cloth which covered the other half, which, to my great horror and astonishment, was repainted. One of those men was at great pains to show the vast improvements the picture was receiving by this repainting; but the repainting and the discourse so kindled my indignation, that I was no longer master of myself. What, Sir,' said I, 'is it possible you do not perceive how this painterif I can call him painter-has destroyed the picture in every part on which he has laid his stupid hands? Do not you see that this head is distorted and out of drawing, that there is no longer significance or expression in it, that all his colouring is crude and wants accord? Do, sir, open your eyes, and compare it with the other half of the picture, which he has not as yet buried under his cursed colours.' He answered me, that this was only a dead colour, and the painter was to go over it a second time. O, confusion!' said I, 'so much the worse. If he has thus lost his way whilst he was immediately going over the lines and colours of Leonardi's work, what will become of him when he has no longer any guide, and is left blind and abandoned to his own ignorance?' And turning myself to two friars of the convent, who stood by, Fathers,' said I, this picture and the painter of it have suffered much by the ignorance of your order. It was whitewashed over some years ago; it has been again hurt in washing off the white; and now you have got a beast to paint another picture upon it, who knows no more of the matter than you do yourselves. There was no occasion for thus covering it over with new colours: it might easily be secured in those parts

that are loosening from the wall, and it would stand probably as long as your order will.' The friar told me that he did not understand those matters, and that he spoke but very little Italianthat he was Irish, and that it was by order of the Count de Firmian, who was secretary of state, that this picture was repainted. Indeed, then, countryman,' said I, the world will be very little obliged to Count de Firmian: it were to be wished, and it will be for the honour and interest of your convent if you can prevail upon the Count to spare at least what is remaining of the picture, and take down the scaffold immediately.'

Of his five years' occupation abroad, a very general account must be rendered. Much of his time was consumed in this sort of warfare; a little was given to a very ingenious inquiry into the origin of Gothic architecture, and to the collection of those historical materials which he afterwards used in his refutation of Winkelmann; but many hours, doubtless, were devoted to the proper objects of his professional study. His ardent spirit enabled him to master much in a little while; and he seems to have examined all that was worth examination with care and attention. He observed, however, no method in his studies: his hours of attending the galleries were dictated by chance; and his mode of copying, by means of a delineator, enabled him to store away the works he liked at a cheap rate; his brethren called it mechanical and unartist-like—they might have added that he was stealing rather than acquiring. The hand of a master may trace by a mechanical process-that of a student must work, if it is to work to pur

pose, by the unaided eye. Barry outlined all the fine antique statues in this manner. The only copies in oil which he made were some few which he sent to Burke, and the only original pictures which he painted were the Adam and Eve and the Philoctetes. He was, at this time, as slow and fastidious in his art, as rash and precipitate in his temper.

On his arrival in England, he was warmly welcomed by Burke; and the first picture which he exhibited was not unworthy of one who aspired to revive the faded lustre of historic painting. He measured himself at once with the most lovely of all Grecian productions, and painted Venus rising out of the sea. This picture is allowed, by friends and foes, to be an exquisite one: but he painted it in vain; it excited no lively sympathy-no fresh emotion; the subject had been exhausted by sculptors and painters-by loftier minds and happier hands. It was received with cold approbation. Having shown his skill in the graceful and lovely, he desired next to grapple with what is called the grand style, and painted his Jupiter and Juno-a work better conceived than executed, exhibiting much majesty of outline, and no little deficiency in colour. But what were Jupiter and Juno to the public of 1773? The great artists of Greece and Italy wrought in the spirit of their age and country; they sought at home for subjects of high character, yet familiarly known. But the heathen gods on Barry's canvass appealed to no popular sympathy-to no national belief-to no living superstition: the mob marvelled what they meant, and the learned had little to say.

Some kind and clever friend perceived this public apathy, and endeavoured to supply a stimulus in the Morning Post. He classed the "Jupiter and Juno" with the high historical works, and claimed for Barry a large portion of the genius necessary for elevating British art. Of the great artists of Italy he says justly, "Poetry warmed their imagination; history informed them of facts, and philosophy taught them causes; they felt the uses derived from these studies, and knew that a more thorough knowledge only enables a man to think more justly. Possessed of great natural powers, and having thus cultivated them, they did not fearfully hesitate and observe only through the medium of another man's prejudices, but boldly and independently exerted their own facultiesthey made use of their own eyes to see-their own imaginations to conceive with, and were regulated by their own informed judgments-and fixed upon a ground so firm, their works were sublime, just, and original." But those great painters did one thing and Barry did another. They, like the Greeks before them, set their imaginations to work upon subjects for which there was a market-Religion called Art to her aid, and the most eloquent of Romish divines never illustrated her legends with the spirit and grandeur of this auxiliary. To this view of the subject, Barry obstinately shut his eyes, and fared accordingly. Those who disliked his " Jupiter and Juno," dwelt upon incorrect drawing and defective colouring. In a work appealing more directly to the public feeling, a work of half the talent would have obtained high praise. The "Adam and Eve," which he painted in Italy

and finished in London, could not be objected to on these grounds. But the subject, simple as it seems, exacts more from art than art can readily bestow. To imagine two beings new created and pure, and fresh from the hand of the Almighty fashioner, requires the "faculty divine” of a Milton ; and to embody in lineament and colours this more than mortal vision, would ask the hand of a Raphael. It was the misfortune of Barry to choose subjects of surpassing beauty, where success was the most difficult, and failure sure to be the most injurious.

We may guess how he felt on this somewhat cold reception of works which he had more than insinuated would bring back the antique art of historic painting amongst us. We know what he did -he left Olympus and the bowers of Eden, and painted the "Death of Wolfe in the battle of Quebec." While he was busy with this picture, the whisper spread that he had seen the error of his ways, and, in short, forsaken classic severity of character, and poetic freedom of costume, for the actual faces and dresses of the day. It was at length finished and exhibited. A combat of naked men astonished the multitude, who knew all the regiments engaged, and the cut of their regimentals. It was neither a poetic interpretation of the fight, nor an historical illustration, but a sort of mixture of both, hastily conceived and indifferently executed, and only redeemed from contempt by the sentiment of heroism, which triumphed in the looks of the expiring General. In subjects of a poetic nature, fancy may clothe as she pleases her own progeny; but in historic