selves, little or no good of him, as a painter. The only head of his (except his own) that we ever saw, was a very hard, positive sort of a thing. Good judges here, however, tell us that he has improved surprisingly. We are glad of it—nothing is more probable we only know that he is industrious, and began, rather unfortunately, with copying Rembrandt. WATMULLER- -HISTORY and PORTRAIT. This gentleman passes, in America (since he painted his Danaë,) for an American. He is not-he is a Swede. His portraits are singularly beautiful; but we never saw his Danäe. It has been spoken of as a masterpiece -nay, as a picture, dangerous even for a woman to look at. The plain truth is, we believe,that such a woman, so full of languor, richness, and beauty, has not often been met with in this world. KING, C.B.-PORTRAIT: "Located" in Washington : a student of West at the same time with Sully.Very clever. Makes good faces-distinct-hard and forcible; and, sometimes, a rich picture. Works most of his time upon the great men of Washington, and the "heads of department:" -works hard, "improves" every hour; and will be very good. VANDERLYN HISTORICAL. Studied in France-painted Marius, (a noble,strong,superbly-finished picture,) and Ariadne, (a rather beautiful affair) in Paris. For one of which, he obtained a prize, we believe. He is a native American-a little Frenchified in his notions of painting; but, nevertheless, a man of decided, strong talent. We have all heard of Aaron Burr, in this country-the American Cæsara very dangerous, and very extraordinary man. When Vanderlyn was a boy, an apprentice to a blacksmith (as the story goes-and we have good reason to believe it substantially true,) Aaron Burr fell in his way, by accident, while he was travelling: saw some of his pen-and-ink drawings, which he mistook for engravings: tried, instantly, to obtain his discharge from his master, who was inexorable (on the discovery of his prize): and, failing, counselled the boy, if he should ever run away from his master, to come to him. Not long after, Vanderlyn appeared; grew up under Burr's patronage; went to France; and, when Burr fled for his life to this country, after having shot Alexander Hamiltonwhen, after having had his hand upon the presidential chair, and his foot, within one step of the American throne, he became, instantaneously as it were, an outcast, and a wanderer, in a foreign country-he was found and supported, in his misery, by Vanderlyn, the blacksmith's boy. JARVIS is not an American. He is an Englishman. EICHOLT is either a German, or born of German parents. PEALE [CHARLES] father of Rem-' brandt, founder of the PhiladelphiaMuseum, (an institution honourable to America) and a respectable solid portraitpainter-is, also, an Englishman. He was a saddler. Jarvis painted firebuckets till he was about nineteen, when he saw, and copied one of Stewart's pictures. He is now in the foremost rank of American masters. Thus, the chief American painters are English,by birth or study, or both; and most of them were mechanicks. Thus, all the statesmen were lawyers; and almost all the authors are New-Englandmen, (Yankees,) and lawyers into the bargain. There are only three landscapepainters of any note; two of whom (SHAW and GUY) are Englishmen ; the other, DOUGHTY, an American. Shaw is very good; but a mannerist and a plagiarist. Guy is middling ; but steals very judiciously, and almost always from the same source ;--Claude, in his water, sea-mist, and vapour. Doughty is young; was a tanner and currier; has made great progress; and will be something exraordinary. Thus much for our omissions. Now for two or three errors--two of which are not ours. Mr. C. HARDING was not born, as we said, in Kentucky; he only broke out' in Kentucky. He was born somewhere in the back parts of New-York. Thus much to relieve our conscience; avoid the recurrence of some irresistible translations; and pave the way for Our AMERICAN WRITERS ;-whom we now re-introduce without ceremony. BEAZLY,OF BEASLEY, Dr. This gentleman wrote a large handsome octavo, some three years ago, to prove, among others matters--firstly, that one John Locke was in his right mind, when he made his book--about-if we are not mistaken---the Human Understanding; secondly, that all our Scotch metaphysicians (Brown, perhaps, excepted) had miserably mistaken the said John Locke; misquoted him shamefully; and misrepresented him like the very -we won't say what---as Dr. B., if our recollection serves, is a clergyman of what is called the "Church of England"* in America; and is, or was, a Professor (perhaps of ethicks), or one of the government, at Princeton College, New Jersey, to boot-where, if Salmagundi may be trusted, " all the Professors wear boots :" and, thirdly, that some of the best authenticated apparitions and ghosts, that have ever been heard of-are---probably--mere humbugs; while others are only delusions; and the rest very true---to a certain extent-in a certain way. Nor is this all. Surprising as the work may appear so far, the best part of the story is to come. The book is a very clever book, done up in good style; and Mr. B. or Dr. B. does prove-firstly-that John Locke was in his right mind-in times and places when and where, to tell the plain truth, (for which we take no little credit,by the way,to ourselves) We had often had our doubts; and, moreover, that he, the said John Locke, knew very well what he was driving at, many a time and oft, when-we did not, while studying him, (although, to come up to the scratch manfully, we confess, that we never spoke of the matter at the time, lest it might, one day or other, turn out, as it has in more than one case, that John Locke was right, and ourself wrong, after all; he surprisingly clear, and ourself a blockhead-pass that, if you please, to our credit). Well, having proved this firstly, (to our satisfaction,and surprise of course,) he goes on to prove,second ly, and what is more, does prove, secondly, some droll blunders, to be sure, upon our chief metaphysicians--our high priesthood; some of which are only to be accounted for,--charitably or decently,-by supposing that our said chief metaphysicians had never seen "Locke on the Human Understanding" quoted from some other book, by mistake---which had been so lettered by mistake; or copied from one anoth er, what had been hastily written down, by somebody, from recollection,---and put a wrong name to it; and, thirdly, Dr. B. does prove, not only as much as he undertook to prove respecting appa ritions, &c. &c.--but (after the fashion of his countrymen, who do everything so thoroughly) rather more. It remin ded us of Dr. Hayden; who proved the universal deluge, and the Bible, at the same time, from the water-rolled pebbles on one side of a brook (Jones's Falls) in America; of Ira Hill, whe proves that there was a universal deluge-in Europe,--because all North America arose instantaneously out of the water; and that all North America arose instantaneously out of the water, because there was a universal deluge in Europe, and because there is no other way of accounting for it-and of Paul Allen, (all three native born Yankees) who, while attacking slavery, went rather out of his way to prove, that the Africans were nothing more nor less," according to the received opinion," than the children of Canaan, whom the Almighty, by the mouth of Noah, doomed forever to slavery[Gen. ix. 25.] saying, "Cursed be Canaan. A servant of servants shall he be to his brethren." BIGELOW.-A Yankee: formerly editor of a magazine,or journal, in New York---now,nobody knows where: one of those rolling-stones that gather no moss,which are so common in America. He was a bold,saucy,unprincipled wri ter; and was the first of those who ventured,headforemost, at Byron. Mr. B. began with Lord B.'s "Lament of * EPISCOPHL CHURCH.--It is not a little remarkable, but we are assured (and believe it) from good authority,---that this Church, without any privilege or patronage, in any way, (except what is private,) is now increasing faster than any other in America. We know, that, in a wordly point of view, it is always more respectable there. Tasso, or Prophecy of Dante ;" wrote a furious, blackguard, clever article, to prove that Lord Byron left out his rhymes. He gave examples, which proved---either that Byron was writing blank verse at the time; or that he, the critic, had mistaken a stanza for a couplet--we forget which. BOLMAN-Dr. a pamphleteer: wrote, very sensibly, upon many questions of importance; and somewhat about a metallic currency,and the precious metals, at a time (during the late war, in America) when there were no precious metals in the country (out of Massachusetts, and that neighbourhood)— not enough silver and gold, if they could have been diluted to the consistence of moonshine, to wash over a thousandth part of the scoundrel trash that was in circulation, for money-of course,there was a fine opportunity for speculation, hypothesis, and theory, among the newspaper-people,and pamphleteers concerning a substitute for money. Dr B. did some good, nevertheless and one or two of his pamphlets would be worth looking into, now; and that, as we take it, is no common praise for any pamphlet or political squib, some ten or a dozen years after it has burnt : obliterate them: and, withal, to fasten himself, with such tremendous power, upon a common incident, as to hold the spectator breathless. His language was downright prose the natural diction of the man himself---earnest---full of substantial good sense, clearness, and simplicity ;---very sober and very plain, so as to leave only the meaning upon the mind. Nobody ever remembered the words of Charles Brockden Brown; nobody ever thought of the arrangement; yet nobody ever forgot what they conveyed. You feel, after he has described a thing--and you have just been poring over the description, not as if you had been reading about it; but as if you, yourself, had seen it; or, at least,---as if you had just parted with a man who had seen it--a man, whose word had never been doubted; and who had been telling you of it with his face flushed. He wrote in this peculiar style, not from choice; not because he understood the value or beauty of it, when seriously or wisely employed-but from necessity. He wrote after his peculiar fashion, because he was unable to write otherwise. There was no self-denial in it; no strong judgment; no sense of propriety; no perception BROWN, CHARLES BROCKDEN.-This of what is the true source of dramawas a good fellow; a sound, hearty tic power (distinctness-vividness.) specimen of Trans-Atlantic stuff. While hunting for a subject, he had Brown was an Amenèan to the back- the good luck to stumble upon one or bone-without knowing it. He was a two (having had the good luck before, novelist; an imitator of Godwin, whose to have the yellow fever) that suited Caleb Williams made him. He had his turn of expression, while he was no poetry; no pathos; no wit; no imbued, heart and soul, with Godwin's humour; no pleasantry; no playful- thoughtful and exploring manner: and ness; no passion; little or no elo- these one or two, he wore to death. quence; no imagination---and, except The very incidents, which were often where panthers were concerned, a most common-place, are tossed up, over penurious and bony invention--meagre and over again-with a tiresome ciras death, and yet---lacking all these cumstantiality, wher natural powers--and working away, in these particular s a style with nothing remarkable in it--ered, at last po except a sort of absolute sincerity, like men have done that of a man, who is altogether in use in the disco earnest, and believes every word of his easier to suit the own story--he was able to secure the than the style to t attention of extraordinary men,as other matter to change people (who write better) would that cast off your identity of children ;--to impress his pictures ality-but 'mighty easy, upon the human heart, with such un- nian would say, to change y exampled vivacity, that no time can BROWN was one of the only out. upon four professional authors, that America has ever produced. He was the first. He began, as all do, by writing for the newspapers-where that splendour of diction, for which the Southern Americans are so famous-is always in blast: He was thought little or nothing of, by his countrymen; rose, gradnally, from the newspapers to the magazines, and circulating libraries; lived miserably poor; and died, as he lived, miserably poor; and went into his grave with a broken heart. with it-but whither were they to fly? how?-in dead carts, with a yellow flag steaming over them-to the hos pitals, where the 'detestable matter,' of which he speaks, was accumulating by cartloads.No, it was better to die at home with his own family—dissolve in his own house, at least ;-and keep out everything-even to the very sunshine and air of heaven, both of which were smoking with pestilenceby barring the windows-securing the doors and making the whole house dark. He lived in Eleventh Street-we mention this for the information of his townsmen-not one in a thousand of whom know it: of his countrymen— not one in a million of whom, out of Athens, ever would know it, but for us)-between 'walnut' and 'chesnut' He was born in Philadelphia; lived in Philadelphia-or-as his countrymen would say, with more propriety, "put up" (as he did-with everything-literal starvation-and a bad neighbourhood, in the dirtiest and least respectable part of the town)" tarried"—lingered in Philadelphia; and had the good luck-God help him-to on the eastern side—in a low, dirty, die in Philadelphia, while it was the two-story brick house; standing a little "Athens of America'-the capital city, in from the street-with never a tree in truth, of the whole United States. nor a shrub near it-lately in the occupation of—or, as a Yankee would say, "improved" by, an actor-man, whose name was Darley. He was there, during the yellow fever of 1798-(Hence the terrible reality of his descriptions, in Arthur Mervyn, and Ormond)-a pestilence, that, like the plague of London, turned a city into a solitude-a place of sepulture-till the grass grew in the streets. He had no means of escape-he had a large family-a wife (to whom he was greatly indebted for the accomplishment of his works-a very superior and interesting woman) and several children-daughters.-Yet-yet -he had no means of escape. The fever raged with especial malignity in his neighbourhood-he, himself, and several of his family, were taken down, By great good luck, surprising perseverance, and munificent patronage for America*—poor Brown succeeded-(much, as the Poly-glott Bible maker succeeded, whose preface always brings the tears into our eyesin burying all his friends—outliving all confidence in himself—wasting fortune after fortune-breaking his legs, and wearing out his life, in deplorable slavery, without even knowing it.)— Even so, poor Brown succeeded-in getting out, by piece-meal, a small, miserable, first edition-on miserable A few facts will show what is reckoned munificent patronage' in America. Two bundred dollars (about 451. )---payable partly, or wholly, in books---the best of paper money by the way---are now, even to this hour, considered a good price, for a good novel, in two American volumes, (which make from three, to four, here.) When R. Walsh, Jr. Esquire, was the Jupiter of the American Olympus, (having been puffed in the Edinboro', for some blackguard thunder and lightning about Napoleon, whose character neither party ever understood,) he was employed by a confederacy of publishers, to edit a Quarterly Journal. They paid nothing to contributors, of whom Walsh made continual use spared no trouble ---stuck at nothing, in the experiment ;---paid him fifteen hundred dollars (3401) a-number ---and failed---of course. Allan was to have had 3000 dollars (6801.) for the 4m. Revolution ---but he never wrote a word of it. Neal and Watkins wrote it. Allan got nothing; Watkins the same: Neal, 1000 dollars, in promises---which produced some 3 or 400 dolls. (75%) ---It is in two vols. 8vo. Breckenridge got 500 dollars (1107.) cash, for the copyright of his American War: Neal 200 dollars (451.) cash, for the copyright of Keep Cool, a small Lovel, two vols. his first literary essay---Cooper published the Spy on his own account. It has produced about six hundred pounds--in every way, to him: but would not have sold for fifte in MS. Think of that---when Mr. Irving gets fifteen hundred pounds--for the second edition of some tolerable stories, which altogether, would not make one volume of a Yankee novel. paper (even for that country)-a first volume of one or two of his worksthe second volume following, at an interval-perhaps of years-the second edition never-never, even to this hour. -Yet will these people talk of their native literature. There has never been; or, as the Quarterly would have it-there has not ever been, any second edition, of any thing that Brown ever wrote-in America, we mean. We say this, with some positiveness (notwithstanding the most unprofitable uproar lately made about him there, for which we shall give the reasons, before we have done with Brother Jonathan-cut where it may-hit or miss)—because we know, that, very lately, it was impossible to find, even in the circulating libraries of his native city (Philadelphia) any complete edition of his works:-Because we know, that, when they are found, any where (in America) they are odd volumes of the same edition, so far as we can judge-printed 'all of a heap'-or samples of some English edition :-Because a young Maryland lawyer told ourself, not long ago, that he had been offered an armful of Brown's novels-(by a relation of Brown's family)—which were lying about in a garret, and had been lying about, in the same place, the Lord knows how long-if he would carry them away-or, as he said,' tote 'em off, ye see.' But being a shrewd young fellow-not easily cotch ;' having heard about an executor de son tort, for meddling with a dead man's goods and suspecting some trick (like the people, to whom crowns were of fered, on a wager, at sixpence a-piece,) he cocked his eye-pulled his hat over one ear-screwed up his mouth, and walked off, whistling "Taint the truck for trowsers, tho’— 6 never till then-(we were the first)did they give tongue on the other side of the Atlantic.-We puffed him a little. They have blown him up 'skyhigh.'-We went up to him reverently - they, head-over-heels. We flattered him somewhat-for he deserved it; and was atrociously neglected. But they have laid it on with a trowel.— He would never have been heard of, but for us.-They are determined, now, that we shall never hear of any thing else. We licked him into shape: they have slobbered him-as the anaconda would a buffaloe (if she could find one)-till one cannot bear to look at him. We pawed him over, till he was able to stand alone-in his own woods-they-till he can neither stand nor go; till we should not know our own cub, if we saw him. The talking about him began, clumsily enough-and, as usual, with a most absurd circumspection, in the North American Review: All the newspapers followed-of course-all the magazines-tag, rag, and bob-tail : And then, just in the nick of time, came out proposals from a NewYorker, to publish a handsome edition of Brown's Novels ; at less, we believe, than one dollar (4s. 6d.) a volume-worthy of him-worthy of the age-and-worthy of America,' by subscription. There the matter ended. Nothing more was done-of course. The family were scattered very likely to the four winds of heaven ;—and what if there was a niece living in Philadelphia-that was no business of theirs. They talked about his books; but nobody thought of subscribing. They called him the "Scott" of Americaand there the matter ended. It was one thing to make a noise; another to pay money. His countrymen had kicked up a dust, about his grave-talked of the "star-spangled banner"-and what more would ye expect of his countrymen? The whole community were up in arms-people were ready to go a pilgrimage to his birth-place-if there were no toll to pay-but not one in a million can tell, to this hour-where he was bornwhere he lived--where he died-or |