(and so great), and satisfactory to himself and to his fellow-men. It is not the thing done, but the spirit of the man who does it, that God loves. Now it will be clear, therefore, that, to the pear-tree, it is necessary to bear pears, for that is its vocation, its purpose. It was for that, that the brown seed was dropped into the earth; that when the warm, bursting spring came, it sent down its delicate root, and pushed up its tender top, and unfolded its leaves, and stretched forth its branches, and, when the time came, elaborated its juices into buds enfolding blossomsfragrant promises of future fruit. It is right, therefore, for the peartree to bear pears. But, for a man, his duty is to furnish the tree with every possible facility and convenience, necessary for it to perfect its purpose; for the tree cannot do this for itself. He is to see that there is good soil, and that it is in good heart (not made over rich), and well dug and broken, so that the rays of the fructifying sun can enter it, and the gentle dews sink into it; then he is to plant the tree in it. And let him do that well-for trees are grateful; they like not to have their roots crowded into a small hole dug in a hard soil-no wellbred pear-tree will submit to such indignity, and many will die if so treatedbut rather into the mellow earth; spread out the roots, and press among them the genial mould, so that they kiss one anoth er; and plant not too deep, but so as to cover, with an inch of earth, the neck whence the roots branch; then sustain the stem with a slender stake, and the first work is done. Whoever has done this, will value the warm April sunshine and the soft April showers, and he will watch in the last of the month, till he shall see the unfolding buds; and then the expanding leaves, and the lusty shoots, wagging in the wind, will give him hope. In another year, he will wait for blossoms, and, when they come, he will be thankful. He will see to it that no marauding caterpillars fatten there, that no curculio whets his tooth in that first fruit; for he will walk in his garden in the fresh morning, in the shimmering noon-tide, and at the shady evening, and will feel that he has something to live for. He will be the providence of his pear-tree, and a worthy man. I shall always remember S. G. P., who at last found peace among his peartrees a Salem and repose. He was early driven forth, Ishmael-like, into the wilderness, as other men are, and was in danger of perishing for, was it not necessary, indispensable, to have much wealth, to be a merchant prince, and send forth ventures in ships? To other men, older men, it seemed so, and his rapid energies grappled with these weapons with which to fight the world; for other men and merchant princes were struggling to get what all could not have, and there were many obstacles to be overcome, and much competition. For years he worked like a lion, and knew no rest; he visited many lands and braved many seas, and for what? That he might secure, in his own hand, a larger share of the world's wealth, and so be pointed at as the man who owned much gold. But ships were lost, and fires ravaged, and agents were dishonest, that they, too, might have wealth; and the end saw S. G. P. a ruined man. When he was too old to reform his life, so as to work and not waste his energies, he remembered his father's garden and his pear-trees, and there he went, with a small income, to pass the evening of his days; and there he did pass it, in company with his two good daughters, and in communion with his "Louise Bonnes" and " St. Michels." To me it was a satisfaction to enjoy his satisfaction; for he was in harmony with his pear-trees, and they, knowing what he wanted, and knowing that he was right, tried to do as he wished, and grew well-as espaliers, pyramids, dwarfs, balloons, or standards. They resisted blights and frosts, blossomed timely, set well, and bore their fruits. It was a delight to see little fellows of three feet high, bearing up bravely their load of half a dozen Duchesses or Wurtemburgs, while stately standards stood and ripened their bushels of Urbanistes and Boscs through all the long summer suns. It seemed to me that they leaned to the old man as he walked among them, trimming a little here, praising thereand I do not doubt they had as much satisfaction in him, as he had in them; for he fully appreciated their virtues. Do not think the old man did this because he wanted pears. He could have bought one for a sixpence any day, and have sat down in the shade and swallowed it would that have sufficed? I trow not. No; he raised pears, as I said, because the trees must bear them, and it was his pleasure to give them every opportunity, which having done, the trees produced abundantly; and then the pears were eaten, because they had been created, not vice versa. many think it is a small thing to grow a good pear-tree, but it is one thing well done ; and I know richer men than S. G. P., who, so far as I am aware, have never been accused of doing even one. Ah! The Dutch doctor, Van Mons, was a creator of pears; and in his hand nature became a prolific inventor. It was his habit to sow the seed, to select from the young those which promised well, to graft them at once into bearing trees whose juices were rich, where they would make blossoms and fruit within three years from sowing the seed; for it is a curious fact, that the juices of the tree which really produce the fruit, have almost no influence upon the little graft upon which the fruit grows. From the fruits so produced, many good pears were given to the world by Dr. Van Mons. Now the doctor did this, not because he wanted pears, but because he wished nature to do all she could do, and he found a satisfaction in helping her towards completeness. One crowning use of pear-trees and pears is, that they furnish topics for talk, and are, in my opinion, fully equal to a "Bourbon," had we one amongst us. I have known many virtuous men who grew pear-trees (I am proud to say it), and I never knew one who enjoyed scandal or backbit his intimate friends the reason is plain-he had something better to talk about, in capacity quite infinite; for are there not Beurrés by the score? But no pursuit is perfectly safe from misfortunes, and pear-growing is not quite secure. Judge Buel once had a package of valuable pear-grafts sent to him from Paris, every one of which was choice and was labeled; but, sad to say, rats had eaten or damp had rotted the strings which bound them, and Beurrés were mixed confusedly with Bergamots. To my friend, J. T., the judge gave some of these grafts, and J. T. took them, as a man might a young elephant or a fine horse, not counting the cost. He grafted them into his trees, and in due time they bore delicious pears-but What were they?" No mortal man could tell their names, and many of them were new to us. From that day J. T.'s peace of mind was gone, and, it seemed, hopelessly gone; for no nomenclature could be certainly right. It was well for Judge Buel that he was snatched away before these grafts bore fruit, and, perhaps, J. T. was happier in soon following him. I alone remained, and, in the language of Mr. Samuel Weller, I may say: "I eats my melting pears vithout any names, and gets along werry well, indeed." I would have my money-making friends, and my political friends, and my verse-making friends, and my women-friends, consider of this thing, and then plant pear-trees, and grow pears, that so it may be well with them. And I would have those wise men who know what a little care and kind treatment will do with a pear-tree, and how it comes to strength, and beauty, and fruitfulness, when external circumstances are made favorable by them, I would have them consider what grand results might come from a little of such judicious care and attention, if applied by them to a poor boy or girl now and then, or to a man or woman struggling, in an uncultivated soil, with crowded roots, and bruised top. I would have them remember that the most capable and wonderful of all God's creations is MAN; and then I would have them not only cultivate pear-trees, but also cultivate men. survive that dignified and brilliant society; and nowhere in the country is evident more of the exclusiveness of a proud lineage than among its descendants. All the famous names associated with great landed estates in New York, with colonial distinction and revolutionary statesmanship, are identified with that old city. THE SCULPTOR OF ALBANY. "Memoirs of an MRS. GRANT'S American Lady" have preserved a charming memorial of olden times in Albany. The tone of manners, and the simplicity of life she describes, have the pure and cheerful spirit of the domestic and rural scenes delineated in the Vicar of Wakefield. Equality seems to have existed with the most genuine self-respect; Addison and Milton were the literary oracles; hospitality was too instinctive and habitual to rank as a virtue; abundant game and fruits, and universal thrift, with comfortable domiciles and ample domains, equalized the gifts of fortune; an honest chivalry of sentiment, choice though limited reading, the right kind of family pride, and no casual interest in the songs and sermons of the day, gave a refinement to minds and manners thus developed in a secluded region, where truth and individuality of character were fostered by the fireside and around the porch; the fairest scenes of nature appealed to the imagination; the most candid social intercourse elicited the affections; and even negro slavery became contented domestic servitude, patriarchal in its household comfort and loyalty. As the capital of the state, Albany, at a later period, gathered a select and honored circle of eminent lawyers, statesmen, and divines; and boasted more aristocratic families than any town of its size in the Union. The eloquence and acumen exhibited in the courts, the wit of the banquets, the intelligent conversation, and the deference to mental superiority, are traditional features of those times. Arguments are yet cited by venerable barristers, memorable sayings, original characters, the zest of a new Waverley novel, and the discussion incident to a fresh Bonaparte victory, live in the reminiscences of a few who A few superior professional men, and, in the winter, some eminent officials, still give a certain intellectual life to the place. The Rev. Dr. Sprague, with his urbane and reminiscent conversation, and most interesting collection of autographs, may charm away an evening, spared from parochial duties and the labor he so constantly bestows on a large biographical work, devoted to the American clergy of past generations; and at the state Library may be found, ever at his post, the guardian of its treasury of wisdom, the Flemish limner, in verse, of native scenery-Alfred B. Street. To the visitor of the present day, Albany, however, with these exceptions, offers little to distinguish it from other flourishing inland cities, save an influential political journalist, and some notable wire-pullers in the arcana of faction. With difficulty one finds a Dutch house, with quaint gables and broad stoop. A few old-fashioned mansions, however, with spacious front inclosure, where umbrageous shrubs and fine elms remind us of the rural aspect of the ancient settlement, and some lingering customs and celebrated names, are eloquent of the past. But the bustle of a mart, and the confusion of a railway dépôt, are more obvious to the passing traveler. It was, therefore, with little anticipation of so delightful a surprise, that I strolled forth to beguile two hours of a summer afternoon at Albany, while awaiting the train, and under the wing of the capitol discovered the studio of a sculptor, whose achievements and history are equally remarkable. Indeed, the mere fact that, by patient devotion to his art in his native state, without the least attempt to conciliate public favor, or the usual eagerness to study abroad, as the indispensable means of success at home, struck me as no common evidence of self-reliance. The commodious atelier and dwelling-house-fruits of his professional labors-plainly indicate that they have been successful, even according to the external American standard; but still more impressive is the fact that, brief as his career has been, and unaided by foreign and conventional appliances as has been his culture, a high ideal, a progressive taste, the most individual conceptions, and an execution scrupulous in its refinements, are Palmer's normal characteristics. I had scarcely crossed the threshold of Palmer's studio, when it seemed, as if by some magical process, Albany was transformed to Florence. The huge blocks of marble at the door, the workmen in the lower rooms engaged in blocking out from the same material the plaster-casts before them; a young man, of artistic look, giving the finishing touches to a child's statue; above, the clay model on which the sculptordressed in a blouse and cap, exactly like those Greenough and Powers used to wear-was intent, his height and air, as well as occupation, adding to the resemblance-made the scene a counterpart of those so often encountered in Italy while the entrance of one of the artist's young daughters, with dark hair and eyes, and a broad hat of Tuscan pattern, enhanced the illusion. The building and its arrangements were more like a studio, as that term is understood at Rome, than any edifice I had seen in this country; the method, order, and activity, the reproduction of favorite heads, and the different apartments each process approximately occupied, gave the impression of the art of statuary, pursued as a regular and lucrative business, for which the visitor is unprepared. To learn the antecedents of such an efficient and isolated votary becomes a natural desire; and the incidents of the sculptor's life are not less illustrative of the triumph of a native aptitude than of the success which is certain to attend merit in a free land. The first work in marble that excited high anticipations of Palmer's future triumphs in sculpture, was a head known as the Infant Ceres. It was modeled from one of his young children-a lovely girl-and idealized with strict regard to nature as a basis. The exquisite contour and sublimated infantile expression of this bust attracted a crowd of delighted gazers at the N. Y. Academy Exhibition: the conception proved a remarkable eye for beauty, while the finish indicated an exactitude and refinement of chiseling. Next came two basreliefs representing the Morning and Evening Star, in the form of two beautiful winged heads, one with drooping, and the other with intent eyes; and soon after he produced the "Spirit's Flight," in similar style, but of yet higher poetic significance. The mother looks earnestly upon the cross, and the child is full of graceful simplicity-two ideal busts of such lovely impressiveness that they seem conceived in the trance of beauty which wraps an enamored soul-such a personification of the chaste and tender attributes of grace and thought in woman's face as cling to memory and haunt imagination. There are two distinct species of artistic forms-one that instructs us in the difficulties and inspires us with admiration of creative genius. We deem the hour thenceforth memorable when it was first our lot to behold them. They constitute a standard of taste, embody a whole formula in the philosophy of the beautiful and the grand, and serve as landmarks in æsthetic experience: but we no more think of appropriating them, or desire to render the sensations they awaken permanent, than we wish to linger forever on a beach, enjoy a monopoly of the sunset, or have a waterfall at our threshold. Such are the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, the more elaborate miracles of color bequeathed by Titian and Rubens, the Cathedral wonders of England, the Sphinx, the Campanile of Brunaleschi, and other monuments, whose interest, however powerful, is enshrined in local, historical, or rare associations: they are sublime generalizations or specific exemplars, invaluable, unique, and broadly suggestive. Another class of works have an endearing individuality. Wo love them, as Desdemona did the Moor, "to live with them;" and would fain look upon Ithem in the familiar admira |