CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION.

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F the foregoing sketches have seemed to some of our readers, a thought too slight and discursive, and to be wanting in detail; it is because, perhaps, they have reflected a little too naturally, the habit of a painter's mind, and have followed out the principle of outdoor sketching, which is to 'hit off' as accurately as possible, the various points of interest that come under observation, and, in doing so, to give colour rather than detail, and to aim principally at the rendering of atmosphere and effect.

But for this, perhaps, most readers will be thankful, and for two reasons. First, because it is a fact, that English people as a rule, care little or nothing for Algeria as a colony—that they never have cared, and probably never will. Second, because, in spite of the assertion of a late writer, that 'Algeria is a country virtually unknown to Englishmen,' we believe that the English public has been literally inundated with books of travel and statistics, on this subject.

It is only in its picturesque aspect, and as a winter residence for invalids, that Algiers will ever claim much interest for English people; and even in picturesqueness, it falls far short of other cities well known to Englishmen. There is nothing in costume to compare with the bazaars of Constantinople, or in architecture, to the bystreets of Trebizond; but Algeria is much more accessible from England, and that is our reason for selecting it. It has one special attraction, in which it stands almost alone, viz, that here we may see the two great tides of civilization—primitive and modern—the East and the West—meet and mingle without limit and without confusion. There is no violent collision and no decided fusion; but the general result is peaceful, and we are enabled to contemplate it at leisure; and have such intimate and quiet intercourse with the Oriental, as is nowhere else to be met with, we believe, in the world.

In speaking thus enthusiastically of the advantages of Algeria, let us not be supposed to undervalue the beauties of England, or its unapproachable landscape and mountain scenery. The 'painter's camp' in the Highlands, is no doubt, the right place for a camp, but it is not the only right place; the spot where it was pitched is covered with snow as we write these lines. Moreover, it is not given to everyone to be able to draw trees, and it is a change and relief to many, to have landscape work that does not depend upon their successful delineation.

In fine, for artists, Algiers seems perfect; a cheap place of residence with few 'distractions,' without many taxes or cares; with extraordinary opportunities for the study of Nature in her grandest aspects, and of character, costume, and architecture of a good old type.

But what they really gain by working here is not easily written down, nor to be explained to others; nor is it all at once discovered by themselves. It has not been dinned into their ears by rote, or by rule, but rather inhaled, and (if we may so express it) taken in with the atmosphere they breathe. If they have not produced anything great or noble, they have at least infused more light and nature into their work, and have done something to counteract the tendency to that sickly sentimentality and artificialism, that is the curse of modern schools.

We have been led to insist, perhaps a little too earnestly, on the good effects of sound work on a painter's mind, by the thought of what some of our foremost artists are doing at the present time. When painters of the highest aim and most refined intelligence, seem tending towards a system of mere decorative art; when Millais paints children, apparently, to display their dress, and devotes his great powers as a colourist almost exclusively to imitative work; when Leighton cultivates a style of refined Platonism which is not Attic and is sometimes scarcely human; when other painters of celebrity, that we need scarcely name spend their lives upon the working out of effective details; when the modern development of what is called PrÆ-Raphaelitism, seems to remove us farther than ever from what should be the aim of a great painter, we may be pardoned for insisting upon the benefits of change of air and change of scene.

But not only to artists and amateurs—to those fortunate people whose time and means are as as much at their own disposal as the genii of Aladdin's lamp; to those who can get 'ordered abroad' at the season when it is most pleasant to go; to those who live at high pressure for half the year, and need a change—not so much perhaps, from winter's gloom—as from the 'clouds that linger on the mind's horizon;' to all who seek a 'new sensation,' we would say, once more—pay a visit to the 'city of pirates,' to the 'diamond set in emeralds,' on the African shore.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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