The Sun.
London, England, 1833-11-28 00:00:00

FINE ARTS.

ILLUSTRATIoNS TO TURNER'S
ANNUAL TOUR. LOYDOII. 1833.
Turner is here again in all his glory, playing
occasionally strange freaks with nature, like one
who is a spoiled child, but redeeming all his
extravagances by the vivid, poetic turn of his
fancy. He is not the man to cripple an effect
for lack of courage. He cares nothing about
startling a matter-of-fact observer ; of drawing
down on himself the frowns of perplexed com-
mon-place. His genius is no Quaker ; it
scorns to attire itself in sober drab, but struts

about with " an air" in the Imperial purple.
Yet his lavish pomp of colouring, his embla-
zoned skies and waters, and most surprising sun-
sets, wear little or nothing of a meretricious
aspect, it is so plain, on the face of them, that a
fervid, enthusiastic spirit, teeming to overflowing
with rare images of grace and beauty, has pre-
sided at their creation. Do what he will,
Turner cannot look on nature with other than a

poetic eye. His landscapes are all steeped—
drenched in the rich golden light of a subtle,
but somewhat wayward, imagination. He treats
the most familiar matters in the most unfamiliar

style possible—would invest even a pig-stye with
grace, and hang a sentiment on a cabbage-stump.
In this respect he reminds us of Professor
Wilson, with whom his genius has many points

in common. The Illustrations before us, twenty
in number, contain some of the most surprising
touches of beauty we have ever seen, even from
the magic pencil of Turner. See, for instance,
what he has made of that—in common-place
hands—intractable object, a steam-boat !It
helps out his picturesque effects surprisingly,
and in the " View between Quilleboauf and
Villequier," absolutely looks poetical, worthy,
despite its smoke, and the black, Brentford-cut
of its chimney, to float upon one of the en-
chanted lakes of fairy-land. " Light-Towers
of the Heve," consisting of a few clouds, a half-
extinguished moon, a fishing skiff with its
shadow, and the red glimmer of a Pharos, forms
a most imposing, and at the same time harmoni-
ous, picture. There is a dreamy, preternatural
grandeur about it, which seizes on the fancy
like a spell. To the mere matter-of-fact ob-
server, a dash of conceit and exaggeration
may appear visible ; but the eye of faith and
imagination—and Turner requires such to
have his paintings thoroughly appreciated—
will see at once that it has nature for its
ground-work, which art has brought out, like
a fine varnish. " Chateau de Tancarville" is

full of repose and beauty. The broad, winding
river scarcely seems to stir, or, at most, to glide
lazily " at its own sweet will"—as Wordsworth
finely says, in a line which Turner will at once
understand, "La Chaire de Gargantua" is in
our artists's boldest manner. The massive,
drooping clouds seem fraught with the pent-up
waters of a world, and brood over the valley
like a curse. Yet in the foreground all is
cheerfulness and beauty. The fishermen are at
work with their nets, and the only sign of an
approaching hurricane is in the schooner, which
is crowding ail sail for port. There is a fine
attempt at contrast in this picture, yet why
has Mr. Turner, in his eagerness to produce
effect, made the flash of his lightning as
broad as a ribbon of the Garter ? It is a
perfect elemental caricature. " Havre" is a pictu-
resque scene of social gaiety and bustle. " Rouen"
breathes of antiquity ; the artist's poetic style
of handling is here everyw here predominant.
" Chateau de la Mailleraie" shows us nature in
her holiday suit, putting on all her sunniest
smiles, and most winning manners, to dazzle
and captivate. Of the remaining landscapes,
we have merely space to say, that they are
worthy of Turner, who has also had the good
luck to find in Brandard and Cousins, en-
gravers fully adequate to translate his splendid
paintings.

manufacturing—and, above all, of the labouring class,
comprehending, as it does, the numerical majority, and,
consequently, the physical powers of the community—
,hese are now matters ' familiar to our ears as household
words,' the topics of daily, hourly conversation and dis-
cussion, in every corner of almost every land ;_often
ignorantly, stupidly, blunderingly treated, it may be ;
but still canvassed, spoken, written, read, thought upon."
This is the fact. The bigots attached to
ancient abuses may sneer at " modern philo-
sophy," but it being the philosophy which ha s
objects in view that must interest as long as men
live by eating food, it runs every chance of
prevailing over its rivals. Mr. Scrope has
unavoidably handled several of the questiones
vexatce in political economy, but it is only his
opinions with respect to one of them to which we
will now allude ; we mean that on Malthus's posi
don of " the tendency of population to press against
the means of subsistence." Mr. Scrope at-
tacks this as an abominable doctrine,
fit only to
be scouted at. We agree with him, that with a
proper system of emigration it would be ridicu-
lous in weak, short sighted man to act upon the
doctrine as if in apprehension of the time when the
earth will be fully peopled ; but how he can deny
the truth of the position, we are at a loss to un-
derstand. He admits that a particular country
may become too populous to feed all its inhabi-
tants. If so, why not every country ? That
population does increase he acknowledges, and
as it is clear that there may, some time or other
however unlikely to happen even within these
2,000 years, be a time when every country has
been made to produce its maximum of food, we
should have thought that he did in fact acknow-
ledge " the tendency of population to press
against the meats of subsistence." We are
about to give Mr. Scrope's book a second
reading, and if we should find any thing that
upon consideration reconciles these apparently
contradictory positions, we will candidly ac-
knowledge it. We will now only add that the
work is not in the form hitherto usually given
o works of this kind, a ponderous quarto or
bulky octavo, but of a duodecimo, compact,
neat, and portable.

TRADITIONARY STORIES OF OLD
FAMILIES. 2 VOL,. LONDON, 1833.
The idea of this work is excellent. It is (to
use the elegant words of the author) to. " give
life and muscle to the dry skeleton of tradition,
and fill up by the fancy the meagre outline of
ill-recorded history." Sir Walter Scott has
done this to some extent in the Waverley
novels : still a vast mass of wild legend and
interesting anecdote, which, though highly illus-
trative of the habits of our forefathers, yet
scarcely come within the scope of history, re-
mained ungathered, and this mass Mr. Picken
has collected and sifted with rare skill and
diligence. The present volumes are chiefly
confined to the traditionary stories of his native
country ; but he proposes, should his plan he
favourably received—as we doubt not it will
be—to extend it to England. We know no
man better qualified for such an undertaking
than the author of that popular work, " The
Domiide's Legacy." To the patience, shrewd-
ness, and indomitable perseverance of the anti-
quarian, he adds the fancy and feeling of the
poet; and possesses besides this rare qualifica-
tion, namely, that he is no imitator of the
Scott or Galt school, but writes from his own
vivid impression of things. In this sense he
may be justly styled an original author—no
slight praise, in an age which seems to have
fairly ransacked anti exhausted all the materials
of originality. It is, however, in his mastery
over the pathetic, and in his management
of incident, that Mr. Pickett is most suc-
cessful. The story never flags in his hands.
He is the Young Rapid of romance ; always
" keeps moving," and hurries the reader along
with him with a breathless speed, that would be
dangerous, (lid not judgment keep fast hold of
the reins. As a humourist, Mr. Picken is easy
and unforced, but lacks pith and energy. De-
scription he excels in, especially of the wild,
mountainous Highland landscape, into which he
breathes the very breath of life, so that you shall
feel, as well as see, the grandeur and sublimity
of the scene he conjures up. There are some
descriptive touches of this sort in the " John-
stone's" which would do honour to Scott or
Wilson. This tale, by the bye, is the best in
the collection ; and will be read with more in-
terest when the reader is informed that the main
incidents are strictly true. The moral it con-
veys, though a trite, is nevertheless a valuable
one, and cannot be too often repeated. It is
the sufferings attending unequal alliances—a
moral which the author has written with a pen
dipped in tears. The tale is, indeed, a most
mournful one, and throughout arrests attention
with an iron grasp, so vividly are the characters
portrayed, so naturally, yet skihully, is the plot
evolved. The introduction well prepares us for
the after incidents, like the solemn choral pre-
lude to some catastrophe in the Greek drama :
" It was whilst living dull and solitary in my upland
dwelling of Balgownie Brae, in the west of Scotland,
and sliding listlessly on towards the evening of life, that
I at one time took a plaintive thoeght concerning sundry
events in my own history; and recalled, with an inward
sadness, various illusory enchantments of my youthful
days. In particular I r•P‘ected, in reference to those wan-
derings of mine, in the course of which I had gathered
together so many records of hy.gone good and evil, that
there was one district of my country, to me associated
with many interesting recollections, which I had not visited
for above twenty moralising and regretful years.
" And yet, several times of late, I had ventured towards
the exterior margin of this peculiar spot, and had traced
out, by the help of fancy, the green finials of Roar
water ; and even seen against the evenine sky the em-
battled turrets of old Carloghie, rising venerable o'er its
sweeping wo.ds; reminding me of promising fancies that
hail ended in nothing, and hopes whose vety recollection
lay in the mists of oblivion. But more than a Pisgah
sight of these well-known burghs, it neither answered
my pride, nor my prudence to take ; for, occurrences had
happened to myself which deeply moved my feelings—and
I would not be the first to seek out those who sought not
me, nor run the hazard of meeting with one, whos• pre•
*once could only stir up most painful thoughts. Many a
tale I have told of the loves of others—arid how the young
were tried in reg ird to their heart's wishes, and the old
were disappointed in the ambitions of li e. But the simple
•gotisrrs of my own experience, and Low 1 was vexed a,
the heart concerning a certain female, it does not become
me to open out to the world.
" The dismal time of the year was yet at its worst, for
it was one dreary and dropping afternoon in the dark
month of January, when these sombre musings came over
my mind like a heavy cloud, reminding the of tendernesses
long gone by, and anticipations of joy which had melted
sway like the summer's sleet, and lett nothing behind