n common the affinities of race and family which make them
recognizable everywhere.

Anthonius Van Dyck obeys, likewise, the common law. Each of his works
is marked by that sign of originality, which in him consists of the
incessant pursuit of elegance and distinction. Distinction,--that is the
gift _par excellence_, the dominating quality of this artist, that which
constitutes his individuality, that which marks with an indelible
imprint all his glorious works, from the first gropings of the pupil of
Rubens to those immortal images of Charles I., his family, and his
court.

Whether he belongs to the highest spheres of society or whether he comes
from the simple _bourgeoisie_ of Antwerp, the model receives from Van
Dyck's brush the most aristocratic mien. One would insist that the
painter spent his life only in a world of gentlemen and patricians.
Never does he surprise even the men that he knows the best, his most
intimate friends, in the familiar carelessness of their daily
occupations. Rarely, very rarely, does it come into his mind to group
them in some intimate interior scene. Everybody is made to pose before
posterity; each sitter has the smile to give his or her descendants the
most exalted idea of his or her station and manners. Not one is vulgar,
not one dares to show himself in his ordinary work, or in the careless
good nature of daily life. Nothing alters their immutable serenity;
nothing troubles the unalterable placidity of their physiognomy. Let
others paint the people of taverns, the world of _kermesses_ and
peasants! Van Dyck wished to be and to live for ever the painter of
aristocracy.

_Antoine Van Dyck--sa vie et sonnoeuvre._ (Paris, 1882).

THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE TUGGED TO HER LAST BERTH TO BE BROKEN UP, 1838

(_TURNER_)

JOHN RUSKIN

"The flag which braved the battle and the breeze
No longer owns her."

Exhibited at the Academy in 1839, with the above lines cited in the
Catalogue. Of all Turner's pictures in the National Gallery this is
perhaps the most notable. For, _first_ it is the last picture he ever
painted with _perfect_ power--the last in which his execution is as firm
and faultless as in middle life; the last in which lines requiring
exquisite precision, such as those of the masts and yards of shipping,
are drawn rightly at once. When he painted the _Temeraire_ Turner could,
if he liked, have painted the _Shipwreck_ or the _Ulysses_ over again;
but when he painted