and classic pens of a Rev. Dr. LEVINS, or of a WILLIAM SAMPSON, Esq. will enrich the IRISH SHIELD with illustrations of Greek and Roman poets, which would promote a taste for the study of the ancient classics in this city. JUVERNA. MARY OF ROSSTREVOR.* A TALE FOUNDED ON FACTS OF A RECENT DATE. MARY was the only daughter of a gentleman of fortune, and high connexions, whose country mansion stood in the beautiful and romantic village of Rosstrevor, in the county of Down. Mary's fond parents spared no expense in her education; her native mental pearls received the highest polish of female accomplishment, and bountiful nature cast her personal charms in the mould of the Graces. Lovely, intellectual, and attractive, she had just put off the more innocent simplicity of childhood, for nymph-like puberty, and the symmetry of her form was beginning to assume that Siddonian character which Canova should have turned into marble, and West would like to copy as a model of female elegance approaching perfection. Her expressive countenance reflected, like a mirror, thought and sensibility, while the lily and the rose mingled their brilliant hues * ROSSTREVOR is a very handsome town, rising like a crescent, in Carlingford Bay, in the county of The environs of Rosstrevor present the most Down, at the distance of 74 miles N. E. from Dublin. charming scenery which nature and art could combine in a picturesque landscape. The village is seated in a mountain vale, around which the waves sweep in a semi-circular channel. It was in the vicinity of this village General Ross, who fell at Baltimore, during the last war, was born, The fine house and ornamented domain of the General's brother add much to the beauty of Rosstrevor. The mansion stands on a mountain declivity, from which a charming prospect can be commanded. A spacious lawn extends from the house to the verge of the bay. Before the hall door, on a green eminence, stands a pyramidical pedestal, supporting a marble bust of the gallant but unfortunate general. A little beyond the town is the rural villa of Mr. OGLE, called the Lodge, which is furnished in a superb style. It stands on the declivity of a mountain, before which a lawn of the liveliest verdure spreads its floral drapery to the sun, and a demesne, studded with luxuriant plantations, and bounded by the rolling surge of the bay, displays its fine improvements. Rostrevor, indeed, is unequalled for the romantic scenery of its "pendent mounOne might suppose that the Turkish prophet had been here, tains" and green sylvan retreats. and summoned the mountains from the east and west to form a crescent for the protection of this floral village of beauty. The immense elevation of the impending summits; the charming recess in the brow of the eastern ridge; its ornamented wildness, and the waving solemnity of its dark and extensive hanging woods, flinging garlands over defiles so deep and lonely, that a poet might suppose it to be the imagined residence of the invisible rural deities of Rome. Here are flowery arbours where Numa might, unseen by human eyes, embrace his nymph, and listen, without molestation or fear, to the precepts of love. The tufted clumps of flowering shrubs, the violet and primrose draped cliffs, and the green defiles which open fairy alcoves in the sides of these mountains, all conspire to impart romantic attraction to the scene. As you descend the declivities, and bring your views nearer earth, you behold the gay foliage of trees, shading the rosy gardens and white houses of the village, so as to form a pleasing contrast in the perspective. And to magnify more the diversity of the scene, the ocean, saluting mountain majesty, causes his waves to roll in limpid undulations over the pebbly footstool of his throne, and there offer him homage. All these local charms, which invest Rosstrevor with all the graces of a romantic landscape, contribute to render the place the most variously picturesque, eminently interesting, and irresistibly engaging of which Ireland can boast. It seems to have Farewell! dear scenes of been designed by Nature, in her kindest mood, as a paradise for Byron's heavenly muse, or a solitary elysium, where none but the spirits of happy lovers should dwell. past happiness and friendship! how sweet is the recollection that brings back thy verdant valleys and rose-woven bowers, fresh and fair on the tide of memory, dear RossTREVOR! of sea-drooping tresses and emerald feet! Surely, it is pleasant to look through the vista of reminiscence on the days of other times, when neither care nor regret obscured the smiling landscape of youthful pleasure. The remembrance of Rosstrevor, with its soft and endearing associations, will always kindle a ray of joy in our mind, even when the sombre clouds of sorrow and sadness brood over the heart. About two miles to the east of Rosstrevor, are the moss-covered ruins of Green-Castle. In the reign of Elizabeth, this castle was considered of such importance, that an act of Parliament passed, prohibiting any one but an Englishman being Constable of it. The swallow and the ow! are now its defenders. on her blooming cheeks. Her conversation attracted every sympathetic mind; her beauty made a conquest of every susceptible heart. Among all the young gentlemen who offered the incense of devotion at the shrine of youthful loveliness, among the numerous suitors who were in competition for the choice of the rich and beautiful heiress, Henry O*** was distinguished by the ardour of his addresses. He was the younger brother of a neighbouring family of rank and distinction, but of moderate fortune. His education of the first order, his person handsome and prepossessing, and his manners elegant and engaging. With these mental and personal advantages, he won the esteem, and soon acquired an ascendancy in the heart of the young and innocent Mary. As her father always told her, that he would impose no restraint on her affections, providing they were given to a gentleman of good birth and respectability, no objection could be raised, no obstacle could be opposed to the union of these attached lovers. Henry obtained the approbation of Mary's parents, and then pressed her, with all the eloquence of passion, to consent to make him happy. He vowed everlasting attachment, and implored her, if she valued his peace of mind, to appoint an early day for their nuptials. Pity, and a tender softness plead in her bosom; she yields to the ardour of his persuasions, and gives him her heart and hand at the altar. The marriage was solemnized in the parish church of Rosstrevor, in the month of May, 1820. Their wedding was graced by the presence of the most respectable families in the neighbourhood, and celebrated by festivities worthy of the joyous occasion that united two houses in the bands of a matrimonial alliance. Who, that has not tasted the transports of nuptial love, can express the delights which Henry enjoyed in the endearments and caresses of his lovely bride? Love and Hymen spread for them a couch of Elysian flowers, and banished care and anxiety from the happy home of conjugal attachment. To render his beloved Mary happy, formed the whole employment of Henry's thoughts, and the darling object of his every action. Such ardent devotion, and growing partiality and fondness, so warmed Mary's heart, that her husband became every day more and more endeared to her affections. The fortune she brought, he managed with prudence, and enjoyed with discretion; and the pleasure which he experienced in her amiable conduct, and enchanting behaviour, repaid his cares and solicitude with augmented interest. Thus flew the honey-moon hours, winged with ecstatic delight, every day elicited new endearments, and every night returned with the thornless roses of blissful repose. Before the expiration of a year, their fondness and felicity were crowned with the birth of a fine boy. If any thing could have given an increase of joy to their existence, it was this pledge of connubial love. But how transitory is human happiness! how short the sunshine of hope! and how soon do the fragile flowers of earthly bliss fade and fall after the spring of their first adolescence! The heart of man is inconstant and variable; it cannot be secured by the ties of beauty or virtue; his passions are mutable and easily inflamed. How soon are his dearest affections altered! his boasted reason, too, how dim and faint its light, and how easily extinguished by the faintest blast! He is the creature of folly and caprice, which he blindly follows, till they lead him to ruin. In the summer months, several of the nobility and gentry of the north of Ireland, take up their residence in the picturesque village of Rosstrevor, which is the Saratoga of Ulster, to recruit their healths, by bathing in its limpid waves, and by the respiration of its salubrious sea and mountain gales. It is, therefore, the resort of folly and fashion, and all its houses are, from June to September, filled with a diversity of visiters, that present as various grades of character, as its fantastic mountains do different forms. It unfortunately happened about this period, that a young female, most fashionably dressed, and of exquisite beauty, but apparently of light character, came to live at a house directly opposite the residence of our hero. She assumed the character of a lady of high fashion, whose noble father, she alleged, was pre vented from accompanying her to Rosstrevor, by a sudden indisposition. The costly livery of her footman, on whose arm there was an Earl's coronet, and the elegant apartments she occupied, confounded suspicion, gave an air of truth to her story, and removed all doubts of the reality of her assumption. LADY JULIA, as she styled herself, could not think of going to balls or parties, until her Pa joined her; she therefore devoted herself to music and her dear Byron and Scott, to beguile the time of his absence. As Henry was rich, and his person graceful, a thousand arts were employed by the fictitious Lady Julia, to attract his observation, and to ensnare his heart. The seductive syren would often appear at her window, in a loose and voluptuous dishabille. At one time, with a careless, languishing negligence, reclining her head on her snowy arm, and protruding the charms of her fine bosom, and then with affected modesty throwher luxuriant tresses of hair over them, so as to half conceal them from his raptured gaze. At another moment fixing her fine dark eyes, sparkling with passion and delight, eagerly upon his face, and as soon as his gaze met hers, withdrawing it, with a soft and languishing air, by slow degrees, as if delicacy had restrained the glowing emotion which impassioned love prompted. (TO BE CONTINUED.) DISCURSIVE REMARKS ON PAINTING, AND SCULPTURE, No. II. WHILE We must accord the ancient painters, their merited share of praise, we are not to overlook their imperfections. If we may judge by all the paintings of antiquity, that have come down to us, and in particular those that were discovered in the ruins of Herculaneum, the efforts of the ancients did not in some branches of the art, nearly equal those of the moderns of the Italian school. For if we except the correctness of design, in which the Greeks excelled; but in all the other attributes of the art, the palm of superiority is carried away from them, by Raphael, Angelo, Titian and Corregio, and some of their cotemporaries whose genius reflected such glory on the patronage of the illustrious Medician family. No Grecian artist has equalled that stupendous offspring of genius, The Transfiguration, nor even approached the interminable originality of conception, and epic grandeur of Angelo in his Last Judgment. In the magic power of colouring; in inmitably charming contrast of light and shade, which throw such a spell of fascination over the pictures of Titian; or in the chastity of design, vividness of expression, elegance of outline, joined to that modesty of colouring, and mystery of reflex, which impart the air of divinity to Corregio's beautiful countenances, the Grecian painters are completely thrown in the back ground of critical opinion. The ancient pictures want Raphael's dramatic effect, Angelo's embodied sentiment, and personified character, Corregio's amplitude of flowing drapery, and the mellow richness of its colouring. Before the secret of painting in oil was discovered, by the Flemish artist, Van Eyck, in A. D. 1410, all the painters worked either in Fresco, or water colours. Fresco is a kind of painting upon fresh plaster, with colours mixed with water; and this species of the art was executed upon walls and arches. The noblest fresco representations the world ever saw, are those painted by Raphael and Angelo, in competition, on the ceiling of the Sixtine Chapel, and the chambers of the Vatican, in Rome. Pliny informs us that the ancient painters seldom worked in fresco; they did not think it proper to confine the productions of their pencils to private houses, nor have their irretrievable master pieces, at the mercy of the flames. They, therefore, fixed on portable pieces, which in case of accident might be saved from the devouring element, and carried from one place to another. The Grecian painters, also drew on tables of wood, whitened with chalk. The era when the use of canvass was introduced is not exactly known. After Van Eych's discovery, Andre del Castago, was the first Florentine artist that painted in oil. The first painter on record belonging to Rome is Pictor, who lived about three hundred years before Christ; but the Romans can lay no origi nal claim to painting, as they only copied from the Greeks. To them, however, we must give the honour of the invention of Mosaic painting, which they elevated to great perfection. The component materials which they used in this species of the art, were pieces of marble, or of composition resembling it, of different colours, joined together with stucco, and so constructed as to resemble the paintings of the greatest masters. Their mosaic compositions have left monuments of their skill, in that branch of the fine arts, which will remain to the latest posterity. Some writers say that the origin of mosaic painting, and paving, was suggested to an artist, who saw several pieces of broken meat strewn in the street, which furnished him with the idea of paving with variously coloured stones. Succeeding artists made great improvements, and at length attained perfection. Pliny the elder, tells us, that Sosus of Pergamus, ornamented one of his mosaic pavements with a pigeon, which he represented drinking out of a fountain, so naturally as to darken the water with the shadow of her head. Other pigeons were exhibited sitting on the marble sides of the spring, some sunning themselves, and others clawing and picking their feathers. The Emperor Napoleon, whose fall gave a death blow in Europe, to the arts, caused premiums to be given for the best specimens of tressellated marble; and he was heard to declare, that he was resolved to substitute mosaic floors in his palaces for carpets and oil cloths. His stimulating patronage called forth the exertion of ingenuity, and one artist laid a floor in the Empress's private. cabinet, in 1811, so exquisitely wrought, and beautifully enamelled, as to rival the finest models of antiquity. The Roman generals employed itinerant artists of Greece to paint their battles, and represent their triumphs. But in the reign of Augustus, one genius, Arelius, started up from the Roman soil, who flinging away the shroud of native mediocrity, produced pictures of genius and spirit. The productions of this artist, with many other noble specimens of painting and sculpture, were destroyed by the Goths, when they sacked Rome, in 537. The Roman Pontiffs were most munificent patrons of the fine arts. Pope, Sixtus IV. put the finest talents of the age in action, and attracted to Rome, from Florence, then (1474,) the capital of the arts, all the painters that had acquired reputation, whom he employed on his chapel. To the liberality of another Pope, prior to the age of Sixtus, Giotto, the celebrated Florentine painter, was indebted for his fortune, as the pontiff gave him 2,200 golden crowns, for his picture of St. Peter in the boat. What muse, or what historian, has not celebrated the taste and munificence of Leo X. the generous and illustrious patron of Raphael, Angelo, and Leonardo de Vinci? No sovereign, except the high-minded Emperor of France, has a more distinguished claim to the glory of encouraging the arts, than Leo X. Among the garlands that poetry flung upon his tomb, perhaps Pope's laudatory laurel shall be green, when time withers the rest. "But see! each Muse in Leo's golden days Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays; Rome's ancient genius o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head. Then sculpture and her sister arts revive; Stones leap to form, and rocks begin to live; A RAPHAEL painted, and a VIDA sung." This illustrious pontiff kindled a galaxy of genius, which has reflected the light of immortality on his fame. Although the car of Bellona then shook Italy to its centre, and the turbulent war of Charles V, and Francis I, filled the coun try with terror and devastation, Leo sustained the fine arts, in the midst of the tempest, and inspired the artists with a spirit which intestine commotion could not extinguish. In the midst of batties, engaged even in a mortal struggle for the existence of their country, we find Angelo, Raphael, Titian, and Romano, producing those marvellous specimens of art, which have immortalized their names. The great principle, set on foot by the Pope, was not to be depressed, or crushed, while shooting up to maturity; as, like the palm tree, it seemed to gather strength from the difficulties opposed to its growth, increasing in vigour in proportion to the weight employed to bear it down. THE ACADEMY OF THE FINE ARTS AND THE CORPORATION. WHILE the municipal authorities of Philadelphia and Boston, are making the most laudable exertions to enrich their galleries of painting, their museums, and libraries, with the works of genius, the curiosities of nature, and the wealth of intellect, the corporation of this "LONDON OF AMERICA," as if seized with the spirit of the dilapidating Goths, have given legal notice to the members of the NEW-YORK INSTITUTION, that they must surrender the immediate possession of the building in the Park, which has been occupied by them since the establishment of the Academy of the Fine Arts, in 1816. This, it must be confessed, affords no indication of the taste, no proof of the liberality, nor no evidence of the progression of intellect among our municipal functionaries. The history of the world furnishes us with abundant testimony, that refinement and intelligence are associated with the national taste for the encouragement of literature and the arts, and that in their cultivation the philosophic statesman views the moral physiognomy of a country. "The only treasure," said Napoleon, which I wish to accumulate, and to amass with avaricious avidity, is the great works of art and genius, which are the wealth of national glory." The fine arts have the tendency of improving our nature, and of advancing it nearer perfection. Those that devote their time to the elegant pursuits of literature seldom become debased and depraved by luxury, from whence proceeds every corruption of morals that can depreciate the character of a nation. Let us read history. Behold Egypt, once the first school of the universe, and the mother of the fine arts, becoming infected with a distaste for letters, and after, in consequence, ingloriously submitting to the yoke of Cambyses. With the decay of the arts, too, Greece, Rome, and Venice, without enumerating other empires and states, dwindled into insignificance, and became the prey of barbarian conquerors. But it is unnecessary to adduce historical evidence on this subject, as every reader knows, that from avarice and luxury the devastating torrent of a depraved taste issues. The Corporation of New-York, however, think that the progress of the sciences and arts has added nothing to human intelligence, nor raised intellect higher in the scale of moral perfection; and that the world was not enlightened or benefitted by all the miracles of poetry, painting, sculpture, and eloquence. Money, in their opinion, is the standard of perfection, and it is the desire of filling their coffers with this pelf that stimulates them now to break the portal of the temple of the sciences, and introduce into its sanctuary a horde of lawyers and brokers, who will cover those walls with parchment, which were lately so bright with the splendour of Rubens, the scientific power of Angelo, the luminous richness of Titian, the magic softness of Corregio, and the expression and grace of West, as well as the interesting and impressive localities of Dunlap and Trumbull. Where now will native genius find a mart for its production? where a gallery for its exhibition? "Let it," replies the Corporation, 66 mourn in indigence, and sink into oblivion; we must have our house, or we will cast out to the swine, the pictures, statues, and other trumpery, with which it is |