of a river, before sun-rise, cannot be much commended. We have indeed heard of the hardy Highlanders of Scotland, who sleep out among the mountains and glens, steaming through their tartan plaids, at this early hour, but have not learned to be sufficiently Scottish, to be charmed with the chilling "taste" of such romanticity. But, to what does this romantic stream--personified by our artist, allude? Why in order to indicate the early hour-or to accord with it rather-Poussin has introduced, just beyond his principal group, a river-god as not conscious of day-light-as literally "sleeping o'er his urn;" and a little farther on in the picture, upon higher ground, appears a Naiad, with her smaller vase beside her, who is just awakening: the allegoric meaning-delicately, but efficiently expressed-is that mountain streamlets glitter in the early morning light, while the deeper river-beds are yet in the dark. But instead of this simple, and pretty obvious explication of a depicted allegory, Mr. Cunningham's illustration is mere vapid, verbal display. He writes, 66 a Fountain deity slumbers over his urn, unconscious of what is doing beside him, and a Nymph starts from her couch [where there is neither couch nor Nymph, but a bank and a Naiad]-starts from her couch, and gazes dazzled on the brightening sky.” Now, as the face of the Naiad is averted from the spectator, being seen in somewhat less than profile, and turned toward the rising sun-light, we should be glad to know how Mr. C. came to perceive that her eyes were dazzled? And further, how he came not to perceive or not to mention-what confers so much intelligent meaning on the whole allegorical fable; namely, that, in that brightening sky, the shadowy form of Phœbus, rising and urging onward his steeds, is distinctly traceable. This beautiful and highly poetical passage of the picture, the poet has entirely omitted to mention instead thereof, informing his readers that, "The winged steed of the morning is at hand."—But he who inspects the picture with ordinary attention (to say nothing of critical discernment), will presently see that the car of Aurora-another article, which, though it confers so much meaning on the whole composition, is left entirely unheeded by this accomplished critical dissertator-The car of Aurora, partially seen beyond her shoulder, is attached to this Pegasus, in which circumstance, most observers of any taste, would recognise something of delicate indication of a poetic flight on the part of the artist, as well as on that of the goddess. Neither the car of Phœbus, nor that of Aurora, appears to have been perceived by the historical and critical describer! Not perceived? No not even perceived; though they are just as distinctly painted as they ought to be. Now, there is a time, lasting for some weeks, in every year, when the asterism Pegasus in the Thessalian latitudes, rising just before the sun, becomes immersed in his morning radiance, and may therefore-almost without a metaphor be said to be harnessed to the car of Aurora. But though we think with Lord Verulam concerning the enigmatic meaning of some of the old Grecian fables, we are not about to blame or dispraise our critic for not adverting to this heliacal rising of the stars of Pegasus, being uncertain whether Poussin himself intended such recondite advertence. If he did, the winged horse is here introduced with twofold pertinence ; and something of mystical wit, mingles itself with the celestial wisdom of the artist. Upon an occasion where astronomic phenomena were necessarily connected with his allegory, Poussin might have ventured on this scientific allusion—we hope, without the reproach of pedantry-else heaven help ourselves; but it may perhaps be esteemed rather a curious local coincidence, that in the far-off age of Cephalus, this heliacal rising of the stars in question, annually took place between the times of the sun's arrival at the brumal solstice, and his arrival at the vernal equinox, which was, most likely, the sporting season of Thessaly. Uncertain as we are upon this point, we merely wish to enable the reader to render unto Poussin the things that are Poussin's, according to the reader's judgment: and are very far from imputing blame to our contemporary for not noticing the dubious astronomy of the subject. Even with regard to the poetry of the subject, which is not dubious, it had perhaps been most charitable and most prudent in us, to suppose inadvertency on the part of the critic, and that he did not, at the moment he was writing his comments, happen to think of analogically identifying the rosy-fingered goddess with the rising day, &c. &c. And most certainly we had put this milder construction upon his criticism, and had done so perhaps in silence, had we not met with errors of the same kind, more or less gross, but set forth with the same assurance-we had nearly written, literary audacityalmost wherever we have opened Mr. C.'s writings upon Art and artists. How with his darkness he has dared to affront Titian's light, the reader has seen, and will judge of the propriety of our vindicating from such criticism, the noble works placed in the National Gallery. The well-merited reputations of such artists, as Titian and Poussin, are not to suffer detriment because a certain public writer happens to be inattentive, or ignorant and over bold: nor can he be fit to write upon any subject, for the Public, that "With mean compliance would betray his trust; Or be so civil as to prove unjust; Or fears the anger of the wise to raise." A CLASSICAL LANDSCAPE. NICCOLO POUSSIN. MR. CUNNINGHAM appears, by some adverse circumstances adverse, we mean, to the public advantage -to have been tossed out of his proper element. Such accidents are not unfrequent among those of human life, and are much to be regretted when men of talent, as well as the public pleasure and improvement, are involved in the consequences; consequences, too often occasioned, as we fear, by the mercenary cupidity of those to whom literature is a commodity. In the local legendary lore of the Scottish glens, and in the superstitions of the Highlands, Mr. C. seems learned, and his poetry and Scottish stories are highly interesting and instructive: whether he has volunteered into other regions, or been compelled thither by adverse gales, we cannot tell; but, as the poet opines, "One Science only will one genius fit, There are some few exceptions we know; but our contemporary's knowledge of Art and artists, is so superficial, and his temerity so great, that he is not only in perpetual danger of shipwreck, but his logbook and reports are so full of erroneous hydrographical notices, that he endangers sober and trusting navigators who may think to follow him. His traverse sailing has brought him athwart some isolated few of our National Gallery subjects; but he has encountered them so transiently, and under such Scottish mists, that he has scarcely ever quitted them without hanging out false signals: not that he designs to mislead, but from sheer ignorance of painting and superficiality of observation-at least that is the most charitable conclusion we are able to arrive at. We are here vindicating Poussin; concerning the philosophy of whose talents, as far as a general remark goes, our contemporary may easily be tracked through Thompson's snow. The poet has pronounced him "learned," as placed in apposition to Salvator Rosa, in a verse which Mr. C. has twice quoted in the course of his few pages on pictures contained in the National Gallery. So far, so good (not that the "savage Rosa" was unlearned): but the Cephalus and Procris-notwithstanding that it is far more "learned" than his critic has ever dreamed of—not coming up to the mark of Poussin's reputation in the estimation of that critic-which is only saying in other words that it does not come down to the level of his capacity for judging.-This being the case, Mr. C. kindly thinks to fill up the vacant measure, by an advertence to his noble classical landscape wherein is introduced the story of Polyphemus in love with Galatea, a glorious Sicilian scene, with |