SMALL proposed to drill the choir into harmony, they thought of hanging up their own harps; for the deacon's instructions could manifestly avail nothing but to make bad worse.' A new singing-master was at length procured, a war broke out between the 'Fors' and the 'Againsts' of that measure, and the result was, that a lasting feud arose between the contending parties in the congregation. We quite agree with our author, that it is intolerable that God should be mocked with such praise' as is offered to him in some of our country churches;' and yet we could well wish that in some of our city churches a few of the good old country tunes might be sung to the words, at least, with which they have been so long associated. It grieves us always to hear the wedded lines of Windham' (a grand old tune, dear Sir, in all its 'parts,') 'Alesbury,' Florida,' and the like, sung in our churches to a species of undefinable, operatic,' difficult' music, which one cannot help wishing was not only difficult but impossible. There are some things in the chapter on Old-Fashioned Revivals,' concerning which we should be glad to have our present 'say:' perhaps we may recur to the subject, for it is a fruitful one, hereafter. The pictures which ensue, of 'Spinning-Bees,' 'Country Weddings,' ete., RICHARD ROGERS's First Sermon,' and The Dismissal of Mr. ROGERS,' are exceedingly graphic, and will well reward perusal. But we are at the end of our tether,' at this present writing.

6

THE LESSONS OF ART: CHARLES L. ELLIOTT, THE AMERICAN PORTRAIT-PAInter. In the literary department of the last number of that truly national work, 'The Gallery of Illustrious Americans,' under the head of 'Glances at our Artists,' there is a well-written and discriminating article upon CHARLES L. ELLIOTT, who stands by the universal verdict of the public and the concessions of his brother artists at the very head of his profession of portrait-painting. We have read the article to which we have alluded with so much pleasure, and it contains so many valuable lessons for young artists, that we cannot resist the inclination to quote from it a few passages, for the edification of our readers. Following an interesting description of his subject's early history, while living in the country, and the artistical ‘bent' and practice of his boyhood, we find the subjoined:

'He came to New-York, with an introduction to Colonel TRUMBULL, who had at the time a studio in the Old Academy of Fine Arts, of which he was then President. The Colonel examined all his drawings, and one or two of his essays in oil, and then strongly advised him to give up all idea of being a painter, and apply himself to architecture. I do this,' said the Colonel, for two reasons. You don't seem to me to possess so much genius for painting as for architecture; and you will make a better living in this country by the latter profession. America will yet be a great field for the architect, and you certainly indicate uncommon talents that way.' ELLIOTT replied that he had gratified all his architectural ambition up in the country, and was fully determined, and had been, ever since he was ten years old, to be a painter, and live or die by that business. It was very natural for Colonel TRUMBULL, on the evidence he had before him of ELLIOTT's drawings, to give him this advice; for he had never practised any department of art with the slightest care, except that of architectural drawings; and we have been assured by those who saw these early works, that they were admirable in their design and execution.

'Let me dissuade you from that resolution, my young friend,' continued the Colonel, by the history of my own life. I have devoted many years to my art, and, in my career, you can judge what you may hope for, if you are even very successful. I have, it is true, received some commissions from Congress for national pictures; but this was only a piece of good luck. Aside from this, what can I say? I have painted a great many pictures that have been praised by connoiseurs and amateurs and artists; and yet you see hanging around this room nearly all the works on which I have expended the principal energies of my life. People come and admire them, and go away; and yet here are nearly all the pictures of almost half a century of labor. I am now an old man, and time and disappointment have chilled my ambition. I have waked from the dream of life, and its reality, death, is looking steadily on me. My principal solicitude now is, to make some good disposition of this Gallery, which I think will yet have value even in the estimation of my own countrymen. I must take time to look about me, to see if I have friends enough in the world to give these pictures to.

"This was said,' ELLIOTT has remarked, with a sad feeling. He seemed to feel that the world had not done him justice, and I have long felt so myself; but, although I could hardly help weeping at the sight of the gray-haired painter, grown sad and perhaps misanthropic by disappointment and neglect, yet it did not discourage me much. I thought the world would treat other painters better, and I was determined to run my chance. Seeing me resolute, he said he would trangress the rules of the Academy, which admitted students only during the winter, and allow me to visit the Antique Gallery. He had a good deal of leisure time, and would give me instruction in drawing, and furnish me the necessary apparatus. I began immediately, and I am happy to say that he more than redeemed his pledge. I owe much to the good old man, and I shall always be proud to own it.'

After remaining several months with TRUMBULL, vigorously prosecuting the study of drawing, and evincing great progress, ELLIOTT went to study with QUIDOR, a fellow-pupil with JARVIS and the lamented INMAN. Here for a time, and ' for bread and butter,' he employed himself in copying prints in oil, but at length began to paint portraits, at such prices as he could command. It was at this period, too, that ELLIOTT painted a grand composition called and known' by the name of 'The Battle of Fort Christina,' drawn from IRVING's inimitable history of it in his KNICKERBOCKER'S history; a memorable contest, which terminated, after ten hours' hard fighting, without the loss of a single man on either side! In the intervals of portrait-painting, not profitably followed 'about those days,' even by the best artists, ELLIOTT threw off two compositions of considerable merit, 'The Bold Dragoon,' and an illustration of PAULDING'S Dutchman's Fireside,' that were exposed for sale in a shop window. TRUMBULL, who had heard nothing of ELLIOTT since he left his studio, happened to see them in the window, while walking leisurely by, in the style of a 'gentleman of the old school.' He stepped into the door, and inquired, 'Who painted those pictures?' ELLIOTT,' was the reply. Where is his room?' Ie no sooner heard the answer, than he hurried to the painter. He knocked softly, entered uncovered, with all the stateliness of the last century, and said to the artist, 'You can go on painting, Sir; you need not follow architecture, Sir; I wish you good day, Sir,' and disappeared. He did 'go on,' and with what a triumphant result, is well known to our readers and to the general public. The reflections of the writer upon the inadequate encouragement afforded to young and struggling artists of merit, are forcible and 'well put.' 'Let all true friends of art remember,' he says, 'that if they wish to serve an artist they must help him when he needs help. And when you give an artist a commission, do n't think of getting a good bargain,' in other words, more than your money's worth, but give him a scope for his genius, if he have any; let him give some play to his imagination; let him consult his own taste, and work out his own ideal in his own way. We join in the general regret expressed in the annexed paragraph, that our departed friend INMAN could not have lived to be 'handed down in immortal color' by the pencil of an artist the characteristics of whose genius, in more respects than one, most resembled his own:

"INMAN had none of the jealousies that so often mar the magnanimity of rival artists. He had heard much of ELLIOTT lately, and although he had known him years before, they had not recently met. It is well known of course to our readers, that long before he was called hence, his friends felt a very deep solicitude for his life, but he himself seemed to entertain the brightest hopes of his own speedy recovery. It would have been cruel to pluck from his brow those last beams of light that the kind sun was casting over it, as he went to his setting. One pleasant day he called at ELLIOTT'S studio, and at the end of a long and kindly conversation, he said, ELLIOTT, when I shall have recovered somewhat my health and spirits, we must exchange portraits. I have never been so well painted as I desire to be. Nothing will give me more pleasure than to paint yours, except in having you execute mine.' They pledged each other that the first artistic labors they performed, when INMAN should be ready, would be this courteous exchange of the fruits of their gifted pencils. Poor INMAN pressed kindly the hand of ELLIOTT, and gave him the 'good-by' with the careless cheerfulness with which we speak when we suppose we shall meet again in a day or two. He returned to his home and never left it again. The friends of art will never cease to regret, that the two por trait painters, who so immeasurably excelled almost all others in their departments, should have thus lost the opportunity of transmitting to the future those inimitable works which they must have executed of each other, if Heaven had only given them the opportunity.'

We close our extracts from the paper upon Mr. ELLIOTT with the following observations touching his pictures, and his peculiar powers of portraiture:

"In the first place, we apprehend that it will hardly be questioned by any who have studied ELLIOTT's pictures, that one of his great attributes as a portrait painter is the extreme fidelity of his likenesses. Whenever we look on one of his portraits, we feel that he must have known not only the peculiarities of the person's face and features, but that he had read profoundly, intimately and genially, the prevailing character of his mind. In all his pictures we can read the individuality of the person he has painted, and not the general expression, which reminds us of some one or more individuals. We feel sure that he must have turned the head and eye in such a position as to bring out the prevailing expression by which the character of the individual would be best understood and soonest recognised by his own acquaintances.

"In the second place: Having observed that the portraits of ELLIOTT, like those of Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE and VAN DYKE, all look well, we have often inquired why this was so. Surely every body is not good-looking. We solved the mystery in the following manner: In order to produce a picture which should, while being a good likeness, make an impressive and pleasing portrait, it is necessary to resort to the liberty which art has the right of claiming, of painting the subject with the best expression he wears, and under the most favorable circumstances. It is the attribute of art, as it is of love, to usurp those golden hours of enchantment, when every smile breathes voluptu ousness, when every glance flashes with the fire of passion, or the inspiration of poetry. There is a honey-moon in love,' is a proverb which comes from the Arabs. There ought to be some holy spot left in the heart of every man and woman, from which should beam forth on the face joyous, gleaming, touching, loving, humane, and we will even say divine expression, that will often clothe the faithful portrait with the charm of poetry, if there were any enthusiasm left in the heart.

We take it then for granted, that when ELLIOTT paints a portrait, his first rule is, to make a faithful likeness, and then to make a pleasing picture. The one is gained by accurate lines, the second by a proper arrangement of light, shadow, and position, with a skilful and artistic distribution of all those little accessories which make up the sum total of the 'sunny side' of life, art and poetry.

In summing up then what we conceive to be the popular opinion among those who are capable of judging of the merits of ELLIOTT, as a painter, it seems to us that there is a universal conviction that wherever his pencil traces a face, it is sure to follow its outline with the utmost fidelity; to make a picture which can never be mistaken for the portrait of another person; and then when those prime objects are accomplished, to clothe the whole with that warm, genial, and glowing atmosphere which will make the man he paints, when he looks at it, a better man; which will inspire him with purer imaginations, higher purposes, and more exalted resolutions; which will make him more generous in his actions, more genial in his heart, and more courteous in his manners. In a word, we mean to say that there is something in the style of ELLIOTT's painting not unlike the moral air which pervades the writings, and still more, which pervaded the manner of Dr. CHANNING, Who has won for himself the fame of the largest, the most genial, the most generous philanthropy of any philosopher or scholar who has lived on this continent.'

We are sure it will be conceded, by all who have ever had an opportunity to examine any three of ELLIOTT's portraits, that the above tribute to their peculiar characteristics is as well deserved as it is felicitously conveyed. In self-evident honesty of likeness, in earnestness of expression, in geniality of feeling, in spirituality, and in deep rich flesh-tints, his paintings have few equals and no superiors. The writer speaks as follows of the picture of Captain ERICSSON, which was almost the first picture of ELLIOTT that excited the universal admiration of the visitors to the National Academy: 'It was regarded by competent inspectors and critics as one of the noblest portraits which had been executed in this country since the time of STUART, and there were not wanting those who unhesitatingly pronounced it superior to any work of that great artist.' This portrait, after the exhibition was over, was sent to Mrs. ERICSSON in London; and we well remember the enthusiastic letter of thanks for the picture returned by that lady to her husband; indeed, if we are not mistaken, an extract from the letter appeared at the time in these pages. Thinking at night of her husband's necessarily prolonged absence, and with that 'hunger of the heart' for his presence which that absence inspired, she would frequently rise from her bed, light a candle, and again and again survey the beloved lineaments. English artists, of the highest merit, she added, pronounced it a master-piece of art. We close this article with the single remark, that ELLIOTT, as has been said of INMAN, has 'none of the jealousy that so often mars the magnanimity of rival artists.' No man ever heard him praise his own works, on the one hand, nor detract from the merits of a brother-artist, on the other. On the contrary, the young artist has no warmer friend, and merit, however obscure, a more honest and frank admirer, than CHARLES L. ELLIOTT.

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. -It was a Visit of Pleasure and Patriotism which we paid the other day, in company with an esteemed friend, to the 'Old Seventy-Six House' at the little village of Tappaan, some three miles from Piermont, and about the same distance back from the northern end of the Palisades. As we rode through the level valley, in the lap of which the little village nestles, the sun was going down behind the far-distant Shawangunk mountains, with a pomp of many-colored clouds in his train; the air came loaded with fragrance from the meadows and clover-fields; and we were made aware of that 'audible stillness' so perceptible to one whose life is passed amidst the hum and turmoil of a vast commercial metropolis. Arrived at the 'Seventy-Six House,' we reëxamined the room where Major ANDRE was confined, and from which he went forth to die. But all this we have described before. Our friend and the jotter-down hereof were made happy by a present, from the obliging proprietor of the house, of two of the pictured tiles which compose a frame-work around the fire-place. Pocketing these interesting mementoes of the past, we next repaired to an old, crumbling, low-roofed mansion, once the head-quarters of General WASHINGTON. We drew rein at the gate, and passed into a little patch of meadow which lay between us and the house. It was about half-mown; the sweet-scented grass lay in swaths around; and where the mower had stopped in his labors, there lay his scythe and whetstone. Little faith had our companion that 'Old KNICK.' could deftly wield that instrument of 'Old TEMPUS ;' but ask him now! Ask him if we did n't make the little meadow resound with the cling-clang of the whetstone, and then, seizing the sharpened implement, with long sweeping strokes lay as close-cut and clean a swath around that field as he ever saw in his life? There are several things that we can't do—but we can mow! Well, rejoicing in the glow which that best of all exercise had given us, we next repaired to the old house. It was more than a hundred years old, and was the very personification of decay. It almost seemed tottering to its fall. We entered, and were courteously welcomed by its occupants, two elderly ladies, who were born in the house. Nothing could be in more perfect keeping with the mansion than those two women. One was nearly eighty, and the other turned of seventy; but both were most agreeably lively for persons so old, and were obligingly communicative. 'Many and many

a time,' said the elder of the two, ' in this very room, has General WASHINGTON held me in his lap. I remember it just as well as if it was but yesterday. He was a most lovely man, General WASHINGTON was-lovely! Here,' she continued, going to a cupboard, 'he used to keep his 'things,' and here's the very bowl he used to make his wine-sangaree into; and they used to pass it round from one officer to another when they'd come to see him. He see a good deal o' company, General WASHINGTON did.' We spoke of Major ANDRE. 'Oh,' said the old lady, 'I seen him more'n fifty times. He was a handsome man, and he was a kind man. I seen him the very morning they took him onto the top of the hill to hang him. Every body felt sorry for him.' We asked how General WASHINGTON seemed to feel on that occasion. ‘Ob, he must ha' felt dreadful! He walked back'ards and for'ards all that morning in this very room; and I've hear'n Pop BLAUVELT say that he never see him feel so bad afore. He kept looking at his watch every now and then, and was oneasy till the time had come, and Major ANDRE was hung. I seen Major ANDRE myself when he was a-swingin', and I seen him when he was dug up; so did you, too, POLLY,

did n't you?' The old lady mentioned a circumstance connected with the revolution and with this spot, that struck us as interesting and somewhat instructive. The enemy, it would seem, were in the habit of coming sometimes into the rich valley of Tappaan, and driving off cattle, sheep, etc.: 'One day Pop BLAUVELT's little nigger boy JIM, hearing some of 'em coming, drove all our cattle into the swamp, and when they come up he told 'em he had n't seen no cattle, and so saved 'em. Pop BLAUVELT liked him so much for this, that he told him he might have his liberty, but JIM would n't; he stayed with him more 'n forty year a'ter that.' And thus these good old people beguiled an hour with reminiscences of the revolution, to some others of which we may have occasion to refer hereafter. Our ride home in the gloaming was made doubly pleasant by all that we had seen and heard, and we retired to rest to dream of other days, and of the 'times that tried men's souls.' . . . 'S. M.'s story of 'A Jaunt to the Wedding' is a prose version of an old piece of poetry which we remember to have read as many as twenty years ago. PETER, with his wife seated behind him on an ass, starts for the church, but the ass, with characteristic obstinacy, won't budge an inch:

The result of this combined movement, this 'concert of action,' was, that the ass did alter his mind, for he started so suddenly that he left his load behind, in sad plight, on the ground. THE following was crowded out of this department in our last number: We take blame to ourselves for not having before noticed The Lorgnette, or Studies of the Town.' It is conducted, after the manner of 'The Spectator,' by a writer who has evidently seen the world, and who wields a satirical and humorous pen with no common skill. We subjoin one or two extracts, commencing with this recipe for a male town-celebrity :

'A GERMAN, with his guttural sounds, and with his taste in music, which, by dint of foreign terms, can be very well assumed, is almost certain of being hunted down and bagged by all the good-natured celebrity mongers; and if he can scrape a fiddle daintily, or talk, with his eyes rolling to heaven, about GOETHE, or cultivate a FAUST intensity of look, he will be in demand all over the town by German-loving young ladies; and all this, notwithstanding he may drink all the small beer in the world, or smoke the filthiest of meerschaums. It is of but little account what name or position he may have held in the Fatherland: we democratize with a vengeance where a distingué sandy whisker is in the case, and our autocrats can open their doors to the veriest valet if his lingual acquirements and naïve foreign air will but make him a taking card in the salon. As for the Frenchman, though now, between the valorous POUSSIN and the long-faced BONAPARTE, a little under the weather, yet a good polka education, delicate perfumes well laid on, and a roundly-uttered Superbe!' and Magnifique!' in a lady's ear, will do for him vast execution. And as for a genuine Cockney, in ex