LARES AND PENATES FOR THE POTHOUSE.
High Art in British Sculpture is out of the question—except as, in the case of the Duke of York's image and that of Nelson, when the figure is placed on the top of a tall column. This is in most instances by far the best place for it; the generality of our statues being objects of such a nature as to render it advisable that their view should borrow the very largest amount of enchantment that can be lent thereto by distance.
The Sublime in plastic Art is hopelessly unattainable by John Bull: he has never yet been able to manage to pass the boundary which separates it from the Ridiculous. We had better stick to the latter, wherein we excel. To be sure, it may be doubted whether any production of the native chisel, meant for fun, could be more funny than the forms of pigtail, of wig, of military uniform and official costume, which that instrument is seriously employed to dignify. But why continue to adorn our churches and public buildings with monuments of gallant officers accoutred for parade, of bishops in confirmation costume, and of half-nude unshapely statesmen with cropped whiskers, in the dishabille of a loose sheet, apparently draped, in an uncomfortable manner, to undergo the operation of shaving? These things do not excite the feelings which they are meant to address—some of them, on the contrary, instead of warming the imagination, suggest a very unpleasant idea of catching cold.
But then, when British Sculpture attempts a tobacconist's Highlander, or a Gog or Magog, it succeeds admirably, and there is a special direction in which it once promised to do wonders; that of bass-relief on the exterior of brown jugs. Here was native talent forming a channel for itself, in which perhaps it had better run freely, exercising originality, than labour with imitative and simious toil at the manufacture of ideal Art-Alepots.
On Art-Alepots, however, of a humorous and comical design, and kindred subjects, the British sculptor might work with immense success. We have abandoned the Greek and Roman mythology (modern as well as ancient) for the most part, but we have still a sort of Temple of Bacchus; the Gin Shops and the Public-houses. To the decoration of these the British sculptor could direct his abilities right profitably.
At a recent meeting of the Middlesex Magistrates—according to the Times—the chairman of the Bench, Mr. Pownall, delivered an oration to the applicants for publicans' licenses for music and dancing Wherein—
"After expressing his own desire, and that of his colleagues, to do all in their power to promote a national taste for music by granting music licenses, he cautioned such applicants as should be fortunate enough to obtain them, not to attempt to open penny or twopenny concert rooms, lest by so doing they should attract the customers of, and injure the draught of liquor in the neighbouring public-houses. He warned them that if they were so ill-advised as to build and fit up spacious and well-ventilated music saloons for the accommodation of the public, and to repay themselves by taking money at the doors, instead of by an increased sale of beer and gin, and so 'create a monopoly in their own favour,' they must recollect that they did so 'entirely at their own risk,' that is, at the risk of having their concert rooms closed by the licensing Magistrates on the next licensing day."
Now, in the Middlesex Magistrates, as represented by Mr. Pownall, and not in them only, but in the whole unpaid Bench, might the British sculptor find models for household gods to embellish pot-houses withal. Their worshipful forms might be carved to stand as chimney ornaments, or to stride in the character of the jolly divinity upon barrels over tap-room doors. The "fair round belly with good capon lined," of the worthy justice would exceedingly well become that situation; for the national organ of music which the magistracy wish to cultivate appears to be a barrel-organ. No stout, no song; no beer, no ballad; no porter, no piano; no heavy, no harp; no fuddle, no fiddle; are the maxims which regulate their philharmonic ordinances. No gin, no glee, is their decree; no go, and no chorus. Therefore the mantelpiece of every Jerry-shop ought to be embellished with their statuettes, and so ought that of every big brewer and gin-spinner, their private connexions, consulting whose vested interests under the pretence of a regard to public duty, they violate the very essential principle of Free Trade, in order to prevent the competitors of their friends from "creating a monopoly in their own favour."