The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-04-14
ART AND ARTISTS.

We take up the ihIedu VI ulSCOuiSc, "heic
we dropped il the last number.
No. I6, by Henry Lewes, gives US nature in
her undress robes Of summer. An air of drowsy
repose pervades the picture. The herd-boys
lie on the grass in all the luxuryof out-stretched
ease. scarcely needing the meek-eyed cows who
chew the cud of their benevolent thoughts
COWS ALWAYS look benevolent, or at least com
placently toerant-in the shadow Of the great
trees whose huge trunks and dense folihge
make
Romss cathedral awe 1--we in these woodland aises"
Even the air Of MONDAY, filtered Of its heat,
breathes, grateful and refreshing, through these
shadow corridors defiant Of the meridian sun.
The spring in the foreground is no merry, trcksy,
"laughng water" or trim, turfed, w-ll-bred
pond. but an easy, happy, languid, good-na-
tured pool, on whose still bosom the lazy lilies
spread out their broad leaves and drink IN the
liquid coolness as they float Gay flowers, that
gather richness from unseen sources, haunt in
dank luxuriance Oh its margin, and homely
weeds dip their feet unrebuked in its welcome
waves. ON every leaf and tsiF, and blade Of
grass is written. " summer
Sunset on Lake George" by Paul Weber,
speaks also Of repose but repose under differ
ent ASPECT. One Is earthly the other, spiritual.
One Is the dreamy, compulsory languor Of the
South; the other, the voluntary, serene reyerie
IS IA, N4-tL- OI.e - "a idyl PiPod By Area
dian shepherds in a vale Of Tempe; the other IS
the pure soul of some sverthroated maiden,
gushing out in low-yoiced song at evening tide.
In one we
"FeeI the oneni the MONDAY arr"
through the other we
From cloud minareis hearthe call 10 prayer
Land water, and sky, combine to form that per
feet beauty which sis JOY forever The
fairy lake, liquid gold where the light falls I'M
INSTRUCTED, deepening into purple where the
shadows linger, smiles back answering JOY to
the radiant heavens. From the purpling waters
stretch away the purple hills, paling into violet,
flushing into pink, glowing into gold, till, losing
their earthliness, bathed and fused in the
heavenly glory, they shine, translucent. Still
and stately, the tall trees stand clearly outlined
against the sky. Rosetinted clouds float softly
an the amber air. A white-sail
foes by
To the haven under the hIll"
but no sound breaks the charmed silence. The
mists that spiritualized Helyellyn for Der poet
priest, wrap the scene in a delicious haze of
softness and sweetness. Gazing YOU are borne
out beyond the world and the things of the
world. VIII that pleasant path, winding
over the hil and far away.
Beyond iheIr utmost purple hin.
And deep INTO The dying day
lead you, indeed, to the sea of glass mingled
with fire p On such a chariot as yonder lush
cloud did the beloved of the Lord in old time.
pass from glory to glory? The dying day ?
Yea, verify, but the dying day folds her royal
robes about her, and sweeps down to death with
a grandeur and grace that might well belt the
majesty of her morning.
1t is strange how, in looking at such pic
ture, fragments of verse. snatches of old son -,
remembered tones OF voices long silent. float
unanimously through the chambers Of vour
brain. Now a ringing epithet from Tennyson.
1t may be; then, a diamond found among
the toads and frogs that dropped from old
Dekkers lips, or selfsinging line from the
"poet of poets or a sunbeam from some stray
ballad that lives in the heart of a people
though the authors name and fame are hurled
with his unknown dust-hitting so vaguely. vet
Ginning so perfectly that we scarcely perceive
their separate presence, vet are imperceptibly
lulled by them into harmony and peace: inst
as the summer wind bears through the woods
the mingled scent of violet, and pansv. and
white-rohed Innocence and sweet-smellinp ar
butus, which yet we think not of resolving. but
only stand in happy waiting, and snuff the
odorous breeze.
"The Winter Landscape" by Gignoux. ushers
us with a shiver into the presence of the Frost
King. How cold it is how sharp and steely the
airl how firm the ice The slender reeds and
twigs that bent beneath the weight of the damp
falling snow, were suddenly overtaken and fast
bound in icy chains, and the sunshine of noon
day can give them release But the sun
shine of evening works miracle 1t falls
athwart the jagged bark of the gnarled trees
on the rough boards, crumbling chimneys and
matched roof of the battered old cottage. and
they are no longer rough board and bark, but
fretted gold, rich and rudy, like. that which
CLEANS on Chaueer's knights. The plough
horse tolls with his heavy burden across the
solid river; the merry peasants, in their coarse,
warm wrappings, skim gaily over its smooth
surface and do not know that the genii of the
light have touched them with magic wands,
and brought plough-horse and peasant boy,
~snow-crusted plain, and towering pine, and far.