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ADONIS GOING TO THE CHASE.

"Even as the sun, with purple colour'd face,

Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase:

Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn."-Shakspeare.

It was of no ordinary advantage to Mr. West, as an artist, that his early years had been passed among the glades and forests of America: a circumstance to which we are, perhaps, indebted for many of the most spirited and poetical of his delineations of classic character. The red men of the wilderness were, in fact, his earliest patrons; and in his intercourse with them, he was furnished with opportunities, such as few other artists have possessed, of observing the habits and passions of men, in a state of society very nearly resembling that of the mythological ages of Greece and Rome. The lives of the aborigines of both Hemispheres were chiefly occupied in war and sylvan sports; pursuits eminently calculated to impart to their followers vigour and elasticity of limb, and gracefulness of motion, together with that noble simplicity of demeanour, and singleness of heart, which constitute the greatest charms of poetic heroism.

That his youtful acquaintance with the Indians had a powerful effect, both on the memory and imagination of the Painter, is certain. In the admirable biography of him, by Mr. Galt, we are informed, that on being taken to see the Apollo at Rome, when the case containing the statue was unclosed, West involuntarily exclaimed, "My God-a young Mohawk warrior!" adding, in explanation, that he had seen such often, "standing in the very attitude of the Apollo, and pursuing with an intense eye the arrow they had just discharged from the bow."

It would be almost superfluous to add, that we are induced to class the Adonis with those of his works which, we think, belong in a great measure to the reminiscences of the artist. It has all the freedom and earnestness of actual life, with an unstudied elegance, which it would be in vain to look for, in company with such an occupation and costume, except among those to whom both were native. At the same time, however, the picture is not deficient in those higher qualities of imagination which constitute originality.

The countenance of ADONIS is of the most exquisite manly beauty: its expression being of that pensive and somewhat languid cast, which it may naturally be supposed to have imbibed, in a great degree, from the foreboding exhortations of Venus, on his quitting her for the chase. The symmetry of the figure is perfect, and the attitude as appropriate as could be conceived; displaying at once the whole of the form, yet perfectly unconstrained, and displacing nothing in the view which ought to have been exhibited.

Nor are the auxiliaries of the painting less worthy of notice and admiration. One Cupid, with his bow and torch, leads the way; another, with a hunting horn, gently urges him forward. We are

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not aware of anything more beautifully imagined, or delicately executed, than these elegant figures. The dogs have also great merit, and seem to partake strongly of both the enthusiasm and intelligence of their master:-the entreating looks and impatience with which they watch for his signal, and their gasping throats and fine forms, give an animation to the scene which almost makes it real. Adonis himself is in the act of looking back, with a mixed feeling, between pity for the hopeless passion of his deified adorer, and of presentiment respecting his own fate.

It is from such delineations, in which the skill of the artist is employed to give material embodiment to the conceptions of the poet, that we derive our best and most exalted notions of the ancients; and perhaps, also, much of our pleasure in studying the history of the periods in which such representations had "a local habitation and a name.”

G. M. B.

BELISARIUS.

"Tiberius at length broke silence: 'Thou venerable man,' said he, 'how unjust and cruel has fortune been to thee!-to thee, whom the whole empire, for thirty years together, felt the author of its glory and its flourishing condition; till at length wicked malice framed a charge of treason and revolt!-Thou art that hero, whom the persecuting rage of envious men loaded with irons, and barbarously deprived of the organs of sight!—And yet, thus basely treated, you can still persevere to inculcate the principles of public spirit and disinterested love of country!'"

MR. WEST, availing himself of the fabulous account of the blindness and mendicity of Belisarius, the illustrious Roman General of the sixth century, has depicted an incident which powerfully interests our feelings, in the forcible expression of persecuted and fallen greatness, and in the contrast presented by youthful and aged periods of life.

"That he was deprived of his eyes," says Gibbon, "and reduced by envy to beg his bread, is a fiction of later times, which has obtained credit, or rather favour, as a strange example of the vicissitudes of fortune." Under a false accusation of having plotted against the life of his sovereign, he was disgraced by the Emperor Justinian; but, after the lapse of seven months, his innocence was acknowledged, and his freedom and his honours were restored.

The hand of Genius here strikes with pathetic force on the chords of the heart; the arm of persecution, more than the depressing hand of time, bends and debilitates a form finely proportioned and athletic; and the arm of the intrepid warrior, once dreadfully vigorous and invincible, but now subdued by age and calamity, languidly reposes on the shoulder of a youth. The drooping warrior sits the solitary spectacle of injured worth; his health, fortune, and fame, blasted by envious power; his venerable aspect, asking nothing, but speaking everything, pleads to the heart with the mute dignity of unmerited sorrow, and is seconded by the graceful and simple eloquence of his youthful guide; his disorbed visage is not more expressive of blindness, than the averted and conscious bend of his head, and straight direction of his feet, an attitude most naturally induced by the timidity of one who creeps in darkness. The drapery is cast with Mr. West's unrivalled taste and command of line, expressive of the object it conceals: it is ample without heaviness; full without concealment of form; easy without carelessness; and graceful without the appearance of study.

R. H.