console themselves with the fact that the fascination of a woman does not depend upon the color of her eyes, or the shape of her nose, or upon her mere personal form at all. Merely beautiful women are apt to put up their charms at too high a price, and consequently find no bidders.

A natural desire and power of pleasing, that come from good nature, are more fascinating and more lasting than all surface charms. With such attractions, a woman may reasonably hope, like Ninon De l'Enclos, to inspire an affection at fourscore.

66 AND a teacher, madame,” said I, to the A English-speaking Frenchwoman with whom I had just concluded an arrangement for a room and breakfast.

"I will speak to an old friend on the subject, can I be of further service?" "Many thanks, no."

I sent for my baggage from the Hotel des Etrangers, and wandered about Paris, extremely amused and charmed with novelty, but bitterly and continually conscious of the inferiority of ignorance. On that day, for the only time in my life, I envied, not magnificence, nor genius, but the volubility of two ragged urchins.

At nine, next morning, I heard a tap at the door, and upon my "Come in," followed a man of seventy.

"Madame G. informs me that you need lessons in my language. I can devote to you two hours in the morning. Do you think three francs too much?"

66

By no means; shall we begin?"

We did, and in the eagerness of acquisition, at first, I scarcely looked at my teacher; but it is impossible to consort long with a fellow-being, without some curiosity; and I soon remarked his thin long white hair, his threadbare dress of faded brown, and his expression, not of satiety, disappointment, or bitterness, but of utter weariness; that of a slave staggering under a burden of which he dare not complain. I frequently pressed to finish my task, in order to converse with him; but, though he always answered intelligently, he never passed the limits of a mere answer. Several times I was late at our appointment, but even to my excuses he merely bowed. A month had thus passed. One morning he did not come, nor the second; on the third he entered. His usual look of fatigue was deepened into that of utter exhaustion. I noticed that a black cravat had taken the place of the usual check.

Contrary to his habit, he spoke in French, and rapidly, regretting his unavoidable absence.

"Let us make up for lost time," said I, gayly. He was sorry he could no longer be of service to me. This was strange; but his age and poverty forbade me to ask a reason, and I repaired to my landlady for the explanation.

He had been a professor in a college, easy in his circumstances, and happy in a family; had been deprived of his place, had lost his fortune, and had seen his family drop one by one, dwindled to a single grandson. That boy he educated and supported by the precarious chance of English lessons, and two days ago, his grandson died.

"Did you observe a black cravat? C'était son mieux: he probably has only the sum you paid him to bury his boy."

A thousand times since I have reproached myself for not relieving, by some little ingenuity, that worst of human woes, the destitution of pride; but, in the thoughtlessness of youth, the story of the poor gentleman was soon stamped out of my mind by some other impression. Two weeks after I was strolling in the Tuileries on a sunny noon. The gardens at that hour are merely tenanted by nurses, children, and stragglers. Upon one of the benches (chairs are a sou) I saw an old man with an open book. He had not turned a leaf for five minutes. I drew near from some feeling of curiosity, and recognized my teacher. I addressed him in English; he neither replied nor looked up; his mind was too far away to be recalled by a sound unconnected with his recollections. I then ventured upon a "Bonjour, monsieur;" he rose, bowed, and sank again into his seat. I wanted to speak but could not; my heart sickened and my throat swelled at the sight of grief. impatient of sympathy, and, like Rachel, refusing to be comforted. hopes of existence were not merely dead in the old man, but buried, and a stone rolled over the mouth of the sepulchre. In presence of such a grief who could babble condolence? Not I.

The

Day after day, during a week, I returned at the same hour to the Tuileries, with the vague hope of doing something— I knew not what-for the old man; but I never saw him again.

I mentioned the subject to my hostess. "Fortune has at last been kind," said

she.

"How?" said I eagerly. "He died three days ago."

HORATIO GREENOUGH was born

in Boston, Massachusetts, on the 6th September, 1805. He was put early to the best schools that were to be found in or around Boston. A strong, healthy, active boy, he excelled in athletic games, in running, jumping, swimming. He was also distinguished by fondness for literature, and a facility in committing English poetry to memory. Already in boyhood came out in marked prominence the ruling talent of his richly endowed nature. With such skill, and such taste in form and ornament, did he carve toys, cimeters, pistols of wood, that when detected at this employment in school hours, the ingenuity and beauty of his work so surprised his teachers, as to draw from them praise instead of the accustomed reprimand.

In his father's garden stood a marble statue of Phocion, a copy from the antique. This being constantly before his eyes, first bred in him a desire to attempt something in sculpture. His first efforts were in chalk. When he was yet only twelve years of age, a gentleman of Boston discerned so much merit in a copy he was making in chalk of a bust of John Adams, by Binon, that he took him to the Athenæum, and obtained for him, from Mr. Shaw, the director, free access to its valuable collection of engravings.

He was fortunate, as beginners seldom are, in the connections and influences of his boyhood and youth. His nascent genius for art was not thwarted, it was fostered. One gentleman, Mr. Solomon Willard, taught him to model in clay; another, Mr. Alpheus Cary, to cut marble. And best of all, his father, perceiving how strong was his bent, consented that he should make art and sculpture his chief study; only stipulating, with an enlightened judgment, that he should at the same time receive the best general instruction that could be obtained, and that therefore he should graduate at Cambridge. Accordingly he entered Harvard University in 1821, at the age of sixteen.

Drawing, modelling, anatomy, books on art, these now absorbed most of his time. But what was of greatest value to him while at Cambridge, was the friendship of Allston. In a letter to Mr. Dunlap, inserted in the "History of the Rise and Progress of the Arts of Design in the United States," and dated Florence, December 1st, 1833, Mr. Greenough speaks as follows of Mr. Allston, and another friend whom he made during his college course:-"Mr. Cogswell," who was at

that time librarian of Harvard, and is now librarian of the Astor Library, "contributed perhaps more than any one to fix my purpose, and supplied me with casts, &c., to nurse my fondness for statuary. Allston, in the sequel, was to me a father, in what concerned my progress of every kind."

Towards the close of his senior year, he was permitted by the government of Harvard to leave college before the conclusion of the last term, without forfeiting his diploma, that he might avail himself of the opportunity of a vessel about to sail to Marseilles, to proceed to Italy. He reached Rome in the autumn of 1825. Surrounded by the unique incitements and facilities of that vast treasure-house of Art, he entered zealously on the course of study and labor that he had planned under the advice of Allston. But he had scarcely been in Rome a year, when his studies were suspended by a severe attack of illness, caused by the malaria. This obliged him to return home, and he arrived in Boston restored to health by the sea voyage.

After remaining a year in America, during which time he made busts of several distinguished public men in Washington, he returned to Italy, and took up his abode in Florence.

Now began the tug of life. He was ready and eager for work, but no work came. Taste for art had hardly yet begun to be diffused in the United States. The names of a few native painters were occasionally heard, Allston at the head of them; but even he was not yet appreciated. Sculptors there were none. Greenough first broke ground in this rich field. He had to brave the perils of a discoverer, to bear the hardships of a pioneer. A the hardships that beset the artist may be included in one-the hardship of not getting work. Boccaccio says: Fortune

has a hundred eyes; only fools call her blind." As she had done in his boyhood, she fixed her eyes again on Greenough. Another friend was about to rise up at the moment of greatest need. James Fenimore Cooper arrived in Florence. He became acquainted with, and interested in the young American sculptor. Cooper had a large American heart. Perceiving the merit of Greenough, he held out to him a helping hand in the most helpful way. He ordered a group of him the Chanting Cherubs. When finished, he sent it to America to be exhibited. The effect he designed and expected was produced. The name of Horatio Green

concentrating the genial conclusions of a thoughtful life, write therewith in a few hours a triumphant refutation of Burke's Theory of the Sublime and Beautiful.

That Mr. Greenough should give his mind to painting and architecture, and the fundamental principles of all Art, was, with his eager nature, a necessity. But he also found time for literary study. He was not only a thorough master of Italian, which he spoke like a native, but of French, which he likewise spoke correctly and fluently; and latterly, during a residence at Gräfenberg, he taught himself German. Moreover, he took a deep interest in politics, and sympathized strongly with the recent great popular movement in Europe. He was a cordial Democrat. His sojourn abroad, during his whole manhood, strengthened him in republicanism, converting youthful inherited impressions into virile convictions. After living so long in Italy, under the yoked tyrannies of Prince and Priest, he seemed here on American soil to revel in liberty. To his friends it was an enjoyment and also a profit, to see him, on his return home eighteen months since, throw himself with such ardor into the great questions and interests of the day. He discussed them with the vivacity and directness of one whose appetite had been sharpened by long abstinence.

It was however to topics and things whereon the light of Art shines or ought to shine, that he most often recurred. A walk with him in Broadway or the Fifth Avenue, was a lively dissertation on architecture. He sought to have every where the beauty of fitness. He wished all products of man, like those of Nature, to be children of the marriage between Beauty and Utility. He liked to go into foundries; and then on coming out he would make drawings of iron fences, or bedsteads, or stoves. He had an earnest purpose to spread throughout the land a knowledge of how practical beauty is. He wished to give his country the benefit of his poetic perception, and of his life of study on the general applicability of principles of beauty.

But these his lofty aims were not to be fulfilled. He was only permitted to point public attention to this high matter. He had just made a brilliant beginning by two lectures in Boston, when he was suddenly cut off. The nervous fibre of genius often snaps from the very fineness of its texture and its hypervitality. So it was with Horatio Greenough. By his death, his country has lost one of her most gifted sons. An accomplished, aspiring, noble-minded man has passed from our midst. The gap he has left will be

slow to close. They who had the privilege of his friendship, have, in their memory of him, a dear image that will live with them undimmed through their remaining years; and long after all the friends who will carry his memory to their graves, shall have joined him in that spirit land where there are no struggles and no tears, will be visible the impress his genius has made upon his country.

As the appropriate conclusion to this insufficient record of his life and character, we append a catalogue of his works. CATALOGUE OF HORATIO GREENOUGH'S WORKS.

1. Mr. Greenough's first ideal work was a statue of Abel, modelled in Rome, in 1826, but never executed in marble.

2. Statue of Byron's Medora. For R. Gilmor, of Baltimore.

3. Group. The Chanting Cherubs. For J. Fenimore Cooper.

4. The Ascension of the Infant Spirit. A group of an Infant and Cherub.

5. Group. Portraits of two Children of David Sears, playing with a squirrel.

6. Statuette. The Genius of America. For J. Hoyt, of New-York.

7. Portrait Statue of Miss Grinnell, of New Bedford, (now Mrs. N. P. Willis.)

8. Portrait Statues of two Youths, sons of J. Thompson, of New-York.

9. Monument to Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs. For Miss Gibbs of Newport.

10. Statue of Washington, by order of Congress, for the Capitol.

The sum, twenty thousand dollars, voted by Congress, was intended to be an honest compensation for this work. The amount was the same as that paid by Massachusetts to Chantry for his statue of Washington, the size of life. Greenough, determined to spare neither time nor expense to make his work worthy of the country and himself, made it colossal (twice the size of life), involving an expense threefold beyond what it would have cost of the natural size.

The embellishments of the chair have a significance which often escape observation. The statuettes of Columbus, and an Indian Chief, supporting the arms of the chair, and the trident, have found favor as being so obviously illustrative of our country's history. But the bas-reliefs of the Rising Sun on Apollo's chariot on the one side, and the infant Hercules strangling the serpent on the other, are, by many, looked upon as mere "classical" embellishments, independent of the subject. Were they no more than this, they would be disfigurements instead of adornments. The artist originally designed to have inscribed two lines from an ode of

Virgil;-under the Apollo, Nunc nascitur lucidus ordo; and under the Hercules, Incipe, parve puer, cui non risere parentes. These verses would have interpreted the bas-reliefs. Greenough finally omitted them, because sculpture should speak its own language so distinctly as to need no aid from letters.

11. Child seated on a bank, intently gazing at a butterfly that has just lighted on the back of its hand. For a Hunga

rian nobleman.

For

12. Statuette of Venus Victrix. John Lowell, and presented by him to the Boston Athenæum.

13. Colossal Group, for the Capitol, by order of Congress.

This work, which was finished in July, 1851, occupied the artist eight years, besides a delay of four years occasioned by his not being able in all that time to obtain a block of Serravezza marble suitable to his purpose. It consists of four figures, a mother and child, an American Indian and the father. This group illustrates a phasis in the progress of American civilization, viz., the unavoidable conflict between the Anglo-Saxon and aboriginal savage races. The composition may be thus briefly described:-The mother has sunk in terror to the ground, clasping to her bosom the infant. Over her stands the savage, his tomahawk uplifted. Behind, the father, a stalwart pioneer, has just seized the Indian by both arms, with one knee planted on the hollow of his back. The firm grasp of the father satisfies the beholder that the savage is now powerless for harm. But words cannot adequately translate a sculptured composition. The huge mass of marble seems to writhe, awakening in the beholder conflicting emotions.

The figures of the mother and child were entirely remodelled in the years 1846 and '47.

14. Statue of the Angel Abdiel retiring from the assemblage of rebellious Angels; from Milton's Paradise Lost.

15. Monument to his friend Giusti, the Italian poet; erected at Pescia, Tuscany.

16. Bas-relief, representing an artist whose labors are suspended by the failure of the light by which he is working. He is seated in an attitude of pensive dejection, while a hand from a cloud supplies oil to the lamp.

This work, Mr. Greenough has been heard to say, was intended to record a fact in his personal history. At a time when he almost despaired of being able to pursue his studies in Italy, for want of funds, he received the loan of a large sum, without knowing whence it came. This bas-relief is a monument, as noble as it

is beautiful, at once to the generosity of his friends and to his own manly gratitude. It is now in the possession of George Ticknor, of Boston, to whom it was presented by Greenough, in recognition of the part which that gentleman had taken in the transaction.

17. Bas-relief of Castor and Pollux.

18. Greenough's last ideal work was a Venus, contending for the golden apple. It is of heroic size, that of the Venus of Milo. This statue was much admired in Florence, and Browning, the English poet, urged Mr. Greenough to send it to the World's Fair, in London.

It was modelled entirely in plaster of Paris (as was also the second group of the mother and child) by a new process. "The merit of this invention seems to be shared between Greenough and Powers. They commenced about the same time to make trials in this material, and by interchange of experiences and views the method was perfected. The gain to artists by this invention is two-fold; plaster of Paris does not expand like clay, and there is no need of the precarious and ex-, pensive process of casting."

Besides the above enumerated statues and bas-relief, he executed a large number of busts; among these were portraits of John Adams and of John Q. Adams, Henry Clay, Mrs. R. Gilmor, Josiah Quincy, Sen., S. Appleton, Jonathan Mason, Thos. Cole, the late celebrated landscape-painter, N. P. Willis, the Marquess Gino Capponi, for many years a personal friend of Greenough, and latterly Prime Minister of Tuscany. His last bust was one of his friend, J. Fenimore Cooper. This he executed last summer in Brooklyn.

In giving a list of Greenough's works, it should be recorded here, that he is vir tually the architect of the Bunker Hill Monument. While he was a student in Cambridge, a prize was offered by the Bunker Hill Association for the best design of a monument. The judges were Washington Allston, Gilbert Stewart, and Warren Dutten. There were many competitors, and they awarded the prize to Horatio Greenough. The project of erecting a monument was not carried into effect at that time; but when some years later it was resumed, his plan was in the essentials adopted.

Mr. Greenough was wont to speak of himself as a sculptor of few works; but the above list proves with what zeal and industry he devoted himself to his Art, that he could effect so much in the term of twenty-seven years.

Most of his works were executed at extremely low prices. For many years