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a little more than two years, when another establishment was secretly organized and the casts and other materials of art, which grew out of the collected earnings of the whole body of artists were by a majority vote removed to the New Royal Academy, thus depriving a highly respectable minority of the very materials their own money had paid for.

Joshua Reynolds kept aloof, but the King

The exhibitions continued to prosper, producing a clear average income of about thirty-succeeded in drawing him over by conferring five hundred dollars, till the institution had ac- the title of knighthood upon him, to assist in cumulated about fifteen thousand dollars, when giving consequence and dignity to the post of they determined on establishing a public Aca- President of the Academy, to which the artists demy of Arts. had elected him. But the King's favour stopped here, for he never employed him in the exerthe field of portraiture. cise of his profession, unrivalled as he was in

The treasurer of this Artist's Society it was

After the death of Reynolds, West was chosen to succeed him as the head of the institution, and the same title was offered to the Pennsylvania Quaker; but West declined the knight

before stated was the same Dalton, the King's librarian, who lately returned from his Italian expedition, victorious over Robert Strange. He had entered into a print speculation, had purchased some auction rooms which he altered into galleries, and over the door he inscribed the words "Print Warehouse." But the busi-hood as an empty honour. He continued to ness turned out a failure, and its projector becoming involved, the King was called on for help, and his mode of affording it was to " tronise" the Society of Artists and give them a royal charter. A scheme was concocted by

pa

fill this eminent station of President (with but
slight interruption) till his death in 1820, at
the
age of 82.
The position was one he was
fully entitled to, and in accepting it he rather
conferred than received honour.

West's style of composition was noble and dignified. Some of his works are so well-disposed in every respect, that it is difficult to imagine how they could be improved, and his facility in planning the general structure of a picture is surprising, while the drawing of the parts is equally just and true. What they want is

which Dalton's rooms were taken off his hands by the Society, and the institution was honoured with the title of " Royal Academy." These words were painted over the door in place of "Print Warehouse" obliterated, and the rooms, when not otherwise occupied, were wholly or in part rented out for Mr. Dalton's private emolument, for the use of dancing-intensity; they command admiration, but they schools, auctions, &c. But the royal institution not only charged its shilling at the door, but begged subscriptions for its support. Disgust and bad feeling arose amongst the members, and another plan was matured by West, Chambers, and two other artists under the eye of the King, (who himself wrote some of the by-laws,) which resulted in the present Royal Academy of London.

West arrived from Italy in 1763, and soon became a director, and it is the association just described that he alludes to when writing as follows to Charles Wilson Peale. "Those exhibitions became an object of attraction to men of taste in the fine arts; the young sovereign was interested in their prosperity, and the artists were by his royal charter raised into the dignity, the independence, and, as it were, the municipal permanency of a body corporate; and in this body I found myself a member and director," &c. The charter, here referred to so reverentially, was granted the 26th of January, 1765, up to which time the Society was highly prosperous, but after the royal interference it hobbled on

never thrill you as Allston's or Haydon's sometimes do. They never violate the supposed proprieties of art; are full of learned lines, and graceful or happy thoughts, but mostly fail to rouse the glow of enthusiasm, or stir the passions, except in the very gentlest manner. His facility in composition was somewhat hurtful, for it helped him to pass rapidly from one great work to another before he had made all he could of the last. Hence the thin painting observable in the large pictures in the Pennsylvania Academy and elsewhere, which were executed at the later period of his life. The colour always has a tendency to sink into the ground on which it is painted, and therefore should be laid on, in large pictures, with considerable body, especially in the lights. The want of sufficiently solid painting has caused the original ink outline, drawn on the canvass with the reed, to appear distinctly through the thin paint; in every part of the pictures we see this black boundary line obtruding on the attention, and the consequence is, the slighted look, without the energy and fiery spirit of a sketch. Those pictures

HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HERNE THE HUNTER.

303

that he painted at an earlier period of his life, | true merit, as in the earlier part of his career are not equally liable to this objection. The he was esteemed above it. "Paul and Silas" is for the most part firm and bold, and the "King Lear in the Tempest," which belongs to the Boston Athenæum, is painted in a very vigorous style, loaded with colour, and in the masses of light thickly imparted. Washington Allston, who was no less competent to judge than he was just and impartial, said of him, that of late years he had been placed by the public as much below his

The engraving in the last number of this Magazine of "Christ Blessing Little Children," the original picture of which is in the collection of the Foundling Hospital at London, before referred to, will, to those who are unacquainted with the character of his style in art, convey a tolerable idea of it. This picture may be safely pronounced the best of the subject that has been produced by any master.

HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HERNE THE HUNTER.

BY MRS. MARY

8.

WHITAKER.

SCENE-WINDSOR CASTLE; TIME-MIDNIGHT.

LOUD roars the rattling thunder through the sky,
And lurid lightning glances vivid by;
Storm-clouds are whirling on with rapid might,
Fierce shriek the winds,-terrific is the night!
While one upon old Windsor's castle stands,
With royal brow, and sceptre-swaying hands:
About his kingly form a robe of state,
Haughty his steadfast glance-his step elate-
As though the war of Nature pleased him well,
And strengthened in his breast each purpose fell.
Behold! a figure dim, amid the gloom,
Confronts the king, and boldly speaks his doom;
With antlered front, and form of giant height,
The mighty hunter strode before his sight,-
Herne, leading spirit-bands,-a demon dread,
Strange link between the living and the dead.
For once a forester of fair repute,

He hunted with the king, and led his suite;
By rivals' hate and wrong 'twas his to die,
But never in the tomb could peaceful lie:
Advancing now, with dark, defying look,
And scornful gesture, loudly thus he spoke:
"Henry, foul tyrant! evil is that heart,

Which bids thy loyal spouse with shame depart,
And seeks Britannia's regal crown to place
On a fair maiden of inferior race.
Pause ere this act! for Catharine's spotless fame
Thou canst not soil, while men will curse thy name.
Ruthless the deed, false king! I dare defy
Thy deathful wrath;-men fear thee,-never I!
An airy ghost, from viewless worlds I come,
And warn thee, monarch! of an awful doom.
Drunk with the blood of victims, man of crime!
Queens will denounce thee, slaughtered in their prime:
None shall delight thee long; beheaded soon,
Thy favourite, Annie, hath the axe her boon;
Well her deep cunning wilt thou quick repay,
Another, then, thy fickle heart shall sway;
She, too, must die! Crime thickens round thy path;
Oppression stamps thy reign, relentless in thy wrath.
Ever as thou dost plan some bloody deed,

I'll haste to warn: wilt thou that warning heed?

Three days before thou diest, will I appear,
To tell thee, Death-thy king, O king! is near;
On thy sad, weary bed of lingering pain,
Thou'lt crave thy Catharine's truthful love in vain;
For she alone,--adorning now thy throne,
Loves thee, ingrate! and for thyself alone.
Base hounds shall howling lap thy purple gore,-
Fiends haunt thy tomb, accurst for ever more;

And down to latest time, thy baleful mind
Shall awe with wonder all of human kind:
Monster of sin! detested, murderous, proud,
Disgrace attends thee, mouldering in thy shroud!

They bind thy form
In robe of state,
As though the worm
Would fear the great.

Where is the frown
Men quailed to see?
Down, tyrant! down;
The grave for thee!

Ha! silent grown
That boding cry:
Hard heart of stone,
Thou, too, canst die!

The purple pall
Is o'er thee cast;
Quiet and small
Thy home at last.

O, pomp of power!
Vain art thou here;
In dying hour,
None heed thy snare.

Bloodstained and grim,
Lay him away,--
None weep for him;
Joy crowns the day!"

The iron-hearted monarch, moveless still,
Defying, undismayed, resolved in will;
With proud defiance braves the spirit-chief,
And answers thus, with words severe and brief:
"I'll scour these ancient woods, thou demon dire,
And hunt thee down with dogs and steel and fire:
Henry, of England, dares each mortal wight,
And dismal fiend from spirit-realms of night!"
Wild laughed the hunter, on his coal-black steed;
"Ho! ho!" he cried, and to the wild did speed;
His neighing courser pawed the yielding ground,
And sought old Windsor's groves with rapid bound;
While, ever as he fled, Herne backward threw
A glance like lightning, blinding to the view,
And still he shouted, "Tyrant! thou shalt die-
Thy name provoke a nation's obloquy!"

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In merriment the preacher, nor gainsaith

That hearty humour, which, as all thine own,

VIII.

But when a Hamlet's or Othello's wo,

The pangs sublime of pandemonian king,
Immortal triumph o'er immortal foe,

Or the glad theme which ransomed spirits sing,
Demands the service of a bolder string,

As little do thy energies refuse,

Nay rising, buoyant as an angel's wing, Where thy high argument its path pursues,

Thou soarest beyond the flight of Greek or Roman muse.

ΙΧ.

What words like thine supply the fluent tongue
With instruments of winning eloquence,
Which, scattering to the wind the arts of wrong,
And sifting, equally from the pretence

Of anarch and of despot, honest sense,

Can charm into conviction, and inspire

That pure delight words can alone dispense, When to high meaning chimes their lofty choir, And Truth from Beauty draws new cogency and fire.

X.

Such was the sceptre by thy Wilberforce,

Thy Burke, thy Murray, and thy Canning swayed, Till tyrants yielding smiled on Freedom's course, And lawless rapine in his rage was stayedWhile yet more glorious thy achievements made In nations kindled to the heavenly call

By Whitfield's seraph tongue, and Faith arrayed In science and in poësy from all

The intellectual wealth of Chalmers and of Hall.

XI.

And yet, they say there's harshness in thy tone!-
It may become the vain, who boast their lore
In other tongues, though smatterers in their own,
To vaunt the value of their foreign store,
And sneer at the harmonious chords which pour
Alike the solemn organ-notes that swell

The song of Paradise, while saints adore,

Through Addison, Swift, Sterne, and Goldsmith playeth, The Doric strains of Burns, and those that dwell Nor is thy playfulness for such alone;

But every merry thought can find in thee a tone.

With Cowper, Coleridge, Gray, and Wordsworth's heavenly shell;

VI.

XII.

And for the gentle heart, that would express
The suffering, by which 'tis called to grieve,
Thou hast a key of tender plaintiveness
Soft as the zephyr of a summer eve,
Which even the heaven-ascending sigh to leave.
Such swan-like melodies, young Bruce, were thine;
Such, pensive White, the fabric thou didst weave
Of kind-affectioned words; such the divine
Fragments of dying Keats, and Tighe's enchanting line.

Which, from the warblings of unhappy Clare,
And the sweet minor of a Tannahill,

To fiercest wailings of sublime despair,

Which to the sweeping touch of Byron thrill The bosoms, which they horrify and fill With all a Titan's suffering, command The diapason of the heart and will; But elsewhere seeketh not the master's hand For keys to speak the true, the lovely, or the grand.

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THE Wizard sat in his cave of night,
That shone like day, with a magic light,-
A flame as still as the witches' fire,
And lit at the top of a spiral wire!

Beside his foot was a torturer's rack

That with never a motion would wrench the bones, And spurn the touch of the victim back.

While the Wizard laughed to hear his groans! Anon the wretch's startled hair

Would stand, with horror, on its ends; While sparkles hissed from his clenching fist As from an angry fiend's.

The Wizard's cave was stored with things,
Which only the Wizard knew;
Shapeless things with legs nor wings,
And yet that ran and flew;
Without or tongues, or throated lungs,
And yet that spoke and blew!
Was many a bone around him thrown,
And skulls that grinned for lack of lips,
And many a stone that had been thrown
From the dark moon in eclipse!

He held in a flagon a strange fire-dragon,
That ate up steel like straw;

And the prisoned wind, like a bottled fiend,
Obeyed his mighty law.

One Imp, who was hid in a dull brown stone,
Would make a hob-nail dance and skip;

To the wanderer of the farthest zone
He must point the path, to man unknown,
And guide the starless ship.

Another was sealed, for penance-shame,
In an iron cross on a gallows-frame,
And standing alone, as by will of his own,
He whirled and whirled, and spun and spun,
Till it seemed the fiend would never be done;
But the touch of the Wizard made him tame.

O the Wizard was a mighty man;
The mountains bowed, and lightnings ran,
Obedient to his word:

He forged a tireless "Iron Horse,"

Wild racer of an iron course,

As fleet as fairest bird;
His mighty bulk, with all their force,
Ten men could never have stirr'd;
But he gave him resinous wood to gnaw,
And stuffed with fire his iron maw,

And poured a river down his throat;

And miles away, the people say,

They heard, with noise like a drum-beat's roll,

The systole and the diastole,*

When his giant pulses smote,

While he ran till the gales pursued in vain,

To lift his backward-streaming mane.

The Wizard weighed, in his either scale, The planets, every one;

Through the meshes of its burning veil
He looked into the sun;

He drew the moon with his magic eye,
As a snake would draw a bird;
And down the depths of the utmost sky,
His whispered voice was heard.

The faithful image, that comes and goes
On the mirror's placid face,
The power of his necromancy froze,
In a vivid shape of fixed repose,-
Unmoving life and grace;

And under his eye a demon lay,

Ubiquitous, strong, and tame, Who knew the thoughts of the far away, And spread them, as far Judgment Day, Graved with the point of an iron pen, Fast as they fell from the brains of men, Though many a thousand miles they came. O, the Wizard was a mighty man! Mightier none since earth began. Tongue would weary and pen would fail To tell the marvels of his power, And men would count the startling tale The dream of a frenzied hour.

*We mean no offence to Greek, in breaking the neck of its accents, and curtailing its quantities;-the verse would have them as they are.-AUTHOR.

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FIG. 1.

FULL DRESS VISITING TOILETTE.

FULL DRESS HOME TOILETTE

ing of the corsage, but the two below pass across it over the beautiful lace guimpe which fills it. Upon the front of the skirt are a like number of rows of similar trimming, each composed of three volants of graduated widths and lengths, those toward the lower edge being longer and wider than those above.

FIGURE 1. Full Dress Visiting Toilette.-Bonnet of velvet | lops. The three upper rows are interrupted by the openépinglé, vert Président, which is a shade of vert oeillet or carnation green, a little less gray than the natural colour of the foliage of the carnation. The face is a little full at the top, enclosing well the cheeks, and embracing the chin. Around the edge of the face is affixed a strip of frizzed feathers, and on each side a noeud of three feathers, one rising upon the face and the other two falling in rolls below the cape. These are of the same colour as the bonnet. Under-trimming, two noeuds of white riband, from which proceed two small white plumes, which give an air of great sweetness to the expression of the counte

nance.

Sleeves a little wide, demi-long, with the seam toward the side, along which and around the lower part, pass two rows of trimming like that described above, and a third row around the lower part only. Under-sleeves of three hand. rows of lace, falling extremely large and full over the

FIGURE 2. Full Dress Home Toilette-Robe of light green Dress of violet silk. Corsage high, open in front, almost to the waist, with five rows of trimming, composed each silk, with corsage opening square in front, and the opening of two narrow volants of violet riband with rounded scal-edged with festooned dents of silk of a deeper green. At

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