“So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear—as the gen’l’m’n in difficulties did ven he valked out of a Sunday—to tell you that the first and only time I see you your likeness was took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p’raps you may have heerd on, Mary, my dear), altho’ it _does_ finish a portrait and put the frame and glass on complete, with a hook on the end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter.” Such is the story, in brief, of the silhouette. Sometimes we see in it a little social document, elevated by fortuitous circumstances or scarcity of other pictorial record to historical value. As in the case of Robert Burns’s portrait, by J. Miers, and that of his brother, Gilbert Burns, by Howie, in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, at all times it is passively charming. Surely we need not scorn this step-sister of photography—this poor relation of the art world. In the words of Seraphim, when, in 1771, he flung wide the doors of his Shadow Theatre at Versailles— “Venez garçons, venez fillettes, Voir Momus à la silhouette; Ou, chez Seraphim venez voir La belle Lumeur en habit noir, Tandes que ma salle est bien sombre Et que mon a cleur n’est que l’ombre, Puisse messieurs votre gaîté Devenir la réalité.” [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE COMING OF THE SILHOUETTE AND ITS PASSING. There is a simplicity in the silhouette picture which brings it nearer to the Japanese print in its effect upon the mind than any other expression in art. All our attention is concentrated on outline, and in consequence there is a directness and vigour in the likeness which are lacking in more complex studies. Some Japanese artists, recognising this peculiar quality in the black profile portrait, supplement a conventionally drawn coloured portrait with a silhouette. In Europe, during the last decade of the eighteenth century, the time was ripe for some popular outlet for the newly awakened interest in the old Greek classical method, for the recently excavated wonders revealed at Pæstum and Pompeii had appealed strongly to the popular taste, causing Greek purity of line and simplicity to dominate all ornament. There was a natural rebound towards simplicity after the over-gorgeous detail in all domestic decoration under _Le Roi Soleil_, though exuberance survived for many years; the Greek influence may be traced from the latter half of the eighteenth century. Gradually the rococo absurdities disappeared; purity of line came back to architecture, and was manifested in furniture, in damask, brocade, and all ornamental expression, until at the beginning of the nineteenth century the mode in building design, decoration and dress was of the First Empire, and that is pure Greek.