That the abuse might have variety, as well as vigour, a very learned Theban broke in with the remark that there was no need, after all, to make such a stir about the matter. The much-bruited marbles were of little value, whether in England or in Greece. If Lord ELGIN was, indeed, a spoiler, he was also an ignoramus. His bepraised sculptures, instead of belonging to the age of PERICLES, belonged, at earliest, to that of HADRIAN; far from bearing traces of the hand of PHIDIAS, they were, at best, mere ‘architectonic sculptures, the work of many different persons, some of whom would not have been entitled to the rank of artists, even in a much less cultivated and fastidious age.... PHIDIAS did not work in marble at all.’ These oracular sentences, and many more of a like cast, were given to the world under the sanction of the ‘Society of Dilettanti.’ The equanimity which had stood so many severer tests did not desert its possessor under a tempest of angry words. When set at liberty, after a long detention in France, he resumed his journey. On his eventual arrival in England, in 1806, he brought with him a valuable collection of gems and medals, gathered at Constantinople. He also brought some valuable counsels as to the mode in which he might best make the Athenian Marbles useful to the progress of art, obtained in Rome. [Sidenote: LORD ELGIN’S CONFERENCE WITH CANOVA.] For, at Rome, he had been enabled to show a sample of his acquisitions to a man who was something more than a dilettante. ‘These,’ said CANOVA, ‘are the works of the ablest artists the world has seen.’ When consulted on the point whether restoration should, in any instance, be attempted, the reply of the great Italian sculptor was in these words: ‘The Parthenon Marbles have never been retouched. It would be sacrilege in me—sacrilege in any man—to put a chisel on them.’ Lord ELGIN came to England with the intention of offering his whole Collection to the British Government, unconditionally. He was ready to forget the short-sightedness with which his proposal of 1799 had been met. He was prepared to trust to the liberality of Parliament, and to the force of public opinion, for the reimbursement of his outlay, and the fair reward of his toil. The ambassador was not in a position to sacrifice the large sums of money he had spent. He could not afford the proud joy of giving to Britain, entirely at his own cost, a boon such as no man, before him, had had the power of giving. There were conflicting duties lying upon him, such as are not to be put aside. That British artists—in one way or another—should profit by the grand exemplars of art which he had saved from Turkish musquetry and the Turkish lime-kilns, was the one thing towards which his face was set.