my part, would rather see him helped to use the genius which God has given him, and which his own early industry has cultivated, in producing new and better works. I speak here intentionally of young men, who are defrauded of their right to work their best, since, up to this day, it is they who have suffered, and it is they who will be hampered still more by the fetters of the proposed change, because a young man who has the vital principle in his work, with much that marks his reverence for the Masters which good fortune or choice has procured him, always gives something which he for the first time brings to human sight and thought. This provokes the voluble indignation of ready writers, who excite the world against his work, who conjure the public to believe that although an Art Institution may have been so far indifferent to its reputation as to admit such a depraved production for public exhibition, no gentleman of taste will allow the work to desecrate his collection, and make him the laughing-stock of his friends. If in the face of a hurricane of such ingenious and malicious abuseand this is no exaggerated statement of facts-some purchaser with more than ordinary human independence should go to the aspirant for recognition as a future master in Art (so short a time since hoping for his first triumph and now dejected with the feeling that the whole world, including his own kin, regards his ambition to be more than a mere slave in his sacred pursuit as a crime deserving ignominy and poverty); if such an exceptional patron should inquire the terms on which he could purchase the work of Art, how could the disgraced artist dare to ask for a special agreement to retain the property of the copyright, which at the moment is worth nothing at all? It is true, as the Royal Commissioners discriminately point out, that at present, if no contract is made for this on either side, the property in the design of the work belongs to no one; but I cannot see that the difficulties hence arising give any reason for depriving the author of his claim for future compensation. Were it so, the injury would be greater than at present; because now, when no reservation of right has been made, the purchaser of the picture, after it has outlived literary vituperation and consequent public prejudice, frequently acknowledges the artist's moral claim to the copyright, and voluntarily aids him to obtain the further reward for his labour. Would the possessor do this when by Act of Parliament the property had been definitely vested in himself?

The question of the artist's influence upon the character of the engraving done from his works is one also of the greatest importance to the public. An engraving from a modern picture, done without the artist's participation, is generally executed in great haste as a speculation for which a cheap journeyman is employed, and the natural result is not of a kind calculated to advance a taste for engraving. Like the shoddy cloth, of which lately we have heard too much, it is

destined to disgust the purchaser, and in the end ruin the trade; and the pity is that in the consequences the honest as well as the fraudulent maker will suffer.

The old masters of Italy, Germany, and of England-if we may thus call the artists from Hogarth downwards-have carried Art to such a heavenly height, that before its altar the jealousy of nations and even the rancour of religious frenzy were harmonised and sanctified into humble, reverent admiration. The authors of the works which have produced such peaceful contentment had, let me point out, their copyrights secured to them. Before engraving was general, these painters sought to make the safety of their choicest compositions superior to the accidents of travel, or danger from fire, by making replicas of their pictures. Doubtless they resorted to this practice also because the first work in each of its stages had to be conducted tentatively, and at a sacrifice of time and labour, for which the payment received for the first picture but ill paid its producer, while the later ones, done partly by pupils and by himself when all the difficult problems were solved and made of easy repetition, was a light work for which the sum paid for the earlier painting became a liberal reward. The need of repetitions, to preserve the composition and to increase the artist's first gains, passed away as engraving became common; but the right of the artist to repeat his work was still active in England till 1862. The right of protection for original design was accorded to Albert Dürer-a German-by the Venetians, and by the Romans; it was accorded in Holland to Rembrandt, and in England to Hogarth and his successors, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gainsborough, Wilkie, Leslie, and Turner. Without it, what an unspeakable loss the whole world would have suffered in precious mirrors of manners and things of beauty! If a man works only for one employer, however intelligent and appreciative, how limited is his ambition in comparison with that with which he labours for the whole of his fellow men! The recognition of copyright, as the artists' property, had engendered among them the thought that they worked not for a single master but for the world, not for to-day but for all time; and this spirit made Sir Joshua Reynolds's, Gainsborough's, and Romney's portraits exquisite and dainty poems as well as faithful likenesses.

Seeing that the purchasers of these pictures shared the glory gained by their happy possessions, and judging from the rapidity with which they were all engraved, they wished that the delightful designs should be widely enjoyed. I cannot believe that gentlemen who have family portraits painted, should desire that family eyes alone should revel in the beauty of the work. Indeed, in the numerous photographs of ladies exhibited in shop-windows, there is evidence that this jealousy is not general, and that possessors of noble pictures of their kindred would almost if not quite universally feel proud to have such works engraved. The exceptional patrons who

objected to such participation of the masses in the delight given by their own possessions would have no difficulty in finding professionals who would make a special compact that the likenesses should not be engraved. I therefore differ from all who concede that, in the case of portraits, the copyright should go with the painting, for in this branch of Art, as much as in any other, invention, design, and composition of the highest order are needed, and these qualities cannot be found in an uncultured or hurried man.

Much of what has appeared in the daily press is too flippant to ask for reply. It is assumed that the artist is suffering from a plethora of prosperity and greed, and that it will be wholesome to bleed him a little. If I have written to any purpose, it has been already shown how false is this idea as applied to those whom the change of law would affect. Artists of thirty-five years' standing have either sunk in the eddy, or caught the tide which leads on to tardy fortune. To myself, for instance (as I determine to give up reticence in this article), the change of law would make but little or no difference. It is for future Art, and not the future artist, that I am concerned in thus writing.

Before ending, it might be useful to inquire whether there is any ground for thinking artists over-rich. Turner, it is true, died worth a large fortune, but he was exceptional in his habits as much as in his genius; and, had he been a figure painter, his savings would certainly not have been so considerable. Lawrence died in debt. Stothard was poor to the last. Wilkie had to abandon subject pictures and take to portraiture, because he could not meet his expenses by his receipts from the former practice. Constable, Leslie, Collins, Etty, Mulready, left fortunes which the most modest tradesman would have thought small. I think that in the present day the most successful practitioners of Art are fewer than in other professions, and that the flourishing artists do not gain more than one-third of what is gained by men of the same standing in other professions. Therefore, the notion-a new one that our profession is a pampered favourite, can scarcely be advanced seriously.

The whole lesson to be drawn from this is, that no laws should be enacted which would prevent the soul from taking its part in the industry of an artist's life; that all existing laws of mere materialistic insight should be removed. If the discouragement, which the recommendations of the Commissioners would effect, be adopted in law, the poet and the musical composer must equally be taught to regard their inspirations and thoughts as valueless and unprofitable property. Then the philosophical theorist would find speedy proof that the soul is non-existent in this as well as in the next world; and we might save ourselves for ever the restless fever of vain ambition.

W. HOLMAN HUNT.

PSYCHOMETRIC FACTS.

THERE lies before every man by day and by night, at home and abroad, an immense field for curious investigations in the operations of his own mind.

No one can have a just idea, before he has carefully experimented upon himself, of the crowd of unheeded half-thoughts and faint imagery that flits through his brain, and of the influence they exert upon his conscious life. I will describe a few of the results of my own self-examination in respect to associated ideas.

It was after many minor trials that one afternoon I felt myself in a humour for the peculiar and somewhat severe mental effort that was required to carry through a sufficiently prolonged experiment as follows. I occupied myself during a walk from the Athenæum Club, along Pall Mall to St. James's Street, a distance of some 450 yards, in keeping a half-glance on what went on in my mind, as I looked with intent scrutiny at the successive objects that caught my eye. The instant each new idea arose, it was absolutely dismissed, and another was allowed to occupy its place. I never permitted my mind to ramble into any bye-paths, but strictly limited its work to the formation of nascent ideas in association with the several objects that I saw. The ideas were, therefore, too fleeting to leave more than vague impressions in my memory. Nevertheless, I retained enough of what had taken place to be amazed at the amount of work my brain had performed. I was aware that my mind had travelled, during that brief walk, in the most discursive manner throughout the experiences of my whole life; that it had entered as an habitual guest into numberless localities that it had certainly never visited under the light of full consciousness for many years; and, in short, I inferred that my everyday brain work was incomparably more active, and that my ideas travelled far wider afield, than I had previously any distinct conception of.

My desire became intensely stimulated to try further experiments, and, as a first commencement of them, to repeat the walk under similar circumstances. I purposely allowed a few days to elapse before doing so, during which I resolutely refused to allow my thoughts to revert to what had taken place, in order that I might undergo the repetition

of the trial with as fresh a mind as possible. Again I took the walk, and again I was aware of the vast number of extremely faint thoughts that had arisen; but I was surprised and somewhat humiliated to find that a large proportion of them were identical with those that had occurred on the previous occasion. I was satisfied that their recurrence had in only a very few cases been due to mere recollection. They seemed for the most part to be founded on associations so long and firmly established, that their recurrence might be expected in a future trial, when these past experiments should have wholly disappeared from the memory.

It now became my object to seize upon these fleeting ideas before they had wholly escaped, to record and analyse them, and so to obtain a definite knowledge of their character and of the frequency of their recurrence, and such other collateral information as the experiments might afford.

The plan I adopted was to suddenly display a printed word, to allow about a couple of ideas to successively present themselves, and then, by a violent mental revulsion and sudden awakening of attention, to seize upon those ideas before they had faded, and to record them exactly as they were at the moment when they were surprised and grappled with. It was an attempt like that of Menelaus, in the Odyssey, to constrain the elusive form of Proteus. The experiment admits of being conducted with perfect fairness. The mind can be brought into a quiescent state, blank, but intent; the word can be displayed without disturbing that state; the ideas will then present themselves naturally, and the sudden revulsion follows almost automatically. Though I say it is perfectly possible to do all this, I must in fairness add that it is the most fatiguing and distasteful mental experience that I have ever undergone. Its irksomeness arises from several independent causes. The chief of these is the endeavour to vivify an impression that is only just felt, and to drag it out from obscurity into the full light of consciousness. The exertion is akin to that of trying to recall a name that just, and only just, escapes us; it sometimes seems as though the brain would break down if the effort were persevered in, and there is a sense of immense relief when we are content to abandon the search, and to await the chance of the name occurring to us of its own accord through some accidental association. Additional exertion and much resolution are required, in carrying on the experiments, to maintain the form of the ideas strictly unaltered while they are vivified, as they have a strong tendency to a rapid growth, both in definition and completeness.

It is important, in this as in all similar cases, to describe in detail the way in which the experiments were conducted. I procured a short vocabulary of words, and laid it open by my side. I then put a book upon it in such a way that it did not cover the word that was about to be displayed, though its edge hid it from my view when I sat