feet above the cross, for the accommodation of Mr. Homer, an artist who passed many successive weeks on that lofty station, in making an accurate panoramic view of the surrounding metropolis. Few persons perhaps could be found sufficiently intrepid to have ventured to gratify curiosity at such a risque, or climbed to that appaling height, amidst ladders and scaffolding poles, tottering in every breeze,|| even for a purse of gold. We have often felt a desire to see the sketches from this bird's eye view of London without the means of gratifying our wish; but we, in common with others, may expect a greater treat than this in the ensuing spring. A building is now erecting on the border of the Regent's Park, for the exhibition of a panoramic painting of this scene. Let this be executed with the truth, force of effect, and aerial perspective, which characterise the works exhibiting in the neighbouring Diorama, or those illusive scenes which we have visited with so much delight, the works of Messrs. Burford in Leicester-square and the Strand, and it cannot fail to repay the enterprising artist for his labour. The building is circular, and the interior is one hundred and thirty feet in diameter-a space thirty feet wider than the whispering gallery within the doom of St. Paul's. Here then is a field for the display of this imitative art. PANORAMA OF EDINBURGH. Some years since, the large circle at Leicester Square represented a panoramic view of Edinbro', taken as we recollect from the Calton Hill. Another view of this very picturesque city has been recently made, and is now in preparation at the premises of Messrs. Burford in St. George's Fields, which will represent the modern Athens from a much more interesting point of view. ARTISTICAL SCRAPS. To the Editor of the Somerset House Gazette. FROM thirty to forty years experience has confirmed me in this, that in England Spring and Summer are the seasons for wit. If you and I who scribble here in London smoke, towards the autumnal equinox should be more than usually dull, those who live wide away, may be content to bear with our prosing-for now that the harvest is gathered into the granary, what is left to think about, but sea-bathing, and partridge shooting? All else is as a dead letter, my worthy Mister Hardcastle. more correct: for as each flying buttress was completed. you saw it one degree of shadow from the last, in chronological graduation-and you could trace the last seven years work, from black to grey, and from grey to white, in distinct succession. But, for all this, it had never entered my head, that Regent Street, so late white as the kernel, had changed, dark as the shell of the cocoa nut. And look you farther, Mr. Editor, if the smoke will permit you. Let me ask, how in the name of wonder, do such ingenious wights as Ward and Wilkie, Cooper and Leslie, contrive to paint their pure, clean, delectable cabinet pictures, in this mighty cave of Vulcan, where steam engines of a thousand times greater horse power, than all the horses ever pulled from the days of Noall, are sending forth their myriads of blacks, thicker by millions than ever darkened the shores of Africa, in everlasting warring against their art. The thing appears to me, no less than marvellous. Wilkie, I am reminded, paints at Kensington: he is so much the wiser. But, what then? Jackson has recently perfected a female head, as pure, as clear, and precious, as the living tint upon the fairest carnation that ever united with the chaste expression of an English beauty: and this he accomplished in the midst of London smoke. a These said blacks however, are apt to try the temper of metropolitan painter: for it is no laughing matter let me tell you, when, after laying on the last touches to the bosom of a beauty, and retiring the whole length of your room, to view the effect of the half length labour on your easel, after screwing your head on the right, and then upon your left shoulder, like Minerva's owl, getting your eyes vertical, to take an approving squinney at your all but finished performance, and laying down your palette with self complacency, as Sir Joshua was wont to do, to take a pinch of Strasburgh, on re-approaching, to be hurried, (for all your piety) into an exclamation with my Lady Macbeth," Out d-d spot!" Those, however, who will persist in the practice of painting in London, must experience this misery for their pains. It is their affair, and none of mine; for I, who paint, like Alexander Pope, only for my pastime, spoil my canvas when and where I please. I am not so great a Mohawk, for all this independence though, good, Mr. Editor, not to have some bowels of compassion for your persecuted sufferers from these incursions of the blacks; and if I were monarch of the United Kingdom, and despotic as I would be, I'll be crucified if I would not expel them my kingdom. I should issue my mandate, "Be it known to all machinists, mechanics, manufacturers of beer, sausage choppers, &c. &c. who use or employ those infernal machines that blacken, and despoil my fair cities of London and Westminster,-henceforth, to use no other fuel than wood or coke, on pain of my displeasure." Sir, I'd grub out the nuisance with a vengeance. Is it Nothing is left us for a theme. London is desolate as bearable, that his Majesty's metropolitan subjects, should, Balbec or Palmyra. Sir, the very grass is growing on the to a pure, unsophisticated country nose, even after a jourcoachway of our old squares, and in new Regent Street,ney of fifty miles, smell as smoky as a Rumford Conjurer, there is naught going on, but the whitewashing of the or a Hamborough goose! dirty dingy fronts from the top to the bottom of the houses, from one end to the other, and on both sides of the way; yea, from the palace of the king, in the south, to the church, in the north. Last week, or it may have been the week before, I was passing down this new street, and, behold, I could not believe my eyes, until accidentally meeting an architect, an old friend, he assured me, that it was even so. What! you will enquire of course. Why whether the white stucco four years ago, could possibly be the black stucco, which so many busy hands were newly whitening? It is true, that I noticed the growing effects of London smoke, as the restoration of Heny VII.'s chapel proceeded year by year, in Westminster. No letter could be The whitest of all things in nature, I think it is agreed, is snow. The whitest of all things in art, is the shirt of a Flemish boor, by the younger Teniers. This, no man who has eyes would venture to dispute. Where he procured this white, with what he prepared it, or how he used it, has puzzled many a seeker after nostrums. But, who having this precious white, with the still more precious vehicle, would attempt to make any thing of it in London smoke? Sir, the experiment would be as absurd, as to expect to walk from Temple Bar to the Tower on a muddy day, without a splash upon your white pantaloons. Sir Joshua Reynolds, if I mistake not, was of opinion, that this incomparable artist, painted his white linen at seek abroad, that they cannot find at home? Buildings, statues, paintings, books: for none of these, have such senseless curmudgeons regard. Is it foreign manners, they seek? your heavy ledger men have manners of their own. French cookery they abhor. Venison and turtle, are best of London manufacture; and so for foreign wineSir, all the choicest stores fill the English bins. Is it that these gentry would run away from themselves? EDITOR OF THE SOMERSET HOUSE GAZETTE. Ye gods! they are too heavy, dull, and unwieldly for that. SIR, ABOUT a month ago I met an old school-fellow on the eve of taking his departure for the continent, who I discovered had got a route sketched out for him by at least a dozen of his acquaintance, most of whom are men of habits, pretty nearly compatible with his own. Now, Mr. Editor, any one of these would suffice for a man whose object in travelling was mere every-day pleasure and amusement. But this wiseacre, not content with any separate chart, had been wasting all the summer season in taking a bit from one and a scrap from another, to plan such a scheme as no ignoramus perhaps ever attempted before. He is now abroad, with as long a catalogue of what is to be seen in France, Holland, Flanders, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, as would furnish materials for ten folio volumes, as closely printed as "Johnson's Topographia;" but if he sees as much, or brings back more information of the cities, towns, public buildings, manners, habits, or customs of the people than Professor Gruithausen, the German astronomer, has recently discovered in the moon, I'll cheerfully submit to the bastinado. The fact is, that this old school-fellow of mine, early in life, made too much money in trade, and turned his back too late in life upon his ponderous ledgers. His cranium, poor man, is empty as a drum, and his memory as hollow as a pop-gun, which being charged with any new idea, discharges the last, and leaves it empty as before. This you will say is very pitiable. But where is the wonder, Do you not daily see in this opulent age, many a good man's table surrounded by such? Your venison eating, turtle loving, claret bibbing, hock licking, champaigne smacking gentry, with no more mentality in their conversation, no more sentiment in their compositions, than you would discover in a corresponding number of his Majesty's Beef-eaters. -As well might your men of substance try to shake off their shadows. Lately I met with an old acquaintance just returned from a continental tour, entirely of another cut, with whom it would be delectable to travel. There are here and there, men so happily constituted, so naturally intelligent, that all they see, and all they hear, in their foreign perambulations they turn to rich account. With such, a youth who would desire to see the world, should hope to wander. With such, a fond father should seek to send a hopeful son; for from a travelling associate like this, is acquired the faculty of seeing from all the windows of the understanding. I passed an evening in the company of this gentleman, and am invited to meet him again at a friendly dinner. It is in such society, that wine, though drank in moderation, acquires its richest zest: when the mind expanded with benevolence, enjoys the charm of conversation, with ten-fold delight, and the heart feels the genuine joy of social intercourse. Should you think this short epistle worthy a spare column in your paper, I will attempt another, in which I will endeavour to contrast by a sketch of what I may gather from the descriptive powers of this tourist, who is a gentleman of a cultivated mind, and an amateur of art, with the know-nothing accounts of your middle-witted men, with money-getting understandings. S. S. NORTH AMERICAN ARTISTS. (Continued from p. 363.) STEWART, PORTRAIT PAINTER. I should inform you, lest you should think me slanderous, that this opulent friend of mine has already, to use his own phrase, made three grand towers on the continent, in company with some wealthy plodders of his own cut; but discovering at length, that there was no discovering any thing worth knowing in each other's society, he and they have cut accordingly, and he is now bound on this intellec-The best portrait in the Somerset Exhibition, this year, tual voyage, "solus and alone." "Mine Gote Almighty! what a world we live in--what mid one ting andt anoder-what sights do I not see in the city," exclaimed an old German, one of our late sovereign's household. "Well! what do you see there?" enquired the sovereign. "See! andt it bleaze your Majesty, noting in the world pote MIDDLE MINDED MEN mid MONEY GETTING UNDER STANDINGS. I have thought of this pithy saying of the worthy old German a thousand times. To a man of mind, it is scarcely credible, that any one possessing fortune, and leisure-the power of doing what he lists, can ever be listless. Yet, shall you meet vast herds of human beings, endued with wealth, independence, and health, with no more perception, capacity, or taste, for those pursuits which alone dignify man, than if they had been formed by nature to bear only the outward signs of humanity. Comfortable codgers like these, might as well remain where they made their darling wealth, for what do they Mr. Stewart is an American. He was a long time in this country, many years ago,-painted the principal nobility, and ranked, even then, among the first masters. He is old now, but unquestionably at the head of American painters. In fact, they all bow to his opinion as authority. Some notion of his prodigious power may be gained from this fact. that of Sir William Curtis, by Sir T. Lawrence, and that which is least after his own style, is exceeding like the pictures of Stewart, so much so, indeed, that I should have thought it a Stewart, but for two or three passages, and the peculiar touch of the artist. There is, however, more breadth in Mr. Stewart's picture than those of Sir. T. Lawrence. but much less brilliancy and gracefulness. Mr. Stewart hardly ever painted a tolerable woman. His women are as much inferior to those of Mr. Sully, and, of course, to those of Sir T. Lawrence, as his men are superior to the men of almost any other painter. His manner is dignified, simple, thoughtful and calm. There is no splendour,-nothing flashy or rich in the painting of Stewart, but whatever he puts down upon canvass is || like a record upon oath, plain, unequivocal, and solid. LESLIE, HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. Mr. Leslie was born in this country, (a circumstance not generally known;) went to America in his childhood; attracted some attention there, while he was a clerk in a book store, by a few spirited sketches of George Frederick Cooke, and some other actors; was persuaded to return to this country and study this art of painting as a profession. He has been here twice, (in the whole, from ten to a dozen years,) and has now a reputation of which we, his countrymen, as well as the Americans, have reason to be proud. His portraits are beautiful, rich, and peculiar; his compositions in history, graceful, chaste, and full of subdued pleasantry. There is nothing over-charged in the work of Mr. Leslie. If any thing, there is too strict an adherence to propriety. His last picture," SANCHO BEFORE THE DUCHESS," though very beautiful, is, nevertheless, rather tame as a whole. This, of course, proceeds from his constitutional fear of extravagance and caricature, which is evident in almost everything that he has done, or, perhaps it would be better to say, from his exceedingly delicate sense of what is classical. But that must be got over. A classical taste is a bad one, where men are much in earnest, or disposed to humour. Whatever is classical, is artificial, and, of course, opposed to what is natural. One is marble, the other, flesh; one, statuary, the other, painting. No great man was ever satisfied with what is classical. || spared from the more laborious occupations of life in drumming for a militia company, and in fixing axe-helves to axes; in which two things he soon became distinguished. | By and by, some revolution took place in his affairs; a new ambition sprang up within him; and, being in a strange place, (without friends and without money-and with a family of his own) at a tavern, the landlord of which had been disappointed by a sign painter, Mr. H. undertook the sign, apparently out of compassion to the landlord; but in reality to pay his bill, and provide bread for his children. He succeeded, had plenty of employment in the "profession" of sign-painting; took heart, and ventured a step higher-first, in painting chairs; and then portraits. Laughable as this may seem, it is, nevertheless, entirely and strictly true. I could mention several instances of a like nature; one of a tinman, who is now a very good portrait painter in Philadelphia, U.S.A. (named EICKHALT); another of a silversmith, named WooD, whose miniatures and small portraits are masterly; and another of a portrait painter named JARVIS, whose paintings, if they were known here, would be regarded with astonishment-all of whom are Americans. But, as they are not known here, and have not been here, to my knowledge, I shall pass them over, and return, for a minute or two, to Mr. Harding. Mr. H. is now in London; has painted some remarkably good portraits (not pictures); among others, one of Mr. John D. Hunter, (the hero of Hunter's Narrative,) which the Duke of Sussex, the head of which is capital: one of is decidedly the best of a multitude; one or two of H.R.H. Mr. Owen, of Lanark; a portrait of extraordinary plainness, power, and sobriety; and some others, which were shewn at Somerset House, and Suffolk Street. NEWTON, PORTRAIT AND HISTORICAL PAINTER. Mr. Newton is an American, but born within our Canadas; a nephew of Mr. Stewart, (already mentioned,) and a man of singular and showy talent. He has been pursuing his professional studies in London for several years, and begins to be regarded as he deserves. His portraits are bold and well coloured, but not remarkable for strength of resemblance, or individuality of expression. But, then, they are good pictures, and, of the two, it is higher praise even Mr. H. is ignorant of drawing. It is completely evident, for a portrait painter, to allow that he makes good pictures, by comparison with one another. Hence it is, that his that he draws only with a full brush, correcting the parts than that he makes good likenesses. It is easy (compara-heads and bodies appear to be the work of two different tively) to make a resemblance, but very difficult for any man to make a picture which deserves to be called good. All portrait painters begin with getting likenesses. Every touch is anxious, particular, and painfully exact; and it is a general truth, I believe, that as they improve in the art, they become less anxious about the likeness, and more about the composition, colouring, and effect. Thus, the early pictures of every great artist will be found remarkable for their accurate resemblance, and the later ones remarkable for everything else rather than for that quality. Their likenesses fall off as their painting improves. Still, however, (the last remarks have no especial application to Mr. Newton,) some of this gentleman's portraits are not only good pictures, but striking likenesses. In history, it is hardly fair to judge of him; for what he has done, though admirable on many accounts, are rather indications of a temper and feeling which are not yet fully disclosed, than fair specimens of what he could produce, were he warmly encouraged. His "author and auditor" is the best that I know of his productions; and a capital thing it is. The last, which was lately exhibited at Somerset House, is rather a fine sketch, than a finished picture. It is loose, rich, and showy; wanting in firniness and significance; and verging a little on the caricature of broad farce;-broad pencil farce, I mean. For this, of course, he is excusable, with Moliere for his authority. It is a very good picture, to be sure, but not such a picture as Mr. Newton could have produced: and, therefore, not such a picture as he should have produced for the annual exhibition. He did himself injustice by it. C. HARDING, PORTRAIT PAINTER. This extraordinary man is a fair specimen of the American character. About six years ago, he was living in the wilds of Kentucky, had never seen a decent picture in his life; and spent most of his leisure time, such as could be is composition, generally quite after the fashion of a beginner; and his drapery very like block-tin; or rather, I should say, that this was the case; for there is a very visible improvement in his late works. persons-a master and a bungler. His hands are very bad; Thus much to shew what kind of men our American relations are, when fairly put forward. There is hardly one among the number of painters, above-mentioned, whose life, if it were sketched, as that of Mr. H. is, would not appear quite as extraordinary; and as truly American, in that property which I have chosen to call a serious versatility. tion that I have given, was wanted; does not exist in any I would have made the paper shorter, but the informaaccessible shape to any other man living, perhaps; and may be depended upon. Let that excuse the length of my communication. For the Somerset House Gazette. THE COMPLAINT OF OLD LONDON BRIDGE. OUR sapient Common Council Men, The quays were hushed, no sounds were heard, The antique bridge but dim descried, By Luna's pallid beam, Seem'd like a baseless fabric wild, Its hoary side now glimm'ring faint, Whilst its dark narrow arches were, I stood long musing on this scene, I thought, and had that bridge a tongue, Scarce had the thought pass'd through my mind, When lo! I seem'd to hear, A deep ton'd voice, borne on the wind, Which murmur'd in my ear "Frail child of earth attend to me," It said, or seemed to say, "I am the Genius of yon bridge, I mark'd thee once as o'er the flood, No civic bribe, or orphan fund, Thy hands are pure from venal gold, To thee I will unfold my thought, Who wish my downfall, and have brought, Those city cormorants who feed Ven'son, and turkey, sav'ry chine, Are wash'd down by the choicest wines Free of expense these gourmands dine, How different from the hardy race, Then locks and bolts were useless deem'd, Few foreign dainties grac'd their board, A cunning monk my founder was, He bade me curb the angry tide, Five hundred years alone I stood In all the pride of gothic art, But rivals have sprung up of late I, who so long have stemm'd the flood, Must vale my crest to upstarts, which Seest thou yon unsubstantial thing. Or like unto that spectral bark, Of driven piles whereon to found "Twas like the sound the culprit hears What revolutions have I seen, Since first my head was rear'd, What generations of mankind' Your Edwards, and your Henrys, too, I've seen with kingly pride, Begirt with mail-clad barons fierce. Even captive kings have o'er me past, To grace their triumph: England will And I have tuneful Chaucer seen, And all the pilgrim throng, Who yode with him to Becket's shrine, They still live in his song. Eliza, of the lion port,' My fancy still recalls, Full oft she past me with her court, To seek fair Greenwich halls.‡‡ What sports and pastimes have I view'd, The noble and his vassal then In feudal times, when hardy mirth Laid on with right good English will, Were all the deeds of sin and shame With horror they would thrill thy frame; When Rival Roses shook this Isle, The sever'd head, and mangled limb, And I have heard beneath me glide With muffled oars, the traitor barge, I've seen when graceless bigots strove, And creeds were urg'd with penal fire, I've witness'd Monarchy once quell'd, This in its turn I saw expell'd, When the red scourge o'er London rag'd I heard the crash of house and tow'r And battlement and spire. 1 mark'd when yon proud monument, From earth did first arise, Which like a boasting bully bold, I've seen grim Death triumphant ride, I've heard the shrieks of woe, When Pestilence stalk'd through the streets, And laid its thousands low. 'But soft, I scent the morning air,' Let what I've said be penn'd; More might I add, but time would fail, So here shall be an end." "Christ raising Lazarus," by Sebastian Del Piombo; from the Orleans collection. On canvass, 13 ft. 6 in. high, 9 ft. 5 in. wide. Sebastian was the pupil of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, and many of the subjects he painted were the compositions of his unrivalled master. The figure of Lazarus in this picture is attributed to Buonarotti, but the whole production ranks in the very first class of art. Bold, grand, and natural, with great harmony (of tone and force of effect. "The Emperor Theodosius refused Admittance to the Church at Milan, by Archbishop Ambrose," by Vandyke. On canvass, 4 ft. 10 in. high, 3 ft. 9 in. wide. A magnificent picture, rich in all the powerful characteristics of this great master, and not inferior to the celebrated picture of the same subject by Rubens, now in the gallery of the Em peror of Austria, at Vienna. The undaunted and reproachful expression in the countenance of the archhishop is admirable, and the colouring brilliant. "The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba,' by Claude. On canvass, 4 ft. 11 in. high, 6 ft. 7 in. wide. A work of the first class, breathing the inspiration of a great mind, and glowing in all the fascinating richness of luxuriant nature. There is a sparkling freshness about the pictures of this artist, a natural soul-inspiring effect, that always yields superior delight to the observer, like the first gleam of the spring after a murky winter. "The Marriage of Rebecca," by Claude, companion to the Queen of Sheba. On canvass, 4 ft. 11 in. high, 6 ft. 7 in. wide. A classical composition, grand, easy, and natural; the foliage touched with a magical effect, and the whole picture serene, clear, and transparent, exhibiting the sweetness of colour and harmony of execution, that captivates the eye of refined taste. "Ganymede," from the Colonna Palace at Rome, by Titian. On canvass, 5 ft. 8 in. high, 5 ft. 8 in. wide. A design full of the imposing grandeur and sublimity of style, that invariably distinguishes the work of this child of nature; the roundness of style and fleshy tints of the figure, are in the most felicitous imitation of life. "The Rape of the Sabines," by Rubens. On canvass, 5 ft. 8 in. high, 6 ft. 7 in. wide. A bold masterly design of a subject replete with incideat for the noblest exertions of the pencil; the grouping is exquisite, and the expression in the female figures full of truth and nature; the colouring glowing in the extreme: a magnificent specimen painted in the best time of the master. "An Italian Sea-Port, Evening," by Claude. On canvass, 3 ft. 3 in. high, 4 ft. 3 in. wide. The sea-ports of this magical and fascinating painter are generally divested of all locality, being a combination of rich materials selected from studies after nature. The present painting is a gem of the first order. "Landscape, Morning," by Claude. On canvass, 3 ft. 4 in. high, 4 ft. 5 in. wide. A companion picture to the last, every way worthy the association, painted with a freedom and finish that is only equalled by the brilliant colouring and heavenly serenity of the whole. "Saint John in the Wilderness,' by Annibal Carracci ; from the Orleans collection. On canvass, 5 ft. 4 in. high, 3 ft. 1 in. wide. A sublime picture, in the first and most dignified style of art; a powerful illustration of what may be done with a single figure, when inspiration combines with science to perfect the productions of art. "Susannah and the Elders," by Ludovico Caracci; from the Orleans collection. On canvass, 4 ft. 8 in. high, 2 ft. 7 in. wide. More distinguished by breadth of light and shadow, and simplicity of colouring, than sublimity of thought; there is a solemn stillness of effect about the compositions of this master that divest them of much of their attractive excellence. "The Embarkution of Saint Ursula, by Claude: from the Barbarini Palace. On canvass, 3 ft. 8 in. high, 4 ft. 11 in. wide. Partaking of the usual excellencies of this artist, classical, rich, and clear, with the happiest conception of effect. "The Woman taken in Adultery," by Rembrandt. On wood, 2 ft. 9 in. high, 2 ft. 3 in. wide. A picture in the most vigorous style of this astonishing artist, peculiarly striking in expression and effect of light and shadow, with a great variety of figures, finely grouped; a rich, golden hue pervades the painting, that displays the great skill of the master. "A Bacchanalian Triumph," by Nicolo Poussin. On canvass, 4 ft. 8 in. high, 3 ft. 11 in. wide. An elegant composition, in which the ancient fable is treated with an unusual degree of spirit and taste; the figures are finely contrasted, and the grace and beauty of the drawing exquisite.Westmacott's Historical and Critical Catologue. |