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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
WM. C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
©riginal |3oetrr).
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A SONNET FOR NOVEMBER.
BY WILLIAM C . RICHARDS.
There is a dirge-like sound upon tlie air,
A melancholy wailing of the wind,
A requiem tor seasons green and fair—■
Which the swift-rolling earth leaves far behind:
\nd as she leaves them, quickens still her pace,
As if in haste to rest in Winter’s arms;
Hut loth to linger when she secs his face,
Will tly as quickly on to Spring’s sweet charms.
Thus speeding ever —earth but emblems man,
Still hasting from the cradle to the tomb ;
[lis each allotted season but a span,
His fruit in age e'en a3 its spring-time bloom.
o may we live that when Life’s winter nears,
The hopes of Youth may not mature in fears!
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE COTTAGE GIRL.
BY T. H . CHIVERS, M . D .
*’She seemert a splendid newly drest,
Save wings, for Heaven.’ 4 —Keats.
Her tender breasts were like two snow-white doves
Upon one willow hough at calm of even,
Telling each other, side by side, their loves,
In soft cherubic tones, as sweet as Heaven.
And as the soft winds, from the flowery grove,
Sway them thus sitting on that willow bough,
At every breath —at every sigh ot love,
They undulate upon her bosom now.
Two dove-like spirits on her eye-lids knelt,
And weighed them gently, covering half her eyes,
Whose soul in their own azure seemed to melt,
And mingle, as the sun-light, with the skies.
Her eyes were like two violets bathed in dew,
In which each lash was mirrored dark within,
As in some lake, reflecting Heaven so blue,
The willow bough’s long, languid limbs are seen
As God’s celestial look is far too bright
For Angel’s gaze in Heaven, if not kept dim,
And partly shorn of its excessive light
By the broad pinions of the Cherubim —
So, these two spirits, one on eaclr frail lid,
Lot down the lash-fringed curtain to conceal,
Ami keep but half that heavenly glory hid,
Which it were death to mortals to reveal.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE VOLUNTEER’S BRIDE.
A BALLAD.
/
BY EDWIN lIERIOT.
f'he stood upon the shore
And fast the tears were streaming,
As on the deck in proud array
The soldiers’ arms were gleaming.
She wept beside her bed,
And on that quiet pillow
Her thoughts wore turned on him whose home
Was on the angry billow.
—At length the tidirgs came
That wreathed his name in glory,
But with them came Death’s messenger
To tell his mournful story.
Among that gallant band
Was one whoso name was givon—
A sacred pledge of holy vows,
Now registered in Heaven.
The battle’s fearful strife
Comes to her nightly vision,
And the hero, with his stronger foe,
Contends in dread collision.
Alone she treads Life’s path
While its sad hours are closing,
But her heart is buried in the tomb
Where the patriot is reposing.
LINES
Impromptu, to a Lady on being invited to lake wine.
Thy ruby lips must kiss the brim
Before I drain the cup,
I*a brightness else will be too dim
To light my spir ‘ts up. [W.
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
BONNIE LUE.
BY C. L. XVHELER.
Mang a’ the lasses o’ the toun,
There’s nane sae fair as bonnie Lue,
Whase cheek is a’ a new-blawn rose—
Whase e’e is heav’n-rcflected blue !
The brightness o’ the brightest day
Is aye upon her sunny brow,
An’ ilka charm is in her face
That might an angel’s e’en endow ’
Nao nymph frac out the orient wave
Was e’er sae like a lover’s dream
As bonnie Lue, the fair an’ true,
The maid o’ ’Conee’s wimpling stream !
i?ae modest an’ sae gracefu’ too,
She wins our hearts a’ unaware ;
Yet ’tis nac sin to worship Lue,
For she is pure as she is fair !
Yet beauty boon is na alane
The boast an’ pride o’ bonnie Lue,
For e’e an’ voice bespeak a soul
As highly toned as nobly true !
Sae blame them nae wha worship still
A deity sae fair an’ pure ;
For bowing here maun mak them gude,
An’ lift them frao the earth's soilure !
®l)e ©osat]ist.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
PORTRAIT PAINTING.
BTC II ARLES UNMAN, ESQ.
The “one thing needful 11 in a portrait is
the resemblance ; for without that it is not a
portrait, but a fancy picture. But as a like
ness may be good, bad, or indifferent, life-like
or lifeless, too neglige or too stilf, too warm
or too cold, or finished, in various ways, in
consistently with the character of the indi
vidual represented, there are, of course, many
collaterals which need to be attended to with
almost as much care as the principal object:
otherwise the portrait is not entitled to rank
high as a work of Art.
The dignity of a mere resemblance will
sink to a very low degree, when it is remem
bered that it may be obtained in a manner
wholly mechanical. Most persons have
heard
Os boys that go about,
Who. for a very trifling sum,
Will snip one’s pioture out;
and have seen many “ a profile cut in black”
adorning the mantel-shelf of the parlor or sit
ting-room in country villages, and of the nur
sery or kitchen in places which have made
further progress in the march of rehnement.
Many of my readers, perhaps, in their juve
venile days, have themselves sat in the big
arm-chair of the operator, surrounded by ad
miring brothers and sisters, and had the ma
chine-rod pass down over the forehead, cross
ing the bridge of the nose, gently touching
the lips, and vanishing under the chin, and a
few minutes afterwards have marched off
home with a “decided likeness 11 in their
pockets, except that it was black as the ace
of spades. Besides which, that extensive
epidemic, the Daguerreotype, which can as
well be managed by a tailor’s apprentice as
by an artist, has gone out over the earth, and
takes likenesses in a still more mechanical
manner than our older friends, the profile
cutters. The likeness then, in portrait paint
ing, although indispensable, is of the lowest
order of merit. The other points—those in
which the artist is distinguished from the me
chanic—are to be ranked above it in dignity
and value. It is with a man’s portrait as it
is with himself. A man cannot be a man
without the possession of animal life, which
is therefore indispensable. But it is not for
this reason his highest attribute, for it may
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1848.
exist without any of those lofty spiritual and
intellectual qualities which are of the highest
value and dignity in man as he ought to be,
but none of which, nevertheless, are indispen
sable to his existence ; for he is still a man,
so long as he has life, although he may be
an abandoned scoundrel, or an idiot, or even
a bed-ridden cripple. In portrait painting,
these higher qualities may all be compre
hended under the two branches of Expression
and Harmony.
Almost any person of ordinary capacity
can make a tolerable outline of anything that
stands perfectly still before him. A chair, a
desk, a candlestick, a house, a fence, a tree,
or any one of the ten thousand objects of
still life, can be easily grasped by the mind,
measured by the eye, and delineated at leisure
by the hand. Hence, in instructing pupils,
they are always commenced on objects of still
life. Hence, 100, those painters who have
devoted themselves wholly to this branch, no
matter how exquisite may be the finish of
their pictures, are never ranked high among
the sons of the easel and pallett. In land
scape it is easy to sketch the outline of the
mountains, woods, rocks and waters that are
before the eye. It is easy to make the moun
tains blue and the trees green, and to make
in the water an inverted duplicate of what
has been painted above it. Bur to give the
accidents which are of a transitory nature,
and give the peculiar expression to any land
scape at the time when it is taken—this is a
different matter; this belongs to the artist.
He alone can mingle the morning mist w r ilh
the blue of the distant mountain. He alone
can catch the tone of the atmosphere, wheth
er it be the purplish coolness of the daw a, the
trembling whiteness of noon, or live glorious,
golden magnificence of evening, lie alone
can make the transparent water flow or gush,
or roll the moving billows to the shore, tipped
by the dazzling sun-beams, or the gentler ra
diance of the moon. He alone can catch the
clouds as they are flying on the wings of the
wind, and,scattering their patches of sudden
shadow on land and sea below. The fixed
outline of the. permanent features of land
scape belongs then to the mechanic, the mo
mentary accidents which give it all its life,
all its expression, all its value in an artistical
sense, belong to and characterize the artist.
By these he must stand or fall.
Just so is it in portrait painting. The out
line of the fixed and rigid features can be
given by the profile-cutter or the daguerreo
type—nay, the latter can even give somewhat
of expression, though usually one which is
uncharacteristic, if wot contradictory, of the
true disposition of the person. The mark
which the artist should aim at is an expres
sion, which, while it is instinct with life ,
shall at the same time tend to illustrate what
is really the character of the individual. Now
life can only be represented by some expres
sion w’hich is in itself transitory; for life is
indicated by motion and change, not by rigid
ity and immobility, which are the attributes
of inanimate matter. And character can be
learned only by some skill in physiognomy,
aided, as much as is possi ble, without betray
ing improper curiosity or impertinence, by an
inquiry into the personal history and disposi
tion of the sitter. This can often be accom
plished by an adroit artist, by drawing out
the sitter to speak of himself and his past life,
and while he is so doing, the painter must
catch, by flashes as it were, both the charac
ter and the peculiar expression which will
best indicate it. It is in this branch that the
highest talent and merit of the portrait paint
er lie.
But even with an excellent likeness and a
VOLUME I#—NUMBER 26*
life-like and characteristic expression, a por
trait may be a very disagreeable picture, from
the want of harmony. And as the painter’s
rapidity of eye And hand, and his tact and
knowledge of human nature, were fully oc
cupied in producing the expression, so the
powers of his judgment must be all employed
Jo secure the necessary harmony between the
age, sex, and character of the sitter, and the
position, drapery, back-ground, chiar-oscuro ,
coloring and tone, and whatever else contri
butes to the making up of the whole picture.
It will not do to have all these the same in
every portrait. They must vary more or less
with every picture painted by the artist.—
Some require an open sky behind them, and
a sunny light in the countenance ; some need
waving foliage of trees above them, with the
blue mountains and meandering rivers in the
distance; some require a back-ground of
stormy clouds; some a close, dark back
ground, strong black shadows, and a Rem
brandt light, to bring out in their full strength
the hard features of the character. Some
again will need no drapery; some only a
light, flowing robe, or a gauzy veil; some a
sober, plain attire; some all the richness of
velvets, gold and jewels. The position may
be made of equal, nay, far superior, meaning,
to light and drapery, and is one of the most
serviceable modes of giving an authoritative
commentary on the expression of the counte
nance. The coloring and the tone are more
necessary, by far, than is usually imagined,
to the producing of a pleasing impression at
first sight, and the winning on the beholder
the oftencr and the longer he gazes on the
canvass. They arc too much neglected by
our artists in general; while some, who have
mastered one pleasing style or tone, apply it
indiscriminately to all their subjects, under
all circumstances. The tone of an old man's
portrait should be very different from that of
a man in middle age or youth, or that of a
woman or of a child. That of a pleasant,
benevolent old gentleman, should be very
different from that of an old miser or misan
thropic churl. But when, in all these re
spects, the artist has concentrated all his pow
ers and means in the giving a characteristic
life to a good likeness, combining all the
other accessories of his whole picture harmo
niously, to heighten and strengthen, and give
unity of effect to this result, he has done all
of which portrait-painting is capable, and is
perfect in his art.
Moreover, it is not all portraits which are
fit for public exhibition. We will not expa
tiate upon cases where the painting, the like
ness, or any other part of the picture is badly
done, for nobody but a fool would doubt the
propriety of exhibiting daubs and abortions.
But there arc some persons whose personal
character and appearance are such, that the
following all the rules I have laid down, oily
makes the picture so much the more disa
greeable an object of contemplation, except
to the eye of blind affection, or of still blinder
self-conceit and vanity. Cases occasionally
are found, which exemplify the truth of the
poet’s assertion—
“ That nature Dome times makes one op
Os such safl odds and ends,
It really might be quite ns well
Hushed up among one’s friends.”
It may be remarked, in conclusion, that as
there is no branch of the art which has been
.so extensively patronized as this, there is
none in which American artists have risen
higher, or have more justly acquired a world
wide reputation. And if this was true of the
veterans of the brush who are passing away,
it is not the less true that there is an army of
younger recruits, whose ability keeps pace
with their ambition, and who will never leave