ANCIENT AND MODERN ROME.-During the month, four paintings of the most prominent monuments of ancient and modern Rome, have been open for exhibition at the American Academy of Fine Arts, Barclay-street. They are all original pictures, by the celebrated GIOVANNI PAOLO PANINI, and were painted for the Duke de Choiseul, a minister of Louis XV. of France. Notwithstanding the extreme heat, and its attendant lassitude, and the absence of a large portion of our citizens from town, these noble works of art have been visited, during their brief stay in the city, by numerous admirers. Panini was celebrated for the beauty of his architectural drawing and coloring, as well as for charming landscape and spirited figures. The exhibition is one which may be surveyed daily, for a long period, and at every examination, the admiration of the visitor will be increased. The two large pictures, containing collections of the buildings and curious remains of ancient and modern Rome, form of themselves a magnificent gallery. We can refer to but few of the very many gems of art which they embody. In No. I. is the celebrated statuary group of Laocoon, the figures of which stand out from the canvas, as if endowed with life. The ruins of the Theatre of Marcellus, and the Tomb of Cecelia Metella, are living illustrations of beauty in decay. The illulusion in the bluish-whiteness of the three marble pillars of the Temple of Jupiter, gnawed by the tooth of Time, is perfect. Nothing can be more like nature than the water beneath the Ponte Molle, the bridge upon which Constantine defeated and slew Maxentius-or more admirable in proportion and perspective than the Coliseum, the grand front and interior of the Pantheon, and the remains of the Temple of Jupiter Tonans. Indeed, No. I. alone embraces subjects for a week's study. No. II. is a view of the vast Cathedral of St. Peter's, from the entrance of the grand Piazza. The faintly-beclouded sky-the" vast and wondrous dome❞— the pillared crescent on either side-the immense pile of the Vatican on the right-the fountains the splendid procession of the popes, and cardinals, and nobles, with their scarlet and gold carriages, and prancing steeds, in the area,-all form an ensemble, which almost checks the aspirations of the beholder to survey upon the spot this architectural wonder. There seems, at first sight, somewhat too heavy a shade of red over the whole; but it soon ceases to be considered a prominent defect. No work of art, we venture to say, has ever appeared in America, in which the illusion of light and shadow is more complete than in No. III.—the Interior of St. Peter's, with its pillars, cornices, and its thousand gorgeous ornaments. Mark the sun-light streaming in upon the variegated marble pavement in the middle distance—the perfect relief of the various figures, and of the statuary in the niches-and the perspective! It seems a half mile to the great altar. The richness and nature of this picture grow upon the eye, and its beauties unfold with every moment. In No. IV. the visitor stands "mid the chief relics of almighty Rome," as they exist at the present day. The small view of St. Peter's, the beautiful, transparent Fountain of Trevi, the Palace of the Quirinal, the Bridge and Castle of St. Angelo, and the Fountain of the Aqua Paola on Mount Janiculum, will attract the admiration of the visitor, which will not be lessened, however, for the numerous chef d'œuvres by which they are surrounded. We are happy to learn that these paintings, which have been removed to Boston, are to be again opened, at some future period, for exhibition in this city. They cannot fail to attract numerous visitors. RAFFAELLE'S CARTOONS.-The four copies, in tapestry, of Raffaelle's celebrated cartoons, and Rubens's large picture of the Crucifixion, now exhibiting at the Saloon, Broadway, opposite St. Paul's Church, deserve especial attention. The history of the first is not without interest. Three hundred years ago, Raffaelle was engaged by Leo X. to design a series of subjects from the life of our Saviour and the Acts of the Apostles. When finished, they were sent to Brussels, and copied in tapestry-an art in a great measure now lost to the world-at a cost of 70,000 crowns. Two sets were manufactured, one for the papal apart ments of Leo X., and the other for Henry VIII. of England. During the sacking of Rome, in 1526, they were carried away from the city, but were restored in the reign of Julius III. In 1798 they formed a part of the French spoliations, and were sold to a Jew at Leghorn, who burnt one of them to obtain the precious metal contained in the threads. The remainder were purchased from him by Pius VII., and reinstated in the Vatican. They have been studied and copied, wholly and in part, by the most eminent painters. The four which have been brought to America, are, "Christ delivering the Keys to Saint Peter," "Saint Paul preaching at Athens," "Saint Peter curing the Cripple at the gate of the Temple," and the "Death of Ananias." We have not space to go into an extended notice of these productions, as works of art. But we would direct the reader's attention to these ancient tapestries simply as singular curiosities,-paintings of a great master woven into cloth, the threads of which-though faded in the lapse of years-are still rich and bright, notwithstanding five generations have passed away since they were braided into life! They are twenty feet in length, and fourteen in breadth. "The Crucifixion," of Rubens, is, if we may so speak, one of the most horridly-natural pictures we ever beheld. It realizes all that the imagination can conceive of the scene which it is intended to embody. The meek, bowed head-the livid, whitish-blue of the legs and feet-the spear wound in the side-the dropping of the blood from the clotted, yawning source, in the figure of "the unanswering Lamb of God,"-can never pass from the recollection of the observer. Nor are the two thieves, the agonized features of Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of our Saviour, less likely to be lost from the memory. This painting was pronounced by Sir Joshua Reynolds, the "English Rubens," to be the finest and most extraordinary of all Rubens's works. RECOLLECTIONS of the Month.-" Morn breaketh in the East!" It is the day of the Nation. Hark to the heavy roar of artillery! Survey from this eminence the scene before us. See afar over the still waters of the bay, the puffs of smoke, dotting the landscape. They come from ordnance, on the green marge, at Communipaw. The flags are unrolling from the shipping-the pennons and streamers are running up and along a thousand masts and spars, amid the rough merriment of happy seamen. The town is fenced in with a palisade of vessels, and their gay colors gleam in the rising sun, and stream on the morning breeze. Beautiful scene! The city teems with life. Banners wave, as far as the eye can reach, over the multitudes who crowd the broad streets, that grow hazy in the distance, but show no lessening of the moving mass of humanity, at their farthest extent. It is Mid-day. How the sun pours upon the soldiers in the crowded Park, and the dense crowd, relieving the white background on the portico of that fine marble Hall. Hear the clashing of the glittering arms of the military" the noise of the captains and the shouting!" The immense area is now an enclosure of dense smoke-and a noise, as if the foundations of the great deep were broken up, swells, prolonged, above the billowy mass. The feu de joie ceases-the sulphureous cloud rolls away—and “the long lines come gleaming on." How that music thrills upon the ear! How the scene fills the heart! Yonder gray-haired veteran, as he leans upon his staff, feels it. He is fighting his battles over again. He swings his hat with a trembling hand, that was firm enough when "he bore him stiffly up" against the enemies of his country. That company of infant-soldiery have imbibed the spirit of the scene-and their gaily-plumed paper chapeaus and wooden swords are waved and flourished under the influence of a new life. What is there in the heavens? The black crowd below has suddenly changed. The sea of heads has become a sea of faces. It is the Æronaut, rising gracefully into the unpillared air, waving the flag of a glorious Union, beneath the huge globe whose subtile contents buoy him on. Lo! a hood of pale mist gathers about the floating dome. It is gone. The clouds have received the daring navigator out of our sight. Night is upon us: but we maintain our emi nence. A thousand lamps glimmer through the long ranges of booths, and the voice of revelry swells up from among them. Clusters of explosions, of India crackers, prolonged by single, double, and treble discharges, indicate the ubiquity of small sportsmen. Blue, red, and yellow fires every where color the streets. Can that be the moon rising so gradually up the sky? 'Tis an illuminated balloon. Now it gleams like burnished gold, in the light of the "silver rain" of a rocket which has exploded above it. How soft come down the reports, which succeed the advent of those fiery serpents, trailing through the air, and the overflowing of fountains of fire, which scatter golden drops upon the swarming city! On every side, streams of light rush into mid-heaven-paling for a moment the "ineffectual fires" of the whole host of stars. The scene changes. The day and the night have passed-and the sun is again high in heaven-and murky clouds are pillowed along the west-the settling fumes of a dissipated day. The air is cool and delicious-and the sick man, upon yonder litter, seems to inhale it with delight, as he is set down for a moment before the gates of the Hospital. Will the reader follow us up the green sward, and under the trees, into the edifice? Pain, suffering, death are here. The pageant, the enjoyment, the aspirations of yesterday, have terminated sadly with the beings around us. The light of the blessed sun is shut forever from the eyes of the lad who writhes upon the couch, as we enter the long apartment. The surgeon, as he removes the curls from the fair forehead of the boy beside him, and probes with his silver instrument the mangled source of the clotted blood, which oozes upon his pale cheek and heaving breast, shakes his head mournfully. There is no hope for him! Much pain has turned the brain of that poor fellow under the window, who holds up the bleeding stump of an arm, from which an explosion severed the hand in an instant. He struggles with his attendants, but the final contest with the last enemy will come full soon. The discolored linen band around his head hides a mortal wound. And of all who surround these victims-companions in suffering-how few, yesterday, but were free from pain, and little apprehensive of approaching danger! But let us not dwell upon this painful picture. Turn with us again into the streets of the busy city. What means this uproar, "piercing the night's dull ear?" It is "the madness of the people." How resistless is that tide of men, sweeping down yon street! They pause for an instant, and the work of destruction begins. The air is rent with shouts and loud vociferations-the crash of windows and doors succeeds-the fire shoots up from the rich furniture of a dwelling now a wreck, gleams upon the wild and determined faces around, and flashes upon the midnight sky. A single word has moved that vast body, and they have repaired to a holy place for unholy purposes. The axe resounds, and discordant voices ring in the Temple dedicated to the Most High. Desolation marks their footsteps. Lo! a fearful cry peals upon the ear. The altar is desecrated-and the profane man stands up in the sacred place, and words of vengeance and of infuriated passion burst from his lips. He harangues the motley assemblage, amid the din and dust in which they revel. Forthwith they rush again into the open air. Fear has possessed the sable tenants of the lowly dwelling in yonder narrow street. They flee, scarcely daring to look for a moment behind them to behold their dwellings leveled with the pavement, and the fire consuming their humble household gods. But there ensues a pause. A heavy tramp of horsemen, and the measured tread of soldiery, interrupt the scene. The conservators of the city's peace are upon their pursuers; and many are led away to confinement. Gaze yet again upon the great concourse in that crowded hall of Justice. Mark the settled gloom upon the countenances of those misguided men. How breathless and how still is every thing around. Sentence is passed! Pale and trembling, they pass, with hundreds of eyes fixed upon them, through the hot and sultry air, to that black, grated carriage. One by one they are forced violently in, and borne off to prison, to expiate, in long and weary months of deprivation and toil, the criminal follies of an unguarded moment. It may be some palliation, in the eyes of the patient reader, who has followed us through this hurried Reverie of the Month, to know, that it is no Fancy-sketch. DEATHS, AND BRIEF OBITUARY RECORDS OF PERSONS RECENTLY DECEASED. In Chester, N. H., Mr. JOHN SLEEPER, aged 80. He was a volunteer at the battle of Bunker Hill, and among the last who left the ground. He was one of that intrepid band who made a forced march through the woods from Kennebec to Canada, in which numbers perished by famine and cold; and-reached Canada in season to engage in the battle of Quebec, and witness the fall of the brave Montgomery. Here he was taken prisoner, and confined, with about 900 others, for nine months. From prison he was put on board an English frigate, which, being blown off her course by contrary winds, was kept at sea until it was evident that provisions must run short. All on board were put upon allowance so long as any thing eatable remained; and when at length this failed, the vermin of the frigate were devoured with great avidity-and before succor came, all the shoes on board had been boiled and eaten. The minutes of his service, which he preserved, have helped many a worthy to his pension. On the 6th ultimo, at Detroit, Governor PORTER, of Michigan, about 46 years of age. He was appointed to the government of Michigan under the present national administration, and in his official as well as private capacity, his liberal sentiments and practices endeared him to a wide circle; and his memory will long be respected by the people. In Portland, July 8th, ISAAC ADAMS, Esq., aged 60. Mr. Adams was much in public life, in the Legislature of Massachusetts, and of Maine, and various other offices. He was for many years at the head of the municipal government of Portland. At his residence, in Culpeper, Richmond county, Virginia, in the 63d year of his age, WILLIAM CHAMPE CARTER, Esq. The state possessed no more estimable citizen than this lamented gentleman. He exhibited throughout life the essentials of a finished character, probity, intelligence, and mildness. In Rowan county, N. C., Mr. HENRY SLEIGHTER. a native of Hesse Cassel, Germany, aged 83 years. There were two striking peculiarities about him. He never had but one tooth, and had no perspiratory organs. The first deficiency exempted him from the tooth-ache, and the latter from frequent catarrhal affections. But in very warm weather, the inability to sweat compelled him to resort to frequent effusions of cold water, in order to get rid of that heat which, in all other men, is carried off by perspiration. At Trenton, N. J., on the 2d ultimo, SARAH BARNES, in the 88th year of her age. She was a native of Trenton, and with her sister, Mary Barnes, who died about ten years since, at the same advanced age, for many years kept the only apothecary's store in Trenton. Át the back of their dwelling, on Warren-street, has been preserved to this day, as a portico, the arch erected on the bridge over the Assanpink, in honor of Gen. Washington, when he passed through Trenton, in 1789, on his way to New-York, to receive the office of President of the United States, by the unanimous call of his country. In Boston, Miss HARRIET D. MCLEOD, aged 19 years. Less than forty-eight hours before her death, this amiable young lady was in the full bloom of youthful health and hope. She was to have been married on Wednesday; her furniture was purchased, and the invitations to the wedding given out-when her sudden death changed the joyful preparations of her intended marriage into the mournful solemnities of an unexpected funeral. At his residence, at Fleming, Cayuga county, N. Y., on the 23d ultimo, in his 83d year, the Hon. JESSE THOMPSON. He was engaged in the struggle of the Revolution, when he held a lieutenant's commission in the army. At Saratoga Springs, in his 72d year, on the morning of the 18th ultimo, CHARLES R. WEBSTER, Esq., formerly partner of John Lang, Esq., in this city. Mr. W., in 1784, established the Albany Gazette, at the head of which he remained forty years. At the same place, on the 11th ultimo, BENJAMIN F. DEMING, Representative in Congress, from Danville, Vt. In Northampton, Ms., on the 10th ultimo, Mr. JACOB MILLER, in the 72d year of his age. Mr. Miller was a soldier of the Revolution, and was engaged in the suppression of Shays's Rebellion in Massachusetts. At Hempstead, L. I., of consumption, JAMES G. WATTS, editor and proprietor of the Hempstead Enquirer, in the 43d year of his age. He was, for a long period, one of the editors of the Philadelphia United States Gazette. THE VOL. IV. KNICKERBOCKER.. SEPTEMBER, 1834. No. 3. THE PAST-THE PRESENT-AND THE FUTURE.* UNTIL within a very recent period, in every age and clime, Science affected a kind of masonic mystery, and her ministers assumed to be a royal priesthood, a peculiar people, with whom wisdom would die. The initiated were studious to guard her attainments from being rendered cheap and common. The owl was appropriately the bird of Minerva. Common sense, with scales which weigh every thing by its utility, has at last stripped pretension of the gown and the wig, and obliged her to stand forth in the nakedness of her real desert. After even the light of the gospel had dawned upon the nations, all the science and literature of the age was shut up in monasteries and schools of theology; and, until within a comparatively recent period in history, a great proportion of the priests themselves could neither read nor write. The profession of clerks was laboriously employed in transcribing, not the recorded observations and sound reasonings of true science and philosophy, but monkish legends, the lives of dreaming saints, and the quibblings of scholastic theology. Royal resources were scarcely adequate to the collection a library, and the difficulty and expense of procuring manuscript books would have remained an insuperable barrier to the diffusion of the knowledge, even had there been knowledge to diffuse. The most important intellectual era which our world has seen, was the period of the invention of printing. Well might the retainers of the hierarchy of the day give out, that the inventor borrowed it of Satan; for it rung the eternal knell to bulls and anathemas, and all the terrible influence which the priesthood possessed over hood-winked ignorance and blind submission. The press lifted its mighty banner, labelled from the beginning, "No aristocracy of science-no influence but persuasion." Truth heard in her dungeon, felt that her time was come, burst her chains, threw open her prison doors, and with persuasion in one hand and reason in the other, commenced her unwearied and unabating progress. The reformed nations took up the Bible, and insisted that God had given them the unalienable right of interpreting it for themselves. The polarity of the needle, and, as a consequence, America, was dis |