hoose, nor compose, nor imagine,
nor experimentalize; but to be humble and earnest in following the steps
of nature, and tracing the finger of God. Nothing is so bad a symptom,
in the work of young artists, as too much dexterity of handling; for it
is a sign that they are satisfied with their work, and have tried to do
nothing more than they were able to do. Their work should be full of
failures; for these are the signs of efforts. They should keep to quiet
colors--grays and browns; and, making the early works of Turner their
example, as his latest are to be their object of emulation, should go to
nature in all singleness of heart, and walk with her laboriously and
trustingly, having no other thoughts but how best to penetrate her
meaning, and remember her instruction, rejecting nothing, selecting
nothing, and scorning nothing; believing all things to be right and
good, and rejoicing always in the truth. Then, when their memories are
stored, and their imaginations fed, and their hands firm, let them take
up the scarlet and the gold, give the reins to their fancy, and show us
what their heads are made of. We will follow them wherever they choose
to lead; we will check at nothing; they are then our masters, and are
fit to be so. They have placed themselves above our criticism, and we
will listen to their words in all faith and humility; but not unless
they themselves have before bowed, in the same submission, to a higher
Authority and Master.

Sec. 22. Necessity among our greater artists of more singleness of aim.

Among our greater artists, the chief want, at the present day, is that of
_solemnity_ and definite purpose. We have too much picture-manufacturing,
too much making up of lay figures with a certain quantity of foliage, and
a certain quantity of sky, and a certain quantity of water,--a little bit
of all that is pretty, a little sun, and a little shade,--a touch of
pink, and a touch of blue,--a little sentiment, and a little sublimity,
and a little humor, and a little antiquarianism,--all very neatly
associated in a very charming picture, but not working together for a
definite end. Or if the aim be higher, as was the case with Barrett and
Varley, we are generally put off with stale repetitions of eternal
composition; a great tree, and some goats, and a bridge and a lake, and
the Temple at Tivoli, etc. Now we should like to see our artists working
out, with all exertion of their concentrated powers, such marked