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which makes the flesh appear too dark. Beeide, owing to the inclination, the light from the floor makes a very slight but very mischievous glistening over the surface of the varnish, producing great disturbance and irregularity of effect. But this picture is very well composed, and executed ; yet the flesh seems to want that dewy freshness, which you see when the atmosphere is moderately humid, and the perspiration unchecked. If it were hung in any tolerable light, it would probably appear sufficiently bright in the flesh; but it is not painted in the New-York manner, and therefore has not found favor with the comunittee.
No. 254. Portrait, by W. Page. This is the best colored of his pictures, and is as good as any in the room, so far as hue is concerned. The face, below the forehead, is well drawn, and has very much the substance and color of flesh; but the forehead is too indiscriminately rounded, as if it were turned in a lathe, and is not entirely free from objection on the score of hardness. The hands are carefully painted, with tolerable color; but a little overwrougbt and bard, and the right one not anatomically correct, nor drawn with much skill. His other pictures are inferior to this, particularly in substance and color. No. 117 is decidedly hard and dry.
No. 74. Landscape, by T. DOUGHTY. This is a very pleasing picture, and one of the best, if not the very best, that I have seen from this artist. The general effect of color and chiaro-'sciro is agreeable; the trees, and other objects, well grouped; the imitation good, and the coloring of individual objects has much truth.
Nos. 31 and 32. Landscapes, by A. RICHARDSON. This artist has several very clever little pictures here. He composes with facility, and has a good feeling for chiaro-'scuro and color. Owing to their small size, they do not appear so well here as they would if hung on walls with reasonable spaces between them.
No. 20. The Great Adirondack Pass. Paivted on the spot, by C. Ingham, N. A. if there be any persons of taste, who are not already convinced of the justice of my remarks upon this person's labors, they need but look at this daub. In the description which he quotes, it is said: “The shaduws of night are veiling the awful precipice, which forms the back ground of the picture.' With the spirit of mere mechanical deliveation, destitute of all poetic feeling, he has failed to profit by the hint of the writer, to give the obscurity of evening shade, and the glow of an evening sky, which might have imparted magnitude and effect to this precipice,' which he has made more abominable than awful.' Such lilliputiun minutiæ, such tame monotony, such absence of all true substance, color, space, and atmosphere, I never saw, to my remembrance.
No. 97. Portrait of ADMIRAL Walton, R. N., by J. FROTHINGHAM. I suppose this hero looked as surly as he could, for the sake of his own dignity, when he sat for his picture ; but that is his concern. At a moderate distance, this flesh appears very dry, like a mixture of chalk and brickdust; but ou coming near it, the dryness alıuost disappears, and you perceive a very curious putch. ing, or pencilling, or whatever else it may be called, which is probably designed to contribute some desirable quality, but which seems quite unnecessary; as Mr. F. has done much better without it, than I have seen him do with it. I think this picture unskilfully composed, spotty in light and color, and somewhat fantastically false in the hues of the back.ground.
of the miniatures, I can only say, from a hasty glance, that Mr. Hite's seem the best, although Mr. Fanshaw has a very pretty one. Tbis first-named gentleman deserves great credit, pot less for his talents, than for bis perseverance to ultimate success, against the most adverse circumstances. His first miniature, I have heard, was painted from colors that be gathered and preserved on his thumb-pail, ia 'trying the quality' of a box of paints, which, trifling as was its price, he was unable to purchase.
There are several other works, some of which deserve commendation, and many that demand severe censure, which the limits of this article will not permit me to notice.
The condition of painting, in this country, is low, and sculpture has as yet scarcely a being. The causes of this may be, the general diffusion of wealth; the moderate circumstances of the many; the very limited number of those who can afford to pay a stimulating price for the best productions; the consequent demand for quantity, and toleration of inferior quality, from which necessarily result a retrogressiou of taste, and farther toleration, farther superficial dispatch, farther action and reaction of taste on production, and production on tasle, which will continue, until commou sense is startled from its drean, by the hideousness of the objects imposed on it. What I desire to impress on the public mind is, that taste, our sole guide to the beautiful, is inodified by every object we contemplate, corrupted by every error we imbibe, and should, therefore, be vigilantly guarded by reason, and subjected to whatever test reason may decide to be the true one. This test, probably, is nature, if the united and unanimous voice of all painters, sculptors, and poets, that have survived the cris ticism of ages, is to be relied ou, as a rational ground of probability, in opposition to a temporary fashion, a popular opinion, even though that opinion should coincide with one's own.
J. K. 1.
PARK THEATRE.— The public's old favorite is again lifting up its energies from their late temporary depression, and the consequence is, a return of old faces, and large receipts. Miss Tree is soon expected, to fulfil her last engagement in this country, when the inany thousand acquaintances whom her delicate and effective personations of character have warmod into friends, will crowd the house, to be charmed once more with the eloquence of her art. We shall all regret the final departure of Miss Ellen Tree. She is the last, and we had almost said, the best, of that trio of female talent, consisting of FANNY KEMBLE, the Phillips, and herself, with which we have, within a few years, been favored. When she is gone, her place cannot be filled.
Miss Clifton has lately been fulfilling a short engagement at this house, but has confined herself to the personation of the character of ' Anna Boleyn,' as it is drawn for her, in the new play of that name. It is well for Miss Clifton, that she is really a beautiful woman; otherwise, we fear the critics would be less amiable in the display of their tender inercies toward her. Ladies' eyes have wondrous power, even upon the obdurate hearts of the most stubborn of theatrical reporters. Growing ourself gray, and (we may say it with complaceney,) venerable in our batchelorhood, we confess to a calm, general indifference to the witching charms of that sex which inspired our juvenility; yet are there glances from starry eyes, shot across the pit, which, even in our retired snuggery, we can feel to be laden with the full force of woman's strong artillery. Miss CLIFTON, as she treads the stage with the grace and look of an empress, scatters far and wide these resistless beams. Her adınirers, in glorious bewilderment, feel the warmth, and see the brightness, of the sun, but take no cognizance of the spots upon its surface. The glare of the beauty dazzles them, and the defects of the actress are unnoticed, if not unknown. Not so with your sexagenarian. Juno might smile her sweetest, and glance her brightest, and Jupiter might stay his thunderbolts to applaud, but your cool, well-tempered, honest critic of sixty, would take snuff, and quietly wait for the flash that tells of the spirit within. Laying aside our gallantry, which is more natural to us than our wig, we must proceed to declare, that Miss Clifton has, in her fine person, but one of the attributes of a good actress. She has neither the genius por talent, which are necessary, in the opinion of many, to the constitution of a great tragedian. She wants the faculty of identifying herself, in the smallest degree, with the personage she would represent. She seems never to enter into the feelings of the character, and being herself unpossessed of the passion to be displayed, it is not strange that her audiences are unmoved by it. It is not enough for an actor merely to give utterance to the high-sounding words of passion, in a voice tempered to the subject, but there should be an expression more powerful than words depicted in the countenance and action of the perforiner; as if language could not alone declare the mighty workings of the spirit. Miss Clifton's art does not reach so high. On the contrary, there is an affected prettiness in all her efforts at expression ; as if to portray hate, anger, revenge, or any other unamiable feeling, would destroy the beautiful in her face, and distort those lineaments which enrapture the souls of her admirers. But if she really has talent, the public, more than herself, is to blame, that it has not displayed itself before. The indiscreet and fulsome Batteries whieh the press has lavished upon her, have been enough to tura the brain of any pretty woman, and induce her to rest satisfied with the attractions which pature bas lavished upon her person, as if they would endure for ever, without seeking to bring forward those richer charms of the mind, which do not pass away with the roses of the cheek, but bloom the brighter the lovger they are permitted to ripen, under the culture of study and experience.
Mons, and M'd'lle Paul TAGLIONI made their first appearance, during the month, in the ballet of La Sylphide.' Expectation was on tip-toe, and great anticipations were entertained of the superior skill of the brother of the Taglioni, and favorable hopes of the lady. A house crowded to the dome, bringing back remembrances of the prosperous days of the old time, restified, by the most cheering applause, their unqualified approbation of the new artists. Until we saw Mr. Paul Taglioni, we had not supposed that one of the masculine gender could dance,' in the inenning applied to the graceful movements and bewitching gyrations of the ballet. But he has settled that question; and if his sister is worthy the title of the greatest danseuse that Europe ever saw, he may justly claim for himself the distinction of the first honors' in the mule line, 'of that department of art in America, if not in the world. His performances are not only as graceful as nature and study can make them, but they are really wonderful, in their dexterous agility. Upon Madame Taglions we have almost the same unqualified praise to bestow. She did moro, far more, than the most sanguine expected of her. Her grace is equal to her husband's, and her style of dancing quite original to American audi. ences; and we venture nothing in affirming, superior to any that they have ever before bebeld. The picturesque and lovely ótableaur vivants' of the pair, can never be forgotten. They were studies for the sculptor; as effective and classic as the schools of any country can afford. But it is the ease aud perfect freedom from apparent effort, with which the most difficult feats are accomplished, that makes their achievements so wonderful. The style of these dancers is in many respects different from that of any of the celebrated artists who have heretofore appeared in this country; and some idea of the spirituelle which has been said to constitute the great charm of M'lle Taglioni, may be gathered from the performances of her brother and his wife. Miss and Master Wells deserve a word of commendation, for they really did wonders. They were perfect in their share of the ballet, and seemed to make extra efforts to merit the hearty approbation which was awarded them.
We have lately had Mrs. G18bs and Mr. Sinclair in what is called, by courtesy, 'English opera,' but which, (if the composition entitled the 'Lord of the Isles' is meant to be included in the designation,) would be as easily recognised by almost any other name. When Mr. SINCLAIR utters his own native melodies, no bird sings sweeter. He is then at home, and he warbles con amore. But in the stiff jacket of an opera singer, he is uneasy and uncomfortable, and so are his audiences. Mrs. Grees always acquits herself to the satisfaction of her friends, when she attempts only a hat nature and art have intended her to produce. She is a pleasing singer, but she cau never be a great one. A Mr. Freer, from the London theatres, played Richard, for this lady's benefit, and very creditably he did it. We have seen such awful massacres made of the noble Gloster, that we have come to regard his highness as doubly entitled to the appellation of the 'misshapen duke.' Mr. Freer showed that at least he had seen the character well played, and was content to tread, as nearly as possible, ‘in the steps of his illustrious predecessors.' He was, however, somewhat prozy, in scenes where quick action and utterance are allowable. There was a propriety in his costume, throughout, which is too often forgotten by our modern Roscii. His dress of sables, in the second scene of the second act, was appropriate, and in good taste. Froin his exits and entrances, and other evidences of stage practice, we take it for granted that Mr. Freer is olid to the sock and buskin. He would be an acquisition to the regular company, and might do a considerable favor to the public, by bearing a part of the heavy burden at present attempted to be supported by Mr. Hield. By the way, either the ambition of this last-named gentleman overleaps itself, or he is hardly used in the multitudinous variety of characters thrust upon him. Tragedy, comedy, and farce, we have seen him enact on the same evening; and it would give us pleasure to add, that he merited praise in them all. But the truth must out; and after having studied Mr. Hield in all the different varieties of his art, we have come to the conclusion, that he is not particularly well fitted for either. There is an overweening affectation in his playing, which is as contrary to nature as is cold to heat. He has no passion, but what is manufactured for the nonce ; no soul, save such an artificial, far-fetched show of one, that he seems no better, at times, thau an improved specimen of automaton, which to its machinery of motion has superadded the engine of speech. His want of true feeling is so badly concealed by an affectation of the sentiment, that the text would be more powerful in its effect, if left to fall evenly from his tongue, without an effort at point or emphasis. Il18 “Duke of Buckingham' bad no character in it. He delivered the dialogue, from beginning to end, as a school boy would bis weekly recitation; with an equal degree of emphasis in passages where emphasis was required, and in those where it was not. Thus, in relating to Gloster his reception by the citizens, he used the same vehemence in his narration that he did in the affected expression of houest indignation at the disappointment caused by Gloster's hypocritical refusal of the crown. An actor with the pretensions of Mr. Hield, who can pay so little respect to the common proprieties of the scene, can hardly be expected to be very particular ip rendering the true text of the author. At the close of this same act, when, in reply to Gloster's assent to be crowned 'to-inorruw,' he should simply say:
• To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace;'
Mr. HIELD, more poetical, rendered it thus:
• Tomorrow, orders shall be taken,
A fantastic pronunciation is added to the list of Mr. Hield's peculiarities. Thus, for Alice, • A-ha-lice;' canvass, can-russ;' shon,' for shone ; and for betrayer, 'be.ler-ay-er;' and so on, multiplýing syllables to the utter destruction of sound and sense. Did not Mr. HIELD claim for himself the first rank in tragedy, at the first theatre in the Union, we had let him rest under the honors of his self-woven laurels; but Patience herself would leave her 'monument,'to rap the knuckles of such a vain pretender to the first honors of the drama.
THE NATIONAL. We have but little of novelty to chronicle of this establishment. Opera, with the ever attractive performances of Miss ShireFF, and Messrs. Wilson and SEGUIN, has been the reigning feature, varied by the laughter-moving personations of Browne, who has recently returned from the south, where his irresistible comicalities won all suffrages.
THE AMERICAN Theatre,' Bowery, — The public are aware that a spacious and handsome edifice, an ornament to its vicinity, and to the town, has arisen from the ashes of the old Bowery Theatre. Mr. HAMBL iN has opened it, with a good company, and starry influences,' which have filled the house nightly. The old dramas of “Mazeppa,'' Ernest Maltravers,' etc., have already been presented. We shall have an eye to this establishment hereafter,
How TO BE LONG-LIVED. -- We find before us a pamphlet, from the press of Mr. Adam Waldie, Philadelphia, which we have great pleasure in warmly commending to our readers. It is a lecture, delivered before the Athenian Institute of Philadelphia, by J. PANCOAST, M. D., and is a brief but comprehensive consideration of the art of prolonging life. The comparisons drawn between the processes of animal and vegetable existence, and the descriptions of the human frame and its functions, are not, as is too often the case with medical or anatomical illustrations, 'heathen Greek' to the merely general reader, but are lucid and interesting; while the warnings against the undue exposure of the body to the elements, the proper cultivation and exercise of, and the evils of overtasking, the menial faculties; and the indulgence of the depressing passions, as fear, envy, jealousy, chagrin, etc., are fruitsul of most valuable lessons. Moreover, the style is excellent, as the annexed extracts will show:
‘No error has been productive of more injurious consequences, than the opinion, which is too generally prevaleni, that the true value of life depends less upon its length than its intensity. Those who practice upon such a belief, if they outlive their youth, drag out a premature old age, without energy and withoui enjoyment. Like Icarus, they would overstep the bounds of nature. Byron, who adopted this opinion as the motto of his youth, and died prematurely old at his thirty-seventh year, thus speaks in the last as well as the most sincere of his poetical effusions :'
. My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flowers, the fruits of love are gone,
Are mine alone!' 'What a contrast does a virtuous, happy, and lengthened old age, present to that of one precipitated by a lite of dissipation!
A striking contrast is afforded in the subjoined passage. The local allusion is, as we infer, to the late venerable Bishop WHITE:
Cornaro, a noble Venetian, reformed, with philosophical fortitude, at the age of forty, a life of passion and dissipation, which had nearly brought him to the tomb. From that time forward, this excellent ian graduated the amount of his food, bis wine, his exercise, his amusements and his studies, so cxactly within the bounds of temperance and moderation, as to have been enabled to preserve, much beyond the usual term of life, the freshness of youth, with the vigor of middle age. Between the ages of ninety and one hundred, he wrote two excellent treatises, in which the amiable garrulity of old age is mingled with the wisdom of the sage, and the benevolence of a christian. He lived past his one hundred and fourth year, enjoying life richly to the last, and died in his elbow-chair, withnut pain or agony, like one who falls asleep, surrounded by a devoted family, by admiring friends, and in the midst of a region which his skill had fertilized, and his kindness peopled with an admiring peasantry. To whom would not such a life be attractive — thus rationally prolonged, and deeply respected, enabling him to enjoy to its utmost limit, as the writings of Cornaro indicate to have been his case,
*All the boundless store
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
All that the inountain's sheltering bosoms shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven.' "But we need not go to olden times, nor to a foreign region, for models of excellent and philosophic old age! Our own city may supply them. One now but lately lost, and
lamented — not only by the religious persuasion of which he was the head, but by a circle so wide that its limits have not been told ; a pattern of christian purity and moral worth. His earthly close was like that of a setting summer sun, whose beams having all day brightened, beautified the earth, and solaced the path of the way. farer upon it, fade at last solemnly and insensibly into the mellow light of even, and leave at their departure a lingering tinge of brighiness on the sky - a halo, commemorative of expiring day, and propbetie of the glory of the future morn.'
While the professional features of the lecture in question evince that the writer is a worthy pupil of the distinguished physician to whom it is dedicated, its literary characteristics are equally honorable to his scholarship and his talents.
Gen. H. L. V. DUCOUDRAY HOLSTEIN. —- The death, at Albany, of this distinguished officer and civilian, has been generally announced in the public journals. Our readers will remember the series of articles from his pen, upon 'Talleyrand' and the 'Secret Police of Napoleon,' which he contributed to these pages. They attracted much attention on this side the Atlantic, and were widely copied in England and France. Gen. Holstein was one of Napoleon's staff, and personally acquainted with, if not an actor in, some of the most prominent scenes and events of more modern French history. He was an accomplished scholar, and filled honorable collegiate offices, at Geneva, Albany, etc. Those who knew him best, speak of him as an exemplary and excellent man, in all the relations of life.
CRITICISM UPON THE NATIONAL ACADEMY or Design.— It is proper to mention, that the review of the exhibition of pictures at the National Academy, which appears elsewhere in this department of the KNICKERBOCKEA, proceeds from the pen of an artist, who claims to have the honesty to acknowledge the merits of his rivals, and courage to make a temperate opposition to popular errors.' He has the advantage of having been for upward of six years a student in the Royal Academy of England, and the benefit of an intimate acquaintance with many of its most distinguished members. Having used all plainness of speech,' the writer desires no concealment of his name; and only affirms, that his freedom of animadversion arises from no sinister causes. He assures us, that he has no individual wrongs to avenge, nor personal pique to gratify. He has experienced no slight from the National Academy, having never been a candidate for its titles, or an applicant for its benefits, in any way. He clainis, therefore, 10 be considered a candid and disinterested critic; and we leave the publie to confirm or annul his pretensions.
ROMANCE OF AMERICAN HISTORY. — We have read, with unmixed gratification, if we except a feeling of regret that we are unable to quote from its pages, 'A Lecture on the Romance of American History,' delivered at the Athenian Institute, Philadelphia, in February last, by William B. Reed, Esq. It is a rapid yet lucid sketch of prominent historical incidents, the discovery of America, the annals of Mexican conquest, the early history of this continent, etc., with incidental allusions to remote and foreign history, appositely adduced. The writer, though but in the vestibule, as it were, of his great theme, shows conclusively, that the romance of history is the poetry of truth; that viewed aright, recorded truth is as picturesque as fiction; and that tbe archives of the past are not stored only with dry bones and shapeless mummies, but have their walls clothed, in colors which never fade, with the forms and figures that realize the spirit of departed ages.' Adam Waldie, Philadelphia.