LYNE, another of our master painters, is at Paris. As these names should be the pride of every American, it ought also to be recollected that others of almost, if not quite equal merit, are still with us. STUART's fame has been universally disseminated. The elegant, the lamented MAIBORNE is no more. Others of great merit are still, I regret to say, too little known, who, while they excite the admiration and respect of their friends, are equally worthy of public patronage. These names it is the intention of the present work to bring into more general notice, after which a review will be taken of those more eminent. It is to be presumed that such a work will be peculiarly interesting to all, who admire genius and delight to patronize it; and to the common reader, as it will make him more conversant with the merit of native artists, who while toiling in obscurity, and almost overcome by insurmountable difficulties, have too much pride to call their countrymen ungrateful. In pursuance of the design above intimated, we commence with a narrative of one whose name is known only to a few, whose merit has been acknowledged by artists and connoisscurs, and whose works have excited the admiration of all who know them. HOVEY. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.-GRAY. It is but too true that the spark of genius oft bursts forth in obscurity, glows with vivid lustre for a while, then languishes and dies, unless nourished by the breath of patronage. The rich and great, whom it becomes to encourage every thing excellent, should therefore make it their pride, to seek out and patronize native genius. The subject of the present memoir first shone forth in retirement; patronage brought him into notice, and the discontinuance of it, obliged him to return to his original situation. Thus the genius, which if properly cultivated, might have astonished the world, and added to our national fame, must now dwindle to insignificance, or be content with the praise of the vulgar, and the gaze of the rustic. OTIS HOVEY, we believe, was born in Massachusetts about the year 1788, whence his father removed soon after to Oxford, in the western part of the state of New-York. Hovey early evinced sur prising talents for his favorite pursuit, and was frequently engaged in sketching various subjects with coal and chalk. These sketches, in a style coarse as the materials with which they were executed, excited the attention and wonder of the neighbors, who were struck with their force of expression, and correct delineation of nature. An amazing instance of his early genius is thus related: A sleigh and horses had been left carelessly in the road; at some alarm the horses started off at full speed, and passed the window of the room in which Hovey was sitting. This was a fine subject for him: he made a rapid sketch of it, so true to nature, that every person who saw it was amazed, acknowledging it not merely as a fine sketch, but as a representation of the sleigh and horses of the individual to whom they belonged. In pursuits like these, was spent the early part of his life, and such were the indications of his uncommon genius. Thus enployed, he was discovered by a gentleman of the city of NewYork. This gentleman, astonished by the wonderful proofs of talents exhibited by Hovey, both from his regard for the family, and his love for the fine arts, was desirous of assisting him. Thinking that in a city like New-York it would not be difficult to obtain a sufficient degree of patronage for such a youth, he invited him to come there, offering at the same time every necessary aid from his own purse. With such encouragement, and such a patron, Hovey did not hesitate to accept the invitation, and accordingly came to the city about the year 1805, being then 16 or 17 years of age. His story was told, his patron introduced him to some of his friends, and during his stay afforded him a liberal support. After some exhibition of his talents, this gentleman endeavored among the polite, the wealthy, and the learned, to raise a subscription sufficient to enable him to have the benefit of a few years instruction in Europe. To the shame of the city be it said, after frequent and unwearied applications, he was obliged to give up the project, it being an expense too great for one or two individuals, unless of large fortunes. While this plan was in agitation, the pleasures and ́ dissipation of the city began to take strong hold upon the disposition of Hovey. Emerging from the western wilds, untutored in the ways of the world, almost equally ignorant of books, no place could be more dangerous to a young man of genius, than a city like NewYork. At such an age the passions are strongest, and the voice of Reason is hushed by the almost irresistible allurements of Plea sure. His patron early saw the danger to which his young protegé was exposed, and repeatedly remonstrated against his conduct; these remonstrances it is to be feared were little attended to. The consequence was, that although this gentleman would willingly have continued to assist young Hovey, and to retain him in the city, yet finding that his disposition had taken a new turn, and knowing that great talents, unless cultivated, were dangerous to their possessor, in a populous city, he thought it most advisable for him to return home. He This could by no means have been agreeable to Hovey. had now imbibed a relish for a city life, he had tasted of the banquet of dissipation, and sipped of the bowl of pleasure it was sweet and agreeable, he had not yet learned that there were bitter dregs at bottom, and could not therefore quit these joys, but with the keenest regret. There was, however, no alternative: his conduct would not justify his patron in keeping him longer in a place where so many temptations are daily offered to the youthful and unwary. Hovey was therefore obliged to leave the enchantments of the city for the dull realities of the woods. Previous however to his departure from New-York, where he remained in the whole but a few months, he executed those few paintings, which entitle him to the character of an artist. The last of these will bear the test of correct criticism, and will not shrink from a comparison with any work painted under similar circumstances. It has frequently been called "wonderfully fine" by men of the first taste and most correct judgment in the art of painting. These pictures are in oil, and when it is considered how few they are in number, and that the only instruction he received towards their completion, was in the mixture of colors, it must excite our astonishment that in so short a time, and with so few advantages, he has painted so well. All these pictures, five or six in number, are in the possession of the gentleman already mentioned. The first is only remarkable as a first attempt, and as such evinces genius. In the others he made a progressive improvement. His last and best painting is from an original brought from Europe. The subject is a Spanish shepherd or goatherd at his devotions: an aged figure, with his hands in a supplicating posture, a fleece thrown carelessly over his shoulders, and his scrip suspended. The execution is really exquisite, the coloring fine; perhaps the greatest painter would not have disdained to have been thought the author of this piece. It is sufficient to say, that Hovey's copy is little inVOL. I. 26 No. 12. ferior to the original, and when placed together, a difference can scarcely be perceived, so that connoisseurs often mistake the one for the other. Little is known of Hovey since his return home; the last ac count stated that he still continued painting, and occasionally took the portraits of his neighbors, probably earning by this means a precarious subsistence. Literary history is full of the names of those whose lives were spent in want, who ended them in wretch- ́ edness, yet whose works, while they are the delight of posterity, serve also as a reproach to the age in which they lived. While we hope that this stigma may not be affixed to the American character, it is too much to be feared that Hovey is doomed to add another name to the list of unfortunate genius and neglected merit. BAYARD. VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. It may seem like literary heresy, to call in question the excellence of such a popular and interesting work, as the Vicar of Wakefield. Yet it has always appeared to me liable to very strong objections, which militate against the judgment of the writer. That it has many uncommonly brilliant passages, elegant descriptions, and just and appropriate sentiments, is beyond a doubt. And what is of infinitely more importance, it is equally true, that the moral is excellent. But can the warmest admirer of Goldsmith deny that the character of Burchell is injudiciously drawn? that his conduct is radically wrong in one most important point, and in utter discordance with the beneficence ascribed to him? He sees a family, with whom he contemplates an alliance, beset by villany of the most flagrant kind, and tamely looks on, when, by raising his little finger in their defence, he could have saved them from destruction, and crushed their oppressor to the earth. The letter which he writes to put them on their guard, is so studiedly ambiguous, that it did not require the arrant delusion under which the ill-fated family labored, to interpret its contents entirely to the prejudice of the writer. Indeed this is by far the most obvious construction that any indifferent person would put upon it. And when taxed with baseness, and perfidy of the vilest kind, he does not condescend to exculpate himself, but allows them to consider his guilt as tacitly admitted. He then departs, loaded with their detestation; and leaves the helpless and interesting victims to fall into the toils so artfully spread out to ensnare them. This is a radical error, and proves Goldsmith to have been extremely injudicious in the management of the plot of his tale. Port Folio. O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren and bare, A gentle young shepherdess saw my despair, And led me o'er lawns to her home. Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres, her cottage had crown'd, Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast, Fresh fruits!-and she cull'd me the best: Whilst thrown from my guard, by some glances she cast, I told my soft wishes: she sweetly replied, Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, I kiss'd the ripe roses that glowed on her check, Now jocund, together we tend a few sheep; Her image still softens my dream. |