Probably the worst feature of communism is its effect upon the individual. Those who have examined the matter tell us that one communist is very similar to every other communist. There is an extraordinary uniformity among them in education, training, mode of thinking, as well as in dress and habits. In the commune there is no privacy. The members are continually under the eye of the governor. There is no individual effort; no individual object; and, from the nature of the case, no individual gain or credit. There is no competition among the members, and no work undertaken but what is directed by the community. In all progress of civilization, in all enlightenment of mankind, in all beneficial efforts for the welfare of society, the impulse has uniformly been individual, and, in by far the majority of cases, has been resisted by the community. The block, the torture, and the scaffold have been the reward of the teachers of mankind; but their work remains with us to enlighten, to cheer, to comfort, and to advance the race. Individual effort, the only source of civilization known to history, communism throws aside. An economic system, it discards the greatest factor in economics; a civilizer, it rejects the only known means of advancement.

Granting that communism is not objectionable in a legal, social, moral, or religious point of view, there is but one advantage that could be derived from it-that is, the benefit of combined effort. Isolated energy may do much, has done much, but the result of one combined effort, say of five, far exceeds in most cases that of as many isolated efforts. Combined exertion is a manifest gain, but is not confined to communism. It is becoming more widely employed year by year without communism. We see it in division of labour; in trade organizations; in

co-operative societies; in corporations, agricultural, commercial, and benefit ; in savings banks; in the generous system of M. Schultze Delitzch in practice in Germany ; and in the Grange societies of Canada and the United States. In these and other ways, combined effort is used for the benefit of classes as well as individuals; and, though the efforts thus made are small in comparison with what might be done, yet they far exceed any attempts of communism, and preserve the true elements of genuine progress— individual rights, effort, and advantage, combined with the welfare of the community.

Looking back upon the road travelled, and noting the forms of communism which have been adverted to, a remark made at the beginning of this article suggests itself, that man progresses from communism to individualism. These are the opposite poles of civilization, and mark the line of progress. It is not pretended that a communism has existed in history absolute and complete; on the other hand, no state of society ever has been, or probably can be, wherein the community and its interests are merged in the individual. The single man can do little for his own advancement, but progress of the community is impossible where individual effort is excluded. The two go hand in hand in the development of mankind, as necessary factors of civilization. In times of excitement and of danger, in passing from one civilization to another, sections of mankind may revert to the primal idea of the family life; but, as a system for general society, communism can never become part of a modern civilization, so long as individual liberties, individual obligations, rights, and properties are acknowledged, secured, and enforced, as they are to-day, by experience, literature, law, morality, and religion.

T. B. BROWNING.

men have seldom been content to attribute their origin to the natural and inevitable result of the world's progressive march from truth to truth, but that the inherent love of the mar vellous, and the unconscious worship of "divine fortune" have ever wreathed some story of supernatural or chance incident round the obscure germs of a great thought. A careful survey of the period antecedent to any great discovery will, however, disclose how many forces must be at work, all tending to the same end, and will infallibly prove that the world is never indebted to an isolated chance for any of its really great acquisitions. Until the slow action, it may be of centuries, has rendered the world ready to receive and profit by it, no discovery, in the true sense of the word, is possible. The idea of an invention may certainly have been thought out by a creative brain centuries before it can be developed, as was the case with printing, which was undoubtedly known to the ancients, but for which mankind waited patiently until the fifteenth century. The silently working forces inevitably mature, and the discovery comes at last, apparently owing its existence to some luckily suggestive incident, but, in reality, born of Genius and Knowledge.

This is strikingly borne out in the events attendant upon the discovery of steel and copper engraving, which was the natural outcome of the previous and recently acquired knowledge of wood engraving and printing a knowledge which had so thoroughly paved the way for the new invention, that the art may almost be said to have sprung into existence like Minerva, full-grown and fully equipped. It is a fact which hardly finds a parallel in any other art, that those who were almost contemporary with the invention were its greatest masters; and it is of Lucas Van Leyden, one of the very earliest as well as one of the very greatest of these, that we propose to give a short

is said to have discovered, by accident, about the year 1460, a method of taking impressions from an engraved plate, by placing over it a moistened paper, and rolling it gently with a roller. He imparted the secret to another of his craft, Baccio Baldini, who engraved several plates from the designs of Botticelli.* The Germans and Dutch both contend, however, that the art had been known to them long before the days of Finiguerra, Pollaioli, or Mantegna. The Germans state that it was practised by Martin Stock (one of Albert Dürer's masters) and Frederick Scholl, of Nüremberg; and the Dutch claim the invention for Peter Scheeffer, of Haarlem. The art cannot, however, have been practised long before the time of the Italian engravers; and we are of opinion that the earliest well authenticated date of any copper-plate engraving, is not before 1485. By "well authenticated " we must be clearly understood to mean, the date of any work by a well-known master, the genuineness of which is absolutely beyond question. There are prints in existence bearing earlier dates than 1485 (the earliest being the German "Master of 1466"), but there is much dispute concerning these, and we cannot pretend to discuss the question within our present limits. The Germans are generally considered to have the best claim to the merit of the invention, but it is perhaps possible that the discovery was made independently and almost simultaneously, in more than one country of Europe, and certainly not at an earlier date than 1460, probably not until some years later. Before the middle of the following century there appeared almost contemporaneously and in different lands, Albert Dürer, Raimondi, and

account.

Every action, every word, every thought, almost unconsciously to themselves, had its origin or motive power in their patient striving for perfection. They lived in their work and for their work. They looked at everything through their art, and at their art through everything. "Pot-boilers "--to use an expressive vulgarism-may not have been unknown to them, but they would expend as much loving care upon a work whose immediate end was to supply their daily bread as they would upon a commission from some princely patron, or upon the altar-piece of a great church. And of none of them, not even of the greatest, can this be more truly said than of Lucas Damessen, known to fame as Lucas van Leyden.

He was born at Leyden in the year 1494, when Holland was foremost among the nations of Europe in the march of civilization. She rivalled Italy in the fine arts, and Germany in knowledge and new-born freedom of thought. The Netherlands had not yet become the chief battle-field of Europe. The Archduke Philip, grandson of Charles the Bold, last Duke of Burgundy, and son of the Emperor Maximilian, then held the sovereignty of the Low-Countries in right of his mother. The future Emperor, the great Charles V., was not born until six years later; and the time was nearly eighty years distant when Leyden was to stand its heroic and memorable siege, when Holland was forced, as once again later in her history, to let loose her flood-gates in order to defeat and overwhelm her foes.

Lucas van Leyden was the son of Heynes Jacobs Damessen, a painter of very mediocre talent, but who must have been a man of some position and means, as his son never seems to have been absolutely dependent on his art, and certainly enjoyed a good social position in his native town. The boy, from his earliest years, shewed great love for art in any form, and his father began to instruct

him as soon as he was old enough to hold a pencil. His amazing precocity fairly astounded the elder Damessen, who soon perceived that he himself was quite unequal to the task of moulding such a genius, and he accordingly placed him under an able preceptor, Cornille Engelbrechtsen. This master was born in 1468, and was at this time, consequently, a comparatively young man. But in the fifteenth century it did not take, as it does now, a lifetime to build up a reputation as a painter. As a rule, men made their mark early, or not at all, and Engelbrechtsen enjoyed a wide reputation as a painter in oil, fresco, and distemper. His school was much frequented, and under his tuition Lucas rapidly acquired proficiency; so rapidly that at the age of twelve he painted in distemper the " History of St. Hubert," which had a great success, not only as being the work of so young a painter, but because it shewed unmistakable signs of genius. From his earliest years, from the day, in fact, upon which he was first allowed to handle a pencil, Lucas shewed the same unremitting and unwearying diligence which was his chief characteristic in after life. It is recorded that his mother, fearful for the child's health, invented various pretexts to withdraw him from his beloved work, but her efforts were apparently unavailing, as we find that the lad, notwithstanding the great success among his townsmen of his first picture, abandoned painting for a time, and resolutely set himself to a new study--that of engraving.

The course of his education in this art was characteristic both of the man and the age. In whatever country and by whatever immediate means the art of taking impressions from an engraved plate was discovered, there can be no doubt whatever of this, that it is to the armourer's and goldsmith's trades that we are indebted for the invention. It was the natural outcome of the perfecting of their crafts, and accordingly they were long accounted the best teachers of the mere technicalities of the art. van Leyden, therefore, placed himself first with an armourer and then with a goldsmith, learning from each his respective method of workmanship. He threw his whole soul into the acquisition of his new pursuit, obtaining by his early training that mastery over both materials and tools which enabled him to use the burin with a delicate and marvellous precision which has never been surpassed.

Lucas

His precocious genius displayed itself as remarkably in engraving as in painting, for in 1508, the earliest recognized date on any of his works, when only in his fifteenth year, he produced "The Magdalen in the Desert," "Susannah and the Elders," " Dalilah," and other works, all of which display masterly finish, and the first-named ranks as one of his very greatest productions.

His early life was absolutely uneventful. He had not to endure those struggles for existence, that weary waiting for recognition which fall to the lot of so many great men. The stream of his life was never stirred into a storm, rarely even ruffled by a breeze. Secure from the cares of poverty, undisturbed by any mere political or money-getting ambition, no existence can be imagined more peacefully happy than the youth of Lucas van Leyden. One can fancy him leaving his work with reluctance to stroll under the trees fringing a canal, in such a scene as Van der Heyden loved to paint, his thoughts filled with the design he was working upon, his chief anxiety to prevent his plates from being rubbed, his only care that the "first impression" should be a good one. He married very young, so young that, although he never reached his fortieth year, he was a grandfather before he died. One of the most charming circumstances of his life was the friendship and mutual esteem which existed between himself and Albert Dürer. They had that sincere admiration for each other's works, that appreciation of and thorough belief in one another, which are the chief tributes genius can pay to genius. In the highest forms of art, and in the souls of its high priests, jealousy can have no part. Its complete and utter absence is the one proof which distinguishes the true artist from the false. When a man uses his art, unconsciously it may be, with the vulgar desire of notoriety and advancement, jealousy of his compeers must result; but when he strives for perfection, primarily for perfection's sake, and to the thorough abnegation of self, he will rejoice at the success of another, even over himself, if art is thereby benefited. The identity of their interests as servants of art, enabled Albert Dürer and Lucas van Leyden to work at the same subjects, each admiring and praising the other's work, without the slightest suspicion of jealousy, or the faintest tinge of envy. Dürer was born in 1471, and was already famous almost before

Lucas van Leyden was born, so that Lucas looked up to him as the artist whose previous achievements in engraving had fired his young mind with the ambition of rivalling them, and had caused him to devote himself almost exclusively to this branch of art. It was Albert Dürer who brought about their first meeting. He was so struck with what he had seen of Lucas's work, that he had a great desire to see and obtain the friendship of one who possessed a genius in many respects parallel to his own, Accordingly, during his visit to the Netherlands, Dürer made a point of visiting Van Leyden, and was received by him with warm-hearted cordiality.

In personal appearance no two men could have been more dissimilar. The character of Albert Dürer's face has been embodied in the line

"Half Christ and half Olympian Jove ;" while Lucas was so stunted in stature and plain of feature, that the half-endearing, halfpitying diminutive, "Männlein," given to him by Dürer, was not misapplied. Their characters presented almost as great a contrast as their personal appearance. Albert Dürer, with his noble, many-sided nature, rash, generous, and open-handed, wrought and strove with impetuous energy in the service of his mistress art; he travelled, wrote, experimented, saw everything and did everything; while Lucas van Leyden, with undemonstrative, patient diligence, sought within himself alone for perfection: the one the man of action, the other the man of reflection and introspection. The contact of two such minds could not but be of vast benefit to both, and they systematically endeavoured to derive the greatest possible advantage from their brief intercourse. They chose the same subjects to work upon, in order to compare their different styles and treatment, and it is recorded of them that they painted on the same panel, in order that a token might exist of their love and esteem for each other. There is reason to believe, also, that during this visit Albert Dürer imparted to Lucas the secret of etching, for, in spite of the claim laid by the Italians to the merit of this invention, it is generally considered that Dürer has the best right to be deemed, if not its discoverer, at any rate its introducer and earliest practiser. The method was possibly known to his master, Wohlgemuth, and

the genius of Dürer seized upon it and made it his own; and it is in any case certain that he had used the aquafortis before he went to the Netherlands. Van Leyden, however, made no great use of this process, as there are but few known etchings by him, and their scarcity shews that he merely experimented in the method, which never became a favourite with him. When Dürer parted from him, one of the two episodes which alone broke the monotony of Lucas van Leyden's life was over; the other was soon to follow, and with it vanished for ever the peaceful calm of the artist's existence.

In 1527, enthusiasm for his art determined Lucas to undertake a journey through the Netherlands, in order to see the works of other great artists. He was then thirtythree years of age, and had in all probability rarely before been a day's journey outside his native town. He loved to make a brave show in dress, and was not averse from luxury at table; accordingly he set out on his journey with great pomp and circumstance, equipping and furnishing a vessel for himself and his companions. At Middelburg, he gave a feast in honour of Jean de Mabuse, then esteemed the greatest Flemish painter of his day, and a great friendship sprang up between them. Mabuse was five years younger than Lucas, and was in the heyday of his fame, his enjoyment of life unspoiled by any foreshadow of the disgrace and ruin which overtook him in his later years. He, like Lucas, was rather addicted to finery in dress, and we are told that together they shone resplendent, Lucas in yellow silk and Mabuse in gold satin. The spendthrift Mabuse was once, later in life, put to sad shifts to support his magnificence. When the Emperor Charles V. visited the Marquis de Veren, who retained Mabuse as painter in ordinary, the Marquis, desirous to receive the Emperor with due grandeur, gave orders for all his household to be supplied with suits of white satin. When the tailor came to take Mabuse's measure, the painter told him that he had his own designs for the cutting out of his dress, and would like to be entrusted with the satin in order to carry them out. The tailor incautiously complied with his request; but nothing was further from Mabuse's mind than the idea of wasting so much good satin, representing so many good florins, on a dress. He carried it to the nearest "Mont de Piété," and soon

spent the proceeds, chiefly, we are sorry to be obliged to admit, in dissipation. However, when the Emperor arrived, Mabuse was in his place among the household, arrayed in a robe which surpassed all others in magnificence. It struck the Emperor's eye, and desiring to know who the wearer was, he caused Mabuse to be called forward. The artist was seized with a strange fit of bashfulness; but after much hesitation he advanced trembling, when the Emperor discovered that "distance had lent enchantment to the view," for Mabuse's dress was made wholly of white paper, exquisitely painted by himself to represent various coloured satins. It is, perhaps, needless to add, that on this occasion his peccadilloes passed unpunished.*

Mabuse accompanied Lucas on his journey, which was carried out in the same spirit of open-handedness in which it had commenced; so that it was long remembered in Holland as a journey unparalleled among that thrifty people for its almost reckless. magnificence. They collected around them. all the famous artists of the day, who were eager to see and learn from so great a master as Lucas van Leyden; for his reputation had then spread far beyond the borders of Holland or even of Germany. Mabuse, with his prodigality and light-hearted spirit, gave himself up to gaiety, and persuaded his companion to join him in a round of pleasures. The unhappy Mabuse, when he closed his life within narrow prison walls, shut out from all earthly enjoyment save the exercise of his art, must have looked back to this joyous time with feelings of poignant regret : it may have been to him the archetype of that portion of his life in which "he eat and drank and took no thought for the morrow; when the sun of his life, which finally set behind such a dark bank of clouds, was shining with its brightest splendour. At Ghent, at Malines, and at Antwerp, the two painters gave entertainments to their brother artists, each costing at least sixty florins-a large sum for those days, as, taking into account the relative value of money, a florin represented not less than eighteen shillings sterling.

This anecdote will appear less surprising to those who recall the marvellous treatment of the drapery in the small example of Mabuse, bequeathed by the late Mr. Wynn Ellis to the British National Gallery.