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We have examined the tendency of the songs taught in this method, and have been much pleased with their simplicity, and with the general tone of sentiment throughout. It may not be inappropriate to close our notice with a few specimens of these songs.


O! come ye into the summer woods,
There entereth no annoy:
All greenly wave the chesnut leaves,
And the earth is full of joy.

I cannot tell you half the sights

Of beauty you may see,

The bursts of golden sunshine,
And many a shady tree.

O! come ye into the summer woods, &c.


From his low and grassy bed,

See the warbling lark arise!

By his grateful wishes led

Through the clear bright morning skies! Songs of thanks and praise he pours, Filling all the arch of space; Singing as he higher soars

Towards the throne of heavenly grace.

Small his gifts compared with mine,
Poor my gifts with his compared,
Yet I have a soul divine,

Angels' gifts with me are shared.
Wake, my soul! to praise aspire,
Reason, all thy powers accord!
Help to tune this trembling lyre

That would gladly praise the Lord!


The harvest moon is in the sky,

The west seems all on fire,

The corn shall all be housed and dry
Before the light expire.

From every field the wagons come,
With sheaves piled fast and high,
The reapers shout the harvest home,
The harvest home we cry.

The barn is full, the feast is spread,
The squire and hind are there:

And bare is many an auburn head,

And bare the thin grey hair.

"Great God!" they say, "whose harvests come Thy children here to feed,

Oh! bring us to that harvest home
Where we shall never need."


'Tis eve; our work is done
Ere we part for the night,
With grateful looks each one,
Our master bid good night;
His kind and gentle sway
Persuades us day by day
To live in peace and love.
O how then can we prove
Our humble, humble gratitude?
Our humble, humble gratitude?
O Father, from on high,
On him thy spirit pour;
May no calamity

Approach his cottage door!
O spread his frugal board,
And may thy presence, Lord,
Through night's deep solitude,
Above his dwelling brood!

So may he, may he sleep in peace,
So may he, may he sleep in peace.


As is a wound to the body, so is a sinful body to the soul: the body endangered till the wound be cured, the soul not sound till the body's sin be healed, and the wound of neither can be cured without dressing, nor dressed without smarting. Now as the smart of the wound is recompensed by the cure of the body, so is the punishment of the body sweetened by the health of the soul. Let my wound smart by dressing, rather than my body die; let my body smart by correction rather than my soul perish

Ir is some hope of goodness not to grow worse: it is a part of badness not to grow better. I will take heed of quenching the spark, and strive to kindle a fire. If I have the goodness I should, it is not too much; why should I make it less? If I keep the goodness I have, 'tis not enough; why do I not make it more? He ne'er was so good as he should be, that doth not strive to be better than he is: he never will be better than he is, that doth not fear to be worse than he was.

Ir is the usual plea of poverty to blame misfortune, when the ill finished cause of complaint is a work of their own forging. I will either make my fortunes good, or be content they are no worse. If they are not so good as I would they should have been, they are not so bad as I know they might have been. What though I am not so happy as I desire? 'tis well I am not so wretched as I deserve.

THERE is nothing to be gotten by the world's love, nothing to be lost (but its love) by its hate. Why, then, should I seek that love that cannot profit me, or fear that malice that cannot hurt me? If I should love it for loving me, God would hate me for loving it. If I loathe it for hating me, it cannot hurt me for loathing it. Let it, then, hate me, and I will forgive it, but if it love me I will never requite it. For since its love is hurtful, and its hate harmless, I will contemn its hate, and hate its love.

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No affliction (for the time) seems joyous, all time in affliction seems tedious. I will compare my miseries on earth with my joys in Heaven, and the length of my miseries with its eternity; so shall my journey seem short, and my burthen easy.

THERE is nothing more certain than death, nothing more uncertain than the time of dying. I will, therefore, be prepared for that at all times, which may come at any time. must come at one time or another. I shall not hasten my death by being still ready, but sweeten it. It makes me not die the sooner, but the better.

THE commendation of a bad thing is its shortness, of a good thing, its continuance: it were happy for the damned if their torments knew end, it is happier for the saints tha their joys are eternal. If man, that is born of a woman be full of misery, it is well that he hath but a short time t live: if his life be a walk of pain, it is a blessing that hi days are but a span long. Happy miscries that end in joy happy joys that know no end: happy end that dissolves t eternity. CARTHUR WARWICK.]

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SCULPTURE is far more laborious than painting, depending as it does on shape and expression for its fascination, and demanding an acquaintance not only with varied nature, but also with curious and delicate mechanical operations, and with that rare talent of combining the conceptions of genius with the niceties of acquired skill. The march, therefore, of the sculptor, to distinction is a long one: and with much of this mechanical knowledge, Chantrey had to become acquainted when he went to London. He had also other obstacles to surmount: the ablest sculptors in England, attached to that artificial and mechanical style imported from France and Italy, for the most part, expressed their ideas in allegorical figures; and by neglecting the simplicity and the dignity of nature, lost most of that wonderful effect which the works of genius are sure to produce when unfettered by conventional rules and the authority of predecessors. It has been well remarked, that invention does not consist in investing abstract ideas with human form, in confering substance on an empty shade, or in creating forms, unsanctioned by human belief, either written or traditional. Much genius has been squandered in attempting to create an elegant and intelligible race of allegorical beings, but, for the want of human belief in their existence, for the absence of flesh and blood, nothing can atone. No one ever sympathised with the grief of Britannia, or shared their feelings with that cold, cloudy, and obscure generation to which she belongs.


In his twentieth year Chantrey paid a sum of money to get quit of his engagement with Ramsey; and the separation gave mutual pleasure. Authorities differ as to the time when our artist proceeded to London. One account states that as soon as he was freed from the bonds of servitude he advertised in Sheffield to take portraits in crayons: that in October, 1804, he announced that he had commenced taking models from the life." reference to painting, he modestly expressed himself, saying, he "trusts in being happy to produce good and satisfactory likenesses, and no exertion shall be wanting on his part to render his humble efforts deserving some small share of public patronage." Several specimens of his talent both in chalk and oil remain in the town, and are chiefly valued on account of the subsequent celebrity of the artist. Another account states, that in May, 1802, he went to London and applied himself with great ardour to study: but in a very short time we find him on his way to Dublin, intending as it is said to make the tour of Ireland and Scotland, but most probably, when we consider the scanty means of the artist, with the endeavour to establish himself either in Dublin or in Edinburgh, as a portrait painter or modeller. It appears, however, that he was arrested by fever at Dublin, and did not entirely recover for many months: he returned to London in the autumn completely cured of his travelling mania, and recommenced his studies with an application which soon displayed itself by its successful results. He had already conceived the character of his works, and only wanted opportunity to invest them with their present truth and tenderness.

After having improved himself at the Royal Academy, Chantrey returned to Sheffield and modelled four busts as large as life, of characters well known in that town, viz., the Rev. James Wilkinson, Dr. Younge, Mr. Wheat, and Mr. Hunt, a painter. He afterwards modelled the head of Dr. Chorley, of Doncaster. These performances were so skilful, that when it was resolved to erect a monument to the memory of the Rev. James Wilkinson, and Chantrey (though he had never yet lifted a chisel to marble) had the courage to become a candidate for the commission, the committee readily entrusted it to him. This seems to have been an interesting crisis of the artist's life, and helped to decide the bias of his

future course. Having employed a mason to rough hew the bust, he commenced the task and accomplished it with success. This very interesting work may now be seen in Sheffield church.

Chantrey's first exhibited work on the walls of the Royal Academy, was in 1804, when he sent for exhibition a portrait of D. Wale, Esq. The next year he exhibited three busts, and in 1806, a bust of Bigland, the essayist. In 1808, he exhibited a model of a colossal head of Satan" an attempt to invest this fearful and undefined fiend with character and form; eclipsed as it now is, by more celebrated works, its gaze of dark and malignant despair never escapes notice." This head still remains in his studio, and was never executed in marble. In 1809 he received his first order from Mr. Alexander, the architect, for four colossal busts of Howe, St. Vincent, Duncan, and Nelson for the Trinity House, and for the Greenwich Naval Asylum. In the same year he married at Twickenham Church his cousin, Miss Mary Ann Wale, the present Lady Chantrey, and removed to Eccleston Street, Pimlico, where he continued to reside during the remainder of his life.

In 1810, he executed a bust of Mr. Pitt for the Trinity House. The absolute nature and singular felicity of his busts now began to procure for him extensive employment. The year 1811 was that in which he may be said to have fairly commenced his career of fame and fortune. He exhibited six busts, all of them produced with a felicity at that time rare in bust sculpture. Among these was the bust of Horne Tooke, to which he communicated an expression of keen penetration and clear-sighted sagacity. The other busts were those of Sir Francis Burdett; John Raffael Smith, one of the best productions of the artist; Benjamin West, P.R.A; Admiral Duckworth; and William Baker, Esq. With the bust of Horne Tooke, Nollekins expressed his great approbation. He lifted it from the floor,-placed it before him,-moved his head to and fro, and having satisfied himself with its excellence, turned round to those who were arranging the works for exhibition, and said, "That's a very fine, a very fine busto; let the man who made it be known-remove one of my busts and put this one in its place, for it well deserves it." Often afterwards when desired to model a bust, the same excellent critic would say in his most persuasive manner, "Go to Chantrey-he's the man for a bust-he'll make a good bust of you: I always recommend Chantrey." He did recommend him,-always spoke of him with respect,—and sat to him for his bust.

The efforts of the artist in bust sculpture had now placed him beyond rivalship, so that when in 1811, he sent in his design for the statue of George III: proposed to be erected in the Guildhall of the city of London, it was approved of in preference to others. We have already stated, that to the study of sculpture Chantrey had added that of painting, and his pictures are said to do his sculpture no discredit; his pencil portraits are esteemed by many as admirable as his busts. It is not a little curious that this proficiency of the sculptor in the sister art, had nearly deprived London of the fine statue of the king. A member of the common council observed in committee, that the successful artist was a painter, and therefore incapable of executing the work of a sculptor. Sir William Curtis sent for the artist and said,-" You hear this, young man,-what say you are you a painter or a sculptor?' I live by sculpture," was the reply, and the execution of the statue was immediately entrusted to him. The result was the production of a work full of ease and dignity.

He had already made some progress in this work when he was employed by Mr. Johnes of Hafod, the accomplished translator of Froissart, to make a monument, a very extensive one,-in memory of his only daughter. This was a congenial task, and confided to his hand under circumstances honourable to English

sculpture. The design for this work has been spoken of as a production of beauty and tenderness-a scene of domestic sorrow exalted by meditation.

The object of the artist was to represent the melancholy incident of a lovely, affectionate, accomplished maiden expiring in the arms of her afflicted parents. The agonized mother presses to her lips the hand of the beautiful sufferer, thus nearly concealing her own face; while the father in calmer but not less profound grief Dends over his child, and supports her dying head. Her pallet and pencils, indicative of the cultivated elegance of her mind, lie abandoned by her side, with a roll of music, on which appears the appropriate inscription: Angels ever bright and fair,

Take, oh! take me to your care.

We are not informed how much of this design was executed in marble. In 1820, the work was spoken of as advancing towards completion; but in a recent number of the Gentleman's Magazine, it is stated that “a beautiful statue of Marianne, only daughter of Johnes, of Hafod, the translator of Froissart, was allowed to remain in the hands of the artist, in consequence of the calamity which overwhelmed the father."

From this period the career of Chantrey has been Gneventful; "marked only by increasing perfection in his art, and the steady advance of that tide of reputation, which finally floated him to the foremost rank of British sculptors." It will be sufficient, therefore to notice a few of his principal works, since a catalogue of the whole, profusely scattered as they are throughout the cathedra's, churches, libraries, and sculpture galleries of this country, and of many of our colonies, would not only be difficult to obtain, but would occupy many pages of our Magazine.

A statue of President Blair, a judge of singular capacity and penetration, and a statue of the late Lord Melville, being required for Edinburgh, Chantrey was induced to visit Scotland. He acquitted himself with great felicity. The calm, contemplative, penetrating mind of Blair is said to be visibly expressed in the marble. This is the artist's highest praise, considering how difficult it must be to work with a poet's eye on productions which the artist's own mind has not selected and consecrated. During his stay in Scotland he modelled a bust of Professor Playfair, in which he seems at once to have caught the face and intellect both so remarkable -of this eminent man.

Many artists (says one of Chantrey's biographers), obtain their likenesses by patient and frequent retouchings-Chantrey generally seized on the character in one hour's work. Once, and but once only, we saw a bust on which he had bestowed a single hour;-the likeness was roughed out of the clay with the happiest fidelity and vigour. We saw, too, the finished work-his hand had passed over it in a more delicate manner-but the general resemblance was not rendered more perfect.

When Chantrey was required to execute monuments is memory of Colonel Cadogan and General Bowes, and afterwards of General Gillespie, he embodied these subjects in a manner almost strictly historical, so that, from the number of the figures, and the method of treating the subject, they may be said to form historical pictures in stone. These works gave rise to the following sensible


Though the walls of our churches are encumbered with monuments in memory of our warriors, no heroes were ever so unhappy. Sculptors have lavished their bad taste in the service of government. Fame, and Valour, and Wisdom, and Britannia are the eternal vassals of monotonous art. A great evil in allegory is the limited and particular attributes of each figure,-each possesses an unchangeable vocation, and this prescription hangs over them as a spell. The art , of humble talents is apt to evaporate in allegory,-it is les difficult to exaggerate than be natural, and vast repose

is obtained among the divinities of abstract ideas! Simple nature in ungifted hands, looks degraded and mean; but a master-spirit works it up at once into tenderness and majesty.

Although his business was widely increasing, Chantrey, who neglected no opportunity of improving his talents and his taste, found time in 1814 to visit Paris, when the Louvre was filled with the plundered sculptures of Italy, and admired, in common with all mankind, the grace, the beauty, and serene majesty of these wonderful works. But his praise of French art in general was extremely limited. In the following year he re-visited Paris during the stormy period of its occupation by the English and the Prussians. On this occasion he was accompanied by Mrs. Chantrey, and by his intimate friend, Stothard the painter. He returned home by way of Rouen, and filled his sketch-book with drawings of the pure and impressive gothic architecture of that ancient city.

On his return from France he modelled "the Sleeping Children," which we have already noticed. The reward

of this work was no common one-the artist received

various orders for poetic figures and groups, the choice of subjects being left to his own judgment. Such commissions were new to English sculpture. But orders for busts and portrait statues came in so thickly that the hours of leisure required for poetic figures were very few.

One of his happiest productions is a devotional statue of Lady St. Vincent. The figure is kneeling, the hands folded in resignation over the bosom,-the head gently and meekly bowed-and the face impressed deeply with the motionless and holy composure of devotion. A simple and negligent drapery covers the figure, and all attempt at display is avoided. It is now placed in the chancel of Caverswell church, in Staffordshire.

Another production, to which the trays of the Italian boys have given a wide celebrity, is the statue of Lady Louisa Russell, the present Marchioness of Abercorn, and one of the daughters of the Duke of Bedford. The child stands on tiptoe, fondling with delight a dove in her bosom, an almost breathing and moving image It is finished of arch simplicity and innocent grace. with the sanie feeling in which it is conceived. The truth and nature of this figure was proved, had proof been necessary, by a singular incident related in Blackwood's Magazine. A child of three years old came into the study of the artist,-it fixed its eyes on the lovely marble child-went and held up its hands to the statue, and called aloud and laughed with the evident hope of being attended to. This figure is now at

Woburn Abbey.

In 1816 Chantrey was elected an associate of the Royal Academy, and an academician in 1818. During this year he was also made member of the Royal Society and of the Society of Antiquaries. To the Royal Society he presented a marble bust of their president, Sir Joseph Banks; and to the Royal Academy he gave, as the customary admission proof of genius, a marble bust of Benjamin West.


In 1819 he exhibited the sitting figure of Dr. Anderand a bust of Mr. Canning. During this son for Madras, perhaps the very best of all his statues; year, in meditated through Italy. Rome, Venice, and Florence, with Mr. Jackson, R.A., he made a journey long leisure to examine the remains of art in many places of were the chief places of attraction: but he found lesser note. He returned through France, and arrived in London after an absence of eighteen weeks. Of the works of Canova* he speaks and writes with warm "Above all admiration. In a letter to a friend he says, modern art in Rome Canova's works are the chief attractions. His latter productions are of a far more natural and exalted character than his earlier works; and his fame is wronged by his masterly statues which are now common in England. He is excelling in simplicity and grace every day." During his stay in Rome

An interesting notice of Canova and his Works is contained in the Saturday Magazine, Vol. XVIII., pp. 18, 50, 66. 618-2

Chantrey, wishing to possess a portrait of Canova from the hand of his friend Jackson, obtained the permission of the Italian artist to sit to the English painter.

When the Roman artists heard that a new painter had made his appearance among them, (says Mr. Cunningham, in his Life of Jackson,) they went to see how he handled his subject; and there was some spreading of hands and shrugging of shoulders among them when they saw the rough, rude way in which the stranger at first dashed in the likeness: they all went away, prophesying utter failure: and even Canova himself, accustomed to see heads elaborated out by academic rules, was for a while, inclined to think he was squandering his time in sitting to Jackson. At the fifth or sixth sitting, however, he exerted all the magic of his hand, and bestowed such brilliant depth of colour, and such truth and force of expression, that the great sculptor broke out into loud expressions of astonishment, greatly to the amusement as well as delight of Chantrey, whose confidence in his friend's powers had prepared him for this result.

On his return from the Continent Chantrey modelled the bust of Mr. Wordsworth, for Sir George Beaumont; and of Sir Walter Scott, in order to gratify his love and admiration for the worth and genius of Sir Walter. This bust is admirable: the character and the genius of the man are both there. It has been stated that Chantrey had sought at first, like Lawrence, for a poetic expression, and had modelled the head as looking upwards with gravity and solemnity. "This will never do," (he said to Mr. Cunningham, when Sir Walter had left after his second sitting), "I shall never be able to please myself with a perfectly serene expression. I must try his conversational look,-take him when about to break out into some sly funny old story." As he said this he took a string, cut off the head of the clay model, put it into its present position, and produced by a few happy touches that bust which alone preserves for posterity the cast of Scott's expression.

The poet (says Mr. Cunningham) has a face as changeable and as various as the characters he draws in his works, and an expression which nothing but genius something akin to his own can hope to seize. In this remarkable bust the brow is full of thought, the eyes look through one, and there is a grave humour about the mouth which seems ready to escape in speech. The whole face is finished with the most fascinating skill. The poet sat whilst the sculptor chiselled: and there was many a merry word between them. The subject of our frontispiece forms the principal part of a monument erected in Worcester Cathedral in the year 1825, to the memory of Mrs. Digby, the wife of the Rev. William Digby, one of the prebendaries of that cathedral. The figure is raised upon a marble pedestal, of a Gothic pattern, on which it reclines: and in the monument itself there are kneeling angels in faint relief at the hands and feet. It is stated that the expression and arrangement of the face and figure afford a "most remarkable representation of the mind" of the deceased lady.

CHRONICLERS have informed us, that upon the banks of the Weser, the god of the ancient Teutonic race manifested his displeasure by a kind of thunderbolt, to which, immediately afterwards, succeeded a cloud that filled the sacred inclosure. The image of the god Busterich, discovered, it is said, in some excavations, clearly demonstrates the mode in which this prodigy was produced. The god was made of metal. The hollow head contained water to the amount of an amphora; plugs of wood closed the mouth and another opening situated under the forehead, and combustibles suitably placed in a cavity of the cranium gradually heated the liquid. Speedily the steam generated caused the plugs to spring with a loud report, and then escaped with violence, forming a thick cloud between the god and his astonished worshippers. It appears also, that in the middle ages the monks found this to be a very valuable invention, and that the head of Busterich has performed before other assemblages besides those of the benighted Teutones.—ARAGO's Life of Watt.

No. III.

A Discovery.

NEXT morning we departed early, after having once more seen our unfortunate postilion. We gave him some money. He was very much affected, and a thousand times begged through his intoxication. He promised us never to forget our pardon for the accident which had happened to us through drinking he had become a miserable man. I know the painful lesson, and for the future to avoid brandy, since not whether he kept his word.

I accompanied my fellow-traveller to the next town;
in opposite directions.
but here we were obliged to separate, for our roads now lay
good friends, and to see each other again. After a cordial
We promised to continue good
farewell we separated.

and the bitterness of his fate, in the melancholy circum-
I thought frequently afterwards of the amiable Fridolin,
stances of his father's death and the loss of his beloved. I
related this story to my wife and daughter, and often I was
tempted to write to him, in order to know how he was;
but I was afraid to open his wounds, by appearing too in-
quisitive. Thus more than a year passed away. After so
long a silence, and as he had not written to me, I thought
whether he was still living in Switzerland.
it almost unbecoming to address him. I did not even know

At length I had occasion to make a journey into Germany on business, and I took my wife with me, for she was recovering from a long illness. One day, in a small town of Würtemburgh, where we passed the night, she by chance entered a room adjoining the parlour, where some dressmakers were at work. After she had remained with them for some time, she came back to me and said: "Come and see one of the dress-makers; she is so remarkably beautiful that I know no woman to compare with her."

I smiled at the enthusiasm of my wife, and said, "Will you endanger the heart of your husband by the sight of so much beauty?"

In the mean time the bustling landlady entered, and my wife asked about the beautiful dress-maker.

but what she carries on her back, and is obliged to work "Oh, poor girl! " said the landlady, "she has nothing hard for her daily bread. Silly girl! if she would not carry her head so high, she might be married to a respectand Siebold the grocer, opposite, are honest, comfortable able man of this town. Hecht the butcher, my neighbour, will not very soon find another match equal to these. But, people, but the young damsel has refused them both: she in dress-making and embroidery: they say even, that she to say the truth, she is diligent and honest, is very clever can speak French."

"From what country does the girl come?" asked my wife.

"From Switzerland, I think," answered the landlady: "she lives with an old laundress in the Kümmel Street, Talk; but she conducts herself as if she were a lady. She near Pinkelmann the smith. Her name is simply Miss speaks very little, so I suspect that her conscience is not quite pure. Some people say--but I will not repeat what bad tongues say of her."

"If the girl is a Swiss," said I to the landlady, "I should like to see her."

We went into the room, where the landlady left us. My wife entered into conversation with the dress-makers.


I was

youngest of them, about twenty years old, deserved indeed
the praise which my wife had bestowed upon her.
surprised at the soft expression of her face, but her pale
cheeks offered evidence of the existence of some silent sor-
row. She did not lift up her eyes from her work. The
peasant's dress which she wore could not conceal her slender
figure, and the beautiful symmetry of her form. I regretted
that she was so silent, whilst all the others lightened their
labour by cheerful conversation. When my wife asked
them whether they were all natives of the town, the eldest
of them answered, "We are, but" (pointing to the silent
girl) " she is a Swiss."

"Indeed!" said I, addressing myself to the Swiss girl; we are then natives of the same country. From which Canton do you come, Miss?"

The girl bent her head nearer to her work, perhaps to conceal the blush which flew over her face, and said, in a soft, tender voice, "My parents were from different Cantons."

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