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of being affected even by the awful presence of sufferings of the groupes
the Deity. He is lost in the degraded state round about him.
of a slave, and almost every virtue and feeling The character of the 1
of the human creature are extinguished and very impressive. Their m
subdued by the habits and sense of his con- and made up in their fail

anxiety as to the event of ihe So true is the observation of the poet, that are perfectly assured of the divh. the day of slavery robs a man of all his worth. master's powers. Tbe figure of the young woman who is born Mr. West has shewn very great skill in the bliud, the mother with her sick and dying in grouping of the various figures, which, we fant, an old man ju helpless imbecility, are should think, are nearly one hundred iu numrendered with the most exquisite pathos and ber. The colouring is suitable to the dignity refined delicacy.

and awfulness of the subject-not glaring and In the right groupe is a woman afflicted obtrusive, but grave, majestic, and sombre. with a palsy, which lias distorted her frame, It is impossible to convey au adequate idea and is even then agitating her limbs. She is of this noble and affecting picture by any supported by two vigorous and muscular written criticism. It is our opinion that, for soldiers, which afford a fue contrast with her justness and precision of character, it is a work emaciated figure. Her son, with outstretched which has never been excelled. It is an effort arms, is advanced before her, and seems to im- of art, which must defy any future attempt plore the most speedy attention of the Saviour | upon the same subject. We feel ourselves 10 bis parent's sufferings. There are numerous sensibly proud as Englishmen that so admirother figures and appearances of sickness, able a work has been executed in the country. which we do vot thiuk it necessary to par This admirable production, wbich the best ticularize.

judges have pronounced not inferior to any The character of our Lord is dividely exe. work of Raphael or Micbael Angelo, has becto cuted. He is shewn without art, without purchased by the Governors and Subscribers affection, perfectly simple and dignified. of the British Institution, at the price of three Wbilst all eyes are directed to bim, bis im. Thousand guineas, a price equally honourable partial benevolence distinguishes none in par tu their munificence and taste. It is jutended ticular. The divine placidity of his counte to place it in a National Gallery, to be erected nance, in which all peace and charity reign, by Government, for the exkibition and preforms a beautiful contrast with the malevo- | servation of the works of British Painters. lence of the Jews bebind him, and the agonised


Through an unfortunale mistake in our last Month's, Number, the Sketch of The DRUNKARD, by

Van Ostade, was inserted instead of THE TRUMPETER, by Gerard Dow; nor was the error discovered until the press of business rendered it impossible to rectify it. This Month, however, we have given the neglected Plate, and our Readers will find its criticism in our last Number, page 148; whilst the present Number contains the criticism on the Sketch of THE DRUNKARD, formerly given. We therefore commence with THE DRUNKARD.

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ness of the tippling shop; he drinks alone, Which the French critics consider as a chef- and witli a seltish unsociability, and seems to d'eurre of art and sentiment: it represents, enjoy a brutish pleasure from the progress of in fact, a man grown old in inebriety, and his intoxication; he has begun, and bas nearly whose mind and manners are formed by ha finished; bis countenance is strongly tinged bitual intoxicatiou. His eyes express the with the liquor, and his face seems as if it fatuity of drunken igoorance, not the wild. was perspiring through every pore. In sbort, A€88 of casual intemperance, but the sottish whilst looking at the original, the spectator

almost imagine that he smells the fumés often been able to catch those peculiar his half-emptied can. His fingers, as if by shades of character which are not marked habit, still grasp his glass securely; his lips with sufficient strength to be admitted in the seem to smack, and to enjoy the favour of his grand scenes of historical painting; and these beverage; whilst bis whole air announces a shades so happily caught by tkem, sbew that complete satisfaction with the pleasure af. they have paid a close attention to familiar forded to bis ruling passion. He has just | objects around them. This prodoces a sentienough for his wishes, and appears deter ment delicately fine, but which by it very mined to see it out.

tenuity is invisible to those who soar above The next which we have selected for this its level. month's embellishment, is of a more interest. In the distance, two figures near tbe fireing nature than the last, and is considered || place are scarcely perceived; it seems, indeed, among the best and highest finished of Gerard | that the colour having become black by age, Dow's productions; this is

the personages in the back-ground are almost THE YOUNG HOUSEWIFE;

faded, as well as some of the tints which

are lost even in the fore-ground of the picAnd, in fact, the head of this young woman is ture. The lights, whose effect is so closely one of the most amiable productions of his studied by the Flemish artists, are liere in a art. It is easy to see that it is a portrait, or scientific gradation, from the open window to more properly speaking, a study after na the very back-ground of the chamber. As in Ture. Historical painting cannot produce nature there are po barsh lines of separation, these true and finished portraits, because it is so here the light spreads itself gradually, aud either obliged to invent ideal beauty, or to when it falls on any inter inediate object, it flows magnify and enlarge the object which it off so gradually that there is neither interval studies. This sweet head, when closely ex nor harsh reflection; it is curious, above all, amined, and even though the cradle had not to observe the toue of an open sbutter without, been introduced, is not that of an unformed ll of which no tint resembles that peculiar girl, but of a young mother. Ornament it with light which enters the chamber. Yet some of diamonds, still will it be a rustic countenance, || the accompanying objects do not accord prebut with an expression peaceful, easy, and ac cisely with the general subject; the columo customed to seclusion.

in bas relief, the sword hanging up, the The complesion is exactly appropriate to great panes of glass covered with armorial the character; although clear and delicate, bearing, seem but little in unison with the has not apparently suffered from sun-burn- | cabbages, the other vegetables, and all the ing; but although the hands agree with the l paraphernalia of a kitchen. head in tint, they do not so in form, for they Still must it be confessed that the detaits are are too meagre, too boney, and too long; yet studied and worked up with a precision which still the whole tone of he figure agrees with seems to drive the imitator to despair; and the head, aod there is nothing incomplete on a in this very piece must be that identical broomgeneral view. The infant in the cradle accords stick which cost the painter three days hard well with its young mother ; but its head is labour. A cradle too, and a basket, are so prenot a study from life, for a child of its ap- cisely finished, that there is not a twig or a parent age is more chubby, and not so white. | rush which does not possess its three tints of The little girl who watches it, has a smile | light, shade, and reflection. This studied perwhich does not agree with ber appear. fection only affords room for one subject of ance; it has neither gaiety nor malice, nor regret, which is, that Gerard Dow, instead even the complacence which might suit her of bestowing so much time and labour on a age; but is almost that of a simpleton; it is || basket, did not occupy himself in painting ouiy her lips which laugh, and her whole man two or three beads like those of The Young mer has all the awkward sinplicity of a Housewife. novice.

(To be continued.) The greatest of the Flemish painters have



SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY. See through the restry comes a noble lord !

The common entrance cannot well accord Now from the village church, the chiming with his nobility !—Silk curtains green bells

Inclose him round-by vulgar eye unseen, At seven begin; while custom then repels

Who strive, in vain, to catch a casual glance, The wish to waste in sleep á later hoor,

Should bis sweet Countess draw the silk, by This day, devoted to th' All-waking Pow'!,

chance: Wbo kindly gave to man this best of days,

The upper maids sit in the pew behind, To rest from labour, and to sing bis praise. With ibe fat housekeeper of stately miúd, The village liiods, obedient to the call

Who looks on all the country.folks with Of social breakfast, now assemble, all

pride, The num'rous members of one happy cot,

And such poor bumpkins cannot but deride. Parted the week, each to a diff'rent spot; This day united in one band of love,

Here stocking-weavers, iron-mongers great, The sons and brothers dear affection prove.

Have quitted trade, and bought a country in blossom-colour'd coat, or gay pea-green,

seat; With waistcoats strip'd, the village lads are Ofold inhabitants, churchwardens now seen;

(curld, | Become, they sometimes honour with a bow, With hair sleek-comb'd, or

nature-woven The mild, decay'd, old gentry; but declare They shine the beauž, o'er all their little Best seats made for themselves, such shall not world:

share : First in their cottage they the notes essay

Phus, perhaps, she who traces a long line Of Hymn or Psalm which they must sing to

Of bravest ancestors, must not repine, day :

If tbrust below a sordid, selfish race, Assembl'd in the church-yard long before

Whv durst not sit before her father's face, The Sexton has unlock'd the sacred door:

But humbly stand, with cap in hand, and Here serious talk and politics go round,

wait, Amidst the aged-one, with look profound,

Nor dare approach within his outer gate. Shakes his grey head—"The French will never

The farmer's daughter with six bundred pound come."

Thinks herself rich, and haugbtily looks
He says, “They'll wiser be, and keep at home.” round,
But see the Rev'rend Minister advance;

Her persen not unlovely, but her mind
And proud he feels, whom happily, by chance, Being balf cultivated, is confin’d;
The preacher smiles on, with a gracious buw;

To fashion she aspires, but never seems The peasant, then, looks down on those be- To others, what herself she truly derms; low,

Sings Psalms aloud, to prove shie knows an As wanting wisdom; wbich the Parson found

air, Writ on his brow; perhaps be caught the

And has of music's smatterings a share ; svund

But see, her former fin'ry she evades; Of kuowledge politic, which he express'à

A latter'd bonnet now her visage shades ; Bit just before !- happiness the best, Half dirty muslin gwn, a shawl not clean, The truest thou, purchas'd at price so small!

And the nymph's whole attire is poor and Priuce, hero, statesman, tbou above them all,

(more, Contented clown! thy dear, delusive joys,

Vliss comes from town, to pass a week, or Prove that all earthly honours are but toys. "And says, she never saw such folks before!

“ Dress on a Sunday! -Oh! 'tis vulgar, Forgive, thou Sacred Majesty Diviuc,

quite! Thou know'st all profanation of thy shrine, T, cousin, go to church like avy fright.” My spirit scoros: Yet, no where can be Thus counsels she ber friend; and with a found,

stare la any spot of consecrated ground,

Brought fresh from London, now looks here, More than in country church the diff'ring now there, mind,

To prove high-brecding, and superior skill From the proud magistrate to lowest hiud. In taste, in elegance, or what you wil!, No. XVIII. Vol. III.-NS.




New converse now, the church-yard's doon' ll Where, from her chamber-window bought she to prove,


(sties, As homeward all the congregation move ; But horse-ponds, cart- houses, or sweet pig. The ladies then begiu.-" How ma'am, are What but dear novels can the fair delighet? you?

And yet how sad, to read from moru to " Didu't I see the squire within his pew?"

night! " Oh, no! be has got such a teizing cough; And then the library is so very poor! " I fear, puor man, some day 'twill take him Of novels new, contains not half a score ; off."

Those they call new, are ancient as the hills, “ Poor gentleman! so happy in his wife, And oft will sad despair her bosom fills : “ Must make bin truly much attach'd to life: The Female Quirotte that she koows by “ Good morrow, madam.. Did you ever

heart; hear

The Myst’ries of Udolpho make her start "Such an unfeeling creature! W’hy, my dear, At ber owo shadow ; while she's really sick, " She speaks about her busband's dying, To read so oft the novel of Old Nick. just

My lady with enmui, quite stupid grown, "As if no inore than that poor cloud of dust, « La! 'tis the soldiers, make it; coine, iny

She and my lord oft fore'd to dine alone,

Weeps at ber fate-" O summer months too dear,

long!" « Let's see if any Officers are there."

is still the burtben of my lady's song. The village swains they talk the sermon

CHARLOTTE, bright female, thy accomplish'd

mind, Some find it better than they've heard before; Others declare, they think he speaks too

In every state felicity can God;

Whether in court with splendour thou art mucha About the public-bouses, and all such!


{Queen! For many topers find it rather hard,

Or in sweet Windsor's bow'rs-a peerless To be on Sæiday, from good ale deburrd;

At church no blind obscures thee from the “ And where," they cry,

sight "Can te the miglity of those, who view thee, ever with delight, sin, « If I, with neighbour Higgins just stept in,

There piety and true devotion shine, " Aud stay an livur or two, a pipe to smoke?

As low thou bend'st before the Throne Di. 4. Or sit to lavgh and crack a merry juke?"

vine; When ev'ning comes, no longer they com

Thy servants-some grawn in the service grey, plain ;

Faithful attend, and for thy safety pray, For all the preacher's eloquencë was vain:

And that of Britain's King-Illust'rous pair, Seated on benches, see the jag goes round,

Whose genuine virtues and example fair, And harmless mirtha-nay, judgmeni, too; pro- Make Windsor, where those virtues long have found,

shone, If rightly led these village patriots know,

The spot where piety bas fix'd her throne; Though doom'd by humble lot to till and 7bere, free from stern fanaticism's strife, plow.

Blest in his subjects love, and length of life, See the sweet fields the youthful tribe adorn,

GEORGE, with affectiou, and with wishes Of village lads and lasses fresh as norn;

kind, Some in straw bats, with ribbous blue ar Sees theın enjoy that day, made for mankind, ray'd; [afraid;

S. G. And to wear cheerful green, no nymph's Seldom fursaken is the rural naid.

MUSIC, AN ODE. The twilight supper brought upon the green, SAY, beat'nly Maid! enchanting Music! say, Before the cottage door is oft times scen : Amidst the Discord that untunes the world, Health true enjoyment gives the viands plain, Shall not thy Magic Pow'rs the rage allay, Constant employment frees the mind from And each rude passion be to dark oblivion pain.

huri'd? But if that farmer's lass, in fancy great,

But, if more potent than thy charms, Is doom'd, by rain, unto !he mournful fate

Tyrannic Discord still shall reign,
Of passing all this day at her dull bomc,

Calling her angry sons in arms,
When miry lanes prercut each guest to come; Furious to tread ibe ensauguin'd plain :

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