ged; he has contrived to raise
and animate his otherwise uninteresting views, by introducing a rainbow,
storm, or some particular accidental effect of light. That the practice
of Claude Lorraine, in respect to his choice, is to be adopted by
landscape painters, in opposition to that of the Flemish and Dutch
schools, there can be no doubt, as its truth is founded upon the same
principle as that by which the historical painter acquires perfect form.
But whether landscape painting has a right to aspire so far as to reject
what the painters call accidents of nature is not easy to determine. It
is certain Claude Lorraine seldom, if ever, availed himself of those
accidents; either he thought that such peculiarities were contrary to
that style of general nature which he professed, or that it would catch
the attention too strongly, and destroy that quietness and repose which
he thought necessary to that kind of painting.

A portrait painter likewise, when he attempts history, unless he is upon
his guard, is likely to enter too much into the detail. He too
frequently makes his historical heads look like portraits; and this was
once the custom amongst those old painters who revived the art before
general ideas were practised or understood. A history painter paints man
in general; a portrait painter, a particular man, and consequently a
defective model.

Thus an habitual practice in the lower exercises of the art will prevent
many from attaining the greater. But such of us who move in these
humbler walks of the profession are not ignorant that, as the natural
dignity of the subject is less, the more all the little ornamental helps
are necessary to its embellishment. It would be ridiculous for a painter
of domestic scenes, of portraits, landscapes, animals, or of still life,
to say that he despised those qualities which have made the subordinate
schools so famous. The art of colouring, and the skilful management of
light and shadow, are essential requisites in his confined labours. If
we descend still lower, what is the painter of fruit and flowers without
the utmost art in colouring, and what the painters call handling; that
is, a lightness of pencil that implies great practice, and gives the
appearance of being done with ease? Some here, I believe, must remember
a flower-painter whose boast it was that he scorned to paint for the
million; no, he professed to paint in the true Italian taste; and
despising the crowd, call