Very different from these heirs of wealth and rank are the foreign artists (whether British or not) who find in Rome a place of endless instruction and pleasure. With intense interest, they view both the mouldering ruins, splendid temples, and melancholy sepulchres of antiquity, and the scarcely less admirable achievements of later times the glorious triumphs of the pencil and the chisel. Foreign artists are, I think, the happiest residents in Rome. There is no species of enthusiasm which partakes less of the ridiculous than theirs for their profession. The Trinita di Monte is their favourite abode, endeared to them as the spot where Salvator Rosa, N. Poussin, and Claude resided. The houses of these illustrious men were pointed out to me, and are still occupied as the dwellings of artists. The time of the true votary of the arts is employed in the galleries, the temples, their studii, and Frantz's or Lepri's trattorias, where they resort for the more ignoble purpose of satis.. fying the calls of appetite, but have thus opportunities afforded them of associating and conversing with each other. It is indeed only in Rome that their taste could be fully developed, where every object furnishes some aliment for incipient genius. Having devoted several days to the inspection of the picturesque and classic ruins of the Forum Romanum, covered with the rust of ages, and having inhaled the atmosphere of past centuries in the catacombs and tombs of the Scipios, I resolved one morning, in order to vary the scene, to visit, along with my friend, the Baron de B-, the studio of Thorwaldzen, and some Roman sculptors. In one corner of a large square, ornamented, as usual in this city by a fountain in the centre, and overlooked by the massive Barbarini palace, built with travertine stone, pillaged from the Colosseum, we saw immense blocks of Carrara marble, which almost impeded our entrance to the studio (ranges of workshops) of Thorwaldzen. On gaining admission, we had an opportunity | of seeing the progress of a statue from its primitive state, a huge unshapely block of marble, then a rude outline of the human form, then approximating what it was designed to represent, with its imperfections rounded off, then developing still finer proportions, then dotted by the black marks of the artist, then improved in appearance by a fresh touch from his chisel, till, finally, all its beauties were perfected by the master-hand of the Dane himself. In Thorwaldzen's studio, there is besides an immense number of busts and models for lords and ladies. Russian princes and English commoners have sat to him, and many more, possessed of taste and fifty guineas, are still anxiously soliciting to be allowed that honour. I was not fortunate enough to meet the genius loci on this occasion; but, were I to judge by the bust which he has modelled of himself, I should say that he might justly be termed," a hard-featured man of genius." The originals of some splendid works are in this studio, and models of others, as well as many that are yet in hand in an incomplete state. Amongst the latter are a very fine equestrian statue of Poniatowsky, one of Eugene Beauharnois, and the continuation of the cele brated succession of friezes, illustrating the triumph of Alexander, ordered by Napoleon for the Quirinal palace, when fitting it up as a residence for the young King of Rome, and since sold to the late Count Sommariva. I saw the first part of these friezes at Sommariva's magnificent villa on the lake of Como, and was surprised to learn, that the young Count is so destitute of taste, as to decline taking the remainder of these admirable bassi relievi; Thorwaldzen, therefore, thinks he will be under the necessity of disposing of them to the highest bidder. The great work which now engages the Danish sculptor, is the Saviour and Apostles, intended to adorn a church in the capital of his native country. The whole of these magnificent colossal statues are nearly finished, in his usual admirable style. Among the models of his previous works, I particularly remarked the Mercury, the Venus, and the Jason, fine studies for effect and character, and not inferior, in truth and nature, to the antiques of the Parthenon. The Adonis, too, is a perfect specimen of youthful, masculine beauty, and reckoned one of his best works; while the statue of Mars may be remarked as developing, in the finest style, the muscular system of the heroic God. I was delighted also with a figure of Hope, infinitely superior to most antiques; but, above all, with the well-known and much-admired medallion of Aurora and Nox, two aërial figures, of which every good collection and academy in Europe has got either a copy or cast. We were wrong to visit Thorwaldzen's studio first, for all subsequent works necessarily appeared inferior to those of the greatest living sculptor of the age-the rival and successor of Canova. No artist in Rome meets with so much encouragement, nor more deservedly, particularly from the English. Such men as Lord Lucan, the Duke of Bedford, and Mr Hope, very properly do not limit their patronage to native merit. It is much to be regretted, that we have no academy in Rome, an institution which is so honourable to the French, Spanish, Neapolitan, and other governments, that the want of one amounts to a reflection on ours. In these excellent establishments, a certain number of the most promising young artists are liberally pensioned, in a city, where they enjoy the double advantage of studying the best works of antiquity, and of receiving instruction from the most celebrated masters of the day. The little encouragement afforded to the Fine Arts by our government, whether at home or abroad, has long been regarded as a national reproach. That the charge cannot be fully repelled, is undeniable; and its truth may account in some measure for the fact, that our artists excel their Continental rivals chiefly in portrait painting, which gives such scope for the gratification of individual vanity, while they can only maintain an inferior station in the higher branches of the art. England, it is true, has made a rapid, and even wonderful, progress of late years, considering that it is without both a national gallery, and the government support which is granted in other countries, and which so effectually serves to stimulate the exertions of artists. With the exceptions of the recent judicious purchase of Angerstein's pictures, and the three Titians and Poussins, as a nucleus for a National Gallery, what have we done as a nation, by premiums, public grants, or other means, to promote a taste for the fine arts? The King, it is well known, is their most munificent and enlightened patron. He has always been the liberal protector of native genius and talent; nor is there a man in his dominions gifted with a more refined taste. Many private individuals, also, of large fortune, have encouraged with their wealth the exertions of British painters and sculptors; but still nothing is done on that permanent, efficient, and princely scale, which reflects so much credit on other European governments. Yet, as the foundation for a national school of sculpture, we boast of the treasures of the British Museum, which, although limited, are of such inestimable value as studies, that Canova declared it was worth taking a journey from Rome to England, on purpose to see the Elgin marbles alone. It would fill volumes to enumerate the works of the many celebrated Roman sculptors, whose studii are open to the inspection of those who have any taste for the arts. Signore Baruzzi, one of Canova's most distinguished pupils, has lately completed a colossal bust of his inimitable master, which he presented to the Capitoline Museum, where it has very appropriately been placed between the figures of Michael Angelo and Raphael. Albaccini is an artist of very considerable talents—as a proof of which may be mentioned a statue of Achilles, which he has just finished for the Duke of Devonshire, representing the Grecian hero in the act of pulling the fatal dart of Paris out of his vulnerable heel. Fiochetti is another eminent Roman sculptor, who possesses great originality of style. Ilis Venus leaving the shell is a production deservedly eulogised by amateurs, and has already placed this young man in a higher station than is commonly attained by others after a life spent in study. While upon this subject, I may remark that by the Puritans of the nineteenth century, nudities in painting and sculpture are condemned. In the Florentine and other galleries, statues are now exhibited protected by fig leaves, (like the much-criticised Achilles in Hyde Park and in order not to shock the admiring eyes of modest fair ones, Prince Colonna has ordered many a lascivious Venus to be as barbarously draped as the chaste Diana, an operation which has spoiled some of the finest pictures in his admirable collection. No doubt, Nymphs, Graces, Muses, et hoc genus omne, will next appear in court dresses, to gratify this mawkish affectation of delicacy. THE GAME OF CHESS EN QUATRE, OR THE DOUBLE GAME. until the mate be removed. Nor, in the meantime, can any of your pieces be captured by the adversary, as your forces would be thereby too much reduced,-your part. ner, besides, in having to maintain the combined attack of two opponents, already labouring under sufficient distress. But your opponents may take shelter under your men, and even place their kings so as to be in check from a piece or pawn of yours; this being permitted in consequence of your having lost the power of moving. You ought to be constantly on the watch to give check to your opponent on the right, when any of his pieces are exposed to your partner opposite; because, in that case, your opponent must either remove from, or cover check, and then your partner takes the piece exposed to him; and you ought to omit no opportunity of giving check to the queen of your opponent on the left, when it is in your partner's power to give your opponent's king check by his next move. When this is done, your adversary on the left must move his king, and you take his queen at your next move. A good player is always on the look-out for an advantage of this kind. In order to co-operate effectually with your partner in any attack meditated by him, you must endeavour to penetrate into, and support his plans. If, for instance, he make an attack with his queen, (which is, in this game, an invaluable piece,) it will be your business to cover her with a knight-or you will assail the oppo nent against whom your partner's attack is directed-or you will remove the obstacles which may oppose them I HAVE been surprised to find that in no town in Scotland, with the exception of Dundee, is this beauti-selves to the attack-or you will set upon your other opful game either played or understood; and, I believe, it is not generally known even in London. In some parts of the Continent, especially in Russia, the double game is much admired, and very generally played. As a science, it is inferior perhaps to the common game; but, as a source of amusement, it is in many respects preferable; combining, as it does, all the sociableness of whist, with the engrossing interest of the single game of chess. ponent, and by keeping him at bay, prevent him from affording his partner any assistance. The moment one of your opponents is in check, you and your partner should concentrate your forces upon your other opponent, boldly attacking his principal officers, and sacriticing for them inferior ones of your army. By this means you may frequently give your adversary the coup de grace, before he has done you any serious mischief. These expressions must not be repeated, or uttered after your partner has touched a piece. At this game four parties play-two upon each side. The players are allowed to call the attention of their The board required is the common chess board, with partners, in general terms, to the situation of the game three rows of squares added to each side of it, making in four different ways, the party whose turn it is to play an addition of ninety-six squares, and a total of one being entitled to make use of any of the following senhundred and sixty. At this board the players sit as at tences:-1. I am in danger. 2. You are in danger. a whist table, those opposite to each other being part-3. Enter into my plan. 4. You have a good move. ners. On the extreme rows two sets of chess men are placed one set being wooden, the other of ivory; or it is sufficient if a difference of colour render them easily distinguishable from each other, so as to prevent confusion and mistakes. The position of the sets is precisely the same as in the common game, with this difference, that the several queens occupy a white square. The movements are also the same as those of the common game, with two exceptions, in respect to the pawns. First, they advance only one step at a time; and, secondly, when one of your pawns meets the pawn of your partner, whereby the progress of yours is impeded, you may push forward, by occupying the square either When the players happen to be pretty equally matchon the right or left; after which it resumes a directed, the game is intensely interesting. It demands the course. The principles of the double game are nearly identical with those of the single game; but the mode of playing differs in several respects. Each player moves in rotation from the left to the right. Partners pursue one common plan, and support each other when acting either on the offensive or defensive. When opening the game, each player directs the main force of his attack against his opponent on the left. The wing being, in this game, far the most vulnerable part, you never castle. When you are in mate, (your partner having an open field,) you do not thereby lose the game-you merely lose the faculty of playing until your partner repel the attack, or until relieved by one of your opponents; and, while in this situation, your men remain in the same position in which they were when the check was given When a pawn reaches the extreme line opposite, it is entitled to the rank of an officer; and to the same pro motion, when, by taking any of the pieces of either of your adversaries, it attains the last line on the right or left. These, I think, are the points mainly to be attended to in this game. In Russia it is played under a strict observance of a variety of laws and rules, which I could not insert in this paper without too much increasing its length. most vigilant attention, not only to carry into effect your The game has only one slight drawback ;—you are liable to be excessively provoked when your partner does not succeed in discovering your object in making a good move, and so fails to co-operate with you,-and also when he makes any serious blunder; you feel mortified and vexed, too, when you yourself are guilty of the same errors. As in whist, or any other plural game, the effect of chess en quatre is of course greatly heightened, by each gentleman having for a partner a young lady. Besides rendering the game quite delightful, they effectually prevent any unpleasant irritation which might otherwise arise. But with whomsoever you play, it is very necessary to keep in mind the golden rule of chess," Keep your temper; and if you cannot gain a victory over your adversary, gain one over yourself." A. M. Dundee. COLQUHOUN GRANT. A JACOBITE ANECDOTE. By the Author of the Histories of the Scottish Rebellions," &c. COLQUHOUN GRANT, who, when a young man, had signalized himself in the army of Prince Charles, afterwards settled down into the cool and decorous citizen. As one of the numerous and respectable class of Writers to the Signet, he said to have exerted the pen to as good effect as he had formerly played the sword; and in advanced age, he was noted as a man who both knew how to acquire money, and how to preserve it when it was acquired. There is something melancholy, and not altogether agreeable, in the idea, that the same mind which had been filled with chivalrous fervour in the brilliant campaign of 1745, should have subsequently devoted its glowing energies to the composition of law. papers, and the acquisition of filthy lucre. Yet, that he never became altogether insensible to the enthusiasm which excited his youth, seems to be proved by the following anecdote. Mr Ross of Pitcalnie, representative of the ancient and noble family of Ross, had, like Colquhoun Grant, been out in the Forty-Five, and consequently lived on terms of intimate friendship with that gentleman. Pitcalnic, however, had rather devoted himself to the dissipation than the acquisition of a fortune; and while Mr Grant lived as a wealthy writer, he enjoyed little better than the character of a broken laird. This unfortunate Jacobite was one day in great distress, for want of the sum of forty pounds, which he could not prevail upon any of his friends to lend to him, all of them being aware of his execrable character as a debtor. At length he informed some of his companions that he believed he should get what he wanted from Colquhoun Grant; and he instantly proposed to make the attempt. All who heard him scoffed at the idea of his squeezing a subsidy from so close-fisted a man, and some even offered to lay bets against its possibility. Mr Ross accepted the bets, and lost no time in applying to his old brother-in-arms, whom he found immured in his chambers, half a dozen flights of steps up Gavinloch's land, in the Lawnmarket. The conversation commenced with the regular commonplaces, and for a long time Pitcalnie gave no hint that he was suing in forma pauperis. At length he slightly hinted the necessity under which he lay for a trifle of money, and made bold to ask if Mr Grant could help him in a professional way. "What a pity, Pitcalnie,' replied the writer, “ you did not apply yesterday! I sent all the loose money I had to the bank just this forenoon. It is, for the present, quite beyond redemption."-"Oh," no matter," said Pitcalnie, and continued the conversation, as if no such request had been preferred. By and by, after some more topics of an ordinary sort had been discussed, he at length introduced the old subject of the Forty-Five, upon which both were alike well prepared to speak. A thousand delightful recollections then rushed upon the minds of the two friends, and, in the rising tide of ancient feeling, all distinction of borrower and lender was soon lost. Pitcalnie watched the time when Grant was fully mellowed by the conversation, to bring in a few compliments upon his (Grant's) own particular achievements. He expatiated upon the bravery which his friend had shown at Preston, where he was the first man to go up to the cannon; on which account, he made out that the whole victory, so influential upon the Prince's affairs, was owing to no other than Colquhoun Grant, now writer to the signet, Gavinloch's land, Lawnmarket, Edinburgh. He also adverted to the boldness Mr Grant had displayed in chasing a band of recreant dragoons from the field of battle up to the very gates of Edinburgh Castle; and further, upon the dexterity which he subsequently displayed in making his escape from the town. "Bide a wee," said Mr Grant, at this stage of the conversation, "till I gang ben the house." He immediately returned with the sum Pitcalnie wanted, which he said he now recollected having left over for some time in the shottles of his pri vate desk. Pitcalnie took the money, continued the conversation for some time longer, and then took an opportunity of departing. When he came back to his friends, every one eagerly asked, "What success ?"-"Why, there's the money," said he; "where are my bets ?"" Incredible!" every one exclaimed; "how, in the name of wonder, did you get it out of him? Did ye cast glamour in his een ?"—Pitcalnie explained the plan he had taken with his friend; adding, with an expressive wink, "This forty's made out o' the battle of Preston; but stay a wee, lads; I've Fa'kirk i' my pouch yet-by my faith, I wadna gie it for auchty !" LETTERS FROM LONDON. No. VIII.* THE Suffolk-street Gallery has opened, and the exhibition is sufficiently creditable to British artists; but it does not display any picture so pre-eminent in merit as to make it a matter of conscience with me to attempt written The Duke of Wellington evinces a partiality towards a cer- erroneously printed No. VIII. in a veteran campaigner. Paul Pry himself—the Cockney deity was never a greater slave to an umbrella. Meet his grace where you will-in Downing Street or at Westminster, in Hyde Park or at Windsor-riding or walking, in carriage or cabriolet, the shadow is not more faithful to the substance, than his umbrella to the first Lord Commissioner of his Majesty's Treasury. I am morally certain that some great state mystery is shrouded in its folds, and I shall dive into every Club and Coffee-house in London, until I arrive at its solution. Peel's personal phenomena are not strongly characteristic, and the fugitive expression of his features will always make him a subtile subject for a painter. His appearance does not outstrip the date of his years in the parish register. He is above the middle height, something stoop-shouldered, and of proportions indifferently balanced. His hair is of an earthy red, his dress careless and squire-like, with an air of idiosyncrasy about his chapeau, which he is pleased to wear in a depressed fashion à la puritan. The Secretary's voice is even and harmonious, and his general manner would be decidedly prepossessing, were it not that the oil of humility glisters overmuch upon the surface. The Duke of Wellington, who rushes to his subject like a Highlander to the charge, leaves, without any effort to do so, a far stronger impression of his modesty. There is a wide difference in the style of the two speakers. Mr Peel brings forth his sentiments neatly folded in silk paper, while the Duke declares himself in the pop-pop mode of a corps of skirmishing sharp-shooters on the day of battle. Another new piece-a farce, entitled, "All at Sixes and Sevens," has been produced at Drury Lane. It was most deservedly and specially well damned. The "Provok'd Husband" has been revived at the same Theatre; but it has proved immeasurably inferior to the revivals at Covent Garden. Mr Price's hothouse flower, Miss Phillips, expanded her petals to little purpose as Lady Townly. Why does not some great spirit of the North trouble the dull waters of literature? Here the novelties of the hour are all weary, stale, flat, or unprofitable." Why does not Professor Wilson concentrate his gorgeous imagination upon a subject worthy of high poetic illustration? If he, and such as he, do not bestir themselves, the love of poesy will wax cold in British hearts; and the fairest creations of immortal mind will vanish before grim phantoms of arts mechanical, and political economy. There is an announcement from Mr Sharpe, the proprietor of the Anniversary, of an intention to start a new embellished periodical; which I am inclined to hail as likely to do "the state some service." If I am informed rightly as to the name of the individual who is to be its conductor, (one of those who do honour to Scotland,) I entertain small doubt of its success, and none whatever of its deserts. 'Tis but a few short days since he, Our Father, left his native land, And I was there, when by the sea Ye wept, and grasp'd each parting hand; I hover'd o'er ye when alone The farewell thrill'd each wounded heart; Then raised the breeze its warning tone And bade the ship depart. I saw the bark in sunshine quit Unseen I trode its armied deck But stronger than a spirit's arm Is his who measures out the sky, Who rides upon the volley'd storm When it comes sweeping by: The tempest rose ;-I saw it burst Like death upon the ocean's sleep; The warriors nobly strove at first, But perish'd in the deep. High floating on the riven storm, I hover'd o'er the staggering bark; Oh God! I saw our Father's form Sink reeling in the dark! I hung above the crew, and drank Their wild-their last convulsive prayer; One thunder roll,-then down they sank, And all was blackness there! The wild waves, flung by giant death I saw, beneath the lightning's frown, I smote the hissing tempest down, Then, hand in hand, we journey'd on Who could not scathe us more ;- Their pure, their never-dying light,- Glasgow, Dunlop Street. ORIGINAL POETRY. THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT. By Dugald Moore, Author of " The African, a Tale, and other Poems." SISTER! is this an hour for sleep? Should slumber mar a daughter's prayer, When drinks her Father on the deep Death's chalice in despair? Though I have rested in the grave Long with oblivion's ghastly crowd, Yet the wild tempest on the wave Has roused me from my shroud. THE PEERLESS ONE. By Robert Chambers. HAST thou ne'er mark'd, in festal hall, Some one who, in her fairy lightness, And her intensity of brightness, As ever her eyes sent out their flame, Was almost foreign to the scene, Gay as it was, with beauty beaming, Through which she moved;-a gemless queen, A creature of a different seeming From others of a mortal birthAn angel sent to walk the earth! Oh, stranger, if thou e'er hast seen And singled such a one, And if thou hast enraptured been- If thou hast sigh'd for such a one, In corner of the hall, Looking from out thy shroud of thought Thine eye through all the misty throng Drawn by that peerless light, As traveller's steps are led along By wild-fire through the night: Now thickening quick-now gently stealing O! she was fairest of the fair, And brightest of the bright; And there was many a fair one there, A hundred eyes on her were bent, O God! to meet her eye! But 'midst the many who look'd on, And who can see no wonder there, At either morn or even; At length the dancing scene was changed And she her loveliness arranged Like dew on summer flowers; Bright eyes were cast upon the ground, A voice as soft and slow As might proceed from angel's tongue, The song was one of those old lays Of mingled gloom and gladness, A strain in which pure joy doth borrow As he down waveless stream doth float. There was but one long final swell, Of full melodious tone, And all into a cadence fell, And was in breathing gone. And she too went: and thus have gone At first too fondly doted on, But soon-too soon removed. Thus early from each pleasant scene The summer glow-the pride of green, And oh what is this cherish'd term, When that which gave it all its charm A chaplet whence the flowers are fall'n, SONG. The Lass o' Carron Side. By C. J. Finlayson. OH! whar will I gae find a place I witless tint yestreen? My heart, that wont to dance as licht She, mermaid-like, 'mang wild flowers sat, An' aye she sung her artless sang Sae sweet, the birds that wont to wake Sair may I rue my reckless haste, Sair may I ban the hour, That lured me from my peacefu' cot, Oh! had she sprung frae humble race, I might hae dre'ed a better wierd Banks of the Carron, Feb. 1829. |