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no' the man to leave him on the roadside, alive or dead." This seemed to comfort his brother, but it did not convince me. I had a presentiment hanging like a cloud about my heart, and I felt assured that a bitter trial awaited them. Although nearly exhausted, I willingly agreed to return with them. I rode beside the cart, until we came to the fatal spot; my horse started as before, and I called to them to stop, for I was a little ahead. The youngest sprang out, held the lantern to the face of the corse, and fell back with a loud shriek. I shall never forget the chill that ran through me when I heard the calm silence of the night broken by the cry of a son who mourned his father the voice of the living calling to the dead. The winds had died away, and there was a dreary stillness over the whole scene. The pulse of nature was stopped: and it seemed as if her mighty heart had perished. The elder son did not shed a tear, but it was evident that he felt acutely what had befallen him. His was the deeper grief that tears could not obliterate :

A grief that could not fade away
Like tempest clouds of April day;

A grief that hung like blight on flowers, Which passeth not with summer showers. As they both stood inactive, I took up the corse myself and placed it in the cart. There were, as far as I could judge, not the least signs of violence about it, and death seemed to have reached it in the midst of calmness and serenity, for a smile lingered even then on the pallid face, and the brow was unruffled and unknit. After a little while they got in the cart, and we went forward in silence. When we came near their dwelling, which was a small farmhouse, a short distance from the high road, I left them to break the melancholy tidings to their widowed mother; and, resisting their invitation to remain there, I rode on towards N―― ferry, which they told me was about a mile farther, and where there was a tolerable inn. They lent me their lantern, which I was to leave for them at the ferry-house, and I cantered along an almost straight

road until I came in sight of the inn. As I approached nearer, I heard sounds of mirth and revelry, and in the disturbed state of my feelings they came upon my ear like sportive music at a funeral, or a joyous song echoing from a house of mourning. Having seen my horse well provided for, 1 entered the public room, where there were several farmers drinking, smoking, and singing; their united powers appeared to have clouded the ideas and thickened the speech of them all, but of one in particular who had just been bawling out part of a song in praise of his greatest enemy

-the bottle; but the combined fumes of the leaf and the liquor were upon his memory, and he stopped just as I entered the room. "Never break off

in the midst of a good song, neigh-
bour (cried a portly florid looking
man who seemed to act as president
among them,) never leave a jug or a
song until there's not a drop left in
the one nor a note in the other. Sing
on, man! sing on." "Ay! it is an
easy thing to say, Barney Thomson"
(muttered the unsuccessful vocalist,)
but the rest is clean out of head."
my
"Ye ha' sung well so far, and we'll
ha' the end o't; (exclaimed Barney)
-Come! I'll help ye on wi't:

A pipe of tobacco and ale of the best
Are better, far better, than pillow and rest,
Than pillow and rest, than pillow and rest,
A pipe of--"

"Dang it (cried a little grazier-looking fellow who was nursing his knees at the fire) it's twelve pence wi' one and a shilling wi' the other. Ye know the song, Barney, just as well as your neigbbour, and no better. I have still a clear noddle, and I'll sing it to ye.

A pipe of tobacco and ale of the best

Are better, far better, than pillow and rest;
We'll smoke and we'll drink, if it be but fo spite
The devil who comes in the shape of the night.
In ale, good ale, the fiend we'll drown,
And empty our pipes on his raven crown.

Give me the mug, Tommy Barker, for I think it's ill singing wi' a dry throat. Gentlemen all, here's a merry season to you and good cattle to me. And now for the next verse

A pipe of tobacco, and ale of --

M

No! no! that I gave before; let's see. Ay! ay! that's it

We'll smoke and we'll drink

It won't do, though I am
knew the whole
It won't do!"

sure I song awhile agone.

ed.

He said truly. He had not only forgotten the words, but was at each new attempt giving us a variation on the old air to which they were adaptThere was evidently a screw loose in the machinery of his brain, and his memory was out of order. He then tried another song, but with as little success; and at last the whole company began to sing what is called a Dutch medley, and I thought it time to escape from their company as fast as I could. I threw myself on my bed, but could not sleep. The scenes which I had lately witnessed, differing so widely from each other, yet happening in such close succession, still haunted me. The striking contrast of lonely agony and boisterous mirth; of dark secluded roads, and the light and cheerful parlour with its blazing fire and laughing in mates, kept me awake for some time; and when I at length fell into an un

easy slumber, dreams of terror and anxiety oppressed me. The song of the topers for a moment dwelt in my imagination, but their voices seemed to be dying away, and the cry of the youth who had lost his father burst and heard persons running to and fro upon my ear. I awoke in horror, beneath my chamber, and loud but and frequent sobbings. I sprang from agitated whispers, and then groans my bed, hastily dressed myself, and, on reaching the ground floor, found a scene offering as strong a contrast to the second I have described, as the second offered to the first. Of all those who but a few hours before had "made the Can their confidant,” and laughed, and sung, and talked without a thought of sorrow; of all those who had spoken of finding eternity of life in the bowl and the

ale

cup, and oblivion of care in the fragrance of the tobacco leaf; of all those, one alone had escaped to tell the fate of his companions, who by dence had perished, whilst crossing their own carelessness and impruthe river, miserably perished, in drunkenness and despair.

ELEGY.

A SHADOW on my spirit fell,

When my hush'd footstep from thee pass'd;

And sad to me thy mild farewell,

To me, who fear'd it was thy last;

And when I saw thee next, a veil
Was drawn upon thy features pale.

They strew'd thee in thy narrow bed

With roses from thy own loved bowers:

In melting anguish Memory fled

Back to thy valued rural hours:

And saw thee gently gliding round,

Where all to thee was Eden ground.

The God, whose presence met thee there,
Was with thee in thy slow decays;

He answered to her dying prayer,
Whose life had been a hymn of praise :
Thy God was nigh-thy Shepherd-God,
With comfort of his staff and rod.

I lay thee where the loved are laid :

Rest-till their change and thine shall cone; Still voices whisper through the shade; A light is glimmering round the tomb; The temple rends! the sleep is endedThe dead are gone, the pure ascended!

THER

:

AMERICAN FINE ARTS-PECULIARITIES-PAINTINGS.

HERE is one quality in the North American character which is generally overlooked, and which I have never perceived in that of any other people to the same degree. It is a sort of serious versatility. The French have a greater, or rather a pleasanter sort, and accommodate themselves more readily to circumstances; and the ancient Greek had an excess of what we call versatility in his temper and power. But, in the Frenchman, it is more of a constitutional habit, a more trivial and less respectable property, than it is in the American; although, to my notion, a thousand-fold more agreeable. And, in the versatility of the Greek, there was always more of the bright, changeable caprice of genius-more of the spiritual, more of heroic audacity, and less of steady, invincible determination, than in that of the North American.

The Frenchman is never without resources, but then his resources are always of a light and brilliant charactér. It is the smallest possible coinage that can be made use of, which a Frenchman will contrive to disburse in any extremity. He would maintain himself, though he had been a general officer, or peer of the realm at home, if he were shipwrecked upon a foreign shore, by expedients of which none but a Frenchman would ever dream; nay, give him but one of the silver pennies which are distributed here on his Majesty's birth-day, and I would answer for him, in a strange country, if there were no other way, he would maintain himself by making plaster medallions of that little coin.

Throw him among savages, and he will teach them to dance, (not that I believe the story of Chateaubriand ;) among wild beasts, and he will find some way of reconciling them to his presence, (where another man would make war upon them outright,) either by pulling thorns out of their feet, or dressing their manes; upon a desolate island, and he will grow old in carving

"L'Empereur" upon a cocoa nut, arranging coloured sea-shells into flowers, and birds with wings like butterflies; or in making clay models of every thing upon the island. The basket. maker in the fable was undoubtedly a Frenchman, and the spider that Rob ert Bruce beheld in the barn, was as undoubtedly a French spider; no other would ever have repeated the same experiment, precisely over and over again, so often.

We all know what the versatility of a Frenchman is; and when I call to mind what I have actually seen, nothing that could be said of their power to employ or maintain themselves would seem to be extravagant.

I have known a French prisoner spend every leisure hour, for many years, in manufacturing a line-of-battle ship, out of the little splinters of bone which he found in the soup. I have known another, who began by planting coffee trees, in St. Domingo, with his own hand-realized a princely fortune-lost it during some insurrection; began again-became very wealthy-lost that in the same way; narrowly escaped with his life, and a few dollars, to America; began to teach French, while he was precisely in the situation of George, in the Vicar of Wakefield, who set off to teach the Dutchmen English, and never recollected, until he had arrived in Holland, that, to teach them English, he himself should know something of Dutch-realized a little money, and laid it out in a law-suit-in the purchase of claims, which he spent about eighteen or twenty years in bringing to a determination-himself, a great part of the time, upon the water between America and France, with testimony which never failed, for many years, to be informal, inadequate, or inapplicable. But he prevailed after all, and is now independent. This was, perhaps, the most extraordinary case of what I have called serious versatility, in a Frenchman, that was

ever known. That a French prisoner of war, a good seaman, (for a Frenchman,) should employ himself, year after year, in miniature ship-building; substituting beef bone for oak timber, and converting what other men would hardly have had the patience or the power to make a tooth-pick of, into accurate and beautiful machinery, is no very surprising matter. There is a sort of serious pleasantry-a kind of busy, industrious trifling in it, altogether French; and very like what one would look for in the occupation of any Frenchman, after the quicksilver of his blood was precipitated by misfortune. It was only the mimickry of naval architecture. But that a West Indian-a planter-and, above all, a Frenchman, should venture to lay out the wreck of his whole fortune upon American justice, without understand ing one word of American law; and before he could say in English, so as to be understood, "Your humble servant, sir," is a thing so incredible, that, if I did not know the story to be true, I would not repeat it. Yet, such a speculation would have been quite in character for an American; perfectly reconcilable to the presumptuous versatility of his temper; for, when the spirit of adventure is disturbed in a genuine American, he appears to reckon upon miracles and phenomena, as other men do upon chances.

Thus, I have known two American partners in a large mercantile house. One had been educated for the bar; had practised at the bar; and was believed to be in the way to great authority, fell sick, consumed all his property, and went into business with another adventurer, who had made and lost, already, half a dozen fortunes: The other (of the two first named) had no education at all; had been put apprentice to a retail shopkeeper, at the age of twelve; and had grown up to manhood, in a course of adventure, that, in any country but this, would have been thought romantic and wonderful—as well as a complete disqualification for every kind of serious business.

These two, as I have said, were partners in the same house. They soon

extended their operations all over the United States; made money-speculated-and failed. A council was held between them. The younger of the two-he who had no education— spent several hours in determining whether he should become a soldier, (for he was weary of mercantile affairs)-go to India, and upset the British power there; or to South America, and help to revolutionize two or three empires in that quarter: a clergyman; (but upon that profession he hardly bestowed a second thought, after the reflection occurred, that, in America, there was neither rank, revenue, nor dominion, for the clergy;) a physician; a lawyer; an actor; an auctioneer; or a politician. The result was, that he concluded to become a lawyer-the law in America being the highway to the highest honours of the government-while his partner, at the same time, resolved to become a divine.

The first went forthwith to his room-laboured night and day for several years (supporting himself, in the meantime, by what nobody but an American, in such a situation, would have thought of-in America-his pen ;) became distinguished; and is now a counsellor-at-law in the Supreme Court of the United States. And yet-hardly eight years have passed since he was a broken merchant, wholly uneducated and appar, ently helpless.

In the meantime, his partner pursued his own studies in his own way; and is now one of the most distinguished clergymen of the United States.

These are not solitary examples If they were, they would not be worth mentioning. They are, in reality, things of common occurrence. Most of the distinguished men of the United States have gone through a 66 course of education," more or less of the same kind. I could mention several, in various professions, at this moment; but, as my object is only to show what others have never seen, or not mentioned, in the character of our Transatlantic brethren, I shall only record one more, while giving a brief

account of the present state of the FINE ARTS in America, and particularly of PAINTING.

The FINE ARTS, generally, are neglected by the Americans. By this I mean, that they, the Americans, do not themselves cultivate them. They have foreign musical composers, and sculptors among them (most of whom are indigent, or starving,) but none of their own. Capellono, the first sculptor of the King of Spain; and Causici, one of Canova's finest and most gifted pupils, both men of high talent, are actually in a state of abject dependance, now in America. Architecture is hardly in a better state. I know of no capital American architect; and the foreigners, who are unfortunately driven to America, in the hope of legislating for palaces, are, without exception, in a very precarious and unpleasant condition.

consider their numbers, infancy, and want of encouragement,) when compared with what we ourselves have done, or any other people during the same period.

But then, the most celebrated of these American painters have been educated in this country; and some of them have been born here.

The following are the names of those, who have been, at one time or another, known in Great Britain or France, with a brief criticism on each.

COPLEY-HISTORICAL AND PORTRAIT PAINTER. He was an American by birth; a capital portrait painter, for the time; and, if I may judge by a small but very good picture, in the Blue-Coat School here, which I am told was painted by him, endowed with a decided and vigorous talent for historical composition.

WEST-HISTORICAL PAINTER, and late President of the Academy :-An American by birth; studied at Rome, and in London. He had great power; and a reputation much greater than he deserved. His fame will not increase; it will diminish. His composition is, generally speaking, confused

In fact for we must deal plainly in these matters, whatever may be our partialities-I do not scruple to say, that the North American republic is one of the last countries in the world for refuge to a devotee of the fine arts, who may be, no matter for what rea- difficult of comprehension-and son, weary of the old world-particularly if he be a man of extraordinary power. A second or third-rate musical composer, performer, architect, sculptor, &c. &c. if he cannot get bread at home, will be able to get bread-but nothing more-in America. By bread, I mean, such a provision as will keep him alive, dependant, and wretched. If he be of the anointed few-the exalted-he will probably starve, die of a broken heart, or destroy himself; for such men will not barter their inspiration for bread; their immortality for a mess of pottage. But enough of this for the present. Hereafter, there may be found a better occasion for dwelling on these points. I shall pass them over now, together with all that relates to the fine arts, except in the department of painting. In this the Americans have made a surprising proficiency; surprising, not only by comparison with what they have done in every other department; but surprising, (if we

compounded, about in equal proportions, of the sublime and ordinary. He was prone to exaggeration ; a slave to classical shapes; and greatly addicted to repetition. His capital pictures are often deficient in drawing; and yet, extraordinary as it may appear, his drawings are generally fine, and, in some cases, wonderful. His execution seldom equalled his conception. The first hurried, bold, hazardous drawing of his thought, was generally the best; in its progress, through every successive stage of improvement, there was a continual falling off, from the original character, in the most material parts-so that what it gained in finish it lost in grandeur; and what it gained in parts, it lost in the whole.

Compare his drawing of DEATH UPON THE PALE HORSE, with his painting of the same subject. The first was exhibited in France many years ago; and was the astonishment of everybody. The latter, I should

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