greens more soothing; and the whole colours softened. Reynolds observed to Sir George Beaumont that the pictures of Rubens appeared different to him, and less brilliant, on his second visit to the continent, than on his first; and the reason of the difference he discovered to be, that on the first visit he had taken notes, and on the second he had not. The alleged reason is quite equal to the effect; but I cannot help imagining that there is some incorrectness in the use of the term brilliant, unless warmth and depth of colouring is meant; for when the eye turns from the white paper to the painting, the reds and yellows must necessarily be deeper. If we look out from the window, and then turn towards a picture, the whole effect will be gonethe reflected rays from the picture will be too feeble to produce their impression; or if we look upon a sheet of paper, and then upon a picture, the tone will be deeper, and the warm tints stronger, but the lights and shades less distinct. If we place an oil painting, without the frame, upon a large sheet of paper, or against a white wall, it will appear offensively yellow: this is because the eye alternately, though insensibly, moves from the white paper or wall to the painting, which is of a deep tone, and consequently the browns and yellows are rendered unnaturally strong. We see the necessity of the gilt frame for such a picture, and the effect that it produces: it does not merely cut off surrounding objects, but it prepares the eye for the colours of the painting—it allows, if I may so express it, the painter to use his art more boldly, and to exaggerate the colours of nature.

Painters proceed by experiment; and in painting a portrait, they know that they can represent the features by contrast of lights and shadows, with very little colour; but such a portrait is never popular. If they are to present the likeness without much contrast of light and shade, they must raise the features by contrasts of the colours; hence the carnations are necessarily exaggerated but all this is softened down, by throwing a piece of drapery into the picture; and the effect of this will be so striking, from its colours preparing the eye properly for receiving those of the rest of the picture, that the features, which, perhaps, before gave the idea of an inflamed countenance, will appear natural. The common resource of the painter is to throw in a crimson curtain, or to introduce some flower or piece of dress, that shall lead the eye, by the succession of tints, to

wards it and by this means the eye will be prepared to receive the otherwise exaggerated colours of the portrait: first surveying the red curtain, and then the countenance, the whole appears coloured with the modesty of nature.

Those who hang pictures do not place an historical picture, painted after the manner of the Bolognese school, with distinct and abruptly-coloured draperies, by the side of a landscape; for the colours of a landscape, to be at all consonant with nature, must be weak and reduced to a low tone, corresponding with the effect produced by the intervention of the atmosphere; its colours, therefore, would be destroyed by too powerful a contrast. It is because pictures are, for the most part, painted on different principles, that there is a difficulty of deciding which colours are best adapted for the walls of a gallery; but, generally speaking, the dark, subdued red, or morone, brings out the colours of paintings; in other words, if we look on a wall of this hue, and then turn to the picture, the prevailing green and yellow tints will appear brighter.

The word "contrast" is used without an exact comprehension of what it implies. From the illustrations that have been given, it will be seen that the effect resulting from the proper distribution of colours placed together, is produced through the motion of the eye, combined with the law to which we have been adverting, of the sensibility of the retina. When we imagine that we are comparing colours, we are really experiencing the effect of the nerve being exhausted by dwelling on one colour, and becoming more susceptible of the opposite colour. In drapery, for example, there is such a mixture of different tints reflected from it, that although one prevail, the impression may be greatly modified by what the eye has previously experienced. If the colouring of the flesh be, as the painter terms it, too "warm," it may be made "cold" by rendering the eye insensible to the red and yellow rays, and more than usually susceptible of the blue and purple rays. Every coloured ray from the flesh is transmitted to the eye; but if the eye has moved from a yellow or crimson drapery, then the rays of that kind will be lost for the moment, and the colour of the flesh will appear less warm, in consequence of the prevalence of the opposite rays of colour.

It ought to be unsatisfactory to the philosophical student to

R

make use of a term without knowing its full meaning: yet much has been said about contrast and harmony in painting, as resulting from the arrangement of the colours; the idea being that the colours placed together are seen at the same time, and that this gives rise to the effect of which we are all sensible; whereas it results from alternately looking at the one colour and then at the other. The subject might be pleasantly pursued, but I mean only to vindicate the importance of the motions of the eye to our enjoyment of colours, whether they be those of nature or of art.

There is another subject of some interest, namely, the effect produced upon the retina when the eye is intently fixed upon an object, and is not permitted to wander from point to point. This touches on the chiaroscuro of painting; which is not merely the managing of the lights and shadows, but the preserving of the parts of a scene subordinate to the principal object. There is something unpleasant in a picture, even to the least experienced eye, when everything is made out, when the drapery of every figure, or the carvings and ornaments, are all minutely represented: for, in nature, things are never seen in such a way. On the other hand, a picture is truly effective, and felt to be natural, when the eye is led to dwell on the principal group or principal figure with which it is the artist's intention to occupy the imagination. With fine mastery of his art, the painter heightens the colours of the chief parts in his picture, and subdues, by insensible degrees, those which are removed from the centre; and thus he represents the scene as when we look intently at anything: that is, by making the objects which are near the axis of the eye be seen distinctly-the other objects retreating, as it were, or rising out less and less distinctly, in proportion as they recede from the centre. In the one instance, the artist paints a panorama, where, on turning round, we have the several divisions of the circle presented before the eye, and the objects visible in each, appearing equally distinct in the other, he paints a picture, which represents the objects, not as when the eye wanders from one to the other, but where it is fixed with higher interest upon some central figure, or part of the scene, and the rest falls off subordinately. Reverting to our main argument, the proofs of beneficence in the capacities of the living frame, we look naturally to the plea

sures received through this double property of the eye-its motion and sensibility; and we perceive that, whilst the varieties of light and shade are necessary to vision, the coloured rays are also, by their variety, suited to the higher exercise of this sense. They do not all equally illuminate objects; nor are they all equally agreeable to the eye. The yellow, pale green, or isabella colours, illuminate in the highest degree,* and are the most agreeable to the sense; and we cannot but observe, when we look out on the face of nature, whether to the country, the sea, or the sky, that these are the prevailing colours. The red ray illuminates the least, but it irritates the most; and it is this variety in the influence of these rays upon the nerve, that continues its exercise, and adds so much to our enjoyment. We have pleasure from the succession and contrast of colours, independently of that higher gratification which the mind enjoys through the influence of association.

OF EXPRESSION IN THE EYE.

In the conclusion of the volume, I took occasion to remark that natural philosophy sometimes disturbs the mind of a weak person. I recollect a student who objected to the attitude and the direction of the eyes upwards, in prayer: "For," said he, “it is unmeaning; the globe on which we stand is round, and the inhabitants in every degree, or division, of the sphere, have their eyes directed differently, diverging from the earth, and concentrated to nothing." This foolish observation may lead us once more to notice the relations between the mind, the body, and external nature.

The posture, and the expression of reverence, have been universally the same in every period of life, in all stages of society, and in every clime. On first consideration; it seems merely natural that, when pious thoughts prevail, man's countenance should be turned from things earthly, to the purer objects above. But there is a link in this relation every way worthy of attention: the eye is raised, whether the canopy over us be shrouded in darkness, or display all the splendour of noon.

The muscles which move the eye-ball are powerfully affected

* The Astronomer selects for his | portion, because it illuminates in telescope a glass which refracts the the highest degree and irritates the pale yellow light in the greatest pro- | least.

in certain conditions of the mind. Independently altogether of the will, the eyes are rolled upwards during mental agony, and whilst strong emotions of reverence and piety prevail in the mind. This is a natural sign, stamped upon the human countenance, and as peculiar to man as anything which distinguishes him from the brute. The posture of the body follows necessarily, and forms one of those numerous traits of expression which hold mankind in sympathy.

The same evidence that we brought forward in treating of a somewhat similar question, on the expression of the hand, might be adduced here the works of the great painters, who have made the sublimer passions of man the subjects of their art. By the upward direction of the eyes, and the correspondence of feature and attitude, in their paintings, they speak to all mankind. Thus we must admit that the reverential posture and uplifting of the eyes are natural, whether in the darkened chamber or under the vault of heaven. They result from the very constitution of the mind and body, and are too powerful to be effaced or altered. No sooner does pain or misfortune subdue a man, or move him to supplication, than the same universal expression prevails. Here is the correspondence of the mind, the frame, and external nature, by which man is directed to look for aid from above.