ld be different from his
action, or inaction, when watching the course of a battle.

I must also make a most definite exception in favor of Marochetti, who
seems to me a thoroughly great sculptor; and whose statue of Coeur de
Lion, though, according to the principle just stated, not to be
considered a _historical_ work, is an _ideal_ work of the highest beauty
and value. Its erection in front of Westminster Hall will tend more to
educate the public eye and mind with respect to art, than anything we
have done in London for centuries.

* * * * *

April 21st, 1854.--I stop the press in order to insert the following
paragraph from to-day's _Times_:--"THE STATUE OF COEUR DE
LION.--_Yesterday morning a number of workmen were engaged in pulling
down the cast which was placed in New Palace Yard of the colossal
equestrian statue of Richard Coeur de Lion. Sir C. Barry was, we
believe, opposed to the cast remaining there any longer, and to the
putting up of the statue itself on the same site, because it did not
harmonize with the building. During the day the horse and figure were
removed, and before night the pedestal was demolished and taken away._"]

131. But the time has at last come for all this to be put an end to; and
nothing can well be more extraordinary than the way in which the men
have risen who are to do it. Pupils in the same schools, receiving
precisely the same instruction which for so long a time has paralyzed
every one of our painters,--these boys agree in disliking to copy the
antique statues set before them. They copy them as they are bid, and
they copy them better than any one else; they carry off prize after
prize, and yet they hate their work. At last they are admitted to study
from the life; they find the life very different from the antique, and
say so. Their teachers tell them the antique is the best, and they
mustn't copy the life. They agree among themselves that they like the
life, and that copy it they will. They do copy it faithfully, and their
masters forthwith declare them to be lost men. Their fellow-students
hiss them whenever they enter the room. They can't help it; they join
hands and tacitly resist both the hissing and the instruction.
Accidentally, a few prints of the works of Giotto, a few casts from
those of Ghiberti, fall into their hands, and they see in these
something they never saw before--something intensely and everlastingly
true. They examine farthe