How far I may venture further to obtrude my opinions, or advice, on the notice of artists, particularly engravers on wood, I know not, but they may readily imagine that I cannot help feeling a deep interest, and an ardent desire, that the art may long flourish, and that those who follow it may feel happy in the pursuit. Perhaps what I have already said may not be uninteresting to some of them, and, if I knew how I could go further, in any way that might urge or stimulate them to feel enthusiasm for this art, it should not be wanting; for the wish, though tottering on the down-hill of life, is extended beyond the grave.

The sedentary artist ought, if possible, to have his dwelling in the country, where he can follow his business undisturbed, surrounded by pleasing rural scenery, and the fresh air. He ought not to sit at work too long at a time, but to unbend his mind with some variety of employment; for which purpose it is desirable that artists, with their little cots, shall also have each a garden attached, in which they may find both exercise and amusement, and only occasionally visit the city or the smoky town; and that chiefly for the purpose of meetings with their brother artists, in which they may make an interchange of their sentiments, and commune with each other as to whatever regards the arts. Were I allowed to become their M.D., my prescription should cost them nothing, and be easily taken—it being only attentively to observe two or three rules, the first of which is, that they will contrive to be very hungry once a day, never to overload the stomach, nor indulge to satiety in eating anything. By persisting in this, they will find their reward in great good health, and a vigorous, unclouded mind: by a little observation they may clearly see that a great portion of mankind “live to eat”—not eat to live.^[38] To say more to men of sense and artists,—which a desire to contribute everything in my power towards their peace of mind and happiness prompts me to do,—I may be allowed to add, that those of them who have attained to eminence will find themselves pursued by envy; for “There is no species of hatred greater than that which a man of mediocrity bears to a man of genius; his reach of thought, his successful combinations, and his sudden felicities are never forgiven by those whom nature has fashioned in a less perfect mould.”

It is the duty of parents and guardians to endeavour, with the utmost care, to discover the capacities and fitness of youth for any business before they engage in it; for, without they are innately gifted with the power of becoming artists, the want of that power will cause the pursuit to be felt by them as up-hill work, and be productive of unhappiness to them through life. But the fondness of parents for their offspring is mostly such as to blind them in forming a judgment, and disappointment is sure to follow. It would be well for such parents to read Gay’s fable of “The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass, and the Farmer.” It may indeed be conceded that there are some rare exceptions to this general rule; for a man may be so formed in body and mind—with such symmetry and health in the one, and such energy in the other—that he may advance a great way towards perfection in anything he ardently pursues. But an “Admirable Chrichton,” or a Sir Joshua Reynolds, does not often appear. Men so gifted by nature, whether as artists, or in any other way where intellectual powers are to be drawn forth, ought never to despair of rising to eminence, or to imagine that they can never equal such men as have excelled all others in their day. It ought to be kept in mind that the same superintending Providence which gifted those men with talents to excite wonder and to improve society from time to time, in all ages, still rules the world and the affairs of mankind, and will continue to do so for ever, as often as the services of such men are wanted; and this consideration ought to act as a stimulant to their successors, to endeavour to surpass in excellence the brilliant luminaries who have only gone before them to pave the way and to enlighten their paths. All artists—and indeed till men—ought to divide their time by regularly appropriating one portion of it to one purpose, and another part of it to the varied business that may be set apart for another. In this way a deal of work may be got through; and the artist, after leaving off his too intense application, would see, as it were, what he had been doing with new eyes, and would thus be enabled to criticize the almost endless variety of lights, shades, and effects, which await his pencil to produce.

Had I been a painter, I never would have copied the works of “old masters,” or others, however highly they might be esteemed. I would have gone to nature for all my patterns; for she exhibits an endless variety not possible to be surpassed, and scarcely ever to be truly imitated. I would, indeed, have endeavoured to discover how those artists of old made or compounded their excellent colours, as well as the disposition of their lights and shades, by which they were enabled to accomplish so much and so well.

The work of the painter may be said to be as endless as the objects which nature continually presents to his view; and it is his judgment that must direct him in the choice of such as may be interesting. In this he will see what others have done before him, and the shoals and quicksands that have retarded their progress, as well as the rocks they have at last entirely split upon. On his taking a proper survey of all this, he will see the “labour in vain” that has been bestowed upon useless designs, which have found, and will continue to find, their way to a garret, while those of an opposite character will, from their excellence, be preserved with perhaps increasing value for ages to come. In performing all this, great industry will be required, and it ought ever to be kept in mind, that, as in morals, nothing is worth listening to but truth, so in arts nothing is worth looking at but such productions as have been faithfully copied from nature. Poetry, indeed, may launch out or take further liberties to charm the intellect of its votaries. It is only such youths as Providence has gifted with strong intellectual, innate powers that are perfectly fit to embark in the fine arts, and the power and propensity is often found early to bud out and show itself. This is seen in the young musician, who, without having even learned his A B C’s, breaks out, with a random kind of unrestrained freedom, to whistle and sing. How often have I been amused at the first essays of the ploughboy, and how charmed to find him so soon attempt to equal his whistling and singing master, at the plough stilts, and who, with avidity unceasing, never stopped till he thought he excelled him. The future painter is shown by his strong propensity to sketch whatever objects in nature attract his attention, and excite him to imitate them. The poet, indeed, has more difficulties to contend with at first than the others, because he must know language, or be furnished with words wherewith to enable him to express himself even in his first essays in doggrel metre and sing-song rhymes. In all the varied ways by which men of talent are befitted to enlighten, to charm, and to embellish society, as they advance through life,—if they entertain the true feeling that every production they behold is created, not by chance, but by design,—they will find an increasing and endless pleasure in the exhaustless stores which nature has provided to attract the attention and promote the happiness of her votaries during the time of their sojourning here.

The painter need not roam very far from his home, in any part of our beautiful isles, to meet with plenty of charming scenes from which to copy nature—either on an extended or a limited scale—and in which he may give full scope to his genius and to his pencil, either in animate or inanimate subjects. His search will be crowned with success in the romantic ravine—the placid holme—the hollow dell—or amongst the pendant foliage of the richly ornamented dean; or by the sides of burns which roar or dash along, or run murmuring from pool to pool through their pebbly beds: all this bordered perhaps by a back-ground of ivy-covered, hollow oaks (thus clothed as if to hide their age),—of elms, willows, and birch, which seem kindly to offer shelter to an under-growth of hazel, whins, broom, juniper, and heather, with the wild rose, the woodbine, and the bramble, and beset with clumps of fern and foxglove; while the edges of the mossy braes are covered with a profusion of wild flowers, “born to blush unseen,” which peep out amongst the creeping groundlings—the bleaberry, the wild strawberry, the harebell, and the violet; but I feel a want of words to enable the pen to give an adequate description of the beauty and simplicity of these neglected spots, which nature has planted as if to invite the admiration of such as have hearts and eyes to appreciate and enjoy these her exquisite treats, while she may perhaps smile at the formal, pruning efforts of the gardener, as well as doubt whether the pencil of the artist will ever accomplish a correct imitation. But, be all this as it may, she has spread out her beauties to feast the eyes, and to invite the admiration of all mankind, and to whet them up to an ardent love of all her works. How often have I, in my angling excursions, loitered upon such sunny braes, lost in extacy, and wishing I could impart to others the pleasures I felt on such occasions: but they must see with their own eyes to feel as I felt, and to form an opinion how far the scenes depictured by poets fall short of the reality. The naturalist’s poet—Thompson—has done much: so have others. Allan Ramsay’s

may have exhibited such as I have noticed, but the man endued with a fit turn of mind, and inclined to search out such “beauty-spots,” will not need the aid of poets to help him on in his enthusiastic ardour.