon, by the celebrated David, lately exhibited in this country! It looks like a finished sign-post painting, a sea of frozen outlines. Could the artist make nothing of "the foremost man in all this world," but a stiff, upright figure? The figure and |