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tain and Ireland amounted to about nineteen millions, that is about seven millions three hundred thousand less than the population of last census in 1841. They had then the same climate, the same soil, and the same extent of surface as now, and yet all the necessaries of life were as expensive, in as great request, and a proportion of foreign supply was as necessary then, as at present. But if a pugnacious disposition-a self-sufficiency of opinion-a want of taste in the fine arts, and other national peculiarities, characterised the men of the last generation, let us see whether they had not other qualities to counter-balance these. Let us see whether the long and disastrous discipline of war had not sharpened their inventions, aroused their energies, increased their industry, and confirmed their feelings of national independence and self-respect.

Thirty years ago the introduction of Macadamised roads throughout every corner of the country was thought a feat of the greatest consequence. Before that period, a heavy stage coach plied between Edinburgh and Glasgow, the passengers breakfasting and dining by the way, and reckoning themselves very fortunate if they arrived at the end of a long and tedious day's journey, to sup at either of those cities. When a four-inhand light coach started, and made the journey in five hours, this was thought a feat worthy of commemorating. It was the same throughout England,-heavy waggons, or as heavy coaches slowly jogged over waving and rutted roads in a five or six days' journey to the metropolis, so that their adventures on the road, and their frequent sojourns at inns during the night, afforded fertile sources for the graphic pens of a Smollett and Fielding. Even when Palmer's ingenious plan of mail coaches was introduced, the London mail took more than three days in its journey from London to Edinburgh.

About thirty years ago (in the spring of 1817,) gas-light was first generally introduced into Edinburgh. The two shops on the North Bridge which first exhibited this novel and brilliant light in the form of a star, became objects of great curiosity to crowds of spectators. The old glimmering oil lamps, placed "few and far between" on the public streets, were then for the first time superseded by more brilliant luminaries. When this idea was started of introducing a thin and impalpable air into tubes, and distributing it like water to every street and house of the city, old men shook their heads, and even wise men laughed it to scorn; and now we would as soon think of losing the sun as losing the aid of gas.

Thirty years ago, one of Bell's earliest steamboats, the Tug, constructed on the Clyde, was brought into the Firth of Forth. It was a beautiful sunny day, with a slight breeze from the east, when this vessel was first descried with her lofty funnel and long train of curling smoke, making her way

from Grangemouth. Crowds of people flocked to the Calton Hill; and as this novel bark was seen gliding on against the wind and heedless of the tide, "walking the waters like a thing of life," the admiration of the spectators was unbounded. They could not have viewed the ascent of a balloon with more intense curiosity; and even then they began to anticipate that hundreds of such "ships of power" would soon crowd their shores.

Thirty years ago, the British intellect was in its full vigour. The Scottish metaphysical school of deep thinking was in the wane, but there still lingered on the stage Dugald Stewart, Brown, Macintosh; while Hall, Foster, Southey, Gifford, Coleridge, excelled in their different departments. Imagination and fancy were in the ascendant, and Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, Campbell, Coleridge, Moore, Montgomery, were at the height of their poetic fame. Thirty years ago, the neglected fragment of Waverley manuscript was unfolded from the corner of a repository where it had long slumbered in embryo, and became the parent of a series of the most popular imaginative writings that have ever appeared since the Iliad of Homer.

Thirty years ago, the Edinburgh Review was in all the glory of its blue and yellow, grasping down a still sharper and more poignant spear to cope with its drab rival, the Quarterly, which had recently entered the lists. These two mighty gladiators tilted before the nations, and led or repressed public opinion at will. While the one bore on its banner the representation of the people, the redress of abuses, the free interchange of trade, the other stood up for the venerated usages of former times, the permanency of things as they were, and the perfect integrity of a circle which set bounds and limits to certain orders and opinions both within and without its circumference. The one laboured to expand and emancipate, the other to curb and restrain; while the one dreaded the evilseven the anticipated destruction, consequent upon liberty or licence, the other eprecated the corruptions which they found to exist within a circle, however select and circumscribed, where, amid the engrossing pursuit of selfish aims, the centre of rectitude was rarely aimed at. Yet thirty years have brought these combatants, like two converging lines far separated at one extremity, nearly to a point at last. Nearly all that was desired on one side, and all that was opposed on the other, have been conceded, and the lion of politics lies down with the kid.

But although thirty years ago there were giants of literature in the land, the mass of the people were pigmies. Then was the day of two-guinea, hot-pressed, large-margined quartos, read by some two thousand of the élite of Britain, but sealed books to the millions. Among the serious part of the people, a few yellow antique-looking copies of the good old divines still circulated; among the multitude, the most ribald and senseless of trashy pamphlets. Of the great mass of society, not one

out of ten either read or possessed books of almost any kind; now, every individual reads, and for a few pence can command the best of works.

Thirty years ago, Blackwood's Magazine arose as a luminary of wit, drollery, and sarcastic criticism in the literary horizon, and astonished the nations as if it had been a comet in the sky. The Chaldee manuscript, a satirical sketch of the literati of the day, convulsed the city, somewhat like a transient earthquake. For thirty years has the current of its wit flowed, and sparkled, and frothed, and still it rolls on, if not with the might of its pristine vigour, yet with its original current reinforced by fresh streams of power from the mountains. The sprightliness of her younger sister proved the death of an elder and venerable lady, the Scots Magazine, whose sober pages were oracles thirty years ago. Tait's Magazine arose out of the Schoolmaster, an hebdomadal of much promise and no less performance. We know not why the worthy pedagogue wandered too far abroad one Saturday, and never was seen alive again. Some of his tales were worth a cartload of much of the rubbish of the day.

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Thirty years ago, the newspaper press of Edinburgh had, par excellence, its Courant and Mercury. These had taken their origin some two centuries before in very diminutive forms and with small pretensions, but gradually rose into competent vehicles of information. The former, an emblem of the national character, kept on its cautious and sober way, civil to all parties, but espousing the direct cause of none; endeavouring to catch truth by sailing mid-way between extremes, and always candid and intelligent, if not brilliant. The Mercury, pursuing a more ambitious and precarious course, has met with more varied success; but it still soars and glides in double panoply, with railway advertisements instead of wings at its heels. The Star that twinkled thirty years ago has long since set. The Correspondent laid down its pen to be an Observer; but, in its latter days, its eyes becoming dim, mistook or wavered in their vision of events, and at last closed for ever. Amid the tameness of ancient days, the Scotsman suddenly arose a giant, wielding his club against borough-mongering and every local and general abuse. A giant he still remains, though his brow is now smooth, and his smile is more frequent than his frown. The Beacon made its appearance for a time amid troubled waters, but it neither guided its friends nor warned its foes, and soon foundered.

It needs not our pen to advertise the Advertiser. It has ever been consistent in opposing what it deems wrong in the politics of either Church or State. The Journal rose into favour under the fostering genius of the "Great Unknown," and its pages swelled with the spirited remonstrances of Malachi Malagrowther, but it has now returned to the common-place jottings of every-day existence.

The Chronicle has experienced the various phase3 of that many-coloured life which it is its business to record; if in some portions of the past it may have "suckled fools and chronicled small beer," it now, we hope, prospers in an enlarged sphere of utility. The Post is the mirror of wit, charades, and Conservatism, with many a cornerful of excellent puns and bon-mots; but as it had not an existence thirty years ago, the Post we must postpone for the present. The Standard that erst was so boldly unfurled has fled from the field of battle, though it cannot be said to have deserted its post, but rather merged into it. The Witness remains faithful to the last. Two or three Literary Gazettes recorded the works of the day, and endeavoured to scatter abroad their knowledge among the multitude; but it appeared that this knowledge was either little worth or was rated too high, and ceased to find votaries. Not so the celebrated Journal of Chambers; while other works circulate by hundreds, it does so by thousands and tens of thousands; while reams suffice for many, it sends its weekly tons to enlighten the cottage as well as the castle.

Thirty years ago, the machine printing-press was unknown. The then tedious hand-press was one great restraint on the multiplication of copies. The labour of throwing off ten thousand impressions of a sheet was then very great, and what is now done in a few hours or days, would then have taken up as many months or years. The printed sheets that issue from the periodical press of Great Britain daily and weekly, would, in a year, be more than sufficient to wrap up the whole earth like a Madeira orange. Millions on millions of words and wise sayings are poured out continually, and well might the son of Shirach now exclaim, " Of writing books there is no end."

Thirty years ago the bench and the bar, with its subordinate staff of lawyers and writers, held the pre-eminence among Edinburgh coteries. The wit and the jests of the Parliament House flowed in full streams every day, and formed the amusement of tea and oyster parties. It was then a usual resort of the public to flock to the lawcourts to listen to Jeffrey's amusing volubility of eloquence-to Cockburn's deep pathos-to Cranston's Attic wit and acumen, and to John Clark's broad humour and drollery. Strangers from all quarters then visited the "Inner House" to gaze on the silent and half-sleeping Sir Walter Scott yawning in his usual corner, or perhaps absorbed with a proof sheet of some of his novels, and quite regardless of the buzz and bustle around him.

Thirty years ago our city churches, which then numbered less than one-third of what they do at present, were more than half-deserted; while the pier of Leith on a Sunday afternoon was crowded with hundreds and thousands of visitors from the city. The sermons read in churches were essays

on the beauty of vir tue; but the congregations seemed not to catch the flame or be much enamoured of this lovely personification, for listless languor was too frequent ly manifested. While the churches were thus left half empty, the theatres were doubly crowded.. On the announcement of some great theatrical "star" places were secured a fortnight before, and immense crowds besieged the yet unopened doors of the theatre. On the elder Kean's first appearance in Glasgow, dozens of amateurs posted there by coach to witness his performances. It must be remarked, however, that it was the dramas of Shakespeare and Jonson that drew the crowds then; not as now, "Jack Sheppard," or some sulphureous, red-fired melo-drama. Thirty years ago dissent was looked upon as something low and vulgar, and as necessarily associated with disaffection to the state; now, twothirds of the country range under this category. Dr Inglis was supreme in the councils of the Church, and Dr Andrew Thomson almost alone stood up as the champion of a reform of her abuses. Thirty years ago Dr Chalmers began to stir up the minds of the people, and thousands rushed to hear his striking and energetic eloquence. From a small and lonely parish in the country, and from a life hitherto of quiet and meditative study, he arose suddenly, and with a singular energy roused men from their slumbers, and began that great movement of the day which still "cries sleep no more to all the house."

Thirty years ago Wilberforce could scarce obtain an impatient hearing in a British House of Commons to tell them that human slavery was an accursed thing. The same benevolent individual, in conjunction with Hannah More, had experienced great difficulty in establishing their first Sunday schools for the young poor, then wretchedly ignorant; their chief opponents being the clergy of the parishes.

Thirty years ago, missionary societies, though cherished by the few, were scouted and ridiculed over every part of Britain by the many, both high and low.

Thirty years ago the religion of the Catholic was held in abhorrence, while his claim to the equal exercise of civil rights was selfishly denied. Now, his religion is in high quarters met more than half-way. And whereas we are enjoined to love our neighbour as ourselves, the fancy of the day is to treat the Catholic better than ourselves.

Having thus swept in thought over the past, we now take a glance of the present. In thirty years the progress of the mechanic and useful arts has been prodigious. Our manufacturing towns are like huge animated machines, smoking, and gleaming, and clanking, and burring, and moving to and fro incessantly day and night. Huge rows, and bales, and ship and waggon loads of raw materials are poured in daily and hourly into their capacious maws, and in the twinkling of an eye

these are digested and assimilated into fabrics of all forms and textures, and again disgorged to become converted into capital, which is anon pended on more raw material for similar produc

ex

tions in the same ceaseless round. These manufactures are distributed over the whole world, and the net produce returns as accumulated wealth to our shores.

In thirty years the extension and improvements of every kind of agriculture have been such, that as already remarked, seven additional millions of human beings are supported on the same soil as before, for the surplus supply of imported food is little different now from what it was thirty years ago, while the corn laws were enforced then as at present. In thirty years the mind of the average mass of society has been greatly elevated. Education, in its highest acceptance, has done much to enlighten and polish-though much yet remains to be done. A taste for reading, music, the useful and ornamental arts,-for rational and social intercourse, instead of the wild orgies, debasing excesses, and brutal sports of the olden time is evidently extending more and more throughout all classes of society. The grovelling nature of men too is beginning to give way somewhat. They fix not their eyes for ever upon the earth, or bestow not one single passing glimpse beyond the horizon of their selfish and earthly gratifications; the gaze is now sometimes turned upward, and the searching question sometimes rises in the breast, "from whence came we and whither are we bound."

There never perhaps was a state of society in the world like the present. Locomotion both by sea and land is brought to such a degree of perfection that man becomes like a bird; he can fly to every corner of the globe, and make all that nature and art produce available to his wants or desires.

Though there must be many exceptions, yet, on the whole, the social comforts of the mass of society are more complete, or at all events more diffused than we can conceive ever was the case in any past period; while the press, the school, and the pulpit, carry instruction and mental training to the most distant cottage.

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Society, from its very remotest recesses, is roused up physically and mentally-the mind of the giant million is in a state of incessant excitementthere are now no leaden slumbers,—no "waiting a wee," we canna be fashed,"-no treading in the identical shoe-tracks of one's father, grandfather, and great-great-grandfather-every one chalks out a new path for himself; and if some old hereditory possessor should object to let you cross his fields, aye, or even his opinions, parliament will soon, in spite of him, run a railroad through his sit ting parlour, root out his most cherished ideas, and make the way patent for all and sundry.

What is to be the result of all this? This is a question which a few words cannot settle; besides,

it is now far past the "witching time of night;" we have "outwatched the stars,"-our Bantam in the yard sounds his shrill clarion with redoubled force, and gives an additional crow to welcome in New-Year's morn. Another week will rekindle our TORCH, and then we may resume our meditations. Meanwhile we have spoken so much of other affairs, that we have no time to say

any thing about our own; we might have developed our plan, our great leading purposes, and our means of executing them; but this we must also leave in the meantime to our Prospectus, and afterwards to our future numbers, for deeds are better than words or fair promises, any day and all days of the year, as well as on New-Year's Day.

SIR CHARLES BELL ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF EXPRESSION AS CONNECTED WITH THE FINE ARTS.

THIS was the first and the last work of a pure and elegant mind, imbued from birth with a sense of the beautiful and true, both in art and philosophy. At a very early age, Sir Charles Bell seems to have been alive to the beauty of external form. "While yet a child," says he, "I remember Allan Ramsay, the Scottish artist, as a kind and facetious old gentleman, but chiefly because he gave me drawings to copy, and called

me

'Brother Brush."" Sir Charles was the youngest son of a Scottish clergyman of the Episcopal Church. He made choice of the same profession as his elder brother John, an eminent surgeon in Edinburgh; and after an assiduous course of study, he removed at an early age to London, as a larger field for the exercise of his talents. His labours there,--his beautiful and original discoveries regarding the nervous system,-and his enthusiastic pursuit of his profession, both at home and on the battle field abroad, are well known. Amid all these labours, his mind seems never to have lost its original taste for art, for, indeed, he called in his knowledge of it on all occasions, to illustrate his theories and his demonstrations; but on glancing over his career, one cannot fail to regret that the anxieties and responsibilities of an arduous profession left him far too little undisturbed leisure to cherish his darling tastes, and pursue his calm and contemplative philosophy. One cannot help feeling regret to think, that while this fine and sensitive spirit was struggling hard with the common-place exertions of the world, many a dull and sycophantic drone was indolently dozing over some snug sinecure or ill-awarded preferment. Well may Britain be called a cold and niggardly fostermother to her talented sons! It is true, in his latter days, he got an empty title, and his own alma mater did all that was in her power to bestow upon him; but how gratifying would it have been to have had to record that honours and rewards had met him in an earlier day, and that the evening of his life had passed in that "retired and learned leisure," which he, no doubt, could have so admirably filled up and so highly enjoyed. For, in the words of fraternal affection, "he was a true lover of nature; and to trace the proofs of perfection and design in all the works of the Creator, was to him a source of ever new delight. Constantly he had some useful, some noble purpose in view, whether in following up some scientific inquiry, or in enthusiastically pursuing nature or art. Those who knew him best, and had seen him in the most trying circumstances of life, were most sensible, that there never was a man

whose mind was more uniformly attuned to grateful happiness."

How characteristic of his taste was the closing scene of his life! In a declining state of health he had taken advantage of a recess in his professional duties, to revisit his friends in England. He had spent a part of the day in the open air, and in sketching a country church, and gazing on its quiet burial ground, where, with a prophetic anticipation, he even expressed a wish that his bones might be laid in their last repose; and, returning to bed, was found there in the morning a still and lifeless corpse.

The first edition of his Anatomy of Expression was published in 1806; a second appeared in 1824; but he resisted every call for a new impression, until he should have had an opportunity of verifying in Italy the principles of criticism in art by the study of the works of the great masters in painting and sculpture. He accordingly made out this visit in 1840, and on his return he recomposed the whole work for a new edition, introducing his notes and observations which he had made while abroad. These are interspersed through the work, and impart to it a lively and additional in

terest.

As his opinion of art was high, he, on every occasion, takes the opportunity of inculcating on the artist the necessity of high and comprehensive attainments.

"The painter," says he, "must not be satisfied to copy and represent what he sees; he must cultivate this talent of imitation merely as bestowing those facilities which are to give scope to the exertions of his genius; as the instruments and means only which he is to employ for communicating his thoughts, and presenting to others the creations of his fancy; it is by his creative powers alone that he can become truly a painter; and for these he is to trust to original genius, cultivated and enriched by a constant observation of naTill he has acquired a poet's eye for nature, and can seize with intuitive quickness the appearances of passion, and all the effects produced upon the body by the operations of the mind, he has not raised himself above the mechanism of his art, nor does he rank with the poet or historian.

ture.

It is a happy characteristic of the present times that a love of the fine arts is becoming more and more prevalent among the affluent; but still, rich furniture, mere ornamental painting and gilding, usurp the place of art properly so called. The mansion of an English nobleman and that of a Roman of the same rank, present a singular contrast. The former exhibits carpets, silk hangings, lamps, mirrors, china, and perhaps

* Preface to 3d Edition of Philosophy of Expression, 1845.

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SIR CHARLES BELL ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF EXPRESSION.

I moks The palazzo, on the other hand, in its general aspect, may betray antiquity and decay; yet respect for ancestry retains on its walls the proofs of former grandeur and taste; there hang many pictures, each of which would purchase an English villa, or furnish a London mansion in all the extravagance of fashion. Vulgar curiosity may seek admittance to the finery of the one, while princes are gratified by admission to the other."

He illustrates this by an anecdote, which we are afraid would be yet too characteristic of Britain:

"I cannot withhold the following instance of public feeling in England. When Lord Elgin brought to London the figures of the beautiful frieze from the Parthenon of Athens, and while they remained in his court-yard in Piccadilly, he proposed a great treat to his friends. He had entertained an ingenious notion that, by exposing the natural figures of some of our modern athletics in contrast with the marbles, the perfection of the antique would be felt, and that we should see that the sculptors of the best time of Greece did not deviate from nature. The noblemen and gentlemen whom he conceived would take an interest in this display were invited. He had the boxers, the choice men of what is termed 'the fancy.' They stripped and sparred before the ancient statues, and for one instant it was a very fine exhibition; but no sooner was the bulky form of Jackson, no longer young, opposed to the fine elastic figure of the champion of all England, than a cry arose, and the ring' pressed forward, and ancient art and the works of Phidias were forgotten. Such I fear is the feeling of even the better part of the English public. Let not the young sculptor be too sanguine of support."

His advice to artists is to have continual recourse to

THE STUDY OF NATURE.

"If a painter entertains the idea that there is some undefined beauty, distinct from nature, which is in his own mind, his works will want that variety which is in nature, and we shall see in his paintings the same countenance continually reproduced. We are informed that Raphael, in painting the head of Galatea, found no beauty deserving to be his model; he is reported to have said, that there is nothing so rare as perfect beauty in woman; and that he substituted for nature a certain idea inspired by his own faucy. This is a mistake: painters have nothing in their heads but what has been put there. There is no power in us to disengage ourselves from material things, and to rise into a sphere of intellectual ideas,' and least of all in what regards man. In the Palazzo Farnesina, there are frescoes by Raphael and his scholars, demonstrating to me the nature of those studies which enabled him to compose, not to copy, the beautiful Galatea; that he first drew from what he saw, and finally avoided imperfections, and combined excellencies."

His observations on the comparative expressions of the brute and human face are interesting, and marked by his usual acuteness; so also are those on

THE GREEK IDEAL.

"It is happy for philosophy, science, history, poetry, and eloquence, that the Greeks were a superior people, and happy for our subject, that they were an eminently beautiful people. The artists of Greece certainly did not follow a vague line of beauty. They rather imitated some acknowledged beautiful form of age or sex. They even combined the beauty of both sexes. With them the highest effort of art was to represent man deified; as it were, purified from the grosser characters of nature. This they did by exaggerating whatever is proper to the human form: by increasing what gives dignity, and bestowing features, capable

and prone to the expression of the finer emotions; representing them, either as still and unperturbed, or as indicating a superiority to the things of this lower world. In the Apollo, there is such a stillness of features, that every one follows his faney, and thinks he sees in the statue what is really in his own mind. Iu the Venus, the form is exquisite and the face perfect, but there is no expression there. The authoress of an agreeable work on Rome is disturbed because she has seen women, real living women, almost as beautiful as the Venus, and far more interesting."" So also thought Byron:

"I've seen much prettier wen en ripe and real
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.”

We should find more of her way of thinking, if all would confess their first impressions. This, however, cannot detract from the perfection of a statue, which has been admired in all times, as now. It only points to the purity of the design, the high aim of the artist, and his successful execution. Had the Helen of Zeuxis been preserved, I can imagine that it would have been of a more feminine and seducing beauty than the Venus. But we must bear in mind that all individuality was studiously avoided by the ancient sculptors, in the representation of divinity; they maintained the beauty of form and proportion, but without expression, which, in their system, belonged exclusively to humanity."

After describing the sympathy of the heart with the muscles of respiration, we have this account of

BLUSHING:

"The sudden flushing of the countenance in blushing belongs to expression, as one of the many sources of sympathy which bind us together. This suffusion serves no purpose of the economy, whilst we must acknowledge the interest which it excites as an indication of mind. It adds perfection to the features of beauty. The colour which attends exertion, or the violent passions, as of rage, arises from general vascular excitement, and differs from blushing. Blushing is too sudden and too partial to be traced to the heart's action. That it is a provision for expression may be inferred from the colour extending only to the surface of the face, neck, and breast, the parts most exposed. It is not acquired; it is from the beginning. It is unlike the effect of powerful, depressing emotions, which influence the whole body. The sudden conviction of the criminal is felt in every pore; but the colour caused by blushing gives brilliancy and interest to the expression of the face. In this we perceive an advantage possessed by the fair family of mankind, and which must be lost to the dark; for I can hardly believe that a blush may be seen in the negro. We think of blushes as accompanying shame; but it is indicative of excitement. There is no shame when lively feeling makes a timid youth break through the restraint which modesty and reserve have imposed. It is becoming in youth, it is seemly in more advanced years in women. Blushing assorts well with youthful and with effeminate features; whilst nothing is more hateful than a dogface, that exhibits no token of sensibility in the variations of colour."

EXPRESSION OF THE EYE.

"The eye is the most lively feature in the countenance; the first of our senses to awake, and the last to cease motion. It is indicative of the higher and the holier emotions-of all those feelings which distinguish man from the brutes.

A large eye is not only consistent with beauty, but necessary to it. The eye of the eagle, even of the ox, is familiar in the similes of poets. The Arab expresses his idea of a woman's beauty, by saying, that she has the eye of the gazelle; it is the burthen of their songs. The timidity, gentleness, and innocent fear, in the eye of the deer tribe, are compared with the modesty of a young girl. 'Let her be as the loving hind, and plea

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