THE RT. HON. S. CAVES PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS. 7 



almost a continuous terrace, we cling to wliat remains of rural 

 scenery. Our writers enlarge upon it in prose and verse, and 

 our painters transfer to their canvas the haylield, the sandy 

 nook, the quiet corner of the wood. It would be invidious 

 to mention names, but we must all agree that descriptions of 

 country in prose and verse, as well as delineations of country 

 in oils and water-colours, in our own day and our own land, 

 will bear comparison with those of any nation or of any age. 

 There is one characteristic which specially marks the modern 

 English school of painting, namely, extreme accuracy. We 

 know that some artists make it a point of conscience to leave 

 nothing to memory, to fill in every line and every tint from 

 nature, and we value them accordingly. Perhaps we owe 

 this in part to photography, which is a terrible witness against 

 a slovenly or too imaginative artist, as far as outline is con- 

 cerned, and partly to the prse-Raffaelite school, which has 

 carried on a successful warfare against conventionality. As 

 in reforms of other kinds, the reformers have probably gone 

 too far, justice without mercy is not desirable even in a 

 portrait. Some one has said nothing is so false as a fact, and 

 it is surely a mistake to paint as if man had "a microscopic 

 eye," and could distinguish "each particular hair" upon a 

 caterpillar several yards off. As an exact illustration of my 

 meaning, I may instance a very clever picture in the Royal 

 Academy some years ago. Tt was a small patch of wheatfield. 

 The spiky ears, blue cornflowers, and twining convolvuli, the 

 shiny beetles, and glittering dewdrops, were painted with 

 marvellous accuracy and minuteness. And then the artist, 

 apparently struck with the conviction that no mortal eye 

 could have taken it all in, gave his picture the "grace of con- 

 gruity" by placing the scene in Brobdignag, with Gulliver 

 gazing upon the gigantic growth from a furrow as high as 

 his shoulders. As neither art nor literature are ashamed of 

 the homely joys and sorrows of daily life, so are they more 

 and more appreciated by the general public. No longer has 

 the artist or author to languish in the ante-rooms of the great. 

 The great come to him, and the small too, and the latter are 

 from their numbers no contemptible patrons ; but as in former 

 times the pen and pencil were too often tiie humble servants 

 of powerful vice, and even the basis of historj^ was less fact 

 than faction, so in these latter days there is danger of pander- 

 ing not to the single patron, but to the multitude. The leading 

 press of this country bears a deservedly high character. Its 

 columns are full of most valuable matter, and I believe its 

 coaductors honestly endeavour to instruct as well as to attract 



