on the German stage, and on the distinguished actors of Germany, are interesting; and she gives the best and most satisfactory account of modern German art, both in sculpture and painting, we have yet met with. As a specimen of the sort of amusement the reader is likely to meet with in these Sketches, we shall conclude with her account of an artist whose name has become familiar in England, both by his illustrations of Goëthe and Schiller, and by his work now in (slow) progress on our own Shakspeare-Moritz Retzsch.

This extraordinary genius, who is almost as popular and interesting in England as in his own country, seems to have received from Nature a double portion of the inventive faculty-that rarest of all her good gifts, even to those who are her especial favourites. As his published works, by which he is principally known in England (the Outlines to the Faust, to Shakspeare, to Schiller's Song of the Bell, &c.) are illustrations of the ideas of others, few but those who may possess some of his original drawings are aware, that Retzsch is himself a poet of the first order, using his glorious power of graphic delineation to throw into form the conceptions, thoughts, aspirations, of his own glowing imagination and fertile fancy. Retzsch was born at Dresden in 1779, and has never, I believe, been far from his native place. From childhood he was a singular being, giving early indications of his imitative power by drawing or carving in wood, resemblances of the objects which struck his attention, without the slightest idea in himself or others of becoming eventually an artist; and I have even heard that, when he was quite a youth, his enthusiastic mind, labouring with a power which he felt rather than knew, his love of the wilder aspects of nature, and impatience of the restraints of artificial life, had nearly induced him to become a huntsman or forester (Jäger) in the royal service. However, at the age of twenty, his love of art became a decided vocation. The little property he had inherited or accumulated was dissipated during that war, which swept like a whirlwind over all Germany, overwhelming prince and peasant, artist, mechanic, in one wide-spreading desolation. Since that time, Retzsch has depended on his talents alone-content to live poor in a poor country. He has, by the exertion of his talents, achieved for himself a small independence, and contributed to the support of a large family of relations, also ruined by the casualties of war. His usual residence is at his own pretty little farm or vineyard a few miles from Dresden. When in the town, where his duties as professor of the Academy frequently call him, he lodges in a small house in the Neustadt, close upon the banks of the Elbe, in a retired and beautiful situation. Thither I was conducted by our mutual friend N, whose appreciation of Retzsch's talents, and knowledge of his peculiarities, rendered him the best possible intermediator on this occasion.

The professor received us in a room which appeared to answer many purposes, being obviously a sleeping as well as a sitting room, but perfectly neat. I saw at once that there was everywhere a woman's superintending eye and thoughtful care; but did not know at the moment

that he was married. He received us with open-hearted frankness, at the same time throwing on the stranger one of those quick glances which seemed to look through me: in return, I contemplated him with inexpressible interest. His figure is rather larger, and more portly than I had expected; but I admired his fine Titanic head, so large, and so sublime in its expression; his light blue eye, wild and wide, which seemed to drink in meaning and flash out light; his hair, profuse, grizzled, and flowing in masses round his head; and his expanded brow, full of poetry and power. In his deportment he is a mere child of nature, simple, careless, saying just what he feels and thinks at the moment, without regard to forms; yet pleasing from the benevolent earnestness of his manner, and intuitively polite without being polished.

After some conversation, he took us into his painting room. As a colourist, I believe his style is criticised, and open to criticism; it is at least singular; but I must confess that while I was looking over his things I was engrossed by the one conviction—that while his peculiar merits, and the preference of one manner to another may be a matter of argument or taste, it is certain, and indisputable, that no one paints like Retzsch, and that, in the original power and fertility of conception, in the quantity of mind which he brings to bear upon his subject, he is in his own style unequalled and inimitable. I was rather surprised to see in some of his designs and pencil drawings, the most elaborate delicacy of touch, and most finished execution of parts, combined with a fancy which seems to run wild over his paper or his canvas; but only seemsfor it must be remarked, that with all this luxuriance of imagination, there is no exaggeration, either of form or feeling; he is peculiar, fantastic, even extravagant-but never false in sentiment or expression. The reason is, that in Retzsch's character the moral sentiments are strongly developed; where they are deficient, let the artist who aims at the highest poetical department of excellence, despair; for no possession of creative talent, nor professional skill, nor conventional taste, will supply that main deficiency.

I saw in Retzsch's atelier many things novel, beautiful, and interesting; but will note only a few, which have dwelt upon my memory, as being characteristic of the man as well as the artist.

So

There was, on a small panel, the head of an angel smiling. He said he was often pursued by dark fancies, haunted by melancholy forebodings, desponding over himself and his art, " and he resolved to create an angel for himself, which should smile upon him out of heaven." he painted this most lovely head, in which the radiant spirit of joy seems to beam from every feature at once; and I thought while I looked upon it, that it were enough to exorcise a whole legion of blue devils. It is rarely that we can associate the mirthful with the beautiful and sublime-even I could have deemed it next to impossible; but the effulgent cheerfulness of this divine face corrected that idea, which, after all, is not in bright lovely Nature, but in the shadow which the mighty spirit of Humanity casts from his wings, as he hangs brooding over her between heaven and earth.

• Afterwards he placed upon his easel a wondrous face, which made

me shrink back-not with terror, for it was perfectly beautiful-but with awe, for it was unspeakably fearful: the hair streamed back from the pale brow-the orbs of sight appeared at first two dark, hollow, unfathomable spaces, like those in a skull; but when I drew nearer, and looked attentively, two lovely living eyes looked at me again out of the depth of shadow, as if from the bottom of an abyss. The mouth was divinely sweet, but sad, and the softest repose rested on every feature. This, he told me, was the ANGEL of DEATH: it was the original conception of a head for the large picture now at Vienna, representing the Angel of Death bearing aloft two children into the regions of the blessed: the heavens opening above, and the earth and stars sinking beneath his feet.

The next thing which struck me was a small picture-two satyrs butting at each other, while a shepherd carries off the nymph for whom they are contending. This was most admirable for its grotesque power and spirit, and, moreover, extremely well coloured. Another in the same style represented a satyr sitting on a wine-skin, out of which he drinks; two arch-looking nymphs are stealing on him from behind, and one of them pierces the wine-skin with her hunting-spear.

There was a portrait of himself, but I would not laud it—in fact, he has not done himself justice. Only a colossal bust, in the same style, and wrought with the same feeling, as Danneckar's bust of Schiller, could convey to posterity an adequate idea of the head and countenance of Retzsch. I complimented him on the effect which his Hamlet had produced in England; he told me, that it had been his wish to illustrate the Midsummer Night's Dream, or the Tempest, rather than Macbeth: the former he will still undertake, and, in truth, if any one succeeds in embodying a just idea of a Miranda, a Caliban, a Titania, and the poetical burlesque of the Athenian clowns, it will be Retzsch, whose genius embraces at once the grotesque, the comic, the wild, the wonderful, the fanciful, the elegant!

A few days afterwards we accepted Retzsch's invitation to visit him at his campagna-for whether it were farm-house, villa, or vineyard, or all together, I could not well decide. The drive was delicious. The road wound along the banks of the magnificent Elbe, the gently-swelling hills, all laid out in vineyards, rising on our right; and though it was in November, the air was soft as summer. Retzsch, who had perceived our approach from his window, came out to meet us-took me under his arm as if we had been friends of twenty years standing, and leading me into his picturesque domicile, introduced me to his wife-as pretty a piece of domestic poetry as one shall see in a summer's day. She was the daughter of a vine-dresser, whom Retzsch fell in love with while she was yet almost a child, and educated for his wife-at least so runs the tale. At the first glance I detected the original of that countenance which, more or less idealized, runs through all his representations of female youth and beauty: here was the model, both in feature and expression; she smiled upon us a most cordial welcome, regaled us with delicious coffee and cakes prepared by herself, then, taking up her knitting, sat down beside us; and while I turned over admiringly the beau

tiful designs with which her husband had decorated her album, the looks of veneration and love with which she regarded him, and the expression of kindly, delighted sympathy with which she smiled upon me, I shall not easily forget. As for the album itself, queens might have envied her such homage: and what would not a dilettante collector have given for such a possession !

man.

After spending three or four hours delightfully, we drove home in silence by the gleaming, murmuring river, and beneath the light of the silent stars. On a subsequent visit, Retzsch showed me many more of these delicious phantasie, or fancies, as he termed them, or more truly, little pieces of moral and lyrical poetry, thrown into palpable form, speaking in the universal language of the eye to the universal heart of I remember, in particular, one of striking and even of appalling interest. The Genius of Humanity and the Spirit of Evil are playing at chess for the souls of men: the Genius of Humanity has lost to his infernal adversary some of his principal pieces,-love, humility, innocence, and lastly, peace of mind;-but he still retains faith, truth, and fortitude; and is sitting in a contemplative attitude, considering his next move; his adversary, who opposes him with pride, avarice, irreligion, luxury, and a host of evil passions, looks at him with a Mephistophiles expression, anticipating his devilish triumph. The pawns on the one side are prayers on the other, doubts. A little behind stands the Angel of conscience as arbitrator. In this most exquisite allegory, so beautifully, so clearly conveyed to the heart, there lurked a deeper moral than in many a sermon.

There was another beautiful little allegory of Love in the character of a Picklock, opening, or trying to open, a variety of albums, lettered, the "Human Heart, No. 1; Human Heart, No. 2;" while Philosophy lights him with her lanthorn. There were besides many other designs of equal poetry, beauty, and moral interest-I think, a whole portfolio full of them.

I endeavoured to persuade Retzsch that he could not do better than publish some of these exquisite Fancies, and when I left him he entertained the idea of doing so at some future period. To adopt his own language, the Genius of Art could not present to the Genius of Humanity a more delightful and a more profitable gift.'*

6

* Since the appearance of Mrs Jameson's Sketches,' Retzsch, we believe, has sent over to England a series of these Fancies for publication.

ART. X.-A Bill to remove certain Disabilities which prevent some classes of his Majesty's Subjects from resorting to the Universities of England, and proceeding to Degrees therein. 21st April, 1834.

THE

HE whole difficulty of the question, in regard to the admission of Dissenters into the English Universities, lies in the present anomalous state-we do not say constitution-of these establishments. In them the University so called, i. e. the necessary national establishment for General Education, is now illegally suspended, and its function usurped, but not performed, by a number of private institutions which had sprung up in accidental connexion with it, named Colleges.

Now, the claim of the Dissenters to admission into the public university cannot justly be refused; nor, were the university what it ought in law to be, would the slightest difficulty or inconvenience be experienced in rendering that right available. But the university has been allowed to disappear-the colleges to occupy its place; and, while the actual right of the colleges, as private establishments, to close their gates on all but members of their own foundations cannot be denied; independently of this right, the expediency is worse than doubtful, either of forcing a college to receive inmates not bound to accommodate themselves to its religious observances, or of exacting from those entitled to admission, conformity to religious observances, in opposition to their faith. Now, neither in the bill itself, nor in any of the pamphlets and speeches in favour of the Dissenters, or against them, is there any attempt made to grapple with the real difficulties of the question; and the opponents of the measure are left to triumph on untenable ground, in objections which might be retorted with tenfold effect upon themselves.

The sum of all the arguments for exclusion amounts to this The admission of the Dissenters is inexpedient, as inconsistent with the present state of education in the universities, which is assumed to be all that it ought to be; and unjust, as tending to deprive those of their influence who are assumed to have most worthily discharged their trust. In reply to this, it is feebly attempted, admitting the assumptions, to evade the right, and to palliate the inconveniences, instead of contending boldly—in the first place, that the actual state of education in these schools is entitled to no respect, as contrary at once to law and reason; and that all inconveniences disappear the moment that the universities are in the state to which law and reason demand that they

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