in Composition, consists in choosing a secondary subject, having all its properties and circumstances resembling those of the principal subject, and describing the former in such a manner as to represent the latter. The principal subject is thus kept out of view, and we are left to discover it by reflection. In other words, an allegory is, in every respect, similar to a hieroglyphical painting, excepting only that words are used instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the same: A hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind; one seen, that represents one that is not seen: An allegory does the same; the representative subject is described, and the resemblance leads us to apply the description to the subject represented.

There cannot be a finer or more correct allegory than the following, in which a vineyard is made to represent God's own people the Jews:

"Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou hast cast out the heathen, and planted it. Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were covered with its shadow, and the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. Why hast thou then broken down her hedges, so that all that pass do pluck her? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine and the vineyard thy right hand hath planted, and the branch thou madest strong for thyself," Psal. lxxx.

Nothing gives greater pleasure than an allegory, when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, in all its circumstances, to that which is represented. But most writers are unlucky in their choice, the analogy being generally so faint and obscure, as rather to puzzle than to please. Allegories, as well as metaphors and similes, are unnatural in expressing any severe passion which totally occupies the mind. For this reason, the following speech of Macbeth is justly condemned by the learned author of the Elements of Criticism:

Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! Macbeth doth murder Sleep; the innocent sleep; Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleeve of Care, The birth of each day's life, sore Labour's bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast. Act ii. sc. 3.

But see this subject more fully treated under the article Metaphor and Allegory.

ALEGRI, ANTONIO, called Corregio from the place of his birth, an eminent historical painter, was born in the year 1494. Being descended of poor parents, and educated in an obscure village, he enjoyed none of those advantages which contributed to form the other great painters of that illustrious age. He saw none of the statues of ancient Greece or Rome; nor any of the works of the established schools of Rome and Venice. But Nature was his guide; and Corregio was one of her favourite pupils. To express the facility with which he painted, he used to say that he always had his thoughts ready at the end of his pencil.

The agreeable smile, and the profusion of graces, which he gave to his madonas, saints, and children, have been taxed with being sometimes unnatural; but still they are amiable and seducing: An easy and flowing pencil, an union and harmony of colours, and a perfect intelligence of light and shade, give an astonishing relief to all his pictures, and have been the admiration both of his cotemporaries and his successors. Annibal Caracci, who flourished 50 years after him, studied and adopted his manner in preference to that of any other master. In a letter to his cousin Lonis, he expressed with great warmth the impression which was made on him by the first sight of Corregio's paintings: "Every thing which I see here (says he) astonishes me; particularly the colouring and the beauty of the children. They live—they breathe—They smile with so much grace and so much reality, that it is impossible to refrain from smiling and partaking of their enjoyment. My heart is ready to break with grief when I think on the unhappy fate of poor Corregio—that so wonderful a man (if he ought not rather to be called an angel) should finish his days so miserably, in a country where his talents were never known!"

From want of curiosity or of resolution, or from want of patronage, Corregio never visited Rome, but remained his whole life at Parma, where the art of painting was little esteemed, and of consequence poorly rewarded. This occurrence of unfavourable circumstances occasioned at last his premature death at the age of 40. He was employed to paint the cupola of the cathedral at Parma, the subject of which is an assumption of the Virgin: and having executed it in a manner that has long been the admiration of every person of good taste, for the grandeur of design, and especially for the boldness of the fore-shortenings (an art which he first and at once brought to the utmost perfection), he went to receive his payment. The canons of the church, either through ignorance or baseness, found fault with his work; and although the price originally agreed upon had been very moderate, they alleged that it was far above the merit of the artist, and forced him to accept of the paltry sum of 200 livres; which, to add to the indignity, they paid him in copper money. To carry home this unworthy load to his indigent wife and children, poor Corregio had to travel six or eight miles from Parma. The weight of his burden, the heat of the weather, and his chagrin at this villainous treatment, immediately threw him into a pleurisy, which in three days put an end to his life and his misfortunes.

For the preservation of this magnificent work the world is indebted to Titian. As he passed through Parma, in the suite of Charles V. he run instantly to see the chef d'œuvre of Corregio. While he was attentively viewing it, one of the principal canons of the church told him that such a grotesque performance did not merit his notice, and that they intended soon to have the whole defaced. "Have a care of what you do," (replied the other): If I were not Titian, I would certainly wish to be Corregio."

Corregio's exclamation upon viewing a picture by Raphael is well known. Having long been accustomed to hear the most unbounded applause bestowed on the works of that divine painter, he by degrees became less desirous than afraid of seeing any of them. One, however, he at last had occasion to see. He examined it attentively for some minutes in profound silence; and then with an air of satisfaction exclaimed, I am still a painter. Julio Romano, on seeing some of Corregio's pictures at Parma, declared they were superior to any thing in painting he had yet beheld. One of these no doubt would be the famous Virgin and Child, with Mary Magdalen and St Jerome: but whether our readers are to depend upon his opinion, or upon that of Lady Millar, who in her Letters from Italy gives a very unfavourable account of it, we shall not presume to determine. This lady, however, speaks in a very different style of the no less famous Notte or Night of Corregio, of which she saw only a copy in the duke's palace at Modena, the original having been sold for a great sum of money to the king of Poland. "It surprises me very much (says she), to see how different the characters are in this picture from that which I already have described to you. The subject is a Nativity; and the extraordinary beauty of this picture proceeds from the clair obscuré: there are two different lights introduced, by means of which the personages are visible; namely, the light proceeding from the body of the child, and the moon light. These two are preserved distinct, and produce a most wonderful effect. The child's body is so luminous, that the superficies is nearly transparent, and the rays of light emitted by it are verified in the effect they produce upon the surrounding objects. They are not rays distinct and separate, like those round the face of a sun that indicates an insurance office; nor linear, like those proceeding from the man in the almanack; but of dazzling brightness; by their light you see clearly the face, neck, and hands, of the Virgin (the rest of the person being in strong shadow), the faces of the pastori who crowd round the child, and particularly one woman, who holds her hand before her face, lest her eyes should be so dazzled as to prevent her from beholding the infant. This is a beautiful natural action, and is most ingeniously introduced. The straw on which the child is laid appears gilt, from the light of his body shining on it. The moon lights up the back ground of the picture, which represents a landscape. Every object is distinct, as in a bright moonlight night; and there cannot be two lights in nature more different than those which appear in the same picture. The virgin and the child are of the most perfect beauty. There is a great variety of character in the different persons present, yet that uniformity common to all herdsmen and peasants. In short, this copy is so admirable, that I was quite sorry to be obliged to lose sight of it so soon; but I never shall forget it. The duke of Modena, for whom Corregio did the original picture, gave him only 600 livres of France for it; a great sum in those days: but at present, what ought it to cost?" This great painter's death happened in 1534.