ornamental embellishments, etc., show that wealth, power, knowledge, and taste have worked together, and accomplished the highest meed of human achievement and empire. As the triumphal fête would indicate, man has conquered man-nations have been subjugated. This scene is represented as near mid-day, in the early Autumn. No. 4. The picture represents the Vicious State, or State of Destruction. Ages may have passed since the scene of glory-though the decline of nations is generally more rapid than their rise. Luxury has weakened and debased. A savage enemy has entered the city. A fierce tempest is raging. Walls and colonnades have been thrown down. Temples and palaces are burning. An arch of the bridge, over which the triumphal procession was passing in the former scene, has been battered down, and the broken pillars, and ruins of war engines, and the temporary bridge that has been thrown over, indicate that this has been the scene of fierce contention. Now there is a mingled multitude battling on the narrow bridge, whose insecurity makes the conflict doubly fearful. Horses and men are precipitated into the foaming waters beneath; war galleys are contending; onevessel is in flames, and another is sinking beneath the prow of a superior foe. In the more distant part of the harbor, the contending vessels are dashed by the furious waves, and some are burning. Along the battlements, among the ruined Caryatides, the contention is fierce; and the combatants fight amid the smoke and flame of prostrate edifices. In the fore-ground are several dead and dying; some bodies have fallen in the basin of a fountain, tinging the waters with their blood. A female is seen sitting in mute despair over the dead body of her son, and a young woman is escaping from the ruffian grasp of a soldier, by leaping over the battlement; another soldier drags a woman by the hair down the steps that form part of the pedestal of a mutilated colossal statue, whose shattered head lies on the pavement below. A barbarous and destroying enemy conquers and sacks the city. Description of this picture is perhaps needless; carnage and destruction are its elements. The fifth picture is the scene of Desolation. The sun has just set, the moon ascends the twilight sky over the ocean, near the place where the sun rose in the first picture. Day-light fades away, and the shades of evening steal over the shattered and ivy-grown ruins of that once proud city. A lonely column stands near the fore ground, on whose capitol, which is illumined by the last rays of the departed sun, a heron has built her nest. The doric temple and the triumphal bridge, may still be recognised among the ruins. But, though man and his works have perished, the steep promontory, with its insulated rock, still rears against the sky unmoved, unchanged. Violence and time have crumbled the works of man, and art is again resolving into elemental nature. The gorgeous pageant has passed—the roar of battle has ceased the multitude has sunk in the dust- the empire is extinct. These pictures were painted for the late LUMAN REED, whose encouragement of the fine arts has been mentioned with just applause, and they are now exhibited by permission of his family. A SCENE FROM THE DELUGE. This historical painting, from the pencil of Mr. F. ANELLI - an artist yet young, but possessing an advanced reputation, and talent of an exalted character — has attracted many visiters, and much admiration, since it has been open for exhibition. It is, in truth, a spirited and highly-wrought effort, and in most respects a preeminently beautiful picture. The form and features of the mother strike us as faultless; the countenance and image of the husband, too, are beyond criticism; while the muscular figure of the brother, admirably fore-shortened upon the overhanging rock, deserves equal praise. The infant, however, and the aged father, impressed us less favorably. There are defects, especially in the drawing, in each of these. The scene itself is well portrayed, and excepting perhaps a greenness of too deep a hue in the waters is without blemish. Altogether, the picture is well imagined and well depicted. 'THE POOR RICH MAN AND THE RICH POOR MAN.' Such is the expressive title of a small but closely printed volume, from the gifted pen of Miss SEDGWICK, just published by the Brothers HARPER. We have room but to say, that it is worthy of its author, and that, in the deep interest which it excites, and the moral which it conveys, it is a forcible and beautiful illustration of the truth of the passage which stands as its motto: There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.' 6 STATEN ISLAND.- To those who would hold communion with nature, during the brief reign of that 'Sabbath of the Year' which makes an American fall so calm and holy a season, we know of no spot, of easy access to our citizens, more delightful than Staten Island. Every hour in the day, scenes of natural beauty may here be enjoyed, which it is not too much to say have very few peers in the world. As the visiter leaves behind him the empire city, that sits like Tyre, in the midst of the sea, and 'whose merchants are princes,' let him mark the forests of masts that encompass her on every sidethe wide expanse of her matchless bay, enlivened by water-craft of every description; Long Island, with its crowning city, and dwelling-sprinkled shore- the crowded river on the east, and the noble Hudson - the key to the far western region - rolling its broad waters to the main, its bosom whitened with the treasures of the vast inland that stretches beyond the sight. Before him widens the Narrows, the great gate between the eastern and western world. At the Quarantine, near the pretty village that swells upward from the shore, hundreds of vessels are riding at anchor. Let him land at the trim town of Tompkinsville, and proceed along the shore; and when he shall have gained the first of the various eminences that rise in irregular undulations far around him, pause for a moment, and survey the scene. The city, mellowed by distance, and reposing in the chastened autumnal light, rises 'like a sweet creation of enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep;' far to the northward, the view of the Hudson is broken by the bold and picturesque front of the Pallisades; the blue mountain line, bounding the view on the north-west and west, forms an appropriate back-ground to a varied landscape, indented with bays, and chequered with towns and villages. When, in beholding all this, the enamored lover of nature becomes dizzy and drunk with beauty,' let him pursue his journey, until he finds himself on other upland slopes, of greater elevation, near where a redoubt was thrown up at a period when war was in our borders. Gazing toward the east, the view suddenly changes from the beautiful to the sublime. Before him spreads the 'throne of the Invisible' — the great and wide sea, with all its swelling multitude of waves. Sun-lit ships are flitting into dimness in the distance, while others, every sail spread, and homeward bound, are sweeping into the broad offing. On every hand, the Spirit of Beauty sits enthroned. It cannot be, that scenes like these will be long left to waste their wealth of various and noble beauty upon the merely casual beholder. Pass but a little while, and on all these commanding summits — these irregularly-distant and gracefully-rounded hills, which overlook the peerless scenes we have described - white dwellings, garnished by the hand of taste and art, will glimmer in the day-beam; the leafy magnificence of waying trees, and the sheen of gay gardens flowering in the summer sun, will be here: the uncultivated spot will have been converted into the fields of elysium, ་ COLLEGIATE. We have received, and perused with much gratification, 'An Oration delivered by the Hon. WILLIAM ALLEN, of Chillicothe, (Ohio,) before the Calliopean Society of the Granville Literary and Theological Institution,' in August last, 'being their first anniversary celebration.' This effort is the result of a searching examination and comparison of the tendencies of the different courses of national government. Its views of human action are enlarged its inculcations beneficial and exalted - while its style rarely lacks the graces of composition. A single paragraph is all for which we have space: 'If it should be asked, 'Where is the guaranty of liberty in the United States?' the answer may be found in the unawed freedom and untrammeled action of the press-in the numerous seminaries of learning in the common schools-in the millions of printed volumes in the boundless circulation of the public journals-in the accessibility of all these to the entire body of the people. It may be found in the public discussions of the legislature, of the desk, and of the bar—in the free and frequent assemblages of the people, and their unrestricted interchange of ideas. It is through these numerous channels that a great body of popular intelligence is accumulated, which forms a deep, broad stratum of solid sense, extending throughout the whole community, and sustaining, as its foundation, the splendid structure of a free and faultless government. While these channels are kept open- while the mind of man acts freely and fearlessly through them - civilization and liberty are secure against the most formidable dangers. If despotism would change this scene, it must begin with murdering the schoolmaster, the professor, the orator, the author, and the printer; it must demolish your seminaries, your school houses, your public buildings- -consume your volumes, strike down your press, and disperse your multitudes; it must benumb the mind, blunt the sensibility, chill the passions, and break the spirit of the whole people; in a word, it must recall the ideas that are abroad, and imprison them once more in the strong dungeon of monopoly. When this is done - when men shall have become dumb with terror, oblivious of the past, insensible to the present, and indifferent to the future-then, and not until then, will the free system of popular government be in danger then, and not until then, will the arbitrary establishments of the old world be incombustible to the scorching and consuming blaze of science, of letters, and of liberty, which is now silently enkindling around them.' LITERARY RECORD. MEMORIALS OF MRS. HEMANS.-Messrs. SAUNDERS AND OTLEY's edition, in two volumes, of the 'Memorials of 'Mrs. HEMANS, with illustrations of her literary character from her private correspondence,' deserves extensive patronage. The volumes proceed from the pen of H. F. CHORLEY, Esq., one of the editors of the London Athenæum. Portions of the work were originally published in that journal, and subsequently generally circulated in the United States. These were well calculated to whet the public appetite for those which remain. Throughout the whole progress of the work, the reader will be forcibly struck with the evidences of the reality and truth of the beautiful exhibitions of domestic affection which characterize the poetry of Mrs. Hemans. The author, bringing to his task both capacity and adequate reverence for his subject, has acquitted himself with credit. We make a few desultory selections from Mrs. Hemans' correspondence, which will give some idea of the entertainment afforded by this portion of the work. The following characteristic letters were written from Chiefswood, in the neighborhood of Melrose and Abbottsford: Chiefswood, July 13. "How I wish you were within reach of a post, like our most meritorious Saturday's Messenger, my dear Amidst all these new scenes and new people I want so much to talk to you all! At present I can only talk of Sir Walter Scott, with whom I have just been taking a long, delightful walk through the 'Rhymour's Glen.' I came home, to be sure, in rather a disastrous state after my adventure, and was greeted by my maid, with that most disconsolate visage of hers, which invariably moves my hard heart to laughter; for I had got wet above my ankles in the haunted burn, torn my gown in making way through the thickets of wild roses, stained my gloves with woodstrawberries, and even-direst misfortune of all! scratched my face with a rowan branch. But what of all this? Had I not been walking with Sir Walter Scott, and listening to tales of elves and bogles and brownies, and hearing him recite some of the Spanish ballads till they 'stirred the heart like the sound of a trumpet?' I must reserve many of these things to tell you when we meet, but one very important trait, (since it proves a sympathy between the Great Unknown and myself,) I cannot possibly defer to that period, but must record it now. You will expect something peculiarly impressive, I have no doubt. Well we had reached a rustic seat in the wood, and were to rest there, but I, out of pure perverseness, chose to establish myself comfortably on a grass bank. Would it not be more prudent for you, Mrs. Hemans,' said Sir Walter, to take the seat?' 'I have no doubt that it would, Sir Walter, but, somehow or other, I always prefer the grass.' And so do I,' replied the dear old gentleman, coming to sit there beside me, and I really believe that I do it chiefly out of a wicked wilfulness, because all my good advisers say that it will give me the rheumatism.' Now was it not delightful? I mean for the future to take exactly my own way in all matters of this kind, and to say that Sir Walter Scott particularly recommended me to do so. I was rather agreeably surprised by his appearance, after all I had heard of its homeliness; the predominant expression of countenance is, I think, a sort of arch good-nature, conveying a min gled impression of penetration and benevolence. The portrait in the last year's Literary Souvenir is an excellent likeness. Chiefswood, July 13. "Will you not be alarmed at the sight of another portentous-looking letter, and that so soon again? But I have passed so happy a morning in exploring the 'Rhymour's Glen' with Sir Walter Scott, that following my first impulse on returning, I must communicate to you the impression of its pleasant hours, in full confidence that while they are yet fresh upon my mind, I shall thus impart to you something of my own enjoyment. Was it not delightful to ramble through the fairy ground of the hills, with the 'mighty master himself for a guide, up wild and rocky paths, over rude bridges, and along bright windings of the little haunted stream, which fills the whole ravine with its voice! I wished for you so often! There was only an old countryman with us, upon whom Sir Walter was obliged to lean for support in such wide walks, so I had his conversation for several hours quite to myself, and it was in perfect harmony with the spirit of the deep and lonely scene; for he told me old legends, and repeated snatches of mountain ballads, and showed me the spot where Thomas of Ercildoune 'Was aware of a lady fair, Come riding down the glen,' which lady was no other than the fairy queen, who bore him away to her own mysterious land. We talked too of signs and omens, and strange sounds in the wind, and 'all things wonderful and wild;' and he described to me some gloomy cavern scenes which he had explored on the northern coast of Scotland, and mentioned his having heard the deep foreboding murmur of storms in the air, on those lonely shores, for hours and hours before the actual bursting of the tempest. We stopped in one spot which I particularly admired; the stream fell there down a steep bank into a little rocky basin overhung with mountain ash, and Sir Walter Scott desired the old peasant to make a seat there, kindly saying to me, 'I like to associate the names of my friends and those who interest me, with natural objects and favorite scenes, and this shall be called Mrs. Hemans' seat.' But how I wished you could have heard him describe a glorious sight which had been witnessed by a friend of his, the crossing the Rhine at Ehrenbreistein, by the German army of Liberators, on their return from victory. At the first gleam of the river,' he said, they all burst forth into the national chant 'Am Rhein, Am Rhein ! They were two days passing over, and the rocks and the castle were ringing to the song the whole time, for each band renewed it while crossing, and the Cossacks with the clash and the clang, and the roll of their stormy war-music, catching the enthusiasm of the scene, swelled forth the chorus' Am Rhein, Am Rhein ! I shall never forget the words, nor the look, nor the tone, with which he related this ;* it came upon me suddenly, too, like that noble burst of war-like melody from the Edinburgh Castle rock, and I could not help answering it in his own words, "Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array.' "I was surprised when I returned to Chiefswood to think that I had been conversing so freely and fearlessly with Sir Walter Scott, as with a friend of many days, and this at our first interview too! for he is only just returned to Abbottsford, and he came to call on me this morning, when the cordial greeting he gave me to Scotland, made me at once feel a sunny influence in his society. I am going to dine at Abbottsford to-morrow how you would delight in the rich baronial-looking hall there, with the deep-toned colored light, brooding upon arms and armorial bearings, and the fretted roof imitating the fairy sculpture of Melrose in its flower-like carvings! Rizzio's beautiful countenance has not yet taken its calm clear eyes from my imagination; the remembrance has given rise to some lines, which I will send to you when I write next. There is a sad fearful picture of Queen Mary in the Abbottsford dining-room. But I will release you from farther description for this time, and say farewell. "Ever faithfully yours, "F. H." We close our quotations with an extract or two descriptive of Mrs. Hemans personal appearance, and illustrative of points in her character: "It has been said that no woman can form a fair estimate of another's personal attractions; but in contradiction to this sweeping assertion, I shall draw upon a woman's Upon this anecdote Mrs. Hemans afterwards based one of the most spirited of her national lyrics, The Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory.' The effect of this, when sung with a single voice and chorus, is most stately and exciting. The air had never before been mated with suitable words; the German Trinklied, (drinking song,) which belongs to it in the original, falls far behind the music, which is high-toned and spirited. work, The Three Histories,' for a description of Mrs. Hemans, which, though somewhat idealized, is as faithful to the truth as it is gracefully written. "Egeria was totally different from any other woman I had ever seen, either in Italy or England. She did not dazzle- she subdued me. Other women might be more commanding, more versatile, more acute; but I never saw one so exquisitely feminine. She was lovely without being beautiful; her movements were features; and if a blind man had been privileged to pass his hand over the silken length of hair, that when unbraided flowed round her like a veil, he would have been justified in expecting softness and a love of softness, beauty and a perception of beauty, to be distinctive traits of her mind. Nor would he have been deceived. Her birth, her education, but, above all, the genius with which she was gifted, combined to inspire a passion for the ethereal, the tender, the imaginative, the heroic, in one word, the beautiful. It was in her a faculty divine, and yet of daily life;-it touched all things, but like a sunbeam, touched them with a golden finger. Any thing abstract or scientific was unintelligible and distasteful to her: her knowledge was extensive and various, but true to the first principle of her nature, was poetry that she sought in history, scenery, character, and religious belief-poetry that guided all her studies, governed all her thoughts, colored all her conversation. Her nature was at once simple and profound; there was no room in her mind for philosophy, or in her heart for ambition one was filled by imagination, the other engrossed by tenderness. Her strength and her weakness alike lay in her affections: these would sometimes make her weep at a word, at others imbue her with courage; so that she was alternately a 'falcon-hearted dove,' and 'a reed shaken with the wind. Her voice was a sad, sweet melody, her spirits reminded me of an old poet's description of the orange-tree, with its 'Golden lamps hid in a night of green,' it or of those Spanish gardens where the pomegranate grows beside the cypress. Her gladness was like a burst of sunlight; and if in her depression she resembled night, it was night wearing her stars. I might describe and describe for ever, but I should never succeed in portraying Egeria; she was a muse, a grace, a variable child, a dependent woman- the Italy of human beings. "There was no more beautiful trait in Mrs. Hemans' character, than the total absence of any thing like rivalry- of the smallest shadow of a wish to depreciate or discourage the efforts of her contemporaries. Her judgment, indeed, was as fastidious as it was independent: she did not estimate the writings or the endowments of others according to the fashion of the day, but by the standard of her own wholly poetical feelings: and thus she might be sometimes too exclusive, but never voluntarily unfair, or warped by the smallnesses which creep into minds less earnest. Though so naturally rich, even to luxury, in her own imagery and forms of expression, she was wholly intolerant of all counterfeit sentiment and pretty phraseology, these she would call 'property writing,' 'painted language.' She was too entirely and graciously devoted to her art ever to bear a part in the antiphony of hollow compliment. One of her favorite quotations was the satire on the Litchfield coterie, which she would repeat with exquisite humor, "Tuneful poet! England's glory; Mr. Hayley-that is you,' "But in proportion as her taste was difficult and peculiar, so were her preferences strong and lasting, 'If she could see no fault in her friends,' she would playfully and ingeniously argue,' they were very few in number; and she was sure that she could not have adopted them so entirely as a part of herself without good and convincing cause." The work is embellished with a fine portrait of Mrs. Hemans, and a view of her residence at St. Asaphs. Messrs. Carey, Lea and BLANCHARD, Philadelphia, have published the same work in one volume. The proceeds from the sale of both editions are to be devoted to the benefit of Mrs. Hemans' children. BRYANT'S POEMS. A third edition of BRYANT's poems, with a few which were not in the first, and of which two or three have never before appeared in print, has been published by the HARPERS. We will not suppose any of our readers ignorant of productions, many of which have become almost part and parcel of the national heart. Hence, foregoing unnecessary praise, we need only say of the volume before us, that its execution is truly beautiful, and that it is ornamented with an appropriate vignette by WEIR. |