rviceable to us in
the career of civilization. I had hoped to show you how many of the
great phenomena of nature still remained unrecorded by it, for _us_ to
record; how many of the historical monuments of Europe were perishing
without memorial, for the want of but a little honest, simple,
laborious, loving draughtsmanship; how many of the most impressive
historical events of the day failed of teaching us half of what they
were meant to teach, for want of painters to represent them faithfully,
instead of fancifully, and with historical truth for their aim, instead
of national self-glorification. I had hoped to show you how many of the
best impulses of the heart were lost in frivolity or sensuality, for
want of purer beauty to contemplate, and of noble thoughts to associate
with the fervor of hallowed human passion; how, finally, a great part of
the vital power of our religious faith was lost in us, for want of such
art as would realize in some rational, probable, believable way, those
events of sacred history which, as they visibly and intelligibly
occurred, may also be visibly and intelligibly represented. But all this
I dare not do yet. I felt, as I thought over these things, that the time
was not yet come for their declaration: the time will come for it, and I
believe soon; but as yet, the man would only lay himself open to the
charge of vanity, of imagination, and of idle fondness of hope, who
should venture to trace in words the course of the higher blessings
which the Arts may have yet in store for mankind. As yet there is no
need to do so: all that we have to plead for is an earnest and
straightforward exertion in those courses of study which are opened to
us day by day, believing only that they are to be followed gravely and
for grave purposes, as by men, and not by children. I appeal, finally,
to all those who are to become the pupils of these schools, to keep
clear of the notion of following Art as dilettantism: it ought to
delight you, as your reading delights you--but you never think of your
reading as dilettantism. It ought to delight you as your studies of
physical science delight you--but you don't call physical science
dilettantism. If you are determined only to think of Art as a play or a
pleasure, give it up at once: you will do no good to yourselves, and you
will degrade the pursuit in the sight of others. Better, infinitely
better, that you should never enter a picture gallery, than that you
should en