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lasses smiled as brightly as their own chosen day of the year. Expectation was now on tip-toe, and the throng outside manifested symptoms of impatience, while all eyes within the consecrated circle were bent with eager expectation toward the town. Presently a cloud of dust in that direction, foretold to the fair expectants the advent of their little beaux; and such a cavalcade as it turned out to be, beggars all description. Twenty or thirty youth, between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, mounted on fine steeds, ard dressed in something like Byron's Grecian costume, in one of his portraits, each with a light blue cap, bound round with silver, and two broad white feathers, falling back from the loop, and each wearing a polished dagger, in a black shining belt, buckled tight round his waist; all together formed one of the most beautiful and imposing spectacles imaginable. These juvenile knights dismounted and entered the enclosure; and after paying their devoirs to the fluttering and expecting little beauties, proceeded at once to the grand election of the day. It was conducted upon republican principles, notwithstanding that it was the election of a queen. The majority of votes were told in favor of little Miss F- , who was crowned with all due ceremony, and conducted to her sylvan palace; thence she was escorted to the dance, by the leader of the gay cavalcade. The inspiring music struck up, and the partners 'paired off' upon the green. It was a charming sight to see so many youthful hearts joyous and happy. Your sacked city would have stopped still, bag and baggage, to have beheld such a scene. Before night closed in the whole green was covered with parties of dancers and waltzers; nor was it wholly confined to the 'juvenile portion of the community. Their elders soon caught the infection, and many a fair belle seemed glad to live over again her own girlish days, in a frolic upon the sward. Ices and refreshments, of every sort, circulated as freely as smiles, which were neither few nor far between. Where the comfits came from, I could never learn. The fairies seemed to have prepared every thing. The entire lawn was literally strewed with flowers, and the very trees seemed to have partaken of the universal gayety; for they too were hung with bright blossoms, and fragrant with the richest perfumes.

"These May-day celebrations form little eras in the lives of these lovely, budding creatures, to which they can recur with pleasure, through a long life time. Few of our enjoyments are of the present tense ; they are mostly retrospective or prospective, and are, after a certain period, for the most part 'pleasures of memory.' Is it not wise, then, to strew these flowers plentifully along the path of life, that their brilliant hues may be occasionally caught, as we look back over the scene? Long may the beautiful ones who celebrated the first of May, 1839, in Savannah, live to look back upon it, as one of the gayest and happiest days of their lives!'

DEATH OF JOHN GALT, Esq. — Recent arrivals from England, bring intelligence of the death of JOHN GALT, Esq, author of 'Laurie Todd,' 'Mansie Wauch,' and other well-known works. We have been for some months prepared for this sad event; and believe it came later than even the deceased himself anticipated. In a letter which accompanied his last communication to this Magazine, the touching 'Soliloquy on Awakening in the same Bed-room, after an absence of thirty Years, while afflicted with eleven strokes and aggravations of Paralysis,' Mr. Galt spoke of his near dissolution in terms of melting tenderness. He was then well nigh as helpless as an infant, and his speech had in a great measure failed him. Indeed, his very hand-writing seemed to stammer. 'I feel,' he writes, 'that this helpless frame and faltering tongue will soon be silent in the grave. As the dying boy said, 'I am very cold, it is growing dark, and I long to go home!' We apprized him, by return packet, of kindred cases in this country, where health had been restored, after several attacks of paralysis. A brief reply, requesting to know the course of treatment pursued in the cases alluded to, and breathing something more of hope, was the last we heard of Mr. Galt, until we learned that he had gone home.' The desired information, which was immediately forwarded, doubtless reached him too late to be of service to him, as might indeed have been anticipated. Mr. Galt was universally and favorably known as an author, and as a man, was highly esteemed by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. He has left numerous friends in America, and several in this city, who bear cordial testimony to his amiable manners, and his goodness of heart.

The Late Dr. John CUMMING, OF SAVANNAH. — It has not been our custom, since we have generally had neither the space nor leisure, to rotice a moiety of the many elegiac tributes, to the memory of persons distinguished for private and public worth, which are, and have been, sent us, from almost every section of the country; but the 'Eulogy on the late Dr. John CUMMING, of Savannah, delivered before the Hibernian Society, on the Festival of Saint Patrick, by the Hon. Robert M. CHARLTON,' is a production of too much merit, to pass wholly unregarded. Dr. CUMMING was an Irishman, an early emigrant, of fine education, and a graduate of the Edinburgh Medical University, who subsequently relinquished his profession for that of a merchant, and afterward a factor, at Savannah, where he acquired wealth and distinction, and was honored for his probity, his noble republican principles, and the discharge of high military, civil, and moral duties. But it is not so much with the memory of the lamented deceased, which is in a measure local, that we have to do, as with the style of the ‘Eulogy,' of which an impression may be formed from the following passage:

“How truly does the journey of a single day, its changes and its hours, exhibit the history of human life! We rise up in the glorious freshness of a spring morning. The des

rs of nature, are hanging from each bough and leaf, and reflecting the bright and myriad hues of the morning. Our hearts are beating with hope, our frames buoyant with health. We see no cloud, we fear no storm ; and with our chosen and beloved companions clustering around us, we commence our journey. Step by step, the scene becomes more lovely; hour by hour, our hopes become brighter. A few of our companions have dropped away, but in the multitude remaining, and the beauty of the scenery, their loss is unfelt. Suddenly we have entered upon a new country. The dews of the morning are exhaled by the fervor of the noon-day sun; the friends that started with us are disappearing. Some remain, but their looks are cold and estranged; others have become weary, and have laid down to their rest; but new faces are smiling upon us, and new hopes beckoning us on. Ambition and Fame are before us, but Youth and Affection are behind us. The scene is more glorious and brilliant, but the beauty and freshness of the morning have faded and for ever. But still our steps fail not, our spirits droop not. Onward and onward we go: the horizon of happiness and fame recedes as we advance to it; the shadows begin to lengthen, and the chilly airs of evening are usurping the fervor of the noon-day. Still we press onward : the goal is not yet won, the haven not yet reached. The bright orb of Hope that had cheered us on, is sinking in the West; our limbs begin to grow faint, our hearts to grow sad : we turn to gaze upon the scenes that we have passed, but the shadows of twilight have interposed their veil between us : we look around for the old and familiar faces, the companions of our travel, but we gaze in vain to find them : we have outstripped them all in our race after pleasure, and the phantom yet uncaught, in a land of strangers, in a sterile and inhospitable country, the night-time overtakes us : the dark and terrible night-time of death, and weary and heavy-laden, we lie down to rest in the bed of the grave! Happy, thrice happy is he, who hath laid up treasures for himself, for the distant and unknown to-morrow. An

the distant and unknown to-morrow. And such duty, we fondly hope, our aged and revered companion had accomplished ; and with regret for his fate, sorrow for our loss, sympathy for his relatives, and respect for his memory, we drop the curtain over his mortal career, and leave him with his father and his God.'

We need not ask the reader to admire with us the grace and beauty of this passage. It is only equalled by the admirable comparison of human life to a river, made by Bishop Heber, in one of his touching discourses.

A M'GRAWLER CRITICISM. - The last number of Blackwood's Magazine has a scorching review, which must make Mr. Gardnen's last work any thing but' Pleasant RecolJections of a Dilettanti,' to him, at least. A tory bias, however, seems to lie at the bottom of the attack, and especially a little pique, that the author was not hetter pleased with Edinburgh, which the reviewer defends against his animadversions. Nevertheless, we abide by his sketch of the ‘Old Town;' for we have heard his outlines filled up by other travellers. One has said, speaking of the high houses, in a narrow *close' of the ancient part of Edina :

You may call on a friend of some ton, and discover him,
With a shoe-maker over, and a stay-maker under him:
My dwelling begins with a periwig-maker;
I'm under a corn-cutter, over a baker;
Above, the chiropodist; cookery too:
O'er that is a laundress, o'er her is a Jew;
A painter and tailor divide the eighth flat,
And a dancing academy thrives over that!'

THE PINE ARTS.

NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN. - This exhibition is not so good as the four or five preceding; partly because several of the best contributors, among them Mr. Cole, have sent nothing; and partly because most of the artists have become more corrupted by a manner which has grown up of late, prompted and encouraged by an aberration of the public taste, in which the artists sympathize to a certain extent, and to which they yield, from want of manliness to oppose it. This manner originated among the degenerate Italians of the present century, and was brought hither by some of our own enterprising' spirits, who fancied that the country which produced the renowned artists of Leo's age, would furnish all applicants with ample instruction, whether they could understand it or not. Beside these worthies, who traversed Italy and France with the expedition of moncy-collectors, and pecped at England through spy-glasses, sundry Italian, French, and German humbugs have come among us, to astonish the natives with pictures that have enough likeness of nature to appear very natural' to superficial observers, and sufficient villanous contradiction of nature, to be very striking' to all who have the misfortune to see them. This wretched manner has infected nearly all the New York artists, and several in other cities, and has done more than all other causes to destroy the power of pleasing which they otherwise might have possessed. But I will postpone farther remarks upon it, until I have occasion to notice it in some of the pictures.

No. 69. Mrs. Wood, as Amina,' full length portrait, by T. Sumy, is hung in so bad a light, that I cannot well see its prominent effect. The varnish glistens on the upper part. The face possesses

siderable beauty of form and character, and the coloring about the peck has purity and transparency. The general effect of light, dark, and color, is not fine; the lights want brightness, the shades want depth and purity, beivg too much tinted with vermilion, and other red and redish-brown colors. The picture was not intended to be brilliant, as it should not be; but it should have been rich and mellow, and the back-ground more like nature. The flesh seems dry, as if the perspiration were obstructed ; the drapery sullied; and the dark masses, generally, are not transparent and rich, but powdery and dull. He has relied too much on the actress and the scene-painter, and not

ugh on himself, to produce a dramatic representation of the Somnambula ; but still there is much in it that is agreeable, and even beautiful. The figure is well drawn, saving the hands and foot, which are somewhat defective.

No. 57. A child, by SULLY, has still more the defect of dryness and feebleness of color, and no redeeming qualities, of much coosequence. Generally, this artist gives an air of dignity and gentility to his portraits; and, though defective in color, he is the best portrait-painter in the country.

No.58, by JAMES FREEMAN. Two boys' heads, with boyish character, but not very refined. The flesh is very well colored, and possesses brightness, without that sacrifice of softness which is gencrally made for the purpose of getting this quality io excess. The hands are well imitated; the light on the hair is bad ; too much like a piece of gray-wool stocking; and the drapery is of the same character.

No. 68, by T. C. R. A. HEALY, (not George Healy,) portrait of a man, but not a gentleman, if this picture is to be trusted. The right hand is very moderately well drawn, for a portrait-painter, I do not know what muscles can turn up the corners of the mouth in this way, or what flesh bears much resemblance to the substance of this face. There are many better pictures in the upper tier, and few worse any where. I am therefore unable to see why this should be in so good a place.

No. 63, a Landscape, by H. C. Hows. This picture has many of the merits, and some of the defects, of the present English landscape painters. It has good management of light and dark, good imitation of objects in the fore and middle grounds, and considerable spirit and boldness of execution; but its tone of color is cold; its shadows, in the flesh and some other objects, are made impure, by excess of red and other colors. The sky is too blue, when seen by common daylight, the clouds are proportionably cold, and the light in the fore-ground, intended for weak sunlight, is in the same proportion remote from the warmth of real sunlight. When illu. mined by gas, it is probably even too warm; but this kind of light is fit only for suck pictures as are painted expressly for it, and has been applied to others only by the well-enough-for-the-public policy of American exhibitions. Clear day-light is much inclined to blue ; and pure white and gray pig. ments, when illumined by it, reflect the same excess of blue, and are therefore cool enough for the azure tints of the sky; but when the orange-colored light of gas is applied, a great excess of blue paint is necessary, to compensate for the difference of color in the light; and beside this intolerable evil, gas-light makes yellow, orange, and red tints appear much lighter, and blue tints much darker, than they do by daylight, and thus changes the effect of light and dark, and often impairs the bar. mony of coloring. Some years ago, an Englishman obtained a patent for a mode of qualifying gaslight for panoramas, by transmitting it through blue glasses, of such thickness as to absorb the excess of red and yellow rays; and, if there were not more quacks than men of science among the managers of this feeble ape of the Royal Academy, this method would have been adopted here, if known, or invented, if pot previously known. But to return to Mr. Hows, (whose name has been misspelled in the catalogue.) lle paints skies very blue, and clouds, distances, etc., of corresponding coldness; consequently, the general hue appears mucb colder than nature, which may be a great improvement, but which seems to me a great defect; and in this practice, he agrees with most of his countrymen, and nearly all the French and Americans, who study the paintings of their contempo raries more than the optical treatises of Newton and Brewster, or the paintings of TITIAN, CLAUDL, and the Dutch, or the source of all beautiful art, Nature. The two other pictures of this artist are better than this, in the main; indeed they are very clever; and although I can see defects in them, I can perceive excellencies that afford me great pleasure. The light and dark, (chiaro-'scuro,) he manages well, as English artists generally do; and this alone will make a picture pleasing, if not prevented by offensive color, or some other disagreeable quality.

Nos. 188, 45, 23, 36, by INGHAM, Marsiglia, GAMBARDELLA, and MAYR. These gentlemen possess, in perfection, the manner I alluded to, which may be much better than any thing in Titian, Correggio, Paul Veronese, or any of the celebrated masters of color, or even in nature ; but which I cannot see in any of those authorities. It consists in excessive brightness, smoothness, and minuteness, and total absence of mellowness, freshness, tone, and richness. Could I say what it results from, I should expose a chief cause of the corruption of taste and the decay of art, and render a most important service to the world; but I confess my inability to give any thing more than the conjecture, that it arises from bad taste and false theories, and from that narrowness of mind, which, in pursuing some good qualities, tramples on all others, and pushes to an offensive excess the few it notices at all. In the fine fine art of painting, or as the French and Italians more aptly term it, the beautiful art,' the spiritual predominates, the physical is subordinate, as its vehicle; and each physical element keeps its rank, and gives its proper aid in bodying forth the emotions of

er aid in bodying forth the emotions of the soul, but is never shown for its own sake. Beautiful art' is essentially ideal; it makes composition subordinate to ex. pression, imitation to composition, copying to imitation, and has nothing to do with fac-simile. The trade of copying, wbich these men mistake for art, subjects all things to itself, and pever thinks of soul or character. I ask any sensible person if Mr. INGHAM's portraits do not generally appear feeble in intellect, affected and ungraceful in expression and action, without just resemblance in substance and color, and false, even in mere shape? And the others of this sect, and more who might be named, are not much more or less distinguished by merit, or by vulgar popularity, tban is this idol of those silly women, who chalk their skins until they produce the delicate whiteness' of kid gloves. Take any of their pictures, regard them with your own eyes, unaided by reciprocated puffery, and see if they possess dignity or refinement of character and expression, beauty of form, or the dewy freshness and bloom of healthy flesh; see if they discriminate between the substances of vegetables and minerals; the juicy flower and the sapless rock; the transparent atmosphere and the painted wall; the liquid and the dry; or mark the degrees of transparency whicb distinguish Desh from images of crockery-ware, or painted wood; marble from plaster, or muslin from paper; and do not allow any excuses on the score of defective pigments; for in the hands of Titian, Bassano, Paul Veronese, Correggio, and others, materials less varied and efficient than we possess, were made to rival every beauty that adorns the visible creation.

No. 110. Portrait of a Lady, by DURAND. This possesses gentility, grace, and even beauty; qualities that do not abound in this show-room. The dress is tasteful and neat, and carefully painted; and the chiaro-'scuro of the picture is effective, yet unobtrusive. I think this the best picture I have seed of Mr. Durand's ; indeed, no portrait in the room appears more lady-like in character, or more pleasing in its general effect; and had I a hundred dollars to spare for such a purpose, I would rather give it for this than for all Mr. Ingham ever painted. But it grieves me to see that Mr. Du- . rand's taste has suffered by exposure to the pestilent manner of Messrs. Ingham and company. Even as an accomplished scholar, despite his habitual care to avoid them, will sometimes catch and repeat the vulgarisms of the rabble; or as very refined people in the last century could endure and even admire powdered wigs; or as ancient Lombards were charmed to see heads sbaven behind, and ancient Britons to see themselves painted blue, and South-Sea islanders with tattooing, and so forth, and so forth; so this artist, and many others, and most of the public, have beheld this dry, feeble, insipid manner, until they can tolerate, and even like it. At the hazard of appearing vain, I advise him and them to go to Nature ; look at her in the morning, when the dew gives moisture and freshness to color; at noon, when her splendor is greatest; and in the vapory twilight, when all things are idealized and mellowed by the shadowy gleam that soothed the eyes of Titian, Carracci, and Reynolds; Go! subject your eyes and feelings to these genial influences; and you will be cured of a corruption of taste, which, if allowed to keep its hold, will degrade you from artists to tradesmen; from amateurs to mere twaddlers for fashion's sake.

No. 40. 'Indiau Captives,' by WEIR. Something historical, and of course a treat. Tbe female has good action, drapery, and light and shade ; the male has tolerable drapery, but is feeble in drawing, and somewhat statuesque, cepecially in the right leg and foot. His color has a dry and dirty appearance, and somewhat hard, like a wooden figure. Of the expression, I bad better not speak; as I have little sympathy with those who ascribe the virtues and lofty sentiments of civilization to these half stupid barbarians. T'ne soldier is a very good one, but not remarkable for mellowness of color. His armor, weapons, and the log on which he sits, could hardly be painted with greater truth; but they should have been more subordinate. Tbere is considerabile tone, and unity of shade, which gives simplicity of general effect; but the coloring lacks richness, mellowness, and force; and the chiaro-’scuro is seeble, monotonons, and unsatisfactory to the eye. Mr. Weir has seen too much of the present Italian school, and its flourishing branch in this city.

No. 42, Portrait by W. H. POWELL, has a look severely disagreeable. There is no resemblance to the substance of flesh, and the hands are quite shocking to an anatomist. The coat and etceteras are not so bad; but they are not so difficult to paint. Mr. PowELL is young, and has done quite as well as could have been expected ; but I fear he is a spoiled child, and in a way to miss the art altogether, and become a mere tradesman. He has been wofully deluded by the puffery of several very honorable and warm-hearted friends, who are by no means competent to judge of art, or his progress in it; and the instruction under which he has suffered, has been of that most dangerous kind, respectably mediocre, with merit enough to win the confidence of the inexperieuced, but not enough to be of any essential service to a truly ambitious student, who desires to feel and possess those excellencies by which the great masters have won the admiration of ages. He has wasted his time under no instruction at all, or under that of men who were never well taught themselves, and who know of the art only so much as busy ingenuity could catch from inferior productions, and the casual hints of such as themselves; when he should have been in the schools of Europe, if possible, or under the instruction of Mr. Morse, who is the best educated artist in this city, and the most Jikely to make a young man sensible of the beauties of nature. Mr. POWELL will pot feel offended at the apparent severity of my remarks, or at iny siugling him out from among many who are in the same predicament, and to whom my censures will apply with equal or greater force. I choose him, because he is one of the most promising ; and it is not expedient to speak of each particularly.

No. 91, by J. T. HARRIS, is a portrait of a gentleman, who seems to think more of the utile than the dulce. Supposing the color to resemble the original, it is much better than the majority of portraits in the room, being less hard and dry.

No. 59, by W. HAMILTON, is a portrait of a little girl, made of something like very fine unglazed crockery, and a little dog, made of a mixture of plaster and pipe-clay,

No. 49. Portrait by F. R. SPENCER. Very creditable to him; although the flesh is too much like Signor Ingham's.

No. 47, hy J. WAITEHORNE, is a portrait of a lady. If this artist would take as much pains to get tolerable expression, as he takes to make his colors glaring, and his substances hard, he might bo a respectable manufacturer of portraits. I fear he does not possess a very artist-like ambition.

VOL. XIII.

71

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