VOL. I. THE EVERGREEN. OCTOBER, 1840. DESCRIPTION OF THE "PRESIDENT" STEAM SHIP. The President, (Lieutenant Fayrer, R. N., Commander,) was built at Limehouse, on the Thames, by Messrs. Curling and Young, for the British and American Steam Navigation Company, who are also proprietors of her sister ship the British Queen. She was launched on the 9th December last; and as her engines were in progress of construction in this town, (her destined port on this side the Atlantic,) she was brought round, under canvas, by Captain Keane, now her second, or "commanding officer," a gentleman of great experience. She anchored in the Mersey on the 224 of February last, after a boisterous passage, during which, though but "steam-rigged," she showed such excellent sailing qualities, that, to employ a seafaring phrase," she beat every thing she came across." "" Her extraordinary bulk, fine proportions and general appearance, have since rendered her an object of curiosity and wonder. No. 10. steering-geer is of a novel and much-improved description, combining security with facility to the two helmsmen generally employed, one of whom would, in most instances, be sufficient to guide her immense bulk through the weltering element. Independently of her roomy cabins, the President presents peculiar advantages for what may be called the "out-door" airing and exercise of passengers. Being frigate built, she has a spare deck, affording an uninterrupted and level promenade along her whole length above board-the pedestrian having but to walk nineteen times over the "ground" to accomplish a mile! The main deck below this also presents, in stormy or rainy weather, a considerable length of sheltered walk on each side; shorter than the other, indeed, only by the length of the quarter-deck and forecastle. We now come briefly to notice THE CABINS. The Saloon.-This room is under the forepart of the quarter deck, and occupies the full breadth of the ship. It is nearly square, being 28 feet in length by 34 feet athwartships. The model of the President is universally admitted to com- The height to the beams, which are rendered ornamental, is bine all that fineness of bottom which is requisite for fast sail-7 feet 8 inches, being the height throughout between the main ing, with those bearings and rotundity above which will enable deck and the spar deck. This spacious apartment is finished her to carry a large cargo, independent of her coals and stores, in the Tudor style of Gothic. There are four doors, two from and render her a safe, dry, and comfortable sea-boat. She is the main deck, and two from a wide passage or corridor, leada medium, indeed, in construction, between the fast-sailing ves- ing to the stern. The tops of these entrances are pointed sel and the fast steamer, and has already agreeably dissipated arches. On each side there are sofa fixtures, upholstered in the doubts of some, by proving herself A 1 of the latter class. embossed crimson velvet. The walls are enriched with narShe is painted in man-of-war style, with gun-ports, and is rew Gothic panels, of a delicate tint, and the stiles or mulhandsomely rigged, as what is termed a three-masted schooner; lions are raised in alto, in grained oak, a pointed floriated with a foremast, fore-topmast, and top-gallant-mast, like that arch being formed in bold carved work at the top of each. of a ship. Her bow is finely thrown out, and terminates in The cornice is embattled, and as it projects from the wall, has a boldly-carved figure, of almost Colossal dimensions, of the a fine effect. The whole of this oak work strongly resembles immortal "Washington," the hero of North American Inde- in style, that in several of our cathedrals and antique churches. pendence. Her stern is projective, and finely formed to with- A cheerful light is poured in not only from the middle of the stand a sea-way. It has large windows of plate glass, and deck, but from four windows as large as port-holes-two on is ornamented with carved work, as are the quarter galleries. each side—each glazed with a single plate. There are four Over the windows are the united arms of England and Ameri- sideboards, in recesses near the corners. An oblong mirror ca, quartered in heraldic shields, supported by the Lion of the is inserted behind each of these, giving it a "double" effect. one country, and the Eagle of the other, and also by emblem- Above these there are three gothic panels, similar to those in atic female figures. The paddle-boxes are comparatively the room; and in the middle one in each is inserted a small slightly raised above the bulwarks, and the small portion of oil painting or portrait of an American worthy ;-General the circle which is elevated being painted white, the sheer is Washington, the present President, and two others. Four uninterruptedly embraced by the eye; and the general ap- tables are ranged in parallel lines along the floor, with sofa pearance of the vessel, when her side is viewed, particularly seats. Here upwards of a hundred individuals may sit down now that she is set down in the water, is that of a first-class to the festive board. The side windows form thorough lights, frigate of extraordinary length, under jury or temporary masts. and afford a view of sea or land as the vessel dashes on her The following are the dimensions and capacity, power of course. Adjoining the saloon, and forming two wings to it, engines, &e. of the President: Ft. In. on each side of the entrances from the main deck, and enterLength over all, from taffrail to figure head.................273 0ing from them, are the steward's two pantries, replete with Beam within the paddle boxes ..................................... 41 Breadth from outside of paddle boxes...................... 72 the splendid plate, and glass and earthenware, &c., of the Depth of hold... ship, requisite in the serving up of the good things of this life .......................................... 30 0 Height between the main and spar deck.............................. 8 6 to the passengers. A portion of the panel work, like a secret Height between lower and main deck (both flush).. 4 7 8 door, opens from each of these into the saloon, for the convenience of the waiters. ..2366 tons. Capacity for stowage of goods, after receiving her coals, stores, &c... ....800 to 900 tons. The Principal Corridor.-This wide passage or corridor, Engines—two of 270 horse-power each............540 horse-power. extending from the saloon to the stern of the vessel amidMuch pains have been taken, and no expense spared, to ships, and well lighted from the roof as well as by several render the President a crack ship. In the quality of the large windows in the stern at the further end, is one of the materials, and in fidelity of workmanship, she is equal to most interesting parts of the ship. It forms an interior proany of her Majesty's ships of war. In addition to a strong menade, and on each side are the principal state rooms or frame, solid to the bilge, she is diagonally fastened fore and dormitories, two deep between it and the sides of the ship, aft, with iron, copper, and wood, in a manner, which, (as we and accessible by passages topped by pointed arches divergstated in a former account) would seem to put at defiance ing from it at right angles. The style of the corridor corresthe rudest assaults of the ocean wave. She is fitted up with ponds with that of the saloon; but it is more highly enriched. all the modern improvements, in pumps, tanks, and other ap- It is divided at each side into five compartments, between purtenances, and not a few of a novel compact and useful de- each of which there is a mirror within a gothic panel. These scription. She is also divided into water-tight sections, (as ten large compartments are filled up with oil paintings, exeare most of the iron vessels constructed by Mr. Laird,) so cuted on canvas, in such a manner as to resemble the fine that the springing of a leak would be attended with compara-illustrative of the life, early aspirations, adventures, discovtapestry of olden times. The whole of the ten pietures are tively little danger, and would be readily overcome. Her eries, and subsequent misfortunes of Christopher Columbus. 4. His conference with Juan Perez Marcheza, and the phy- 5.-1492. His joyful discovery, from the high stern of his vessel, of the land, on the 11th of October of this year. He sailed on the 3d of August. 6-The landing on the 12th of October, 1492, at San Salvador, one of the Bahama Islands. He offered up thanksgiving, his crew humbling themselves at his feet. The naked and painted savages regarded them as visiters from the sky. 7. His entry into Barcelona 1493, on his triumphant return to Spain. 8. His condescending reception by Ferdinand and Isabella. 9.—The arrest-after, through evil counsellors, Ferdinand had him brought back in chains. 10. The return in 1500. His arrival at Cadiz in chains. As a historical reminiscence it may be added, that Columbus was born in 1445-6, at Genoa, and died at Valladolid on the 20th of May, 1506, in poverty and neglect. Such are the events in the life of the great discoverer of the New World which the artist has selected; and he has executed his task with a strict adherence to historical truth.The vraisemblance of the hero is remarkably well preserved throughout all his vicissitudes of circumstance, and the characters who surround him are well and boldly portrayed. The whole give the corridor the appearance of a picture gallery, and the contemplation to which it leads is most appropriate in a transatlantic steam-ship. The Ladies' Retiring Cabin.-At the further end of the principal corridor there is a large and lofty room on each side, handsomely papered and carpeted, and lighted from large windows in the stern. One of these is the retiring cabin for the ladies. From their height being comparatively greater than that of the saloon, in proportion to their size, they resemble rooms on shore, and being close abaft, afford a quiet and secluded retreat. The State or Sleeping Rooms.-These are larger, and consequently more commodious than those generally found on board of our larger passenger ships; and they are fitted up with every regard to comfort. Owing to the necessity even in a large ship of economising room, the usual plan has been adhered to of having two beds, one over the other, in each.We hope yet, however, to see the day when, though the sleeping rooms may be made smaller, each passenger will have his or her sanctum sanctorum. As it is, the President's state rooms are fully equal to any we have seen. They are moreover altogether apart from the saloon, which is considered an advantage. The corridor, and small lobbies leading to them from it, give the whole the appearance of the upper story of a large and splendid hotel. ment for servants. In all, from 120 to 130 persons may be comfortably "lodged and boarded." FORE DINING-ROOM.-This is a handsome room, erected on the spar-deck, between the paddle-boxes, and is consequently one of the most airy and "commanding" apartments in the ship, as regards the view. It is about 32 feet long and 13 in width. Continuous with it, in front, is the steward's room, from the centre of which rises the funnel, and further forward, of a half oval figure, is the smoking room, in which those may disport who delight to inhale the fumes of "the fragrant weed." ERECTIONS ON THE MAIN DECK.-On this deck, in the middle, passing from the saloon forwards, are two commodious rooms (a sitting and sleeping room) for the head engineer, and adjoining these, similar accommodations for the first officer, furnished with desks, &c. Further forward there are three distinct galleys, or cooking houses, one for each cabin, and one for the crew. These are provided with cabouses, or coppers, of the most approved construction. There are also separate establishments for the butcher, the baker, and the pastry cook. On each side of this deck, forward, there are the cap tain's private room, of a good size, and opposite to it a similar one for the second and third officers. Further aft are rooms for the providore, the engineers, and others connected with the ship. Under the forecastle, on this deck too, are two large rooms, reaching to the bow, for the seamen, fitted up in an ingenious and excellent manner, to insure air, cleanliness and comfort. Every man has his sleeping berth and his drawers and locker, with locks and keys below for his clothes, so that the lumber of sea chests is altogether avoided. The officers are as proud of these rooms as of any in the ship. There are a number of other conveniencies, including cel lars, store-rooms, luggage-rooms, baths, &c., which it were superfluous to particularise. Suffice it to say that everything is contrived to render complete the huge hotelerie which we have endeavored to describe. The Engines.-To scientific individuals, the stupendous engines of the President, the largest ever yet made, and their working, while at sea, with a ceaseless power which may be considered sublime, are objects of interest, and induce fre quent visits to the engine-room. The frame-work of these gigantic machines is in the Gothic style; the castings are all beautiful and ornamental; and the polished iron and brass admirably finished, like a piece of fine clock-work. They were built by our celebrated townsmen, Messrs. Fawcett, Preston & Co. The following are some statistical particulars: Diameter of cylinders......... Stroke...... Weight of cylinders Boilers, each The recent Trial Trip.—A gratifying proof of the admirable sea-going qualities of the President was afforded by her recent trial trip to Cork and Dublin, and back to this port. A party of about fifty gentlemen was on board, and all were highly delighted with the accommodations, and the easy mo tion of the ship, as well as her extraordinary speed under the disadvantages of new, and, consequently stiff engines, and a generally heavy sea-way and head wind. Had there been three times the number of passengers on board, all would have found "ample scope and verge enough," in her saloons and on her spacious decks. It was, indeed, quite a treat to tread the spar deck as she bounded along.-the rocky and ro mantic shores of Ireland, or when out of sight of land, overhauled and rapidly passed even smart sailing ships, that had not the advantage of that "iron-pent potentate-steam." The following is a statement of the rate of going: The Lower Corridor and Sleeping Rooms.-Below the rooms just noticed there is another, or lower story, corresponding in almost every particular, with the exception of the paintings, and there having a scantier "supply" of light, which, however, is admitted sufficiently for practical purposes, even in the berths, from the ship's sides. This corridor is lighted from oblong openings in the middle of that above, and which are surrounded by handsome railings. It extends forward, as do the sleeping rooms on each side, under the saloon; and that part of it is lighted from immense thick squares of glass, inserted in the middle of, and level with the floor of the saloon, immediately below the deck light, and From Liverpool to Cork, by a devious which have, from above, the appearance of sheets of ice.The rooms are as lofty and well furnished as those above, and those at the sides of the ship have each a side light which may be opened or closed at pleasure. These near the centre of the vessel, in both stories, have larger windows to the respective corridors. There is a most convenient and handsome light spiral staircase leading from the quarter-deck down to the corridors and also to the after entrances to the saloon. THE FORE CABIN is of considerable size, and well painted. It is surrounded with sleeping rooms not inferior to those abaft, and here 40 or 50 passengers may be accommodated. In the fore part of the vessel there is also a cheerful apart course to give the shoals a clear birth, ............ Total.. Average No. of Miles. Hours, knots per hour, about 300 33 91-11ths 170 18 9 4-9ths 124 9h. 52m. 124-7ths .594 60h.52m. Or about an average throughout of 9 nautical miles an hour. On one occasion only (in coming from Dublin) was any sail great-13 knots-that it was found on clewing all up, that set, but the wind was so light, and her speed at the time so she had gained only half a knot an hour by her canvass, as she still made good 13 knots. After passing Holyhead, on her return voyage she frequently ran 134 and 14 knots, and when near the Formby Light-ship she accomplished 15 knots by the line! It is, however, to be remarked, that the ship was comparatively light at the time,-though, from her fine bearings and breadth aloft, we do not expect she will ever be what is termed very " deep in the water." The after cabins and saloon were designed and executed by Mr. W. Simpson, of the Strand, London; the fore cabin by Messrs. Humble and Milcrest, in the joiner work, and the painting of this and the other parts of the vessel by Mr. White, both of our town. doubtful at him, as if willing to deprecate the censure he might pronounce on the work. Torretti examined it, well pleased, and said with unwonted complacency, "Excellent, my good Antonio; and as to day is a holiday, you may devise something out of the block of marble you received not long ago. If you succeed, you shall make a present to our noble patron, Signor Falier.' The boy smiled archly, and leaving the studio for a few moments, returned, carrying in his hands a beautiful basket of flowers, sculptured in the marble with astonishing skill.— Torretti started with surprise, and asked-" Whose is this The following are the names of the present officersLieut. R. J. Fayrer, R. N., Commander, formerly of the work?" "Liverpool" steam-ship. Mr. Kean, First Officer. These doubts must be entirely dissipated by the first performance of this noble vessel. She is steered with the comparative ease of a yacht, even in a heavy sea-way, and may be worked through narrow and intricate channels with equal ease. A more easy or finer sea-boat it is impossible to conceive. There is no laboring, no pitching and rolling to an extent to cause uneasiness. All is steady, dry, and comfortable; and in point of space, convenience, and ventilation, she cannot, we think, be surpassed. ANTONIO CANOVA. BY MRS. E. F. ELLET. CHAPTER I. THE sun was shining brightly on the morning of a holiday; a happy day for the inhabitants of Pagnano, a small village in the Venetian territory. Though yet early, the artisans and shopkeepers, their labors suspended, were conversing in groups in the streets, or setting off on excursions of pleasure. The peasants were idly gazing about, whistling, or humming cheerful songs. But it was seldom holiday in the studio of Giusappe Bernardi, surnamed Torretti. He had lately removed from Venice, and as he wrought for gold as well as fame, and was advanced in years, he never felt the want of recreation. It was otherwise, however, with the youthful disciple, he had, | some time before, at the request of Falier, a Venetian senator then at his country seat, received into his studio. The old man had promised not only to instruct him in the art of statuary, but likewise in the strict virtues which, as he wisely said, youth is apt to hold too lightly. And strictly as age and experience are wont to guard the unwary against peril, Torretti attended to the conduct of his young pupil; keeping him at work during the day, while his evenings were passed in his own quiet home. "Tis for thy good, Antonio," he would say, when he fancied the boy pined in secret at his severity, "and this thou wilt one day acknowledge." His words proved true; from many a snare and sin, in after life, did the "Mine!" replied Antonio, repressing his triumph. "I have wrought it, dear master, at intervals, and wished to sur prise you. I have yet another." And going out, he brought in a second basket-of fruit-executed with such rare and admirable ingenuity, that the delicate leaves and fruits cheated even the touch by their exquisite smoothness. Torretti was amazed. "Of your own modeling ?" The boy replied in the affirmative, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. "You are endowed with genius, my child!" said the old man, after a pause, during which he minutely examined the workmanship of the flowers and fruit. "It is God's gift, and be you thankful for it! To-morrow you shall go to the noble Falier with your present. And remember, in after life, when you enter, as I foresee you will, upon a career of fame -as you have begun with the innocence of flowers-so let the pure wreaths of virtue and piety flourish on your brow, even to your life's end, fresh as when first plucked in the gardens of childhood!" The good Torretti seldom, unless powerfully excited, indulged in metaphor; his doing so at present, was proof of the sincerity of his heartfelt praise. Antonio's eyes were suffused; a warm tear fell, bedewing the hand of his master, which he raised to his lips. "And now, ," said the old man, with more of tenderness in his manner than usual, "go, my lad, and walk an hour or The pure air and sunshine will revive you; for you have wrought too assiduously;" and here he remarked for the first time, the boy's excessive paleness. two. Antonio needed not a second bidding. His heart was full; he longed to seek out a spot of silence and loneliness, where he might feel his new-born happiness, It was not, indeed, his first dream of fame; often, at his work, he had given himself up to vague visions of the future, when a destiny nobler than the obscure one his birth promised, should dawn upon him, and the name of Antonio Canova be honored among men. But now-now that his first original work—a work on which he had spent so many hours of labor uncheered by the certainty of approbation-had succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations, had won the praises of the stern, severe Torretti-he felt as if the future was all his own! The first success-how encouraging to youthful enthusiasm! It may be doubted, if, in after years, when the monument of Pope Rezzonica, (Clement XIII,) was first displayed to the admiring gaze of the people, when princes and nobles heaped honors on him, and his name rang throughout Europe-his heart swelled with such exultation, as in this moment. The heavens seemed to him fairer and brighter than ever; the light breeze stirred the foliage with a cheerful whisper; and the wild birds, singing their snatches of melody far up in the sky, seemed to him but to echo the universal joy. He bent his course not toward the village, filled with sounds of mirth; but wandered over the meadows, and soon entered a lovely valley, where the cool air stirred freshly, and a mimic torrent threw itself from the green hill side, and then wandered along as quietly, as if it loved to linger in the embrace of the green turf. Young Canova seated himself by the side of the streamlet, in the shade of an oak whose roets were laved by it, and watched the play of the leaves and the long shafts as they dipped in the clear water, and rose again as if covered with pearls, in the sunshine. How long he lay there, absorbed in his pleasant reveries, he knew not; but the spell that Antonio was working at a bas-relief, after one of his mas-held him was broken by the sound of musical laughter. He ter's models. He was a lad who, from appearance, might looked up! directly above him, on the green bank, stood a have seen fifteen summers, but rather tall for his years, and group of gay girls, dressed like shepherdesses, with flowers slender even to fragility. He had features delicate yet strik- in their hands. He started up; he felt not a little of the ing; a broad, pale forehead, keen, sparkling eyes, and a small, bashfulness of boyhood at meeting with such unexpected finely-chiselled mouth, which was even more expressive than mouths usually are. It exhibited the utmost gentleness and modesty, united to enthusiasm and firmness of character. wholesome lessons of Torretti preserve his scholar. He finished the bas-relief, to which he was giving the last touch, and called then the attention of his master, looking company. "Oh, the pretty boy!" cried one of the laughing_group, holding out her hands to him, in spite of the " Fie, fie, Betta!" of her companions, who were trying to hold her back. “Have you lost any thing in the stream?" she continued, arching one of the prettiest mouths in the world to prevent her from bursting into laughter; "if not, come up here, and dance with us. Look-I will give you some flowers!" "I will join you!" cried Antonio, recovering his vivacity; why should he, who had kissed the hand of the noble Signora Falier and other high-born ladies fear a bevy of village maidens! He sprang up the bank, knelt gracefully down, and the fair hands of the queen of the shepherdesses wreathed her flowers in his brown locks, and he thanked her, and complimented her with a fluency to which the lovely contadina was quite unaccustomed. She was, in truth, the handsomest of the group, her symmetrical shape, the long dark ringlets floating over her fair shoulders, her bright eyes, and cheeks like the rose, captivated the heart of the young artist, who in the course of a few minutes, was as unembarrassed in her presence as if they had known each other from infancy. "Will you tell me your name, fair damsel ?" said he. "Betta Biasi, is my name; may we know yours?" "With all my heart; mine is Antonio Canova." "What! you are the lad, then, that works at statuary with Messer Torretti?" And with new wonder the gay maidens crowded about him, asking a thousand questions, to which Antonio was perfectly willing to reply; fascinated, as he was, by the bright eyes of his lovely shepherdess. The sensation was quite new to him; for he had scarcely heard of love.— For the rest of the morning he was devoted to her; and when, at length, he bade her adieu, and made bold to ask leave to kiss her, and she laughingly put her arms round his neck and kissed his boyish cheek, he trembled with strange emotion. He could have fallen at her feet and worshipped her as a divinity. Wild thoughts swam in his head as he went homeward; one defined resolution, however, he formed; to wit: that of declaring his passion to his grandfather, Pasino, and asking his consent to his marriage with this fair one so soon as he arrived at suitable years. To Torretti, he dared not speak of his love. Nor, a short time after, when the old man declared his intention of going to Venice, and wished his pupil to accompany him, durst Antonio offer a word of dissent. He parted from the lovely Betta, never to see her again 'till he saw her years afterward at Crespan, flourishing in beauty, but alas! married to another. Yet the vision which the sight of her had revealed to his spirit, never forsook him! The Beautiful was born in the imagination of the artist. As yet, ignorant of the antique, he was thus-thanks to the benignant conjunction of the stars!-brought to a guide less fallacious to Nature, and taught to look to her for his inspiration. In his first statue, the Eurydice, produced the following year, his noble ideal was shown to the world; and thus was the foundation laid of that glorious reform, Canova was destined to work in his art; of the restoration of simplicity and genuine taste in sculpture, which were then extinct in Italy. CHAPTER II. It was not yet sunrise on the morning of the 13th of October, 1822, when Paolo Zannini, a physician of some repute in Venice, ascended the steps of the house of Antonio Francesconi. Without previous knocking, he opened the door, and went softly up to a chamber, at the entrance of which he was met by his friend, Aglietti, with whom he held a whispered conference of a few moments. "He knows all-and is calm," said Aglietti, in answer to an inquiry of the other; "do not speak to him now." Zannini pressed his friend's hand, without reply, and entering the room, took his place in the silent, mournful circle that surrounded the death-bed of Canova. The dying sculptor was partially raised, and supported in the arms of his beloved friend, Paravia, who, with tender grief, bathed his cold brow, and by desire, administered to him some restorative drops, to give him strength to receive the blessed sacrament. "Give me," said Canova, in a faint voice" give me, that I may thus prolong the pleasure of remaining with you." And again, as if conscious that his strength was rapidly failing, he would repeat, "Good-very good-but-it is useless." The door again opened, and Crico, the ecclesiastic, entered. The circle parted; he approached the bed of the dy ing, and after the prayers, and a few words addressed to the departing one, he administered the sacrament. Canova could not retain his emotion. Tears flowed down his pale cheeks; and his heart-felt sobs gave evidence of the depth of his religious feeling. Though he looked back upon a life of purity and goodness, yet thus hovering on the verge of the grave, how solemn seemed the coming hour! The solemnity concluded, and the blessing of the priest bestowed, his strength seemed, for the moment, restored. He spoke affectionately and impressively to the friends around him. He spoke of the beauty and the glory of virtue; of the realities of religion; adverted to his past life with regret for his faults, and thankfulness that he had been preserved from deeper sin, counseling all to live so that they could meet death with joy. "All wept," says Cicognara-" he alone was glad." He gave thanks that he had been sustained, and was filled with pious resignation. "Theu, eh, Lord," were the last rational words he was heard to utter-"Thou, oh, Lord, gavest me the good I have enjoyed in this world; Thou takest it away; blessed for ever be Thy holy name!" The friends who had loved him through years, remained at his bed-side; but they heard his voice no more. The dying man sank into a lethargy-his eyes now and then partially unclosed, and his lips moved, but his mind evidently wandered. Frequently he murmured, in a low and gentle voice the words, "Anima bella e pura!" At length Paravia, who sat nearest him, gave an exclamation of alarm; a sudden convulsion passed over his features, but it was gone, ere Zannini reached the bed, and opening his eyes, Canova fixed them with an expression of tenderness on the face of his friend. He made a motion as if wishing to be raised up; and as Paravia obeyed the intimation, the same convulsion, but more slight, passed over his countenance, and again and again he murmured the mysterious words-"Anima bella e pura!" feebly stretching out his hands as if he would extend them toward some invisible object. Was there, indeed, present to the vision of his spirit, some being from a higher sphere, or was it that the "pure and lovely soul" about to quit its clay, was already blest in communion with his Maker! His friends crowded eagerly about the dying man; it was evident that the moment of dissolution was near; his pulse fluttered-his breathing grew shorter. It was at this awful instant that his countenance was invested with that singular radiance-that expression of more than mortal inspiration, never to pass from the remembrance of those who beheld it. "It was," says the author of "La Storia di Scultura," who was present, as if all the sublime conceptions of his life were visible in his face in that moment." It was no illusion; no religious respect to the illustrious departing; the bystanders saw and wondered at a glory such as his hand had never wrought, nor his mind ever before conceived! Zannini, in recording this phenomenon, attributes this expression to no supernatural influence; but to the habitual frame of a mind accustomed to indulge in visions of celestial beauty; to seize and embody the sublimest conceptions. The same allsubduing mental habits which prompts the expiring conqueror to murmur words of command, caused the last faltering words of the artist, and filled his countenance with that expression of beatitude and glory, not to be understood save by those who could sympathise with him. For some minutes this continued; but as the sun darted his first rays into the chamber, the wondrous expression passed away; his head sank slowly to the left; one deep breath parted his lips, and his earthly life was extinguished for ever. Thus died Canova, whose genius as a sculptor, was the reverse of that of Michael Angelo; for he excelled in ease and simplicity, in soft beauty and bewitching grace. He bore with him, in his death, the love of all who knew him—the grief of Italy-the admiration of the world. FIRST VIEW OF VENICE.-Three times already, and now for the fourth time, Venice has made a mighty, an irresistible impression upon me; one that baffles comparison. The objects that present themselves, and the thoughts and feelings that they excite, are different here from what they are in any other place in the world. Heaven and earth, life and death, the tasteful and the tasteless, the past, the present, and the future, meet here in a way peculiar to the place. Much is out of all rule, much contrary to all rule, but then there is so much that is beyond all rule. When the stranger coming from the Lido sees the palace of the Doge, the columns, the Piazetta, the Campanile, the Orologio, and St. Mark's, with the many other marvels rising from the sea; who is there, that, in such a moment of joy, surprise, and enthusiasm, can descend to criticise columns and the position of windows? THE CHAPEL OF THE INFANTICIDE. FROM THE GERMAN. Where the rocks rise up to heaven, The ocean flows in waves of blood; And frowns in ruins o'er the flood! And near the foot of that rock, lay A ruin old;-a house of stone, With casements falling in decay;The owlets home, neglected-lone! Around, the huts in ruin fall, (To mark the spot where ruin smil'd,) Where the dark curse hangs over all, Was heard the wailings of a child. "Tell me, beloved Father, why From this hut we thus are driven, Why from home, compelled we flyWhat offence has mother given? "Tell me, beloved Father, why You have pierced my mother's breast? When the tears coursed from her eye? Tell me why you cannot rest? "Tell me, beloved Father, why O say!-Why have I not been fed? That unto me,-(alas! poor I,) You cannot give a piece of bread?" That last request the Father awes― Compels his scorn, his fears excite, For well he knew himself the cause Of all their hunger, ruin, flight! Then did he curse himself indeed! "Thou art the cause, thy wife is dead! Thou art the cause, thou can'st not feed, Can'st not give this poor worm bread!" And ah! the Father dare not gaze Upon that pure appealing eye;— Back, from that mild angelic face, Would every curse reproaching fly. And now derangement's curse has come; He speaks of God in foolish glee: As with the boy he rush'd from home! "Come, I will seek for bread for thee!" Now up the steep with demon wrath, He bears the child from home afar. "O Father! see upon our path How beautiful the flowers are." Still upward urged, in sullen mood, Still would the child the Father greet. "Father, dost hear how, in the wood, The little birds do sing so sweet?" And he has reach'd that rugged height; Below him roars the foaming sea. "O Father! why so pale, so white? O Father! gaze not thus on me!" And yet the Father heats him not, Hears naught the child devoted saysBut from that high and rugged spot, Has raised to heaven his earnest gaze, "God thou hast nothing left to me Of house, or goods-of joy, or blissNor aught to bid this hunger flee; Know'st thou the bitterness of this? "And mankind point at me in scorn; O God! wilt thou this infant have? O God! to thee be his soul borne, There is no hunger in the grave!" He grasps that seeming passive worm, To fling him off in madden'd mood. But ah! that infant's grasp was firm,And both have fallen in the flood. And when the sea has sunk to rest, The bleaching bones of sire and child. And ye may hear that tale of blood, While standing on its rocky side. They call the pray'r room by the flood, "The Chapel of the Infanticide!" THE WIFE. Woman's love, like the rose blooming in the arid desert, spreads its rays over the barren plain of the human heartand while all around it is blank and desolate, it rises more strengthened from the absence of every other charm. In no situation does the love of woman appear more beautiful than in that of wife; parents, brethren and friends, have claims upon the affections, but the love of a wife is of a distinct and different nature. A daughter may yield her life to the preservation of a parent, a sister may devote herself to a suffering brother, but the feelings which induce her to this conduct, are not such as those which induce a wife to follow the husband of her choice through every pain and peril that can befal him, to watch over him in danger, to cheer him in adversity, and even remain unaltered at his side, in the depths of ignominy and shame. It is an heroic devotion which a woman displays in her adherence to the fortunes of a hopeless husband; when we behold her in domestic scenes, a mere passive creature of enjoyment, an intellectual toy, brightening the family circle with her endearments, and prized for the extreme joy which that presence and those endearments are calculated to impart, we can scarcely credit that the fragile being who seems to hold existence by a thread, is capable of supporting the extreme of human suffering; nay, when the heart of man sinks beneath the weight of agony, that she should retain her pristine powers of delight, and by her words of comfort and patience, lead the distracted murmurer to peace and resignation. Man profits by connection with the world, but woman never; their constituents of mind are different-the principles of thought and action are moulded variously, and where the character of man is dignified and ennobled, that of woman becomes reduced and degraded. The one is raised and exalted by mingled associations, the purity of the other is maintained in silence and seclusion. Woman was created by the great Giver of all good, as the help-mate of man; formed in a superior, though more delicate, mould-endowed with purer and better feelings-stronger and more exalted affections, to play a distinct character in the great drama of the created world; in fact, to reward the toil and labors of man. God made her not man's slave, neither to buffet the billows of the troubled sea of life, the jarring elements of public duties; and to share his pleasures, to console his troubled thoughts, to join with him in his joy, and exalt him in his happiness, by her participation, and to meliorate his griefs by kindness and endearments. Connection with the world destroys those other traits of feeling.She beholds man in all his aspects stalking abroad-the creature of evil-the slave of debased thoughts-the destroyer of innocence-the despoiler of all that is bright and beautifuland the scenes of guile, fraud and villainy that meet the eyes, that glances at every turn, gradually stifle the kindly feelings of woman, and at length destroy that unsophisticated purity of soul, or if you will, those feelings of romance, which are all best; and the most productive of happiness in the sex, which "Heaven made to temper man." POWER OF ELECTRICITY.-A salad of mustard or water cress, may be produced in a few minutes, by the assistance of electricity. The process is to immerse the seed for a few days previously, in diluted oxymuriatic acid, then sow it in a very light soil, letting it be covered with a metallic cover, and then bring it in contact with the electric machine. By the agents employed in this process, eggs, which require from nineteen to twenty days application of animal heat to hatch them-may be hatched in a few hours. Rain water, apparently free from any noxious animalculæ, in an hour may be rendered full of insects. |