The great lesson of history is, that all the fine arts hitherto--having been supported by the selfish power of the noblesse, and never having extended their range to the comfort or the relief of the mass of the people--the arts, I say, thus practised, and thus matured, have only accelerated the ruin of the States they adorned; and at the moment when, in any kingdom, you point to the triumphs of its greatest artists, you point also to the determined hour of the kingdom's decline. The names of great painters are like passing bells: in the name of Velasquez, you hear sounded the fall of Spain; in the name of Titian, that of Venice; in the name of Leonardo, that of Milan; in the name of Raphael, that of Rome. And there is profound justice in this; for in proportion to the nobleness of the power is the guilt of its use for purposes vain or vile; and hitherto the greater the art, the more surely has it been used, and used solely, for the decoration of pride, [Footnote: Whether religious or profane pride,--chapel or banqueting room,--is no matter.] or the provoking of sensuality. Another course lies open to us. We may abandon the hope--or if you like the words better--we may disdain the temptation, of the pomp and grace of Italy in her youth. For us there can be no more the throne of marble--for us no more the vault of gold--but for us there is the loftier and lovelier privilege of bringing the power and charm of art within the reach of the humble and the poor; and as the magnificence of past ages failed by its narrowness and its pride, ours may prevail and continue, by its universality and its lowliness. And thus, between the picture of too laborious England, which we imagined as future, and the picture of too luxurious Italy, which we remember in the past, there may exist--there will exist, if we do our duty--an intermediate condition, neither oppressed by labour nor wasted in vanity--the condition of a peaceful and thoughtful temperance in aims, and acts, and arts.