Oft from their plates shall lift their half-filled jaws,
To wonder at your whiskers, manes, and, claws,
And only wish, the painter to rebuke,
To see Van Amburgh killed before the duke.
Gratian.—I am umpire: that is not a version, but a perversion.
Aquilius.—Then it the better suits the picture. I must, however, admit that, to criticise at all, there is need to be out of the fascination of the work. It is quite marvellous in power. We are treating of subjects for pictures, and consequently their sentiment—the why they should, or should not please. It is to be regretted that so great an artist should, not always well conceive the poetry of sentiment.
Curate.—We are, not yet really lovers of art, or we should not be so confined in our taste. The excellence of this one painter excludes others from their due praise, and patronage too. Go to our exhibitions, you are surprised at the number of our artists: look at the printsellers’ windows, and you would wonder at their fewness. I cannot remember, at this moment, a print from a work of any modern British painter, of moral importance and dignified sentiment.
Lydia.—There is one of Mr Eastlake’s, his beautiful scriptural subject.
Aquilius.—True; but we have not yet emancipated the nation from their puritan horror of sacred subjects—which are, after all, the greatest and best. We import these from the Germans.
Gratian.—We have been a nation, of country gentlemen—fond of field-sports: and this our national character has had much to do with our taste in art. Hence nothing answers so well as horses and dogs.