pieces into the hexagonal shape than it would to bend one long one. When however the pipe is only engraved, as in another chalice in Mr. Beresford Hope's possession, it is made in one length and passes through the knob. The knob is beaten out in two hemispheres, which are soldered together, and upon it are soldered the projecting rims to take the enamels in silver covered with translucent enamel; now entirely scaled off. The enamels placed in these projections are effectually secured by working the edges over them, and here I may observe how desirable it is to make these projections of a shape so as not to run into the fingers, as those of the Mayence chalice do. For this purpose a circle is better than a sexfoil, and a sexfoil than a quatrefoil: the object being to steady one's hold on the knob, and not to hurt the fingers. Some modern chalices have the enamels attached by internal screws and overlapping the projection, a practice which must render the knob anything but an assistance to the holder of the chalice. The knob has curbs or moulds soldered on the top and bottom to receive the parts of the pipe. At the bottom of the lowest portion of the pipe there is a flat plate with mouldings again soldered on as a curb, and below this again comes an engraved band often containing the name of the goldsmith. Then we come to the foot, which has a flat top with mouldings soldered on to serve as a curb for the piece containing the name, besides sundry other moulds which are merely for ornament. The foot itself has been beaten up like the bowl, but its lowest and broadest part is cut into a compound sexfoil. The mouldings were worked with the burin and punch upon a thick and narrow band of metal, which was then cut up into suitable lengths, bent round, and soldered at right angles to the lower edges of the sexfoil; and in order to give a more secure footing to the whole a flat piece of metal was soldered horizontally all round.1 Now there is one thing to be observed about this chalice, and that is, that with the exception of the pieces at right angles to the foot, the whole vessel contains no piece of metal thicker than a farthing. In the silver chalice of Mr. Beresford Hope the cup for the bowl has diminished to an ornamental edging, and as the pipe is not enamelled and consequently passes through the knob, there is also a third pipe soldered to the top of the base, and the whole are connected by transverse pins passing through all the pipes, viz., the pipe proper, the bowl pipe and the foot pipe. When enamels are inserted into the foot the space for them is cut out and on the under side a rim of metal is soldered all round the opening, which is afterwards bent down when the enamel is inserted. See the Mayence chalice. With regard to our modern chalices I would suggest a closer study of Italian examples, more especially with regard to the form of the bowl and the form of the knob; the former should be as much like the lower half of an egg as possible,2 and the latter should have a proper amount of rotundity, and above all, with projections which will not hurt the fingers. Of course all or any of the processes described in the first part of this paper, are applicable to the ornamenting of the various pieces of metal of which the chalice is composed, but I would suggest above all, the employment of precious materials: thus 1 This horizontal part of the foot is exceedingly developed in the Lynn cup. 2 The bowls of the best Italian chalices have the shape of an orange.

the bowl might be made of agate, like that of the chalice of Suger, and lapis lazuli or malachite or rock crystal might be employed for the knob. In short, nothing can be too precious or too good for a chalice.

(Mr. Burges' paper, containing his description of the Paten, the Altar Cross, &c., will be continued in our next number.)

ON THE FUTURE OF ART IN ENGLAND.

A Paper read at the Anniversary Meeting of the Ecclesiological Society, June 1, 1858. By GEORGE EDMUND STREET, Esq.

THE revival of art in the nineteenth century, towards which this society has in one way or another been an undeniably powerful helper, should never be looked at from what at first may appear to be the natural point of view for us, without an attempt at least on our part to realize the real history of the movement we are aiding, what was its origin, what have been its successes, and still more why it has succeeded, and whether the course which it takes is likely to end in complete victory, or in the catastrophe of a drawn battle, and consequent annihilation.

I do not speak idle words of apology when I express my sense of the difficulty of dealing with such a subject; for few artists can or ought to be able to speak or write of art so well as work in it. When they do so it must be under exceptional circumstances, in the heat of battle or when they feel that the world drags on too slowly behind them, and that on all it is incumbent to speak the truths of which they are possessed whenever and wherever they may.

Probably there are few of those to whom I now speak who do not feel to the fullest extent the danger which may overtake us in such a work as we are engaged on, unless we are always in front of the battle; few, I dare say, who do not see the absolute necessity for as vigorous a propagation and defence of the true principles of art from the ranks of this society now, as when it was first established. As long, in short, as we continue to act together as a society, we shall only do good by being in the van of the movement, and whenever we come to such a point as to suppose that we may pause for a time, we may be sure that our work is done for ever.

I am sanguine enough to believe that signs are not wanting that the principles to which we have attached our artistic sympathies will ere long hold all but undisputed sway, and a short recurrence to the history of the revival will help to explain the grounds on which I venture to be so hopeful.

Though the movement has been general throughout the whole of northern Europe, it is probable that in each country the moving cause has been to some extent national and particular. In England there were many signs of the coming change even in the last century. The

publications of the Society of Antiquaries, and the singular enthusiasm and skill of John Carter, displayed in his works on architecture and painting, and sculpture, had no doubt gone far to make a revival of ancient forms of art probable and possible. But it was necessary that some great external aid should be added to these purely archæological efforts before the world in general could be affected; and this aid came mainly in the person of Sir Walter Scott, who, himself possessed with an enthusiasm of the most genuine kind for old story, legend and song, created the same enthusiasm in the minds of all who read his works. Unconsciously the world came to regard the past with a new feeling and a warmer love; his skill had invested it with a glory which was not undeserved and it was no unnatural consequence that men should have longed to attempt some revival of the art of an age which they had begun to regard thus enthusiastically.

A number of societies followed each other, whose main object was the re-publication, or the study and explanation of our early literature. Men began to feel that a very large portion of our national glory was indissolubly mixed up with the history of the Middle Ages: and it was with a true enthusiasm that such a man as Southey did his best by a republication of the Morte d'Arthure-the great central romance of the Middle Ages-to enable the world to understand and to love their greatest peculiarities. Remains of early poetry, whose genuine life and beauty found a natural bond of unity in all that was best in men's hearts, aided in the revival: and it remained only for a poetry like Wordsworth's, gradually winning its way in men's love, by its simplicity, its earnestness, and its intensely close and exact description and observation of nature in all her sweetest forms, to destroy all chance of further success-for the present at least-to the believers in unreal, artificial, and foreign systems of thought and taste; whilst Tennyson and others at the present day continue to give a direction to public feeling entirely in harmony with all the romance of our art.

Indirectly, no doubt, the great religious revival, which commenced some thirty years ago, was aided by the altered tone of thought and feeling which had gradually been creeping over the world; and one of its first results was the impetus which, in its turn, it gave to the revival of our ecclesiastical architecture. To the religious revival we owe the existence of this society, and to this society I think most of us may, without shame, admit that much of our success as ecclesiastical architects is attributable.

Yet there has been one consequence up to this time of the very exclusively ecclesiastical development of our art which has been a serious evil, and which must be overcome if we are to achieve a real and permanent success. The world has, unhappily, learnt to connect the revival of Pointed architecture with religion and religious buildings in such a way as to assume that it is not equally suitable for all civil and domestic purposes also: " unhappily," in two ways-first, for the world itself, it is unhappy that it should ever wish to divorce religious and secular art; as if religion were a thing for Sundays only, and not for every moment of every life: and, secondly, in the kind of unreality which must characterize, to some extent, an art which is not

universally practised; though this has accidentally not been felt so much as might have been expected, owing to the very singular degree to which the work of many among us-of most, probably, in this room —has been restricted to ecclesiastical buildings, so that we have been able to wash our hands altogether of any work in a style in which we could not believe.

Signs are not wanting on all hands that this state of things will not endure. It is impossible that men can throw themselves heartily into this eclecticism in art. So soon as they feel its influence at all thoroughly, they will and must decide entirely and once for all for or against us; and I cannot doubt that the singular-I may say the overwhelming success with which our attempt to revive medieval art for ecclesiastical purposes has been crowned, is a presage of a corresponding victory in course of time in its revival for every purpose.

Of this I think we have irresistible evidence in the history of the sister art of painting. The struggle against classicism was first of all commenced among architects, and it has been carried on by painters. I suppose no revolution was ever more complete, sudden, or satisfactory than the revolution now in progress among them. It is but a few years since that Mr. Millais exhibited his first picture, and Mr. Holman Hunt his : and in the Exhibition of this year, not only do we see artists on all sides attempting to emulate the Pre-Raphaelites, but we find their ranks recruited by almost every young man of talent and power who appears, and we see, as these men go on at their work, how year by year their power becomes greater in every respect, and their influence more extended. The significance of this state of things for us lies in the fact that the Pre-Raphaelite movement is identical with our own: and that the success of the one aids immensely therefore in the success of the other. Nor, indeed, could our revival have been in any degree complete unless it had borne fruit in every branch of art.

The systems and rules against which architects and painters had to contend were identical. Alike we had to contend against an established system, of false laws and idle traditions, with all the prestige of an Academy to back it, and all the power in the hands of its professors. Alike we had to recur to first principles-to maintain first of all the necessity in all matters of art of absolute unwavering truth-to do battle against half truths and compromises of all kinds. Alike we have had to sustain our share of ridicule and abuse, though from the nature of the architectural profession we were in a much worse position than the painters, inasmuch as we are in some sense made responsible for the sins of the 66 two and three branch hands," who to so large an extent give us bad Gothic in one building, and, I doubt not, equally bad Classic or Renaissance in another.

Hitherto, however, there has been one great and overwhelming difficulty before us. For whilst architects first, and afterwards painters, have devoted themselves heartily and so far successfully to the revival of their several arts, I fear it is not saying a word beyond the truth, when I assert that up to the present moment there has been absolutely no corresponding progress whatever made by our sculptors. When things are at their worst they must mend: and with the horrible and