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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