MY DEAR — - : When you sailed for England, you requested me to visit the exhibition of Mr. Allston's paintings, and to write you a description of it, which might atone for your loss, in being obliged to leave the country without having seen it. I supposed that the exhibition would be reopened in New-York; nor did I learn, until the last day but one before it was to close in Boston, that Mr. Allston had determined otherwise. I departed immediately, and arrived at Boston on the last day, which I need not say I passed in the gallery; and, by the courteous permission of the committee, was there all the next day, while the pictures were being taken down and packed off. In default of better, I send you the impressions of these two days; premising that, save a slight description of 'Inez,' I made no memoranda whatever, and must trust entirely to recollection, assisted by the catalogue. There were forty-seven paintings in all, of which forty-five are comprised in the printed catalogue; and all are note-worthy. I will begin with those of which the subjects are taken from scripture, and describe as many as I can.

First, is · The Dead Man restored to Life, by touching the bones of the prophet Elisha. “And the bands of the Moabites invaded the land, at the coming in of the year. And it came to pass as they were burying a man, that behold they espied a band of men, and they cast

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the man into the sepulchre of Elisha; and when the man was let down, and touched the bones of Elisha, he revived.' 11. Kings, chap. XIII. This is a large picture, with nearly twenty figures, of the size of life. The sepulchre of Elisha is supposed to be in a cavern, among the mountains; the high overhanging rocks form the background and roof. In the fore-ground, on a platform of rock, below what seems the general floor of the cavern, the figure of the Fëanimated Man is extended. He has partly raised himself, and rests upon his left hand; with the right he has just lifted the grave-clothes, so as to uncover his face and breast. Its stiff extension irresistibly suggests the slow, wide-sweeping motion by which the act was performed. The limbs are rigid, but slightly drawn up; the body is covered with a white drapery, except, as I have said, the face and breast ; the left arm, and a part of the right foot, which protrudes, are rigidly flexed. The color of the exposed parts is in general pallid, but with a faint hue of life prevailing in parts. The slight contraction of the brow, the eyes languidly opened, the unstiffened muscles about the mouth, which have not yet overcome that partial retraction of the upper lip from the teeth, all these express perfectly.the gradual recoiling of Life

upon Death. Behind the man, in a dark recess formed by a low arch, are the bones of the prophet, the 'skull being peculiarized by a preternatural light;' at his head and feet, the two bearers of the body. The emotion exhibited by these is finely discriminated. man at the head has felt the man whom he thought dead alive in his hands, and he shrinks in pure physical horror. Dropping the rope, by which the body was lowered, he has raised himself on the edge of the rocky platform behind ; and his limbs are drawn back from the touch of the reviving body, so that he would fall, if he did not support himself by clinging with one hand to a fragment of rock. The man at the feet, the part next himself being not yet vivified, merely sees the miracle, and feels astonishment rather than terror. Ho leans over the reanimated man, and though he dares not touch him, he grasps violently with one hand the rope, with the other a piece of rock, as if to assure himself of the validity of his senses, and the reality of things. Of the figures grouped on the ledge above, the most prominent is that of a soldier in the act of rushing from the scene.

The violent and terrified action of this figure,' says Mr. Allston, 'was chosen to illustrate the miracle, by the contrast which it exhibits to that habitual firmness, supposed to belong to the military character, showing his emotion to proceed from no mortal cause. We may add, that the effect of this contrast is heightened by the elegance of his figure, and by the classical contour of his excited features; indicating that the occasion has swept away the barrier opposed by rank, to the unrestrained expression of the feelings. The Aight of the soldier is artfully arrested by a man, who firmly grasps his arm, and with a look of fear, overcome by curiosity, presses forward to see. The circumstance of an unarmed and comparatively feeble-looking man thus opposing a steel-clad soldier, seems to denote the sudden disrupture of the ordinary influences. All these figures, we may observe, display the effect of the miracle upon the animal nature. On the left, and behind the soldier, is a group composed of two men, of different ages, earnestly listening to the explanation of a priest,

who is directing their thoughts to heaven, as the source of the miraculous change. This group exhibits the effect produced on the intellectual and religious nature of man. It is connected with the first by a boy, who clings to the old man; he is too young to comprehend the nature of the miracle, but he looks wildly round on the startled figures before him, with a child-like sympathy in their emotion. In the group on the right, the social and household affections show themselves in this concourse of feelings. It consists of the wife and daughter of the reviving man. The wife has fainted : to give her features an expression adequate to the occasion, was impossible ; to represent them in tranquillity, and to account for it, was the sole alternative. This procedure was judicious for another reason. It effectually distinguishes between the loss of consciousness in a swoon, and its restoration from death. The daughter is wholly absorbed in distress and solicitude for her mother, whom she partly supports on her shoulder; a man, a soldier apparently, standing behind the latter, assists in preventing her from falling. A little to the right, and turned froin these, a young man, of a mild, devotional character, is in the attitude of conversing with another, who, not regarding him, with outstretched arms and actuated by impulse, not motive, announces to the wife, by a sudden exclamation, the revival of her husband. Sentinels, in the distance, at the entrance of the cavern, mark the depth of the picture, and by indicating the alarm which occasioned this tumultuary burial, reinforce the expression of that supernatural fear, which in the other figures has displaced it.

The admirable manner in which these diverse and agitated groups are brought into unity, by the skilful composition of lines, was observed by Coleridge. The harmony of the colors, the sobriety of the tone, and the quiet distribution of light and shadow, are equally effective in maintaining that repose without which so violent an action would be painful. But the transcendent merit of this great work, is its true organic unity; the interdependency and mutual necessity of the parts to each other, as expressing feeling, and the subordination of these to the whole, say rather their disappearance in the whole ; a merit quite above the criticism of dilettanti.*

‘Jeremiah dictating his Prophecy of the Destruction of Jerusalem to Baruch, the Scribe,' was not, I think, generally liked, though it was unquestionably the grandest picture in the collection. The moment selected, is the last of the vision, just as it fades from the unsealed

eyes; just as its import is about to be uttered from the lips that, now firmly and consciously closed, express the 'fire that within him burns.' The figure of the Prophet is vast. This is necessary, not only to impart sufficient dignity, but because a frame less gigantic would seem inadequate to sustain the inspiring power. The head is comparatively small, as in the antique statues; the countenance full of a sacred grief; the eyes, too, gleam with preternatural sorrow, by the intelligible character of which, their inspiration is distinguished from insanity. The consummate grace of the Scribe, as he sits at the feet of Jeremiah, holding the roll in his hand, and looking reverently up to the face of the prophet, is universally admired. It is beautiful indeed; it is also in the highest degree judicious. Were the figure of Baruch less graceful, from its inferiority of size it would appear mean, when compared with that of Jeremiah. A vase, of a gray color, and of the simplest form, relieves the picture, without disturbing it, and is in strict costume. The vast and vacant halls into which the back-ground retires, are finely imagined; empty and open to the sky, they repeat the silence of the breathless figures, and listen, as it were, for the words of inspiration that are soon to break it.

There is a 'Head of St. Peter,' a study for a large picture, now in England. It is powerfully treated, but I pass on to Miriam.'

This is a half-length. The sister of the leader of Israel is attired in a closely-fitting vest, of a splendid material, like cloth of gold, open in front below the waist, and slightly blown aside by the wind; it has short sleeves, and terminates at the knee in a broad border of rich crimson. The underdress is dark. I mention these details first. The countenance is truly inspired; the attitude perfect. The determined position of the head, listening to the song of the host; the left arm extended downward, the timbrel in the hand; the right uplifted, the palm open, the fingers parted - in readiness to strike ! There is heroism in the excited features, but no softness. It is the unpitying triumph of a Hebrew woman over the enemies of her nation; of an enthusiastic prophetess of the LORD over idolaters. The bold bringing forward of the hips, the slight but decided separation of the limbs, and that turning outward of the knee, show how much she is unsexed by her fierce exultation. In the back-ground, seemingly very distant, is the shore of the Red Sea, with the bodies of 'the horse and his rider;' the waves roll dark to the horizon, the line of which, Miriam being elevated, is so much depressed, that her figure rises above it, and stands, with that energetic action, against the clouded sky. There were three comic pictures in the collection : ' A poor

Author and a rich Bookseller,' 'Falstaff and his Recruits at Justice Shallou's,' and another that I forget the title of; it is not in the catalogue. These have the same relation to the epic compositions, as the old Greek comedy bad to the pure tragedy; while they differ, on the other hand, from the pictures of Wilkie or Mount, as the romance of Cervantes differs from the tales of Boz.' These pictures are full of humor, but are not easily described ; and I mention them chiefly to introduce my idea of another composition, the Witch of Endor raising the Spirit of Samuel before Saul'

1839.

The Allston Exhibition.

I have said, in effect, that I consider Allston's burlesque compositions as identified in their principle with his heroic pictures, but That the same artist should manifest evolved at the opposite pole. his creative spirit in both kinds, and with equal power, would not have surprised Socrates, who affirmed that a great tragic, must of course be potentially a great comic, poet; and may serve to illustrate the vexed question, whether Homer wrote the Battle of the Frogs and Mice.' At all events, extravagant humor is clearly opposed to the heroic pathos; and as clearly both these lie within the domain of art. I am inclined to consider the principle on which the Witch of Endor' is composed, as the indifference of these opposites and correlatives. On no other ground, I think, can we form a true judgment of it. It is vain, in any case, to criticize a work of art, unless with reference to its constitutive law. For example, it has been said that the subject is not sufficiently sublime. Now it is not sublime at all. It is utterly aloof from sublimity; for were it of a quasi sublime character, yet not 'sublime enough,' it were then positively ridiculous. It has been said, too, that there is something theatrical in the position of the three figures. I cannot perceive this, unless the expression is understood to mean, that the figures are placed with apparent art; that is, that the artist himself is present in his picture. But in a work of this nature, I feel this to be absolutely necessary. I shudder at the unearthly solemnity depicted on that preternatural countenance of the risen prophet; I smile at that ludicrously real terror of the servants of Saul; the presence of art, perceived as such, is the point of reconciliation to these contrary emotions, by virtue of which they are enabled to unite, and so to sustain, at the same time that they oppose, each other. Of the application of this principle, in the sister art of poetry, there are numberless instances; and I know of none more striking than are to be found in the Ancient Mariner,' and in Christabel," more particularly in the exquisitely tranquillizing 'conclusions' annexed to the Parts of the latter poem.

There were several fine portraits. Three sketches of Polish Jews are admirable. Another of a Jew, finished, is called Isaac of York.' The complexion is deep and luminous, the features nationally beautiful; eyes brilliant, but anxious, and the mouth expressive of great and painful sensibility. It is the accursed and afflicted Hebrew, to whom in every land the LORD has given a trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of mind.' There was a portrait of WEST, at which I scarcely glanced, and cannot speak of it; an interesting one of our artist himself, painted when a young man, at Rome; and one of Mr. CHANNING; clear, and silvery, and very life-like.

You will expect me to describe the landscapes particularly; but I shall scarcely be able to do so. The most striking and rememberable, are four, of sceneries characteristically national; Swiss, Italian, American, and a coast-scene on the Mediterranean. Of these the 'Swiss Scenery' is the finest. It is of the size of Cole's Dream of Arcadia.' You stand upon a picturesque fore-ground, above a lake, that on either side, and immediately below, is hidden from sight by the high ground on which you are placed. A single sublime Alp fills the distance, and pierces the sky. The mass of atmosphere between you and its lofty white summit, and resting upon the dim surface of