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Some fifteen or more years ago, a stranger in
Cincinnati, if he had turned from Main street into
Fourth street, south, might have observed, three
or four doors from the corner of Main, a bonnet,
and some little articles of millinery in the window,
and passed on—nothing conveying to him the impression
that anybody belonging to the race of
artists harbored there. Yet, had he opened that
humble door, he would have discovered a delicate
boy-artist at his easel, laboring away so intensely
as at first not to be aware of his entrance.

When made aware of it, the visitor would have
been struck with the manly countenance of that
diminutive youth, and his pleasant tone and his
engaging manners. If he were an observer of
countenances, the well-developed forehead of one
so young, and his clear and animated blue eye,

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would have attracted his notice. Perhaps he would
have found the artist engaged in finishing the likeness
of Mr. Longworth, a wealthy gentleman of
Cincinnati, who has encouraged several young artists
in their first attempts—artists who have since
become distinguished.

The name of this youth—boy-artist we might
call him—is William Henry Powell, who is now
abroad, putting the finishing touches on his picture
of “The Discovery of the Mississippi by De
Soto, in 1542.” In this house, his mother and sister
carried on a little millinery establishment, up
stairs. The window designated their locality,
while that of the youthful artist needed no indication,
as there were none except his personal friends
and admirers who sought for it, as he had not yet
become an artist by profession, and was, in fact, a
boy.

Soon, however, his pictures were talked about,
and the press noticed him; and in the progress of
events, and in the development of his genius and
resources, he was enabled to go to the East, and
subsequently to Europe.

When the choice came to be made as to who
should paint the picture for the last unoccupied
panel in the rotunda, he was selected, through the
influence of the western members of Congress.

This picture is spoken of in the highest terms—

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and these high terms come to us with such indorsements
as to satisfy us that they are not the mere
eulogy of friends. Mr. Bryan, of Philadelphia, a
connoisseur in such matters, who has a large collection
of pictures, speaks of it with high praise, and
so has Count D'Orsay. De Soto is the chief figure,
and there are many others prominent on the canvas—
we fear too many, from what is said of the
picture. The Indian figures on the canvas contrast
strikingly, in their wild costume, with the
steel-clad warriors of De Soto; and the priests,
planting a cross as the sign of possession, furnish
another contrast. There is a figure of a horse in
the picture, which is said to be excellent.

We rejoice in the success of Mr. Powell. To
say the truth, the pictures in the Rotunda are not
remarkable for excellence. That of “The Pilgrims,”
by Wier, is the best. “The Baptism of
Pocahontas” has very little merit. And that of
the “Signers of the Declaration of Independence,”
from the various exhibitions of legs in it, was justly
called by John Randolph the “shin-piece.”

But everything must have a beginning, and we
like this encouragement of our American artists;
and we have no doubt that Mr. Powell's picture
will do him great credit, and reflect honor upon
the Great West, which has already given Powers
to the world of Art.

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The best piece of statuary in Washington is the
full-length bronze statue of Mr. Jefferson, in front
of the White House. There stands the illustrious
author of the Declaration of Independence, with
the Declaration in his hand, attired in the style of
dress worn when he presented it to the American
Congress. We feel at once the individuality of
the representation when we look upon it, and we
recognize Thomas Jefferson. Pass from the White
House to the Capitol, and look at Greenough's
statue of Washington, disguised, as far as the form
is covered, in that outlandish drapery, and we venture
to say that unless one was told that it represented
Washington, it would be a long time before
the guess was made, unless by chance. The face
of the statue has the Washington look, but the
drapery, style of the figure, &c., take the mind
away from the Father of his country. We saw in
the Patent Office the very clothes that General
Washington wore, and we look at the statue and
at once feel how unlike him it looks. Fancy
General Washington sitting to a Daguerreotypist
and arraying himself in a Roman toga for the occasion.
A statue should be as much as possible a
Daguerreotype of the man.

“Paint me as I am—warts and all,” said Cromwell
to the artist, “or I will not pay you for the
picture.” The bluff and bold Protector showed
what was the artist's duty in this remark. If the

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artist is painting a Venus, he takes ideal beauty;
but when he is painting a man, he should give us
humanity. In this consists the power of Thom's
celebrated Tam O'Shanter group. Human character
is there, in the listener's pausing in the act
of rising to listen to the story, and in the turned-in
toes of Souter Johnny.

Lamartine says that Robespierre always presented
himself to his countrymen in the same color
and style of dress, and always had his pictures
taken and busts modelled in the same fashion.
“The man of the People” did not wish the identity
of his appearance changed in the eyes of the
people. There he was, the “incorruptible” and
the unchanged. Like Cromwell, the Frenchman
showed not only his taste, but his knowledge of
human nature. Furthermore, “the little corporal”
would strike a French soldier much more
in his cocked hat and coat buttoned across the
breast than in his coronation robes. The charlatanism
in Napoleon's nature (and he had a
great deal of it) never struck us more than when
looking at the picture which represents his coronation.

Much praise is due to Mr. Mills, who is at present
engaged on the equestrian statue of General
Jackson, for the great pains he has taken to
represent his subject just as he appeared in nature.
In this model the erect, energetic self-will

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of General Jackson is apparent, and there is no
doubt that the artist, following the suggestions of
his own genius, will make for himself a reputation
as enduring as the metal from which he is to mould
his lifelike model.

p717-371

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