The Albert Hat is one of those things very much better described than felt.
Many ideas are exceedingly pretty, which, when inquired into, are found, like a necklace of birds' eggs, to hang upon the slightest thread, and to have absolutely nothing in them. Some authors evidently look upon ideas as children do upon birds' eggs—public property which there is no harm in stealing. They string them, too, very much in the same strain—drawing everything they can out of them, and decorating themselves afterwards with the empty shells.
Agricultural Sports.—About Autumn catch your prize labourer, and joke him at your annual Show; put him on a platform, and make good quiet fun of his having brought up sixteen children on five shillings a week for twenty years. Compliment him most highly on his sobriety and all the cardinal virtues, and give him a good-natured dig about his little potato ground. Give him a glass of wine and five shillings; and when you are tired of the absurdity, tell him to sit down, and call up your fattest pig and bull, and sustain the rollick of the day's amusements by awarding them premiums of 10l. and 15l. each. This is capital sport, and gentlefolks come far and near to see it, only we doubt if the poor labourer sees exactly the fun of it.
Truefitt on Shakspeare.—An aspiring hairdresser, who has been to see Romeo and Juliet, wishes to be informed whether the "parting" which the lady describes to be "such sweet sorrow" was in the middle, or only on one side? We are really unable to say with any certainty; but the faults of lovers, which often lead to a parting, are generally on both sides.
Portrait of Jim Crow, after Herbert.
MOVEMENT OF THE FINE ARTS.
The Fine Arts are seized at present with a strange movement; they are all going backwards. One would fancy they were retreating, or that they had lost something on the road, and were turning back to pick it up. We scarcely imagine it was worth while going out of their way to embrace the Middle Ages; it shows but little taste on their part. They might as well dress in the costume of that period, and wear Gothic night-caps, and mediæval high-lows, and talk, and write, and flirt in the language of that period, as to attempt to reconcile its hard angular painting (all their pictures look to us like coloured problems—as if Euclid had been their drawing-master) to the spirit of our own times. Imagine portraits of the heroes of the present age in the stiff kitchen-poker style which Messrs. Pugin, Dyce, and such like retrograders, would wish to revive! How would the immortal Simpson look? How would the popular Jim Crow appear to us, when carried two hundred years back? Why! we should not know them again.
Perhaps this going backwards is for the purpose of enabling the artists to jump farther onwards, as the French proverb says, "Reculer pour mieux sauter;" or is it to make the Fine Arts so much younger, by knocking some three hundred years off their age? We always thought that art was of no particular period, but for all time. Antiquated ladies may gain by the above process of youth-making, and we can imagine in our own mind's ear (if the mind has an eye it must have an ear) a very old man saying, "Ah! I wish I could go back to the Middle Age!" but really the Fine Arts should be above such weakness. This love of going backward may account, perhaps, for so few artists getting forward in their profession. Let them turn their backs upon the past, and the future may smile brightly again upon them. The English school of painting will not stand long, if it is built with old materials; some four hundred years old.