When Guido and Domenichino had each of them painted a picture in the church of Saint Andrew, Annibal Carrache, their master, was pressed to declare, or give his opinion, which of his two pupils had excelled. The picture of Guido represented St. Andrew on his knees before the cross; that of Domenichino represented the flagellation of the same Apostle.
Both of them in their different kinds were capital pieces, and were painted in fresco, opposite each other, to eternize, as it were, their rivalship and contention. "Guido," said Carrache, "has performed as a master, and Domenichino as a scholar. But," added he, "the work of the scholar is more valuable than that of the master." In truth, one may perceive faults in the picture of Domenichino that Guido has avoided; but then there are n.o.ble strokes, not to be found in that of his rival.
It was easy to discern a genius that promised to produce beauties, to which the sweet, the gentle, and the graceful Guido would never aspire.
NEW-YORK.
[->] The Subscribers and Public in general are respectfully informed, that JOHN BULL, late Editor and Publisher of this MAGAZINE, has disposed of the establishment to Mr. THOMAS BURLING, Jun. from the 1st day of January, 1797. In committing this publication to other hands J. Bull feels a.s.sured, that the talents which are in future to be employed in conducting it, are such as cannot fail to afford the fullest satisfaction to its patrons, and must ensure an accession of that celebrity which it has. .h.i.therto enjoyed.
At the moment of relinquishing so arduous a task, the grateful recollection of the steady support and kindnesses of my numerous friends in this undertaking, demand the warmest thanks. To those who have favoured me with the productions of their pens, I beg leave to recommend my successor; and to entreat for him a continuance of that friendship, the remembrance of which can never be effaced from my mind.
In order fully to close the Accounts to this period, I must intreat, that the bills for the small arrearages due to the 1st of January, 1797, may be punctually honoured--each distinct sum is but trifling, while the aggregate amounts to some hundred pounds; an exact compliance will add to the obligations already heaped on
The Public"s obliged,
Humble Servant,
JOHN BULL.
P.S. Printing as usual executed by me at the Office No. 115, Cherry-street. I have now in the press, publishing by subscription, CAMILLA; or a Picture of Youth: by the author of Evelina and Cecilia.
_TO THE PUBLIC, AND PATRONS_ of The New-York Weekly Magazine.
In becoming the Editor of so valuable a publication as The NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE, I cannot but feel sensations of grat.i.tude to its generous patronizers for the liberal encouragement it has heretofore been favoured with; without which, there would not have been so great a stimulus to my undertaking this arduous task.
Sensibly feeling the duty that is inc.u.mbent on me in conducting this _Repository of Literary and Useful Knowledge_, all the attention and a.s.siduous circ.u.mspection which is requisite to make it useful, entertaining and edifying to every capacity, may be relied on by a generous public.
It would be useless for me to enlarge upon the merits of a work which has so long received the approbation of an enlightened people.--Certain it is, that every attentive and candid reader will confess, or at least acknowledge the utility of this production, as the vehicle of refined ideas and engaging principles; contributing to disseminate and establish the most virtuous sentiments, while it stimulates to n.o.ble and generous actions.
I humbly solicit the literary abilities of those kind Correspondents who have hitherto come forward in support of this publication; and, shall always gratefully acknowledge the productions of the candid and sentimental writer.
Relying on the liberal support of my friends and a generous public, in prosecuting this my undertaking to their general satisfaction and entertainment,
I am, with profound respect,
Their Obedient, Humble Servant,
+THOMAS BURLING, Jun.+
New-York, Jan. 2, 1797.
MARRIED,
On Thursday the 22d ult. by the Rev. Mr. Miller, Mr. THOMAS LOUTETTE, to Miss CATHARINE M"KENZIE, both of this city.
TO CORRESPONDENTS.
[->] The new Editor thankfully acknowledges the pieces of CLARA and A. D. He is sorry they arrived too late for this publication, in the next, however, they shall have a place.
WINTER; AN ODE.
No more the morn, with tepid rays, Unfolds the flower of various hue; Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Nor gentle eve distils the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night, Usurping darkness shares the day; Her mists restrain the force of light, And Phbus holds a doubtful sway.
By gloomy twilight half reveal"d, With sighs we view the h.o.a.ry hill, The leafless wood, the naked field, The snow topt cot, the frozen rill.
No musick warbles thro" the grove, No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove Thro" verdant paths now sought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempest roars, Congeal"d, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature"s aid let art supply With light and heat my little sphere; Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high, Light up a constellation here.
Let musick sound the voice of joy!
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale; Let love his wanton wiles employ, And o"er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life"s dreary winter brings, When mirth"s gay tale shall please no more; Nor musick charm--tho" Stella sings; Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.
Catch then, O! catch the transient hour, Improve each moment as it flies; Life"s a short summer--man a flower, He dies--alas! How soon he dies!
DESPAIR.
Condemn"d to nourish hope in vain, My breast shall never peace regain; The fair my soul ador"d the most, Is to my love for ever lost.
Another--yes--and must we part?--- Another triumphs in her heart: He tastes those humid lips, which I To taste, would gladly yield to die.
Distraction---she---of all possest, He sinks upon her snowy breast: He clasps her in his eager arms;--- He revels in her sweetest charms.
I hear each soft extatic sigh, I see her rapture closing eye; She meets---she crowns his fierce desire, My brain, despair and madness fire!