to say, is very far from what the author proposes. He has a vague idea of the growth of a new eclectic style of universal application out of the several distinct styles of antiquity, combining the merits and rejecting the faults of all, without being classed under any one. Now we think this cannot well be. Glass-painting must be subordinate, and cannot be independent. The painter has not to design a picture, but to adorn a building, and that building will either be an ancient one, or a new one formed on the principles of the old. Hence there will not only be associations in the general aspect of the place demanding a chronological conformity in the glazing of the windows, but the very construction of the fabric-the hard, unbending masonry, will limit or expand the design, according to the style, in such a way as to make as strong a line of demarcation between periods in glass as in stone. At least, if the character of the different architectural styles be at all observed in glazing, we cannot ourselves realize such a consanguinity between the design for an carly lancet and a broad perpendicular sevenlight window, as can bring them together as examples of one and the same style. There seems to be some confusion in the author's mind between refinements upon an old style and the origination of a new one. When an entirely new style in architecture is started, it may be attended by an equally original movement in glass-painting; but any such movement would be premature if designed to introduce novelty into one portion of a structure substantially unchanged.

Admitting, however, that defective drawing is not so inseparable from early examples as to put them out of the pale of imitation, and that M. Gerente's view of the period of perfection in glass-painting is more just than Mr. Winston's, backed, as the former is, by a triumphant appeal to our own Cathedral of Canterbury, still there is scope enough for genius and judgment in modern artists. Even if in design we closely follow existing precedents, there is sufficient variety among them to exercise at least the faculty of selection. For instance, there is no one style, we suppose, from Norman to Cinque Cento, which does not in some measure allow us the option (no unimportant one) of employing either groups in action, or single figures. Again, though the figures of the different periods respectively have a peculiar and distinctive character, of repose in one case, of more excited action in another, still this is not so indispensable to the propriety of the style selected that any deviation in obedience to individual taste amounts to an innovation in style. Here, then, are two points, at any rate, fairly open to discussion; points, too, of considerable interest and importance, since they influence not only the mere pictorial

effect of a window, but also the amount and character of the edification which may result from the contemplation of it. Yet these points, and all questions connected with the composition of glass-painting, are omitted by our author on the ground that they do not fall within the province of an amateur. (Preface, p. 5.) This is a view which we cannot quite apprehend. For our own part, we should have considered that such questions of taste and propriety fell far more within the jurisdiction of an amateur than the dry though important facts, and profusion of technical details, which our author has collected with such incredible patience and perseverance.

The two questions which have presented themselves to us, out of many which might arise, are really less distinct than they may appear at first sight to be. The alternative of groups or single figures involves in a considerable degree that of repose or action. A group must be actually historical, or, at least, possess so much action as to connect the figures with one another. On the other hand, violent action in a single figure is unintelligible, except by an extraordinary effort of the imagination.

Reducing these, therefore, to one question, it is obvious that historical groups or figures in action will operate upon the spectator otherwise than single figures, and those in attitudes of repose, or such conventional postures as do not require that the imagination should supply other figures to join in the action, and consider the scene as one directly historical. The former would edify undoubtedly, for pictures are the poor man's books, and they would impress upon the mind historical events and even doctrinal facts of which he might otherwise be ignorant. Nor would this effect be confined to the unlettered. The most refined and intellectual among us may with advantage be made to realize what we have learnt, by seeing it thus embodied, if the design is correctly conceived and faithfully executed. It cannot, therefore, be desirable entirely to exclude historical groups, such as the scenes of the Gospel, or of Church history, from glass-painting. Still we conceive that this sort of edification is not its highest function. A church is not, except secondarily, a place of instruction: My house is the 'house of prayer.' Hence we consider that the proportion of directly historical representations should not be greater than that of catechetical instruction in our systems of devotion to the portions designed for meditation and prayer. A solitary figure offered to our contemplation, not acting its history, but tranquilly indicating it by some conventional symbol; not seeking to refresh our memory, but to stimulate our devotion and provoke our zeal,-harmonizes most with the solemn purpose of

a consecrated building. We do not gain from representations of even the noblest actions of the lives of saints an equally high sense of the change which has taken place in those who have gone before us as examples, with that which results from their mysterious influence when drawn up, as it were, in inactive, passionless rows, watching ceaselessly and unwearied the devotions of those who are ever less ready to pray than God to hear. These latter teach us more truly the relation between the departed and ourselves.

The Saints are there, the Living Dead,

The Mourners glad and strong;
The sacred floor their quiet bed,
Their beams from every window shed
Their voice in every song.'

Lyra Innocentium (Church Windows).

The terrible details of a martyrdom, for instance, call our thoughts indeed to the sufferer, and awaken a due admiration of his fortitude, a due abhorrence of his persecutors' malice. But the still effigy, divested of all action connected with the events and conduct of life on earth, and shadowing, so far as is lawful, the condition of life in heaven-the face cleared from all emotion and all sense of self-the attitude of benediction or warning concerning those who remain behind-all these point with peculiar precision and impressiveness to the preparation we must enter upon for the things to come.

When we have made our determination respecting the adoption of groups or single figures, when we have resolved on the degree of historical action which our figures shall display, there yet remain several questions to be considered either in borrowing from ancient examples or in original design. There is the great question, what the subject of the design shall be, what must be excluded on principles of faith or taste, and what will best serve the highest purposes of the art. We call it a great question, because obviously upon a right decision must depend the worth of the art itself, and its influences for good or evil. At the same time, we believe that both the current feeling and traditionary usage are sufficient to preclude the necessity of very stringent directions on this head; and therefore it is that we could wish omitted from the work such passages as treat the subject in a theological and controversial point of view. We allude chiefly to the chapter On the employment of painted glass as a means of decoration,' in which our author seems to display a less sense of the modesty becoming an amateur in theological matters than he professes as an amateur in glasspainting. His theology is, however, of a very negative character, consisting chiefly of fine-drawn objections, nice distinctions,

6

and strong protests against rather visionary evils. Protesting, indeed, seems to be his special delight. A painted window, he says, in a Protestant church, should be of a Protestant charac'ter, and accordingly free from those legends and symbols for 6 which Protestants have neither reverence nor belief.' If the reverence and belief of a Protestant majority is exacted, the glass-painter's catalogue of legends and symbols is likely to be a limited one indeed. We shall soon obtain our author's limitation of them in a more definite and tangible shape. He justifies the use of portraits of the saints, on the ground that no one 'can suppose that either portraits of saints or other scriptural 'subjects are introduced into a church with any other view than for the purpose of ornament, or, possibly, of example and instruction. For our own part, we would not give much for an art which professes to serve the church with mere ornament; and that which Mr. Winston regards as a possible object, viz., food for meditation, and a source of example and instruction, seems to us the sole, legitimate, and adequate end for which the subject is worth cultivating, or, we had almost said, Mr. Winston's book worth reading. But even this not very bold concession to the claims of the saints to the services of Christian art is diluted with a further protestation. Against the repre'sentation of unscriptural subjects, there is in Protestant minds a general and well-founded objection.' At first we were disposed to quarrel with this restriction, in the fear that it would exclude such subjects as the proto-martyrdom of England from the churches of St. Alban-the dawn of Christianity upon our Saxon ancestors from those of St. Augustine, &c.; but upon further reading we were satisfied that the author's interpretation of a scriptural subject is a liberal one. He advocates a rule which gives free admission to the Protestant martyrs, and the Fathers of the Anglican Church;' though at the same time he prohibits (we presume as unscriptural) certain other objects, which, though not legendary, are hardly of a Protestant charac'ter.' These objects are the instruments of the Crucifixion, such as the nails, the hammer, the ladder, the scourge, the 'crown of thorns, &c.,' to which, he says, Protestants do not allow sufficient importance to justify the affectation of it by giving them a prominent place in our designs. We believe they do not. In the same vein of satire upon his own times, the author declares that his opinion is decidedly hostile to symbols, because to some persons they are offensive, to most they are ' unintelligible, and in very few, perhaps, of those who do under'stand their meaning, are they capable of awakening any senti'ments of piety or veneration;' because, if any interest 'attaches to ancient symbols, it is an antiquarian interest,' and

because we know that the modern copies are an unreal 'mockery, the production not of a congenial mind, but a mere 'mechanical hand.' Severe as this sarcasm is, (and surely we cannot be wrong in regarding this language as no other than a piece of delicate but cutting irony) it is a relief, after the dry technical details which form the substance of this amateur production.

But before we draw to a conclusion, there are some points remaining which seem to deserve discussion, although there is little to suggest them in the volumes before us, perhaps because they seem to approach too nearly the question of composition and design, which Mr. Winston considers that an amateur is bound to relinquish. In the case of figures, for instance, the disposition and character of the drapery are worth considering, since on them will greatly depend the solemnity and propriety of the painting. Now, while we agree with our author that we are under no obligation to follow closely the drawing of ancient glass-paintings, we must be careful to distinguish between peculiarities founded on principle, and those which are the result of accident or imperfect knowledge and manual skill; and therefore we should be sorry to consider as an open question the proportion which drapery should bear to the figure in extent. It may be said, perhaps with truth, that the long flowing draperies of saints are purely conventional, and such as were not and could not be worn under the circumstances represented. But like the unnaturally tall figures in very elevated early English windows, this was no result of ignorance or want of skill. The reverential spirit of ancient painters revolted from an arrogant display of the limbs, from any unnecessary obtrusion of the humanity of their subjects. The same, in almost the same degree, is exhibited in the more devotional pictures of Raffaelle,—and who can charge him with ignorance or want of skill? Majestically draped as many of his figures are, every limb was first drawn naked in the painter's studio, nay, every muscle was assigned to its place with consummate anatomical knowledge; and when the figure stood veiled before the vulgar eye, no defective drawing was hidden, no negligence excused by that reverential treatment of the subject. In our own times, the painter who brings a smattering of anatomy to his aid, is uneasy if all are not reminded of the accomplishment thus accessory to his fame, and burns for naked subjects. There is a nauseous profanity in certain painters who choose a saint as a field for the play of a prurient imagination, and love to employ their pencil on reiterated forms of the humbled Magdalene, because it enables them to show their skill in imitating flesh. Those who have frequented the exhibitions of late years will not be at a