The Press.
London, England, 1858-05-08 00:00:00

ROYAL LITERARY FUND.

THE sixty.ninth anniversary festival of this institu-
tion was celebrated at the Freemasons' Tavern,
Great Queen-street, on Tuesday evening, the Right
Hon. Viscount Palmerston presiding. There was a
very large muster of the friends and supporters of
the Fund, covers being laid for 250. The occasion
V 19.14 also honoured by the presence of many ladies.
Among the principal guests were—his Excellency
M. Van de Weyer, Belgian Minister; his Excellency
Count Platten, Swedish and Norwegian Minister ;
the Marquis of Westminster. the Earl of Ellesmere,
Lord Talbot de Malahide, the Hon. Philip Pierre.
pont, the Hon. Jared Sparkes, Sir R. Murchison, Mr.
M. Milnes, M.P., Sir H. Rawlinson, M.P., &c., ikc.
In proposing the " Health of her Majesty " the
noble chairman referred to the fact that Queen
Victoria was the first sover&gn of this country who
had recognized high literary attainments as a claim
to the distinctions which it was her peculiar preroga-
tive to bestow. He need not say he alluded to the
peerage which bad been conferred upon Lord
Macaulay, not so much on account of bis lordship's
merits as an orator and a politician, great as those
undoubtedly were, as for his brilliant reputation as a
man of letters.

Thanks were returned for "The Army" by Sir C.
Pasley, and for " The Navy " by Count Platten, the
Swedish Minister, who passed a portion of his career
in the service of this country.
Lord PALMERSTON, after some appropriate opening
remarks, continued :

The institution, the claima of which I have the honour
to advocate, is peculiarly designed to aid and succour the
distresses of those who have directed their intellectual
faculties to literary and scientific pursuits. There are
other branches of human skill in which the genius of man
displays itself, and which, though they may give equal
scope to the development of that genius, yet stand, in
regard to the mode and the extent to which they appeal to
the feelings of mankind, in a somewhat different position
from letters. The painter, the sculptor, and the architect
may possess, and frequently do possess, the fire of genius
in as eminent a degree as the poet, the historian, or the
novelist. But the productions of the painter, the sculptor,
and the architect are restricted, so to speak, to a given
local habitation; they are condensed in a specific work,
which affords, indeed, the highest delight and instruction,
and awakens noble emotions in the breasts of those who
are so fortunately situated as to be able to behold them;
but their influence on mankind at large is limited by
space, and confined to those who are on the spot where the
originals are to be seen, or where they can do honour to
those originals through the medium of the best copies
that can oe produced. The literary man, on the other
hand, has this advantage, that his works travel over the
whole face of the civilized globe—that in every nation
where intellect is cultivated they are found alike among
rich and poor, forming the enjoyment of the social family
circle, or furnishing materala for the reflection and medi-
tation of the student in his serious hours. The benefits,
therefore, which mankind derive from the results of literary

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in the other departments to which I have adverted. But
there is yet another advantage which literature possesses
over those other arts, viz., in what I may call the immor-
tality of its productions. The architect and the sculptor
are taught to remember that they cannot rely for enduring
fame. upon " the faithless column or the crumbling boat.'
Their works may live long, and yet they must Sooner or
later succumb to the ravages of time. The painter, too,
however great the glory he may acquire for a lengthened
period, produces works still more open to the destructive
effects of time, even if they escape the more fatal, though,
perhaps, less unfriendly efforts of the restorer. But lite:
rary productions survive for thousands of years. And we
have an example, not only of the duration of such works
but of how the genius of one age may stimulate the genius'
of another, for we have recently seen an elaborate dissent'.
tion upon the greatest poet of antiquity published by one
of the most distinguished men of our time. Rut, gentle.
men, the career of men of letters is not without its diffical•
ties and its troubles. The mount of literary fame way
rise at first in a gentle slope above the level plain; the
upward road may appear smooth, easy, and inviting;
and some are tempted to make the ascent by fancying that
the summit is near at hand and their strength sufficient
to bring them there. But at they advance they find their
difficulties increase, and many stop short almost at the
foot of the mountain ; others are arrested midway; while
a few rare spirits, spurred on by ambition and gifted with
indomitable energy, reach the topmost height, and from
their lofty elevation survey that horizon of glory which
their labours have entitled them to enjoy. But even with
them the rewards are sometimes doubtful. Gentlemen,
we all admire the results of literary labour; but few there
are who know all the anxieties, doubts, and difficulties by
which those brilliant results have in many cases been
accomplished. Could we but see the man of genius medi.
toting alone —could we but have laid bare to us the strug.
gling thoughts swelling within his bosom and endeavour-
.ng to embody themselves in a work which he believes
will immortalize his name, while, on the other hand, he
is dragged down by domestic cares, or by some of the
many accidents and misfortunes which are the common
lot of humanity—could we see the inward workings of
that man of genius, we should not only say, with the
ancient philosopher, that the noblest sight is a great man
battling with adverse fate, but we should feel the high
advantage of an association like this, which steps in at
such a conjuncture with assistance, not great in itself, but
invaluable from its timely application. We all know what
a small support will save a drowning man and enable him
to reach the shore. So a small amount of support, given
at a moment of pressure, will enable a man of genius to
keep his head above water and to reach in safety the goal
of his aspirations. The fault of this institution is that its
funds are not co-extensive with the objects to which it is
desirable that they should be applied. That defect I call
upon you, gentlemen, to correct, not only by the eontrf
butions which you may yourselves be disposed to give, but
by exerting your influence in your respective circles to
induce others to furnish the institution with the means
of enlarging the scope of that benevolence which even in
its present limited sphere is beyond all price.
The noble lord concluded by proposing the toast,
which was drunk amid loud applause.
The health of the noble chairman was next pro•
posed, in very eulogistic terms, by Sir 11. Munclusos,
and warmly received by the company. The noble
lord suitably acknowledged the compliment, and then
gave " The Foreign Ministers," to which
His Excellency M. VAN DE WEYER responded.
The remaining toasts were—" The Literature of
Continental Europe," introduced by Mr.. M.
Milnes, M.P., and acknowledged by M. Menmee ;
and "The Distinguished Travellers," proposed by
Mr. Hope, M.P., and responded to by Str 11.
Rawlinson. _ .

The subscriptions and donations announced in the
course of the evening amounted to about 9001., her
Gracious Majesty heading the list with 105/.

s!t.

MR. LESLIE'S oratorio of Immanuel wss performed
yesterday evening at St. Martin's-hall by the mem-
bers of his choir, assisted by Mme. Clara Novell°,
Miss Dolby, Mr. Sims Reeves, and Mr. Santley, as
solo vocalists, and a small but most efficient
orchestra. No composer could wish for a better
corps, and the oratorio was presented with every
advantage. But it can never take a place among the
music that lives. As in most recent compositions of
this class, a little is drawn from Handel and a great
deal from Mendelssohn. Some passages, indeed,
are open to the charge of plagiarism ; the chorus,
" Who can forgive sins ?" in particular, is utter
Mendelssohn in every bar. There is a mono-
tony, too, about the whole work which ma
it it very fatiguing to listen to. But a fair
share of blame must be borne by the libretto, one
of the very worst ever put together. No one word
will say what it is. It is neither original nor
selected, neither Scripture nor something else,
neither sense nor nonsense, but a mixture of
.911
these. But then why did Mr. Leslie have anything
to do with such a production? Is the composition
of an oratorio such an easy thing to him ? Can he,
like Handel, scribble one off in a month, that he
cares so little what he works upon ? But the per:
formance plainly showed one thing, that Mr. Leskle*
choir ought to undertake some of the great oratorios.
We should like to hear them sing the Creation.

lint arts

ROYAL ACADEMY.
(Second Notice.)
No me, we imagine, will complain of this year's
exhibition either as poor or uninteresting ; and yet
those painters who have already made their reputa-
tion, have seldom done so little to justify it. Among
the Academicians, Frith is really the only one who
can be said to have gained higher rank by his recent
labour; no other has done better than before, few
even so well. There is more life among the
Horsley and and Phillip, have
elates ; wad Hooky
been thinking, and working, and winning their way.
But it is largely owing to the younger men—the
artists who can write no letters after their names—
that we find on the walls so much to admire, so much
to reflect upon, so much heartily to approve. A
change is coming over our English school, and
change is always urged on by the young, and checked
by the old. "Those young men have such a fancy
for everything new," is the continual complaint of
elderly gentlemen ; and if they cannot prevent inno-
vating, they will, at all events, take no part in them.
The minds of most men seem to become stiffened
soon after the period of middle life; their duty is no
longer to give motion, but to regulate it. And we
ought not to think lightly of this duty. We are apt
to fancy it would be a grand thing if in any degene
rate period of art we could get hold of leading men
—men of trained eye and practised hand—men who
could draw after them the consent of others—and
convert these men to better principles. but it can-
not be done ; it never is done ' • perhaps we may
conclude that it would not be well if it could be done.
The change would be too sudden ; and a revolution
is a desperate remedy, often worse than the
disease. The child that grows rapidly is not the
strong child ; the gourd that comes up in a
night perishes in a night. It is good for the
truth to be afflicted, and to force its way
through neglect, contempt, and opposition.
There is no faith in this world that can afford to do
without persecution. This change in our English
school made a disturbance at first, but it is growing
quietly and prosperously now. The Pre.Raffaelite
principles when first asserted were received with
every kind of ridicule and contempt; but they have
made their way. The elder artists stand aside, it is
true ; they will have nothing to do with these inno-
vations themselves ; hut they offer no active opposi-
tion, and, greatly to their own honour, they did not
allow differences of opinion to exclude from their
body such a man as Mr. Millais. The change is ap-
parent to every one, the cause only to some ; the
principles are still but half understood, but their re-
sult is enjoyed by all. And who will say that the
opposition by which they were met has answered no
purpose? Was it not well for young artists to be
taught that in studying the merits of the early
painters they must not be led by a blind admiration
into copying their faults ? And what could teach
this well and so quickly as ridicule They have
learnt the lesson ; here, too, is a result evident to all.
Look round the walls of the Academy for Pre-
Raffaelite pictures and you will say there are
scarcely any; look into the pictured and you will find
dozens : there is liardly a rising artist who does not
belong to a higher school of painting than we have
ever had before. It is the number of such works
that is the principal feature of the present collection.
The pictures exhibited by Mr. Hart, the Academy's
Professor of Painting, and by Mr. Leslie, who lately
held that office, are two notable examples of the
school which is now passing away, never, we
devoutly trust, to return. Both have been daring in
their choice of subjec:s. Mr. Hart has painted
" Athaliah's dismay at the coronation of Joash," and
Mr. Leslie has attempted even higher things, nothing
less than a scene from the Gospels. A minute
examination of either of these productions would be
disagreeable task, but it is quite unnecessary. The
faults of Mr. Hart's picture are so glaring that there
no need to point at them ; an utterly theatrical
scene, badly drawn and villainously coloured—what
can we say about it? There is no beauty-Worship
about
Mr. Hart; he abjures truth, but he sells him-
self for nothing ; his work is false, and ugly too—
monstrously false, and preposterously ugly—truly an
unhappy man!! Fewer words are enough for Mr.
Leslie; he has taken such a subject, and treated it
,
in such a manner—so mean, so unworthy is his pic-
ture that we cannot stay to examine it. Our criti.
elms begins and ends with " Pooh !"WI nwe
M
think of what r. Leslie has done in years gone by
we wish he had sent nothing rather than that. Com-
pare with these the three pictures by Wallis, an
artist who three years ago was unknown. What
thought there is in them, and what work! What
endeavour, and
what achievement ! With what
strength
does be grasp his subject, and with what
strength does
he portray it ! how deeply does lie
feel it, and how deeply does he make others feel it!
In h,5 picture
of
"Sir Walter Raleigh in the Tower,"
the window e of the cell and the little glimpse from
are so well painted that, if the figure

THE PRESS, MAY 8, 1858.

were not there, they would be a picture in them
selves. But they are not merely well painted, they
are well thought of ; the buoks and the maps, the
lute and the globe, the portrait of Queen Bess, ay,
and the tobacco-pipe, have all a meaning; they all
belong to Sir Walter—they cannot be spared, they
must all be looked at. And yet, admirably painted
as they are, they take nothing away from
the force and nobleness of the central figure ; we
know the knight's thoughts as he gazes so gravely nt

the soap•bubble which the boy his blown from one
of his pipes, and we look at him first and last. There
is one blemish in this fine picture—the tapestry is
roughly painted, scarcely defined at all, and no doubt
intentionally so. But if Mr. Wallis considered that
the bright colours and sharp angular forms would
interfere with the head of his figure, he should have
substituted some other background. " Henry Martin
in Chepstow Castle" is a good picture, too, but not so
good a subject. The old regicide is not familiarly
known to us, nor does he hold much place in our
sympathies. But the " Stonebreaker" is perhaps the
most original work which Mr. Wallis has yet pro-
duced. It is easy to pity poor young Chatterton dead
on his bed, or gallant old Raleigh waiting for his
death ; but who cares for an old stonebreaker by the
roadside ? Who cares ? Mr. Wallis cares, and those
who look at his picture care—those who look at his
picture, we say ; not those who pass it by with a
careless glance. The okt body, weatherbeaten and
toilworn, lies in the twilight on a heap of broken
granite ; whether asleep or dead we can hardly tell ;
resting from its labour either• for awhile or for ever,
it does not greatly matter which. It leans against a
bank covered with turf and mosses, and the roots
and twigs of slender trees ; a polecat is creeping
about in the dim light, and beyond is a river with
wooded banks and a sky full of the purple and the
daffodil which follow the setting of the sun. The
passage from Carlyle's " Sartor Resartus," which is
the motto of the picture, gives us words to tell its
meaning to those who have not seen it, but
the picture itself wants the help of no
wcrds. " Hardly "ntreated brother ! For us was
thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs and
fingers so deformed: thou wert our conscript, on
whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles wert so
marred. For in thee, too, lay a god•created form,
but it was not to be unfolded ; encrusted must it
stand with the thick adhesions and defacements of
labour; and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know
freedom."

Mr. Egg has another picture from Thackeray's
" Esmond," the same characters and nearly the same
scene as that which he exhibited last year. " Kneel
down," says Mrs. Beatrix, "we dub you knight with
this." Trix is handsome enough, and young enough,
and saucy enough ; Esmond is sufficiently enamoured
and only too handsome, and the old Dowager is as
red as could be wished ; but we cannot tolerate for
one moment the person who stands for Lady Rachel.
Mr. Egg's second picture, which has no title, is one
of the greatest objects of curiosity in the room ; the
subject is not clear at. first sight, and certainly re-
quires a little consideration ; but it seems to baffle
many people altogether. It is divided into three
compartments, of which the centre is marked
" Past," and those to the right and left "Present."
The " Past" is, of course, to be looked at first, and
no one can be at a loss to understand the scene there
represented. A man holds in his hand a letter
which has revealed to him the infidelity of his wife ;
the wife has flung herself at his feet with her face to
the floor. The hat on the table, the carpetbag and
umbrella, seem to indicate the sudden arnval which
has brought about the disclosure. Two children in
the corner, building a house of cards, look wonder-
ingly at their mother. Over the mantelpiece
hang portraits of the husband and wife, and on
the wall is the picture of a shipwreck : a
divided apple is on the table, rotten at the core.
The other two scenes happen years after, but both at the
same moment ; there is the same moon in each, with
the same light fleecy cloud below it. On one side it
looks down upon the outcast mother, who sits with
a wretched infant at her breast beneath an arch on
the banks of the Thames; on the other side its light
falls upon the two children, now several years older, and
in mourning for their father. One sits at her bedroom
window gazing at the moon ; the other in her night-
dress is praying at her knee. Over the dressing
table hang the two portraits. This story is told with
great power ; it is not a didactic poem, but a tragedy.
It is not intended to tell us what ought to happen or
what ought not to happen, but what does happen.
The actors are not personifications, but persons—
real, living, acting, suffering beings, not to be
whony pitied nor wholly blamed. Whether guilt
should be thus ruthlessly punished or not, the artist
does not attempt to say ; be does not tell us whether
these things ought to be or not ; ho gives us no
hint of his own opinion ; he only trie3 to make us
feel, and feel deeply too, that these things are. He
has given us a most true picture of sin and sorrow,
and a most painful one. if we can so far forget the
subject as to examine the execution, we shall find
some excellent painting. Nothing can be truer or

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