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No. 37. Vol. 11. MR HAYDON’S NI3W PICTURE OF CHRIST’S TRIUMPHANT ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM. Extracted from “ Annals of the Fine Arts” 1820. The verses from which the subject of this picture is taken, are St. John xii. 15. ‘ Fear not, daughter of Zion, behold thy King cometh, sitting on an ass’s C °u‘st. Luke, six. 36. ‘ And as he went, they spread their clothes in the way.—37. And when he was come nigh, even now at the descent of the. Mount of Olives, Jthe whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice, and praise God with a loud voice, for all the mighty works that they had gPe n.—3B. Saying, blessed be the King that cometh io the'naiue of the Lord, peace in heav en, and glory in the highest.—39. And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude, said un to him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.—4o. And he answered and said unto them, l tell you, that if lhee should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.” The subject cbO*?n for this picture is one of the most important events in tLe life of Christ. It was, as it were, his earthly tri umph, and immediately preceded his ago ny and martyrdom. It happened a Jew weeks before the keeping of the PassAer, when the inhabitants of the neighbouring country were crowding towards Jerusalem to keep it. Cur Saviour himself, was ap proaching the city for that purpose, curing the bllfid, and the lame, and the sick, as he passed, until the multitude, worked to the highest fervour by the proofs of his divini ty °they continually witnessed, unable any longer to resist the evidence of their own senses, swelling to countless numbers as they pressed on, and awed into belief in spite of their worldly interests, by remem bering the greatest of his miracles, thq raising of Lazarus, they greeted him with such shouts as were beard within the walls of Jerusalem. The crowd of people already arrived, immediately left the city with palm branches in their hands, and went forth singing hosannas to meet him. The two crowds joining, bore in triumph down the Mount of Olives to the temple, spreading their garments before him to ride over, rejoicing and praising God for all the mighty works which they had seen ! The whole city seemed to have been great ly agitated* as Christ passed through the streets to the temple. The resurrection of Lazarus Was undoubtedly the great stim ulant to the feelings of the people. St. John says, that the people with him, when he called Lazarus from the grave, related whai they had seenf; and ii was on ac count of this that they met him. And the inhabitants of Jerusalem, disturbed by the uproar, and Hocking from distant streets, said, Who is this 1 and the crowd answer ed, ‘ This is Jesus, the prophet of Naza reth of Galilee.’ And the Pharisees en vious and mortified, said among themselves, ‘ See ye how ye prevail nothing ; behold the whole world is gone after him.’ In the midst of the multitude rides our Saviour, through a passage opened for him, as it were, by awe and respect. The sub ject by itself, that is, our Saviour and the crowd only, would not have had sufficient human interest ; it was therefore hoped, that mingling episodes on each side, consonant with the spirit of Christianity ; by bringing forward some of the most prom inent characters of the Gospel, who had been indebted to Christ either for their health or their existence, human interest might be added by the’ passions displayed, .so as to excite, if possible, a deeper feel yitig in all Christian hearts. On the right hand of our Saviour stands an anxious mo ther, who has brought her repentant and blushing daughter for pardon. She hides her face with one hand, as if conscious of being unworthy to look her Saviour in the face, and suffers her mother to put up her” right hand for forgiveness. The reader must be reminded that the painter is ouly expressing what he meant to do. Imme ’ diately behind the penitent girl, is the oth er daughter married and with her child, leaning forward to support the spirits of her sisier. and checking her own sensations.— However anxious for her sister, she is not unmindful of her own boy, whom she keeps to her side by her two hands, one on his shoulder, the other on his head. Her com plexion is fair, and her hair light, not un ■ common in the east, in contrast to the % l Vick hair and different temperament of her sister. Her air is meant to be that of a young mother—donoeslick, virtuous, feel : ing and pious. The very purity and good ness of such characters in life make them tender to the frailties of others ; for one of the great things which Christianity has done for the world, has been to render mis ery, misfortune and deformity causes of greateif sympathy and affection. Her child, I too young to be interested in any of the I anxieties of his mother, looks hack with the I vacant innocence of childhood. Behind is la friend in a turban looking over, half cu |rion, and anxious. Betwixt Christ’s right ■honlder and the mother of the. penitent fcirl, with green drapery over his head, is ■ osrph of Arimathea : a pious warmth of Seeling in his expression is intended. Im- Aiediately over the head of the penitent jßirl is the face of a Roman soldier, who Bad rushed in with another stream of peo- H * iQat. chap. xxi. v. 10—The word used means nB tremble, to shake, to be in commotion. S® t St. J ohn, chap, xji, v. 17. THE MISSIONARY. GO YE WTO JILL THE WORLD. AND PREACH THE GOSPEL TO EVERY CREATURE. —Jxsna Caaist. MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK CO.* GA.) FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1821. pie from the right, as if aduated by awe and curiosity. Immediately below kneels tb good centurion, laying his civick crown and sword at the feet of Christ, and pon dering solemnly as he approaches. The corresponding figure to the centurion on the opposite side, is the Canaanitish wo man, who is spreading her garment in the road, and looking up to Christ with grati tude. By her side, in crimson drapery and a white turban, prostrate in adoration, ha 9 fallen a figure which was intended for Laz arus, hut perhaps it may be too old. Above, in green, is Jairus and his daughter; the action of Jairus with his hands on each side of bis daughter, to present her, with his face as if sparkling with expression was meant to denote the father, happy and de lighted to find his child again alive, on whom his hopes are placed. The daugh ter bends forwards, with her hands on her bosom, riot daring to lift her eyes to her Saviour’s face, but show ing by the nature of her expression, the feelings of her heart. By the left hand of Christ are St. Peter and St. John ; the one expressing deep atten tion, the other enthusiaStick attachment.— Between St. John and St. Peter is a face scrutinizing,- and immediately behind St. Peter is St. Andrew, who is supposed to have caught a glance behind Christ of the penitent girl. The crowd in the extreme distance is descending on the edge of the hill, winding round and under the walls of the city, then turning after those immedi ately behind Christ, the whole multitude shouting hosannas as they Come. On the right side of Christ in the crowd, a man ac tuated by enthusiasm, has raised himself a little above, and is pointing out Christ to his companion* with one hand, and waving a palm branch in the other ; and between the palm trees and Christ’s left shoulder, is another figure, turning hack to those imme diately behind, as if biduing them to follow him. The figure of our Saviour is now to be spoken of, and every man must tremble, to describe an attempt to represent So awful a being. The moment chosen for this ex pression is one of conscious prophetick power—-not when he is weeping or melan choly—not when the man of sorrows—but Tv hen excited by the furious enthusiasm of the people to anticipate his death, and calmly but energetically collecting his feel ings to bear it. There is something sub lime in the idea, that in the midst of the highest earthly triumph, surrounded by a devoted and shouting populace, be alone would see 1 into the seeds ol time,’ and muse on his approaching sacrifice ! The enthu siasm of the people at that moment seem ed to have aroused the energetick part of his Divine Nature ; and though on the sight of Jerusalem, immediately he had began to descend the Mount of Olives, he melted >uto sensibility at the misery he foresaw hanging over the city ; yet his tel ling flie Pharisees directly preceding this, that if the people were quiet, the very stones would cry out, proves that lie shared in some degree, the enthusiasm he had ex cited. He went straight to the temple, and overthrew the tables of the money-changers with the feelings of a being conscious of his fate, and determined no longer to stand on terms for the short period he remained, with hypocrisy, duplicity, or crime. In the same state he appears to have stayed in the temple day after day, performing mir acles and attacking the priests, till the very children shouted hosannas at the entrance, and the animosity of the whole Jewish San hedrim was roused to seize and to sacrifice him. What every one must feel is, that this is anew and different aspect for his character from any other ; and it is the moment that follows Ins triumphant approach, and pre cedes his pathetick lamentation over the city, that it is wished to devefope bv his air and appearance. If it be totally differ ent from other representations of his di vinity, let not these who are the judges de cide it is wrong because it is different—let them think a liitlc before they decide, as the painter thought a little before it was painted, and as his life will be devoted principally to Christian subjects, there is yet opportunity to paint all the various feelings in which his divine nature display ed itself. He will endeavour to show in future pictures his moments of love and of agony, as well as those of elevated and prophetick Deity. How does he feel the miserable incompetency of his own imagi nation, who struggles to see that face in which all that is visible of the Deity is re flected ! Purd, serene !—Smiling awfully anil sweet !—Bland !—Benignant !—Love ly ! Sublime in its beauty—Compassionate in its grandeur! Quivering with sensibility ! Terrible in .its composure! Omnipotent in its sedateness ! With respect to the composition, it is contrary to the rules of the schools to have a canvass so filled. But a sea of distant people rolling in motion, and united in sen timent. contrasted with the. full size of fore ground figures, thousands often appearing in ali their various motions, between one head and the figures which are close to the eye, is one of the most impos ing and impressive sights in nature ; and why should any man be restrained by an academick rule from attempting to transfer to his canvass, (bat which in nature all have been impressed with ? There is yet another subject on which permission must he granted to say a few words, namely, the .nlroductioo of portraits. Close to the palm trees and behind the buttress, have been introduced Voltaire as a sneerer at Jesus, Newton as a believer, and Wordsworth, the living poet, bending dowh in awful veneration. This, of course, is a gross anachronism. But to gain any great object in poetry or painting, such vi olations of strict propriety have constantly been made, and such conduct can he jus tified by the greatest examples. They who are Deists object to it on another ground, namely, that it is making Voltaire sneer at what is peifectly harmless and innocent.— But will it be pretended that Voltaire would not hdve sneered to have witnessed our Saviour, meek and lowly, and riding on an ass, followed by shouting thousands? It has been said that it is unjust, and that it brings Voltaire into ridicule. But why unjust?— The subject is the triumph of the author of that religion, in whose-divinity Christians hope for life. The modern ridi fculerofthe whole system is painted looking at this triumph with his habitual sneer. By his side is placed Newton, who was a be liever, and a greater intellect than Vol taire. If Newton be wrong, as Deists think him, Voltaire will he, as he ought to be, reverenced. If, as Christians believe, Newton be right, Voltaire will be, as he ought to he, ridiculous. Where then is (he injustice ? It has been called an application to the passions of (he million ; it is not so. It is one to their common sense arid feel ing, by the means of imitation, the language of the art. The face of a man who never ceai-pd to ridicule Christianity and its foun ders, is shown contrasted with the face of one who never ceased to bend down before them with reverence and awe and patient investigation. It Voltaire’s expression, the consequence of sixty years’ habitual sneer ing and levity, suffers by comparison with that of Newton, the result of sixty years’ profound deduction and virtue, it is surely not the painter’s fault, but Voltaire’s mis fortune. Is a Christian to hesitate at do ing any thing that may bring Voltaire into ridicule, who never hesitated at any jest however obscene or blasphemous, that could lessen the respect to those fur whom he awful feeling of veneration ? Let any man ridicule Voltaire, and he is an ig norant, prejudiced, and purblind bigot; but •et him ridicule St. Peter and St. Paul, let him sneer at the martyrdom of those who stamped the intensity of their conviction with their blood—let him call Christianity, with Tacitus, an execrable superstition, and iie is esteemed a man of enlarged views, a skeptick of enlightened capacity, who has had strength of understanding and libe rality of sentiment to shake off the preju dices of education ! Such is the language of this intelligent man in detailing the successful labour of six years. Nothing that we can say could add to the clearness with which it brings the work before the eve ; and we shall add bttle in the shape of criticism. The story is fully told. The first glance decides the subject—the moment of the transaction— the impulse ofthe people. The artist has at once attained the triumph of the his tory painter. His colouring is superb.— He has here attained the second triumph. No living colourist has thrown upon the canvass a richer and more powerful dept 1 * of tint. His picture glows with living splendour. Time will tone down its fresh ness, and thus add to its truth ; but the passing of a century will not diminish its gorgeous beauty, nor perhaps produce its superionr. The head of the principal fig ure has excited doubts. It is pale, the hair tinged with red, and the countenance less lovely than contemplative. We should have probably preferred, a dark er shade for the hair and the eyes, and tinged the countenance with some of that sublime, yet human enthusiasm, which nfight have glowed in the Son of David coming in triumph to the city of God.— But on a subject of this order we must pay due deference to the judgment which has made it a long and anxious study. The paint er has not rested in his first impression—this head has been the result of many changes, & he has already had the testimony of, per haps, the moss perfect existing judge of the human countenance under strong internal feeling, Mrs. Siddons, that he has chosen well for the prophetick expression of a su pernatural mind. FROM THE GUARDIAN. SORROWS UNSEEN. The superficial observer estimates hap piness by appearances. To the young, es pecially, the rich seem to be happy : so seems to be the man who is rolled in an el egant carriage; or he that enjoys popular favour; or he, that dwells in elegant man sions; or he, that is surrounded with gay and honourable companions, and u with holds not his heart from any joy.” But if we could open the recesses of the hearts of those, whom perhaps we envy, because we fancy them to be happier than ourselves; we should often he surprised, to fir! in them more care than pleasure and more distressing anxiety, or even anguish, than j enjoyment. As 1 was entering a great city, l passed a mansion which indicated to my disorder ed fancy, that it was the abode of earthly bliss. Us marble foundations, suited at the same time for beauty and durability; its lofty walls, rising story above story; its halls and porticos and gravel walks, sur rounded with trees and gardens and other works of nature and art to delight the fancy and regale the senses—these outward beau ties and elegances, with all that imagina tion readily painted as dwelling within, such as spacious rooms, fine furniture, men servants and maidens, & all the other enjoy ments which weaUh and taste can procure, constrained me to say as I passed by, “■ Sure ly, this is an abode of happiness.” Scarce ly had this sentence been uttered, before 1 passed another building, and then and went on with similar reflections, till I hud gone by the splendid assemblage of pAlaces, which vied with each other in beauty, and yet seemed the more beautiful for being situated together and reflecting beauty upon each other. The train of thought, commenced at a sight so interest ing, continued some time during the pro gress of my journey. “ How happy,” said 1, “ are the inhabitants of those buiitiing-; they want for nothing, and all their enjoy ments are heightened and rendered doubly delightful by the refinements of taste and the elegances of literary at* wnrr.ent.” Thus I was led insensibly to despise my humble dwelling and enjoyments, and all the dwellings and enjoyments but those of a few, a very few, who reside in superb and magnificent mansions. The words of Solomon came to mind, The heart knozseth its ozen bitterness , and im mediately my imagination, as if to make some atonement for her recent transgres sion, commenced anew train of reflections, accordant with the serious realities of sober life. “ Enter the first mansion,” said she, “ around which the drapery of happiness is so tastefully drawn, and you will behold a scene of real sorrow. The mistress of this family has been wasting for years by aeon sumption, which has baffled all human pre scription. The elegant mansion is better than a poor house, because it wards off the rain and wind. But her splendid apartments, and her fine furniture, and her sumptuous table, and her numerous attendants do not abate the flood of her sorrows. Her appe tite sickens at the mention of food ; her eyes turn away from the sight of splendour; and the very sound of the feet of her do mesticks causes her feeble nerves to trem ble. But who can tell the’sorrows of her heart? What may be occasioned by the sight of abundance, which she cannot enjoy? And what by the prospect of leaving these splendours which she cannot retain ? And what by the sight of mouldering to atoms in the tomb ? And what by the assurance of appearing at the bar of her final judge ? True are the words of Solomon, The heart knoweth its ozan bitterness. As I continued my journey, unattended by any fellow traveller, my imagination still continued her reflections, and almost led tne into a reverie. “ Go now,” said she, and see what is in the next dwelling. It was but a few d-ys ago that a messenger arrived from the ar my with tidings respecting a favourite son of this family. This son had entei'd into 1 (he service of his country with all the ar dour of ambition and all (he parade of pat riotism. But while his heart heat high with these emotions, the hearts of his pa rents palpitated wiih the mingled anxieties of hope and fear; and his-sisters trembled at the thought of his approach to the field of battle. Every breath of intelligence from this son and brother had been receiv ed with trembling anxiety, and till the ar rival of this messenger all had been fa vourable. The messenger presented a letter to hU father in which it was written, that there had been a great battle,in which this young man had fallen among many other brave youths of his country. The heart knozi'cth its Wti bitterness. The owner of the next mansion came upon the stage of action, with eveiy advan tage of friends and fortune, talents and ed ucation. The fairest prospects of advance ment vvere before him, and a train of ad mirers shone around him. But now he has done with all publick business. He rarely visits the places which were once enliven ed by his shining qualities. His former admirers are ashamed to own his acquaint ance, and a dark cloud lowers over the whole prospect before him. He idles aivay his days in the insipid round of animal in dulgences, and is fast sinking in the gulph of oblivion. The melancholy fact is, that he was too free with the. zvinc, when it mas reel , ami ztrren it gave its colour i| the cup. He might recover; but his invincible habit has decreed that he shall surely die. His parents are covered with shame, and his broken-hearted wife waits for the sad day, when her greatest comfort will he, that she is a widow. The heart knoweth its ozan .-ti le rn css. But enter into another of these superb buildings, which attract your attention and raise your envy. No one languishes here with consumption, or is grieved for a son Price $ $3,50 pr. ann. cr, ) ’ ( $3,00 in advancs. > fallen in battle, or ts trembling far a friend sinking in the whirlpool of intemperance. Yet in this house dwells an accompiisned daughter, who was seduced from the path of virtue by listening to the flatteries of a deceiver. And her heart, and her mother’s heart, and her father’s heart, and iier bro ther’s heart, and her sister’s heart, knozneth its own bitterness. Nor Js there any end of this bitterness. Think what embittered the cup of Hainan, which prosperity had filied even to the brim. He declared that all his honour, and wealth, and friends and power availed him nothing, so long as he saw Mordecai the Jew sitting at (he king’s gate. Learn then not to estimate happiness by the abundance of external enjoyments ; that trouble begins with an improper de sire of increasing happiness; and, that the first step towards relief irotn trouble, is re pentance. VIATOR. AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSION ERS FOR FOREIGN MISSIONS. eleventh annual meeting. [Report continued from page 121. j [After narrating tlje Departure of Messrs. Rarsons and Fisk, their arrival at Smyrna, Reception, and commencement of the Study of the Greek Language, the Report adds:—] Mission to Palestine. The Rev. Charles Williamson, chaplain to the British consulate, has frf the Secretary an intere-ting and affection ate letter, from which it will be suitable to lay before the Board the following e strict?. S/nyrnci , Feb. 132 ‘, “ rev. and dear sir. —Although .air friends, the missionaries, have acquainted von with their safe arrival in Smyrna, vet I would wish to join in the annunciation of the fact.” “I would first greet you and every mem ber ofthe American Board of Commissinn ers for Foreign Missions. Accept of my most cordial salutations, and Christian con gratulations, on the happy commencement, cf an enterprise, which must in due time, terminate in the comple.tesl success—in the conversion of the heathen and reformation of the Christian world. Every attention has been, and shall be paid to Messrs. Par sons and Fisk, and to all their successors, who will corneas the messengers of the Lord, as far as my abilities and influence will possibly avail.” ” Within the last fitly years, literature is beginning to peep out among the Gree k? 1 from her hiding places in Turkey. Some of the best informed are acquainted with the history of (he Reformation; and will grant that Luther was a great man, sent for ■ the benefit of the human race, though they are far at present from desiring a like re -1 formation. Luther and those other re formers, who did not condemn and sweep away episcopal superintendence, are re spected by a few of the Greeks, though the majority will have nothing to do with re formation, ami know nothing about it. Be sides the Christians all around the shores of the Mediterranean, those of Egypt, A byssinia, Arabia, Syria, Persia, Asm Minor. Russia, and Turkey in Europe, ot whatev er denomination they may be, all have their own episcopal magistrates in ecclesi astical affairs ; and each party has fixed laws for clergy and laity, of which the violation of the most trifling, these ignorant people consider as more heinou*, than of the most important law of the state. “ The sale and distribution of the Holy Scriptures and religious tracts, have been hitherto the only missionary operations carried on, in this country. A missionary visiting the different towns must endeavour, not only to make the acquaintance, but to gain the confidence pf the leading tnpn and priests ofthe Greeks. With the assistance of his npw friends, the missionary may he able to distiibute many copies of (he ever [ lasting Word, in a language intelligible to the people, a blessing of which those re gions have been deprived for some hun dreds ofyears. Next to the countenance of the Greeks, religious tracts, compiled from the first fathers of the Christian church, will be of the greatest service to missionaries. The Greeks highly esteem and venerate the ancient martyrs. Their writing? are looked upon as oracles ; but they are very scarce, and unintelligible to the peoplcf, as they stand in ancient Greek. In case of opposition, which sometimes happens, and of a deadly indifference, which generally prevails, tracts will he of the greatest utility in bringing forward the fathers to allay oppositibn, and to recom mend the duty of perusing the Scriptures, as well as to awaken a spirit of piety, and of inquiry after Gospel jruth.” *• Two other important parts of the mis sionary labour remain to be entered upon. The first is education ; —the other a trans lation, not of the Scriptures, for that is ac- c complished, but of all other good religious books and tracts. The printing of a reli- * gious monthly publication in Modern Greek, not offending tne institutions of the country, is of primary importance, and would ho, ~i the hands of prudent conductors, of incal culable service. The extensive fields of education are not, to foreign Protestant missionaries, so easily and completely ac cessible, as the rich and most abnndart streams ol a fount of types, wixcb v.oifld