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GERMANY may be considered the birth-place of that kind of engraving, which is performed with a view to its being printed on paper. It is difficult to fix upon the exact time of the discovery; but some of the first specimens of cuts were made on blocks of wood, and engraved on cards, as early as the year 1376. Others, consisting of rude outlines of saints, and of tales relating to the Roman Catholic church, were put forth, mostly without date, in the cities of Mentz, Strasburg, and Haerlem. One of the earliest that bears a date (1423), belongs to Earl Spencer, the subject of it being St. Christopher, so called from the story of his bearing the infant Jesus across the


Here then was the germ of that art of printing which John Guttemberg of Mentz (in 1440), as well as Koster and Faust extended to far more important purposes. A great number of curious wood-cuts now exist, which are of an age evidently previous to what is generally called that of the invention of printing; and the circumstance of these being without a date or name of the artist, seems to imply, that they were not thought of sufficient consequence for such a distinction. By degrees, however, the style of engraving improved, and artists began to place their names, or more commonly monograms, being marks composed of their initials woven together. Among them, may be mentioned Michael Wolgemuth, who helped to embellish with prints a famous large folio work, entitled, The Chronicle of Nuremberg: this curious book, illustrated with more than two thousand wood-cuts, reckoning those that are given more than once over, came out in 1493. It professes to furnish figures from the beginning of the world, and contains views of Scripture histories, and of cities and scenery, the latter bearing scarcely any resemblance to the places mentioned. But the chief honour of Wolgemuth, is that of his having been tutor to Albert Durer, who may be called the father of the German School of painting, and the inventor of etching: he was also an excellent and indefatigable engraver, a writer on painting, perspective, geometry, and on civil and military architecture. But it is as an engraver that he is chiefly known to us; and we think we may venture to say, that there is no name so celebrated in the annals of engraving as that of the subject of this memoir.

Albert Durer was born in 1471, at Nuremberg, in Germany, a city famed at that time, as rich and free, prosperous in trade, and fond of the arts. Having made a slight beginning with his pencil in the shop of his father, who was a goldsmith, Albert rapidly advanced in painting and engraving, and at the age of twenty-six exhibited some of his works to the public. So highly was he thought of, that his prints found their way to Italy, where Marc Antonio Raimondi not only counterfeited on copper a whole set of beautifully-executed small wood-cuts of his, on subjects taken from the New Testament, but forged his well-known stamp*; a piece of roguery which at once carried Durer into Italy to get redress. On his reaching Venice, the Senate of that place so far did him justice, as to order M. Antonio to efface the mark they also forbade any one but the right owner to use it in future. To this event in his life was owing his introduction to that wonderful genius Raphael, who sought his acquaintance: and, in the simple fashion of the times, the new friends mutually exchanged portraits. His works quickly became the

See the Monogram (A. D.) in the Engraving, near the left foot of the figure.

rage: he received high praises from all quarters; and his style was copied by a first-rate Italian painter, Andrea del Sarto. The substantial rewards of merit kept pace with his fame. Having finished a picture

of St. Bartholomew, for the Church dedicated to that saint at Venice, the work rose so high in public opinion, that Rodolph the Second, Emperor of Germany, sent orders to Venice, that it should be bought for him at any price, and brought to Prague, not by the common mode of carriage, but (to prevent its taking harm) on men's shoulders, by means of a pole. Durer's honours now flowed thick upon him; his fellow-citizens, proud of his talents, and equally so of his private virtues, chose him into the Council of Nuremberg; and the Emperor Maximilian sent him a pension, and a patent of nobility.

As Durer did not make so much use of the pencil as of the graver, his pictures are scarce, and seldom to be seen but in palaces or great men's houses. His engravings, on the contrary, are so numerous, as well as closely-laboured, that it would betoken a life of no common toil, directed to this one point, to have performed all those which are extant, and fairly allowed as his. In the British Museum, and in the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge, as well as in many other collections, are various specimens of his skill. His design proves vast invention: his copies of nature are bold and powerful, full of expression, though often extravagant and grotesque: his exactness in the composition of parts is also very striking; and he has given a neatness of finish to small points, where most draughtsmen, probably, would have sacrificed correctness to the general effect. From his power and simplicity in copying nature, as well as from his attention to particulars, the admirers of Durer have called him, by analogy, the Homer of artists, while others, from the wild and romantic spirit of his works, have compared him to our English poet, Spenser, who, in his Faerie Queen, has conveyed so many dark and wondrous legends, and by the magical art of description, has dressed up fiction to look like


One of Durer's best pieces, on wood, is that of St. Hubert at the Chase. The Saint is seen kneeling before a stag, which has a crucifix between its horns, while around him are hounds in various attitudes, surprisingly true to nature. Another is an armed knight on horseback, attended by Death (also on horseback), and followed by a frightful fiend, the group having almost as much of the ludicrous as the terrible; this is called by some Death's Horse, and by others The Worldly Man. But, perhaps, the most remarkable of all his prints is that of Melancholy, which conveys the idea of her being the parent of Invention; it is a female form, sitting on the ground, her features marked with the deepest and most solemn shades of thought, and her head resting pensively upon her hand; above, before, and around her, are a multitude of emblems of science, and instruments of study. This composition, it has been observed, is interesting on another account; namely, as a true picture of the times when it was engraved; for precisely thus was attention perplexed and distracted on most philosophical subjects, in the age of Albert Durer; and as he himself was author of seven treatises, most of which are on the metaphysics of Art, he had probably experienced much of that sort of melancholy, which proceeds from mental weariness and disgust-the usual end of such studies. In this view, the proverb might be true of him, “the painter paints himself!" But poor Durer had other sources of melancholy, which may help us in coming to this conclusion. Although amiable in conduct and


manners; a lover of modest mirth, esteemed, and even beloved, by his brethren in art, respected by his fellow-citizens, and distinguished by his monarch, he had a private woe which imbittered all his cup of honour he had a shrew for his wife. Yet, as another proof that beauty and a sweet temper are not necessarily united, we are informed that, in painting the Virgin Mary, he took her face for a model. His domestic trials he bore with calmness for a time, but at last he escaped, for rest from her unkindness, to Flanders, finding an asylum in the house of a brother in profession and fame; but she discovered him in his quiet retreat, and prevailed upon him, by earnest promises of amendment, to return to his home. Unfortunately, however, for him and for the world, her ill disposition returned too, triumphed over the strength of his constitution, and hurried him to the grave before his time. He died in 1528, at his native city of Nuremberg, aged fifty-seven. A Latin inscription, to the following effect, was engraved on his sepulchre in the cemetery of St.



It is no wonder that the style of such a man was followed in Germany, and that his name has had its effect on the art which he professed, and we cannot conclude this memoir without observing that there is an engraver now living, who, although we do not mean to say that he copies Durer, often reminds us of that eminent artist. We allude to Moritz Retzsch, the spirited author of engraved illustrations of various popular works, the last and not the least beautiful being adapted to SCHILLER'S poem, The Song of the Bell. It is true that these are merely outlines. The resemblance consists in his bold copying of nature in the figures; the grouping, the attitudes, and even costume of these; his minuteness in small parts, together with the whimsical freedom with which he throws in grotesque objects to assist in telling the story. In drawing any thing like a comparison between the two, we are glad of the opportunity of thus paying a tribute to the talents and industry of a living German artist.


IN THE NOTCH OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS, U.S. THE NOTCH, as the term implies, is a narrow pass, six miles in length, at the southern end of the White Mountains, the loftiest of which, Mount Washington, is 6234 feet above the level of the sea: but on each side of the pass, they rise only from 1800 to 2000, at an angle of about 45°, forming a valley less than half a mile in width between their basis, and down which the roaring Saco takes its course. The whole extent of their front is furrowed and scarred by the tremendous storm of July, 1826; and the valley, choked up with trees uptorn by the roots, remnants of bridges, buildings, and huge masses of rocks piled upon each other in the greatest disorder, presents what might be almost imagined as the wreck of nature.

A melancholy and interesting story is connected with this storm, which will, for years to come, be the cause of thousands making a pilgrimage to the White Mountains. I give it as related to me by one, who, though not an eye-witness, was in the immediate vicinity at the time it occurred it was as follows. A farmer of the name of Willey, with his wife, five children, and two labourers, occupied a house with a small farm, at the upper end of the valley. They were much esteemed for their hospitable attentions to travellers, who, overtaken by night, sought shelter at their hearth, which was the only one in the Notch, their nearest neighbours being six miles distant. The hills, at that time, were thickly overgrown with forest trees and shrubs: nor had any thing ever occurred, to make them suspicious of the safety of their position, until

the descent of a small avalanche, or slide of earth, near the house, in the month of June, 1826, so terrified them by what they deemed a more secure place, half a mile lower the havoc it caused, that they erected a small camp in down the Saco. The summer had been unusually dry until the beginning of July, when the clouds collecting about the mountains, poured forth their waters, as though the floodgates of the heavens were opened, the wind blew in most terrific hurricanes, and continued with unabated violence for several days,

On the night of the twenty-sixth of the month, the tempest increased to a fearful extent; the lightning flashed so vividly, accompanied by such awful howling of wind and roaring of thunder, that the peasantry imagined the day of judgment was at hand. At break of day of the twenty-seventh, the lofty mountains were seamed with the numerous avalanches which had descended during the the family in the valley, but some days elapsed before the night. Every one felt anxious respecting the safety of waters subsided so far as to allow any inquiries to be made. A peasant swimming his horse across an eddy, was the first person who entered the Notch, when the terrible spectacle of the entire face of the hills having descended in a body, presented itself.

The Willeys' house, which remained untouched amidst the vast chaos, did not contain any portion of the family, whose bodies, with the exception of two children, were, after a search of some days, discovered, buried under some drift-wood, within 200 yards of the door, the hands of Miss Willey and a labourer grasping the same fragment. They had all evidently retired to rest, and most probably, alarmed by the sound of an avalanche, had rushed out of the house, when they were swept away by the overwhelming torrent of earth, trees and water. The most miraculous fact is, that the avalanche, descending with the vast impetuosity which an abrupt declivity of 1500 feet would give it, approached within four feet of the house, when suddenly dividing, it swept round, and carrying away an junction within a few yards of the front. A flock of sheep, adjoining stable with some horses, it again formed a which had sought shelter under the lee of the house, were saved; but the family had fled from the only spot where any safety could have been found, every other part of the valley being buried to the depth of several feet, and their camp overwhelmed by the largest avalanche which fell. A person standing in rear of the house, can now with ease and solid wall. step upon the roof, the earth forming such a perpendicular

A small avalanche was seen descending from one of the mountains some days after the above occurrence. The thick fine forest, at first moved steadily along in its upright position, but soon began to totter in its descent, and fell headlong down with redoubled fury and violence, followed by rivers of floating earth and stones, which spread devastation far and wide. The long heat of summer had so dried and cracked the ground, that the subsequent rains found easy admission under the roots of trees, which, loosened by the violence of the wind, required but little to set the whole in motion. There was no tradition of a similar descent having ever taken place; but, upon a close examination, traces of one, which had evidently cecurred more than a century before, could be discovered amongst the forest.

Avalanches have descended from all the summits of the White Mountains, and continued to a great distance along the level ground; the largest, which is from Mount Jackson, being upwards of four miles in length. [From 4 Subaltern's Furlough in the United States and the Canadas.]

Ir is certain that no height of honour, nor affluence of fortune, can keep a man from being miserable, when an enraged conscience shall fly at him and take him by the throat: so it is certain, that no temporal adversities can. cut off those inward, secret, invincible supplies of comfort, which conscience shall pour in on distressed innocence in defiance of all worldly calamities.―SOUTH.

THE SABBATH.-Happy day for the body and soul of man! The world's birthday! Sign of an everlasting covenant between God and his faithful worshippers; day of Jehovah and his creation: and more honourable still, our Christian Sabbath, the birthday of the spiritual world; earnest of perpetual rest; day of the Lord and the redemption com pleted.-Portraiture of a Christian Gentleman.

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claimed as their right. But Cuthoert, who became Archbishop in 739, procured a licence from the Pope for himself and his successors, to be buried in Christ Church Monastery (the Cathedral); and, having obtained the king's confirmation of the grant, he gave orders, towards the close of his life, that no notice whatever of his decease should be given, till after his interment, lest the Benedictine monks of St. Augustine should demand his body for their church, to place it near the other archbishops, the showing of whose tombs had already become a source of great riches to the monastery. Cuthbert is said to have been the first in this country who allowed bodies to be buried near churches built within the walls of cities.

St. Augustine's Monastery, after being deprived by William the First, but afterwards restored by the same king, gradually rose to such eminence, that its privileges were equal, if not superior, to any in England; the Abbot being allowed a mint and coinage, a vote in Parliament as a Baron, and various other advantages. The last of its Abbots was John Essex, who, at the period of the Reformation under Henry the Eighth, is said to have refused to surrender the Abbey, until the sight of two pieces of cannon, placed on a hill near at hand, induced him to give up the keys. The annual revenues, on its dissolution, are stated to have been upwards of £1400.

The principal buildings were subsequently stripped of their lead, and some of them pulled down, the materials being converted to various uses, and other parts of the structure left to decay. Queen Mary granted the lands to Cardinal Pole, after whose death they reverted to the Crown; they were then given to Lord Cobham by Elizabeth, who kept court here for several days, during one of her progresses. The treason of Lord Cobham having occasioned their forfeiture, James the First transferred them to Robert Cecil, afterwards Earl of Salisbury, at a small annual Since that time they have passed through the hands of the families of Wotton and Hales. The buildings were in the possession of Thomas Lord Wotton, at the marriage of King Charles the First with the Princess Henrietta, which took place within them, in the year 1625; and Charles the Second lodged here, on his passage through Canterbury, at his restoration.


Of this extensive Abbey, the wall of which enclosed a space of about sixteen acres of ground, and the length of whose west front alone was 250 feet, little now remains. At each extremity of the west front was a gate. These are still standing, and, as may be judged from the specimen of one of them given in this number, are, considering their age, in good preservation. St. AUGUSTINE'S GATE, formerly the grand entrance, was erected about the year 1300. The centre is rich in ornamental work, consisting of small lancet-shaped arches, supported by light columns. Two lofty and graceful towers rise above the roof. The old wooden doors, under a finelyarched recess, are carved in the ancient style; and the vaulting within the entrance is light and beautiful. Over this gate, is a good-sized room, which possesses marks of antiquity, and is reported to be that in which Queen Elizabeth was entertained. afterwards used by some of the ruder inhabitants of Canterbury for the cruel and disgraceful sport of cock-fighting; but it is now unemployed. Proceeding from the door of this room, some narrow and time-eaten stone steps lead up to the top of the northern turret, within which are to be seen numerous grotesque carvings of the human face, distorted by the fertile ingenuity of the old sculptors. The opposite turret has a similar flight of stairs. The

It was


heads, and other embellishments at the intersections of the arches in the lower parts of the building, are much darkened and disfigured, partly in consequence of the smoke and steam of a brewery, the business of which is carried on immediately within the gate, by a person of the appropriate name of Beer. wanton injury is, however, done to any part of the structure; on the contrary, we are informed, that it is, as far as possible, kept up, and that a few years since, a sum was collected towards preventing its going entirely to decay.

Should any of our readers, when at Canterbury, be induced, by this description of the place, to enter the old gate of St. Augustine's Monastery, we would recommend them to view the ruined chapel; to mark the vast circuit of the Abbey-walls, which to this day show its extent; and (as a curious instance of ancient masonry,) to notice a remarkable piece of flint-work in the north-east corner within the gate, in which the flints are squared, and fitted smoothly together like so many bricks. The other gate at the southern end of the west front, is called the Cemetery gate, from its having led to the ancient burial-ground. It is very like that of St. Augustine's, but less venerable in appearance, having been altered and adapted to the purposes of a modern dwelling-house.


THERE is a Christmas custom at Ratzeburg, which pleased and interested me. The children make little presents to their parents and to each other; and the parents to the children. For three or four months before Christmas, the girls are all busy, and the boys save up their pocket-money to make or purchase these presents. What the present is to be, is cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a world of contrivances to conceal it; such as working when they are out on visits, and the others are not with them; getting up in the morning before day-light, &c. Then on the evening before Christmas-day, one of the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must not go. A great yew-bough is fastened on the table, at a little distance from the wall, a multitude of little tapers are fastened in the bough, but so as not to catch it till they are nearly burnt out; and coloured paper, &c., hangs and flutters from the twigs. Under this bough the children lay in great order the presents they mean for their parents, still concealing in their pockets what they intend for each other. Then the parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift, and then bring out the rest one by one from their pockets, and present them with kisses and embraces. Where I witnessed this scene, there were eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and the mother wept aloud for tenderness: and the tears ran down the face of the father, and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within him. I was very much affected. The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the wall, and arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture; and then the raptures of the very little ones, when at last the twigs and their needles began to take fire and snap. Oh it was a delight for them. On the next day, in the great parlour, the parents lay out on the table, the presents for the children; a scene of more sober joy succeeds, as on this day, after an old custom, the mother says privately to each of her daughters, and the father to his sons, that which he has observed most praiseworthy, and that which was most faulty in their conduct.--COLERIDGE's Friend.

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