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institutions, no influences can be brought to bear upon art with the vivifying power of court patronage." We fully and firmly believe that these institutions are more favorable to a natural, healthful growth of art than any hotbed culture whatever. We cannot-(as did Napoleon)-make, by a few imperial edicts, an army of battle painters, a hierarchy of drum-and-fife glorifiers. Nor can we, in the life-time of an individual, so stimulate this branch of culture, so unduly and disproportionately to endow it, as to make a Walhalla start from a republican soil. The monuments, the pictures, the statues of the republic will represent what the people love and wish for,-not what they can be made to accept, not how much taxation they will bear. We hope by such slow growth to avoid the reaction resulting from a morbid development; a reaction like that which attended the building of St. Peter's; a reaction like that consequent upon the outlay which gave birth to the royal mushroom at Versailles; a reaction like that which we anticipate in Bavaria, unless the people of that country are constituted differently from the rest of mankind.

If there be any youth toiling through the rudiments of art, at the forms of the simple and efficient school at New York, (whose title is the only pompous thing about it), with a chilling belief that elsewhere the difficulties he struggles with are removed or modified, we call upon him to be of good cheer, and to believe-what from our hearts we are convinced of that there is at present no country where the development and growth of an artist is more free, healthful, and happy than it is in these United States. It is not until the tyro becomes a proficient-nay, an adept-that his fortitude and his temper are put to tests more severe than elsewhere-tests of which we propose to speak more at large on a future occasion. As a confirmation of the statements we have made, and in support of our view of them, we turn with pride and hope to Hiram Powers, as the most remarkable instance we have ever met with of a natural and healthful development.

Disciplined by his previous occupations to the exactest mechanical execution, he brought to his first effort in sculpture, a hand and eye, a gift from God and fruit of toil, which made his first effort in its walk a masterpiece. The series of portraits which came from his hand during the three or four years previous to his leaving this country are unparalleled by any modern works in that class, which we have seen. In the portraits of private citizens, he displayed the breadth of the classic models, united to the force, the evidence, and the unflinching exactness of the Daguerreotype. In his bust of Mr. ex-President Adams, he has given the type by which the forms of other portraits of that statesman will be tested; in that of General Jackson, the indomitable will and high purpose of the old hero are incarnate. His bust of Mr. Webster is perhaps his chefd'œuvre of portraiture. It has the individuality of Houdon's Voltaire united to the grand breadth of Chantry's Scott. Whether we regard the action of the head, the attitude of the features, or the detail of the forms, we find nothing wanting. Compare this Demosthenian bust with some of the lowering caricatures which libel the late Secretary, and you will see at once the difference between the grasp of genius and the shifts of mediocrity.

During several years past, a considerable portion of Mr. Powers's time has been devoted to a statue of Eve. This work will doubtless soon be sent to this country. We have seen it in the germ, in the flower, and in the full, rich fruit. It is worthy its author. We hope and trust that its exhibition here will not only confirm the fame which Italy has accorded to him, but will remove from his path in a foreign land some of the bitterest thorns by which the feet of genius are goaded in its march toward perfection. We will not believe that, even in these times, America will allow a man who has done so well, to be punished for his devotion to his art, and to be made to suffer from his love for those connected with him.

JACTA EST ALEA!

PLAY on! play on! the stakes run high,
The wine hath flowed right merrily,
And all of human bliss and wo
Seemed melted in its golden glow.
But now its genial power is past,
A darker spell around is cast,
Where two are sitting all alone,
Motionless as if turned to stone,
And each, to careless madness driven,
Plays, as unminding hell or heaven.
It was a painful sight to see
The crowd dispersing silently,
Weary at last of song and jest
Which could not fill an empty breast,
That sighed to feel, 'mid all its glee,
The emptiness of revelry.

"Twas sad to see the torches wane;
They flicker,-scarce enough remain
To light the two still seated there,
Their game all hope, and all despair.

Still deeper in the night it grew,
And all things wore a ghostly hue
Pale was the cheek so lately flushed,
The jest, the cry, the curse were hushed;

With hands which each more firmly clench-
With eyes which tears can never quench-
United not in love nor hate,

Bound, not by friendship nor by ire,
But by a wild and strange desire-

Seek they the secret of their fate.

The brow of one is frank and fair
Beneath a cloud of sunny hair,
Among whose gorgeous light and shade
A mother's hand to-day has played;
But now one gathering line it shows,
One track upon a field of snows,
And, like that track upon the plain,
Till all be gone, 'twill there remain.
The hidden beauty of his soul
His quivering features doth control;
And not from feverish miser thirst
Risks he his all upon the die,
But with a proud unquailing eye,
As one too brave to fear the worst,
Does he the throw of fate defy.

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He winneth much, he winneth all,
And still he tempts his rival on,
Although his every hope is gone,
And still, all pitiless, he smiles
Upon the victim of his wiles.

Heavy sums of gold are lost,
Fair estates, and gems of cost;
And, as each wild stake he gains,
Higher, higher still he strains,
Till at last a paper sealed

From his traitor breast he drew, And his smile a thought revealed, And his features' changing hue"Come, by this we stand or fall, Here with thee I risk my all."

"Thou off'rest me an unknown stake! So wild a leap I may not take."

"Stand then, but never try again

Thy courage with unfearing men."

"Come on, thou know'st I do not fear;
My fortunes lie all ruined here,

Take the poor remnant-wherefore not?
I can achieve a nobler lot."

With steady hand the die is cast,
And lost! well may it be the last!
All ashy grows the stripling's brow,
For his brave heart is beggared now;
His castled lands, and all beside,
Were little-he has lost his bride!
Oh mad, to think to give away
The heart that beats for thee alone!
Oh mad, to think thine evil play

Could make that guiltless heart thine own!
It may be crushed to nothingness,
Thou mayst destroy, but ne'er possess.

"I loved her well, and loved her long;
And thy success hath done me wrong.
Thou should'st have counted well the cost;
I am avenged, and thou art lost.'

The debt is cancelled, and the maid
Before the victor's feet is laid;
But the dear eyes are closed in death,
And the sweet lips resigned their breath,
To one beloved, who, on the ground,
Cold in her cold embrace is bound-
Two violets growing side by side
That perished ere the spring had died.

state.

THE MEDICAL PHILOSOPHY OF TRAVELLING.*

DR. JAMES JOHNSON, one of the authors quoted below, speaks of the "WEARAND-TEAR COMPLAINT," which means a condition of body and mind intermediate to that of sickness and health, but having a decided inclination to the former This morbus anonymus he considers incurable by physic; but notwithstanding its incurability, it no doubt makes much less work for the undertakers than for the doctors. It is obviously the result of the WEAR And tear of the living machine, both mental and corporeal; but it is much less the effect of over-exertion of the corporeal powers than of the thinking faculties, more especially if attended by anxiety of mind and the breathing of an impure atmosphere.

This disease, according to Dr. Johnson, predominates in London, while in Paris it is almost unknown. This difference is fairly attributable to the circumstance, that in London they make their pleasure consist in business, while in Paris the rule may be said to be reversed. The former state of things we observe in our own city of New York. The fatigue induced by the hardest day's toil of mere bodily labor, may be dissipated by

turbed slumbers, or distressing dreams, the unfortunate victim of high civilisation is doomed to rise, scarce less languid than when he lay down.

No sooner, however, does the permanent resident of a large city, laboring under this deterioration of health, which has been termed Cachexia Londinensis, leave the

"chaos of eternal smoke And volatile corruption from the dead, The dying, sick'ning, and the living world,"

than the etiolation or blanching, stamped upon the countenance, vanishes, and the glow of ruddy health usurps its place. As in the corporeal structure, different effects result from the dry and restless air of the mountain, compared with those evidenced in the moist and sluggish atmosphere of the valley; so, as regards the mental manifestations, the observation of the poet Gray is philosophically correct:

"An iron race, the mountain cliffs maintain,

Foes to the gentler manners of the plain.”

"Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy of civilisation outnumber the simple

sleep ;"

but not so with the thought and carethe fatigue of mind-which harass the constitution that has been overworked, intellectually and corporeally. The repose of the downiest pillow will be sought in vain. After a night of dis

In proportion as the mechanical arts contrivances of the savage, are the intellectual powers called comparatively into action; and in the same ratio is the susceptibility to moral impressions augmented. In proportion as man's relations with the world around him are multiplied, do we observe the deleterious influence of mental perturbations

Change of Air, or the Philosophy of Travelling; being Autumnal Excursions through France, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, and Belgium; with Observations and Reflections on the Moral, Physical, and Medicinal Influence of Travelling-Exercise, Change of Scene, Foreign Skies, and Voluntary Expatriation. By James Johnson, M. D., Physician Extraordinary to the King. London. 1831.

The Sanative Influence of Climate; with an Account of the Best Places of Resort for Invalids in England, the South of Europe, &c. By Sir James Clark, Bart., M. D., F. R. S., Physician in Ordinary to the Queen, and to the Prince Albert. London. 1841.

The Climate of the United States, and its Endemic Influences; based chiefly on the Records of the Medical Department, and Adjutant-General's Office, United States Army. By Samuel Forry, M. D. New York. 1842.

The Northern Lakes, a Summer Residence for Invalids of the South. By Daniel Drake, M. D., Professor in the Medical Institute of Louisville. Louisville. 1842.

on his physical frame; as, for example, the functions of the digestive organs and nervous system generally. If we look around us in this vast city of New York, we observe on every side an intensity of interest attached to politics religion, commerce, the arts, and literature; and, more than all, we behold that intense anxiety of mind attendant on the speculative risks by which the pecuniary affairs of a large majority of the community are kept in a state of perpetual vacillation.

These observations are fully confirmed by the results of statistical evidence. Affections of the nervous system, frequently implicating the mental manifestations, as well as typhus and typhoid fevers, occur oftener in large and crowded towns than in the country, and much more frequently than in states of society not completely civilized, effects resulting from a confined and impure air, co-operating with the exhaustion arising from dissipation or mental exertion, the luxuries of refinement, and the excitement of the various passions and moral emotions. According to Mr. Farr, as shown in a letter appended to the First Annual Report of the Registrar-General of Great Britain, in which a comparison is made among seven millions of persons, one-half of whom dwell in towns and the other half in counties, the mortality from epidemic diseases and disorders of the nervous system is doubled by the concentration of population in cities. In towns, as compared with counties, the mortality from consumption is increased thirty per cent.; from childbirth, seventy-one per cent.; and from typhus, two hundred and seventy-one per cent. The great marts of commerce have been truly designated "the sepulchres of the dead and hospitals of the living."

This" wear and tear" of both the physique and the morale, in city life, is indeed obviously perceptible, wherever art, science, or literature-the handmaids of civilisation-spread their potent influence. It may be detected by the experienced eye at a single glance, in the court and the cabinet, at the bar and at the altar, in the theatre and the counting-house; in fine, in almost every habitation of our busy commercial metropolis. In the universal pursuit of happiness, man is continually aiming at improving his condition; and as the means of accomplishing this great object

is supposed to exist in headwork, there is a general and unquenchable thirst for every species of knowledge. Believing that "knowledge is power," this emulation of intellect has always been a striking feature in the higher pursuits of literature and science, as divinity, law, medicine, and politics; but now the same trait-the working of the brain in preference to the hand-characterizes, in various degrees, every art and vocation, from the most delicate and refined to the most gross and mechanical.

That purely literary pursuits, however, are not unfavorable to long life, seems to be now an admitted axiom, no matter whether they call into action the memory, the imagination, or the judgment. This conclusion has been deduced from extensive tables, showing the average duration of life among the several classes of the community. Natural philosophers would seem to have the fairest prospect of longevity. By Dr. Madden, however, it has been inferred, but upon grounds which are far from unobjectionable, that in those literary occupations in which the imagination is most vigorously exerted, the wear and tear are comparatively great. But these literary pursuits, it is generally believed, cannot be prosecuted with the same impunity in the young as in the adult. Intense study, before the organs have undergone their full evolution, may, it is easy to conceive, lead to great energy of nutrition in the brain, and to faulty development in other parts of the body. This, however, happens but very rarely; the impaired health of the studious, instead of being directly induced by disorder of the brain, being generally referable to collateral circumstances. Nevertheless, the opinion of the morbific agency of great intellectual application is one that prevails almost universally, both among the learned and illiterate; and, indeed, a host of names might be enumerated, who have been regarded as martyrs to literary glory. But should even self-immolation be thus voluntarily incurred, that is, by the too intense and protracted mental application in a constitution unusually excitable, the mourning relative happily never fails to find a soothing pleasure in the melancholy reflection, that the unfortunate victim was pursuing a path bright with honor, and one which, especially in youth, has

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