inting, or art generally, as such, with all its technicalities,
difficulties, and particular ends, is nothing but a noble and expressive
language, invaluable as the vehicle of thought, but by itself nothing.
He who has learned what is commonly considered the whole art of
painting, that is, the art of representing any natural object
faithfully, has as yet only learned the language by which his thoughts
are to be expressed. He has done just as much towards being that which
we ought to respect as a great painter, as a man who has learned how to
express himself grammatically and melodiously has towards being a great
poet. The language is, indeed, more difficult of acquirement in the one
case than in the other, and possesses more power of delighting the
sense, while it speaks to the intellect, but it is, nevertheless,
nothing more than language, and all those excellences which are peculiar
to the painter as such, are merely what rhythm, melody, precision and
force are in the words of the orator and the poet, necessary to their
greatness, but not the tests of their greatness. It is not by the mode
of representing and saying, but by what is represented and said, that
the respective greatness either of the painter or the writer is to be
finally determined.

Sec. 3. "Painter," a term corresponding to "versifier."

Speaking with strict propriety, therefore, we should call a man a great
painter only as he excelled in precision and force in the language of
lines, and a great versifier, as he excelled in precision or force in
the language of words. A great poet would then be a term strictly, and
in precisely the same sense applicable to both, if warranted by the
character of the images or thoughts which each in their respective
languages convey.

Sec. 4. Example in a painting of E. Landseer's.

Take, for instance, one of the most perfect poems or pictures (I use the
words as synonymous) which modern times have seen:--the "Old Shepherd's
Chief-mourner." Here the exquisite execution of the glossy and crisp
hair of the dog, the bright sharp touching of the green bough beside it,
the clear painting of the wood of the coffin and the folds of the
blanket, are language--language clear and expressive in the highest
degree. But the close pressure of the dog's breast against the wood, the
convulsive clinging of the paws, which has dragged the blanket off the
trestle, the total powerlessness of the head laid, close and motionless,
upon