in every variety of action; where all of human feeling and of human passion has been strongly developed, invite the painter of history to choose the subjects for his pencil from the annals of our native country.

To each aspiring spirit in this happy land, the poet may, in truth, exclaim,

"Nature has done her part-do thou but thine!"

And then, besides all this,―(and more than all besides,)—is the high moral influence of our free institutions. The liberty-the growing greatness of our land-which will impart a tone of vigour to the efforts, even of the humblest individual. In other countries munificent patronage is extended to but few; and those, too often, unworthily selected, while all others are excluded from fair and honourable competition; and even those thus patronized are much restricted in the exertion of their powers ;-obliged to flatter the ignoble living, when they would honour the illustrious dead-to address themselves to temporary excitement, instead of to the immutable feelings of honourable nature. Few noble minds-for seldom lofty powers and grovelling sentiments accompany each other-can brook such degradation. Under circumstances such as these, how many towering spirits have disdained

"to lend

Their thoughts to meaner beings; and compressed

The god within them, and rejoined the stars,
Unlaurelled upon earth."

For, if they should essay to rise, it can be only as the tamed falcon, with the jesses to restrain her flight; when, liberated here, they might "mount upwards as on the wings of an eagle."

Not only may the "body's action teach the mind inherent baseness," but, much more forcible is the truth, that the elevation of the mind may impart, even to the efforts of the hand, a higher power. The consciousness of liberty gives confidence to thought, and energy to action; man learns to venerate himself as man," and his designs are grand and expanded, his execution fearless and noble.

It never can be the interest of our government to control the direction of art; it will never, therefore, exert a chilling influence upon it—but as intelligence expands, and wealth increases, it will shine like the sun to foster it; for here, whatever becomes the love of the people, must be the pride of the nation.

From a country of such vast and increasing intelligence, with every physical advantage and every moral aid, we may indulge in the most pleasing hopes. Nor are these promises of the future rendered doubtful by referring to the proofs of the past.

When we recollect "a thousand years scarce serves to form a state," and that but yesterday our fathers landed on a wild, inhospitable shore,― how long its warlike natives hung in terror on their borders; and then, that long and arduous struggle for the liberty which consecrates our land,

that, now, all our refinement can be but during the interval of labour-as it were, the amusement of the woodman, as he lays down his axe, in the shade of the forest he is felling-our progress in intellectual attainment is such, as to convert our hopes to faith, in the bright promise of the days to

come.

To every department of the arts, America has furnished names that honour it. In landscape-painting, for which our country has such eminent advantages, we have artists competent to represent our scenes-the pictures of Doughty and Cole have a character decidedly American. The former infuses into his picture all that is quiet and lovely, romantic and beautiful in nature; the other imparts to his canvass the grandeur, the wild magnificence of mountain scenery. The landscapes of Fisher are well known, and deservedly esteemed, and those of Birch, present us rural life, and rural scenes, as they are familiar to our eyes--his water views are unsurpassed in excellence. It is much to be regretted that the splendid talents of the two first mentioned artists, should be so poorly rewarded as to allow the first to leave his native city, and the other to absent himself from his country, in search of patronage.

The department of portrait-painting, as it has obtained most of the patronage, has engrossed most of the talent of the country, and cannot, therefore, be passed in silence; and though acknowledged as subordinate to historical painting, it deserves a more respectful consideration than is generally accorded it, and exerts upon society a more beneficent influence than is commonly supposed. The endeavour were useless to defend its rank in/ art, from the degradation to which some of its professors have reduced it. We are, by no means, the champions of imbecility, nor do we wish to claim undue respect for decent mediocrity. Let these still hold their distorting "mirror up to nature" while there is a human face divine enough to beam upon their inability; nor against the respectable manufacturers of faces, "warranted to fit," have we a word to say-" the labourer is worthy of his hire." But for the few, the very few, who bear their art on the wings of their own genius, above itself; for these, let us hope, some others feel the admiration that we boast to feel, and rejoice in indulging. These, as Titian, and Vandyke, of earlier date, and Reynolds, his great successor Lawrence; and in our own country, Stewart; have displayed a reach of art we hardly thought attainable. Disdaining the mere imitation of a mole or a wrinkle, they have given to their canvass the character of the man, and shewed "the mind's construction in the face;" elevating their art to the rank and dignity of history; shedding on even nameless heads immortal light-the halo of their own resplendent genius!

Portrait painting must ever be the pioneer of more exalted art, the forerunner of an elevated taste, which admires eminent art for its own sake; valuing the beautiful reflection of unseen and perfect nature, more than the resemblance of a particular individual object. In this country it has done much toward introducing such a taste; and in our own city, some of the highest talent of the age has been devoted to this department. Here West first flourished as a portrait painter; Copley produced his beautiful pictures,

and here Stewart painted; artists who now have worthy followers in Rembrandt Peale, Sully, Neagle, and Inman.

Need I say more for the art, that, in the hands of Stewart, permits posterity to stand in the presence of Washington; with Sully, places before us the generous Lafayette; and, in this vast household of liberty, makes the remotest descendents familiar with the forms and faces of those who laid down all for their country, that it might be dear to their children.

Nor on the elevated heights of historical painting is America without its representatives. Our West has scaled its loftiest peak, and left his name among the few that blaze, from age to age, as beacons on the heights of Fame. Nor is he, (though in him Pennsylvania furnished the first painter of the age, and president of its greatest school of art,) our only boast; but Trumbull, in selecting subjects for his pencil from the glorious scenes of the revolution, has associated his name with the triumphs of his country. By his pictures in the rotunda at Washington, they are both enrolled in the capitol. Alston, too, has given proofs of the most eminent ability; his picture, "The Dead man restored," enshrined in the academy of our city, might suffice to fill the fame of an artist or an age. Leslie, now unrivalled in small historical pictures, represents us proudly in the world; where his illustrations of Shakspeare, are only approached by the beautiful delineations of our own Newton. We have many, many others who may yet add laurels to their own fame and gather honour for their country; but we are not pronouncing a panegyric on the living, nor an eulogium on the dead-We merely allude, in passing, to what has been done, as an earnest of future hope. Hopes which are more than hope, "which give assurance of their own success."

How the patriot's heart should bound, and how his eye must kindle as it glances at the vast extending prospect of our land. Already we can hail as present, what a poet of our own, rejoiced to think approaching,

"The hours that o'er each sister land
Shall raise the country of my birth,
"Till mid the nations she shall stand
The pride and pattern of the earth;
'Till younger commonwealths for aid
Shall cling around her ample robe,
And from her frown shall shrink afraid
The crown'd oppressors of the globe!"

But yet the column of our national greatness is unfinished. The noble base is firmly laid; the aspiring shaft is raised; it wants the crowning capital to be the wonder of the world, the admiration of all time to come! Then hail the day!—when, to her greatness in arms, her wisdom in council, her treasures in wealth, and her riches in science, our country shall add refinement in taste; and entwine, with the wreaths of poetry and eloquence, the garland of Art round the brows of her prosperity!

HISTORICAL BALLADS.

NO. I.-SPANISH.

The early history of Spain, romantic as it is, contains no incident more striking than that on which this ballad is founded. The ascendency of the Moors was rendered complete by the total defeat of the Castilian forces, and the capture of the beautiful Jane, infanta and heiress of the kingdom. The chivalry of the nation, was, however, roused by the offer of the king, to give the hand of the princess to the gallant knight who would rescue her from their power. Of all her admirers, Prince Hugh of Asturia, who had himself been a captive in his youth, alone had the gallantry to attempt the hazardous enterprize. Attended by one hundred faithful warriors, and followed by a well-appointed army, he entered the palace of the Moorish king by surprise, and succeeded, after a desperate conflict, in carrying her off unhurt. We are not aware that the incidents attending this chivalrous exploit, have been made before the subject of a ballad.

THE RESCUE,

An hundred saddled steeds are at the castle door,

An hundred harnessed knights are standing on its floor;

Prince Hugh is up, the bugles blow, the prancing charges neigh,

And soon those valiant knights, their steeds are spurring down the way. "Tis surely something desperate, for each, before he went,

Took, kneeling, from yon aged priest, the holy sacrament.

The flooded Ebro met them first-a rushing, fordless tide,

The knights plunged in, and each strong horse, soon gained the other side;
And on they dashed, down deep ravine, and up each steep defile,
O'er rank morass, and rugged heath, for many a weary mile.
Of mountain, glen, or awful pass, those knights took never heed;
For stream, or gulf, or roaring flood, they slackened not their speed.

At last those knights to towered walls, their weary chargers bring,
Lofty, and vast that reared themselves, the palace of a king;
The crescent gleamed on every tower, yet on the warriors flew,
Full forty guards were at the gate, and every guard they slew.
Then silent all, and unobserved, they entered the fort,
And every knight got off his steed within a spacious court.

And marble fountains echoed there, in stately halls of pride,

And sculptured vases breathed perfume that in the silence died;
And all was still, and calm, and sweet, as the lonely walk of love,
Save when the gush of music burst from the bright saloons above.
"Now, wait ye here, your swords in hand, ye valiant men and true,
And when I call-ye know that call—rush in," exclaimed Prince Hugh.

With sword unsheathed, and vizor closed, all armed, yet alone,
Into the Moorish monarch's house the Christian prince has gone;
With stately step that echoed wide, he trod each gilded hall,
Nor turned aside, nor looked around, for well he knew them all.
A sainted Iman breathed a curse, he cut him to the ground,
And seven Moorish lords he met, like him he strewed around.

And now,-where golden censers spread the costliest perfume,
And music breathed, he entered a vast and gorgeous room;
A thousand lamps from pillar'd roofs, a vivid radiance flung,
And marble walls, with richest silks and gold brocades were hung;
And jewel'd slaves, with lute and lyre, amid the columns stole,
And in their witching tones they threw enchantment o'er the whole.

Far at the end, upon a throne, sat a stately man, yet old;
Unnumbered lamps shed light around, and every lamp was gold;
A starlike crown was on his brow, and jewels flashed on him,
Which in their deeper brightness, made each other light seem dim;
And such magnificence was there, that all around might seem,
The palace of a genii king—the glory of a dream.

The monarch started on his throne, when first the christian knight
Burst through the crowd of stricken guards upon his palsied sight;
Prince Hugh stalked on, and heeded not the angry looks he gave,
For his eyes were bent on the monarch's feet, where lay a Christian slave.
Rich sights, soft sounds she heeded not, nor all the lights that glowed,
Yet her beauty seemed more beautiful for that listlessness she showed.

"Abdallah, hear!"—the intruder said, "Give up this weeping girl,
Or, by my God, I'll cut thee down upon thy throne of pearl;
Ten thousand swords are on thy hills, an hundred in thy hall,
Then yield me up thy lovely slave or tremble to thy fall;
For know, dark prince, that pensive maid is the royal lady Jane,
Whose brow before a month is past shall wear the crown of Spain."

The lady screamed and started up; he caught her in his arms;
The monarch stamped, and his palace vast, rung wide with wild alarms;
"Twas then Prince Hugh felt proud and strong, and firmly bore her on,
For courtier slave, or janizaire, opposed him never one.

And quick he passed each hall, and room, and spacious corridore,
And reached the court where were his knights,-but quietness no more.