Part 8

I remember some years since, in looking at an image of the 'American Falls' reflected in a camera-obscura which was built on the opposite shore, noticing how extremely insignificant it appeared, notwithstanding the table of vision was five feet in diameter. The descending foam as it was unevenly projected in billowy masses, appeared to move very slowly in its downward course, causing a feeling of impatience at its tardiness: in truth, the whole scene looked very tame and unsatisfactory, and I could not help remarking to a friend who was with me, how utterly impossible it would be for any artist to be thought successful in an attempt to represent them. Nevertheless I made some twenty sketches from as many different points of view; one only of which has procured any commendation, as conveying an idea of the grandeur of the Great Cataract. It is evident therefore that what the eye can take in at one look will never of itself impress the mind with those sublime emotions which we conceive should belong to vastness. Yet there is a physical attribute belonging to subjects having this property of vastness, that will command more attention than the same scene upon a small scale: but the mind must be impressed with the fact, and must draw largely upon it for any emotion of the sublime. It is therefore upon this principle that large portraits will command from the multitude more applause than small miniatures; large oil-paintings than small water-color drawings. The statues on the outside of the Grecian temples were colossal, yet in their position they looked small. Most of the works of Michael Angelo are so; but in consequence of the distance at which they are seen, they lose greatly their power to produce grand ideas, because in all cases the image formed upon the optic nerve varies but little in its actual size; since the distance at which things are viewed is in some degree regulated by the size: thus before a large picture, you must station yourself at a relative distance, so as to embrace the whole, while before the small drawing you must be within arm's reach; or if a miniature portrait, it must be seen within a few inches, thus making the mirrored picture on the eye vary but little in actual size.

These few hints will readily account for the mortification experienced by many artists who have painted exceedingly impressive pictures when they are seen in the studios where they were executed, but when they are taken into a large gallery or rotunda, seem lost and look insignificant, save to the few of cultivated minds, who may take the trouble to approach within a proper distance, and shut out all objects which interfere or intrude, and which prevent a true appreciation of their merits. The knowing, time-serving artists, who paint exhibition pictures, have long since understood this law; and accordingly they paint up to what is called '_exhibition-pitch_,' where brilliance and flashiness of color, with an absence of detail, which might interfere with breadth of effect, are of the first importance. Attention is also given to masses of light and shade, that all the forms introduced in the picture may have their due prominence; and a judicious balancing of warm and cool tints, by which harmony is produced, and the eye prevented from being offended by its evident exaggeration of the 'modesty of nature.'

TURNER may be instanced as the most successful in this style of painting, which he has followed to such an extreme, that his pictures are now attractive only at a great distance, for when they are seen near by, they fail to please, if they do not produce positive disgust. Report represents him as having accumulated upward of one hundred thousand pounds sterling, which he could only have done by adopting this distant, effective style; for if he had continued to finish his pictures in the same manner as he did those of his early works, which procured for him the foundation of his present wide-spread reputation, he would not have realized one eighth of that sum. To paint one of the former, costs but a few hours' labor, but one of the latter would employ many days if not weeks; yet the momentary effect of pleasure derived from seeing the one is greater than that of the other. Hence those who visit exhibitions, having but a limited time, are gratified; but place one of the chaste productions of CLAUDE LORRAINE, who diligently followed nature with all the tenderness of a modest student, by the side of one of the tinsel class, and observe the ultimate effect. The former will gradually win your admiration, and continue to arouse pleasing reminiscences; the latter will finally lose its charm, and be regarded with something of the feeling with which one looks upon the ornamental paper of a room. We have had many exhibitions of single large pictures, such as DUBUFE'S 'Don Juan,' which have produced handsome returns to those who have purchased them for such speculating purposes. The parties have been well aware of the physical effects of size; for had the same subjects been painted upon a small scale, though equally well executed, they would have been less attractive to the multitude; yet the smaller ones would have reflected the same sized images in the camera of the eye; since, as I have already hinted, to see them properly they must be viewed at short distances, as the large pictures must be at greater proportionate ones.

I will here digress for a moment, in the hope that I may be permitted to make mention of my own works, without incurring the charge of undue egotism. Let me, however, by way of apology for calling public attention to the series of forty small Water-Color Drawings, (painted _con amore_, and with no idea of gain,) which are now before the public, mention the fact, that the commencement of their publication was owing to a suggestion of Gen. CASS, who urged me to undertake the enterprise while I was in Paris. The drawings then consisted of half the present number of landscape views; the localities and subjects of the latter half have been chosen with the purpose of writing appropriate chapters illustrating the progress of civilization and of refinement in the northern part of this continent. The foregoing brief remark applies only to their publication; for their _origin_ dates back to the halcyon days of early life, when I had but just passed my teens; when boyish enthusiasm lends a charm to every dream that finds a home in the fancy or the heart. Then it was that the latent wish was formed of being able, at some future day, to paint the History of the Day; and to carry out this impulsive feeling, I have been brought into sweet communion with divine Nature; and oh! how bounteously has she repaid my studious contemplation with infinite delight! It is not for me to speak of the results. There they are; and every lover of the country may judge of the degree of success I have achieved. I am not so certain that I have equal ability in the use of the pen. The chapters of the first number will speak for themselves; but I must not omit to acknowledge the many obligations I am under to WASHINGTON IRVING, for the friendly revision of my ms. He has given many an elegant turn to a prose sentence, and clothed rude images with graceful drapery. But to resume.

Since then it follows that a small picture, being viewed at its proper focal distance, reflects the same sized image as a larger one at _its_ proper focal distance, I can see no good reason why the physical attribute of _largeness_ should be so eagerly sought for by the public. Surely a gallery of small pictures, provided they be not painfully small, should be preferred to one filled with large ones. We see the principle I am contending for carried out in libraries. The ordinary sized volumes are preferred, for most purposes, to the cumbrous tomes of large folio editions. It is true, a large book will produce in the minds of many persons greater respect than a miniature copy of the same work; but the ideas contained in the one are no better or more impressive than the same contained in that of the other; save the feeling with which the larger one inspires the votary who looks no farther than the outside of the page. The series of forty landscapes alluded to in the above digression, if viewed at the focal distance of eighteen inches, will appear as large as those twice the size, viewed at their proportionate increased distance. An elaborately finished picture, to be seen to advantage, must be examined near by. A coarser work, theatrical scenes for instance, painted for distant effect, must be seen accordingly, if you would secure pleasurable emotions. As a general approximative rule, the focal distance at which the spectator should stand in viewing works of art is to be found by measuring the same length from the picture as its size: Thus, one of ten feet in length is to be viewed at that distance; one of eighteen inches at about twenty inches; a small miniature of six inches, at about eight inches. If the work should have no detail, this rule will not hold good; but if there is a faithful transcript of Nature; and she ever delights in unobtrusive beauties, which are particularly obvious in the fore-ground, for she strews them at your feet; then if you approach the artist's effort, a work of patient diligence, you can hold converse with her through the medium of his labors.

I do not attempt to deny the importance of size in winning our first regard: it is a law inseparable from the thing itself; but I must protest against the taste of the age being supplied always with mere physical attributes. The purling stream and babbling brook; the small rill falling from on high, till its feathery stream is lost in mist, are and should be as much sought after as the roaring torrent or the thundering cascade. The effect of the one is to produce awe, that of the other tranquil pleasure. The human mind is not always to be upon the stretch; to remain lifted up as it were upon stilts; our common communion is to be found in enjoyments that are quietly exciting. It is a common remark, that the English language has lost some of its truthfulness by our habit of expressing ourselves in the language of superlatives, through a desire to astonish. Thus we leave nothing for the innate love of truth; nothing to work out the necessary sympathy. Is not this parallel with the desire to see large pictures?--and should it not receive some regulation from those who have the requisite influence?

I find the few hints to which in the outset I proposed to confine myself have grown to a greater length than was intended. I will therefore, in closing, simply reiterate the remark, that I see no good reason why the painter of a large picture (or the work itself) should be regarded with more favor than he who paints equally well, but limits the size, unless we consider the white-wash brush a nobler instrument than the camel's-hair pencil.

LIFE: A SONNET.

Whence? whither? where?--a taper-point of light, My life and world--the infinite around; A sea, not even highest thought can sound; A formless void; unchanging, endless night. In vain the struggling spirit aims its flight To the empyrean, seen as is a star, Sole glimmering through the hazy night afar; In vain it beats its wings with daring might. What yonder gleams?--what heavenly shapes arise From out the bodiless waste? Behold the dawn, Sent from on high! Uncounted ages gone, Burst full and glorious on my wondering eyes; Sun-clear the world around, and far away A boundless future sweeps in golden day.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

TWO PICTURES.

'The glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another.'--ST. PAUL.

LOVE CELESTIAL.

I see his face illumined by a beatific light, That tells me he is dying fast; the shadows of the night Are passing from his saintly brow and sunken eye away, But he looks beyond them and beholds a never-ending day.

Nay, wonder not that I am calm; the fleeting things of earth Are passing with the flight of time, to their eternal birth: I feel that death will shed on him a halo like the sun, And I shall share it with him, when my pilgrimage is done.

How quickly fades the earthly frame, and with it too, how fast The agony and sorrow of our mortal doom are past; And when the sight of worldly wo weighs heavy on the breast, How welcome is the voice from GOD, that speaks to us of rest!

O! painfully the pangs of life his fading frame have worn, But blessed be our FATHER'S love, that dwells with those who mourn; And though the grave must rend apart our sweet affection's bond, On this side is the night, but all is luminous beyond.

I know that more he loves my soul than its transitory shrine, And did I prize the vase alone, when all it held was mine? Let hallowed dust return to dust, give Nature what she gave, For all that dearest was to me, is victor o'er the grave.

Triumphant will his spirit rise to the Eternal throne, Triumphant wear a crown of light, by earthly trials won: And mid the friends who went before, the angel, sin-forgiven, Shall feel that they can part no more, when once they meet in heaven.

True, I shall look on him no more, but he will gaze on me; Sweet thought! he from his holy sphere my guiding-star will be, Till purified; and hallowed from every earthly tie, I share with him that smile of GOD, which lights the world on high!

LOVE TERRESTRIAL.

They tell me he is dying, yet I look upon his brow, And never seemed it half so fair, so beautiful as now; A radiance lightens from his eye, too lovely for the tomb, Too _living_, for the shadowy realm where all is grief and gloom.

They tell me he will surely die--and so at last must all; I know that the Destroyer's blight on all mankind must fall; Alas! that we of mortal birth thus hurry to decay, And all we fondly cherish here must fleet so fast away!

But oh, not now! it is indeed a fearful sight to see The pangs of death their shadows fling on one so dear to me; Nay, speak not of another world, I only think of this, I have no heart to nurse the hope that looks to future bliss.

Perhaps 'tis time; he is not formed for length of happy years, But wherefore darken thus my days with wild distracting fears? If we must part, oh! let me live in rapture while I may; Though hope must darken, while it lasts, let nothing cloud its ray.

Oh, bid me cherish brighter thoughts; my loving soul can tell How sad will be the hour to him that speaks the last farewell; I know his heart is agonized by the approaching doom, I know he loves me better than the cold and fearful tomb!

It is in vain they speak to me of bliss beyond the sky; This saddening thought afflicts my heart, that if indeed he die, The light that cheered my earthly love will seem obscure and dim, While he abides in purer realms, and I still live for him.

I know that holier hopes and joys around his soul will weave, While he among angelic loves, unconscious that I grieve, Will ne'er look down to see me weep, nor breathe a single sigh; O, GOD! it is a fearful thought--and this it is to die!

B.

THE HERMIT OF THE PRAIRIE.

BY PETER VON GEIST.

'To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.'

BRYANT.

Wednesday, June twenty-first. How little do people who ride along in their carriages, or rattle over the ground in stage-coaches, or rush over its surface in rail-cars, know of the pleasures of travelling! They roll _over_ the country; they cannot be said to pass _through_ it. They may see new rivers, new mountains, and new faces; but for all the good the last does them, they might as well have stood on the corner of the street in a city half a day, and watched the passers-by. And better too; for hotel-keepers, and waiters, and the whole tribe of public functionaries, have all an artificial, professional look; so that it is difficult to come at their real characters, if indeed they have any. The same is the case, to some extent, with their fellow-passengers. All are so absorbingly interested in their own brilliant thoughts; or they deem it incumbent on them to assume the dignity and authority befitting persons in high stations; (which dignity at home, by the by, is put one side into a dark corner and never thought of,) that it is about as profitable an undertaking to attempt to find out the personal feelings and sentiments of a mask, as theirs.

But here am I, walking stoutly and merrily along, unincumbered with luggage or care; and because I do not care what the next day or hour may bring forth, every thing seems to turn up just as I would have it if I had the ordering of events. I shall not pause to offer any philosophical conjectures as to the reason why we are invariably disappointed in our conclusions, (excepting they are mathematical ones) concerning the future; merely asking the amiable reader whether _he_ ever knew such an anticipation to be exactly realized. I shall not stop to make any such conjectures, because I should only get deeper into the dark, and I am in deep enough for comfort now; and secondly, it is against my principles. I am living out of doors, and make mention only of things out of doors.

But I trudge stoutly forward, whistling as I go; making myself as agreeable as possible to myself and to every body whom I meet; on jocose terms with every thing; decidedly agricultural in my tastes and pursuits, at every farmer's house where I happen to put up for the night: at one place in search of employment as a day-laborer; at another, an artist; by turns every thing. Is not this the way to travel? My steps wander where they choose; and if I keep on to the end of the earth, what will it matter? I will go to the north; assume the dress, language and manners of those who dwell within the frozen circle; I will become a Greenlander; I will go and preach the religion of Mohammed to the inhabitants of Patagonia; I will brush up the gods of Rome; dust that old mythology; compound and simplify the whole into a good, comfortable, believable system, and proclaim Olympian Jove in the deserts of Amazonia. I will be a Turk, an Indian, a Pirate; I will be any thing. What do I care, and who shall say me nay? This sensation of freedom is too delicious to be interrupted by any companionship. And for my part, I want no better companions than this wind, which free as I am, blows against my cheek, and those clouds, that fly in unending succession over my head. O! ye blue chariots of the Thunderer! whither hurry ye so rapidly? Over hill and valley, and countries and cities of men, ye fly unheeding; and borne forward on the swift pinions of the wind, ye speed on your mission afar! What to you are states, and kingdoms, or land or ocean? Furiously driving in black armies to meet opposing armies, or singly floating in that waveless sea of blue, your existence is above the earth; men look _up_ to you with wonder or terror, but _your_ glance is never downward. Onward ye wander, in your unbounded career, at your own free will. Nothing bounds _my_ career or _my_ will. Fleecy ears! if ye would sustain the form of a mortal, triumphantly would you and I sail over the heads of men! Softly, obedient to the impulse of chance, would we glide over continent and sea, and explore the mysteries of undiscovered islands and climes; calmly would I look down on the strife or toil of human passions, and calmly would we ride on forever, through night and day! But if the clouds are not, the earth is, mine--and I am my own! There are none to molest or make me afraid with the useless importunities or warnings of friendship. My destiny is my own; and it is pleasant not to care what I may be or do. Pleasure is now; sorrow is prospective; and life will be only pleasure, because I let the past and the future go, and crowd as many happy thoughts as possible into the present moment.

What a spacious plain of the world! Dotted with habitations and with men of all colors, and customs, and conditions! Every one thinks he possesses a soul; and in virtue thereof, he considers himself entitled to set up as an independent existence, and endeavors to move in a little path of his own. But in fact, he plods humbly along, and repeats with patient toil the example of labor and unspeculating perseverance that his fathers have set him. A vast multitude, they darken the land! Mighty hopes and aspirations swell each small bosom. Each imagines that his designs are peculiar, and for him in particular was every thing mainly made. An unceasing rush of footsteps and clash of voices! And must I be confounded in the crowd? Let me preserve my individuality in the desert! If I were not an insect, it might be different; but as I am no larger than other men, I will not daily measure myself by their standard; I will forget in solitude the littleness of my stature.

The shades of evening tinge the green of the fields with a darker hue; and the young farmer goes wearily and yet lightly homeward. Lightly, for he leaves behind him labor and trouble, and his fair-haired wife will greet him with her constant and love-lit smile. Cheerily will the small family draw around their board, covered with the simple and satisfying products of their own soil. And when all care is ended, when night is duskily stealing over the earth, he and his bride will sit down alone in their cottage door, in the red light of the western clouds. Over all the dim landscape there are no sights or sounds; and in themselves there are no feelings but those of contentment and love. In his strong palm her soft hand, on his broad breast reclining her head, their hearts are filled and overflow with sweet thoughts and gentle words of present happiness. Fair prospects also of the future rise up before them. Many years crowned with prosperity they see in store for them; and in each one, many an evening like this, of deep confiding love. Hour after hour, into the deepening night, their low tones and slow words murmur on brokenly; and they know of nothing in all the world that is wanting to their blessedness. What if the dream should last all their life? It may; or if this passes away, another will take its place. The question then seems to be, whether it is better to live in a delusion and be happy, or to wake and be miserable? Whether it is profitable for a man to walk joyfully through life, covering and coloring over every defect in human nature that he may love it, and keep within him a contented heart, or industriously spy out its deformities, and hate it and himself for possessing it? If nature is in reality naked and rugged, happy is he whose imagination can throw over her a robe of grace. Most happy he who _can_ see in his fellow-creatures such qualities that he can love them. For me, I will love sterner scenes and sterner thoughts. Human beauty is an illusion; and it does not become the sober wisdom of manhood to be deceived by it. The young farmer and his young wife may be happy; and so may those who find delight in the crowded hall where taste and beauty meet; where are the sounds of clear-ringing, girlish voices, and many glancing feet, and the innumerable light of maiden's eyes, and heavy folds of auburn hair, and the flush of thought and emotion continually passing over fair faces, with the swell of music that thrills, and the air laden with fragrance that intoxicates. Or in the still twilight, by the side of her whose every note makes his pulse to tremble with the breathing of song, and the incense of flowers, and forgetfulness of the world, to feel the thought stealing over his heart that perhaps he is not uncared for. It is sweet, but vain; sweet and vain as the smiling, blushing slumber of a young girl. Dream on! dream on! for if you can always sleep, what will matter to you the storms and confusion without?