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tions of the law.
Sheriff's Sales under regular executions, must
be advertised thirty days ; under mortgage fi
fas, sixty dvys before the day of sale.
s ales of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Ad
ministrator* or Guardians, for sixty days before
the day of sale.
Bales of personal property (except negroes) for
ty days.
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Citations upon application for dismission, by Ex
ecutors, Administrators, or Guardians, monthl/
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dians, of application to the Court of Ordinary
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estate, four months.
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weeks. a
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The Times is published every Wednesday
morning in the South end of the Oglethbrpe House
back of the Post-Office.
L A W NOT ICES,
M. JOIIftSTOft,
Attorney at law, “
Columbus, Ga.
Refers to —
S. J. Ray, St Cu.j i
Wm. B. Johnston, & Bro. > Macon.
Powers & Whittle, )
John McGough, Esq—-Columbus.
Aprils, 1816. 13^tf
Sl2 A BOR ft WILLIAJUS,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW, AND SO
LICITOR IN EQUITY.
Tuskegee, Macon Coiinty, A'la.
References —Messrs. Thomas & “Downing, Co
lumbus Ga., Hon. James E. Reiser, Montgomery,
Alabama.
Oct- 8, 1845. 41—ly
JOIIft B. WECiIS.
ATTORNEY AT LA W,
Columbu#, Ga.
VITILL practice in the cwnties comprising the
f T Chaiuhoocliec Circuit, and the adjacent
counties in Alabama.
BOP Cilice orcr the store of M. Brannon * on
Brand Street.
Feb. 11, 1 > 16. 7—if.
A* G. FOSTER.
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
CoLt’rnus Ga.’
Al/'ILL prfictifp in the fonrts of the suTcral
▼ ▼ counties of the Chattahoochee Circuit, fc
the adjoing counties of the Sou them-West
ern Cir. n l <>f Gi. And also in the adjoining
bounties of Alabama.
references:
J4***r llarper fc Holmes, Apalachicola, Fla
•* W. Hearing ft Sons, Charleston, 6. C
c* l*oe k Nisbet, Macon, G'a.
n N.G. Foster & A. G. Foster, Madison, Ga.
Columbus, Oct. 8, 1845. 41'—ly
J. LAW,
ATTORNE Y AT LA W;
B MNHRIDuE, (DECATUR’ CO.) O'AV
\I7IIL attrnd punctually the Superior
▼ T Courts of the counties of Early, Baker,
sud Deeatur of the Sonth-Western/and of the
’•..nntT of Thomas of the Southern Circuit.
May 21, IS Vo gl—ly
COLQILITT A COOK,
ATTURnVy’S AT LAW;
\ LaGrange, Georgia.
\1 ’ ILL pflNkujJhffoaiitifs of Troup, Me r-
T v nvetifT. tCarroll.’
W xi.ter T. Ga.
\Y*x. C. D. Cook,
E. 11. PLATT,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Albany, Baker Counjv Ga.
La. i. !>i P-ts
SOOft OK NEVER!
BOOKS stLU.NJ OCT,
BTJ.nf.mRBOPI.GO.,
At Store.
WTKdrsin* nrlliil? stock of Books
v ami Stationery, delay aspos
mSle. Those .slung lttnlfßf the latest editions,
nd at lower prices ; be purchased at
any othos house. Sotan of Charleston,
(*m be accommotbicdpi out^H.
|j.—We arc njf practice our
March 25, 1816. 13—df
Whiskey.
fJ/\A Bid Old ®ctified Whiskey- just recei
(vUUrcd and fon!o by
\h.’t. greenwood.
April. 1, IMP. W I+--U
lUitinii^iilicla.
-f O Bids and 4 11 If B&i of the “Oil of RyC” a
I <3 fine article just rc&ived nii for sale by
UT. GREENWOOD',
April, 1. 1811. 11— : 4t
Notice to pWsiters.
T3Y the 15th inst, 1 will revive direct lromCu-
I J Ha. a cargo of West ImA Mblasses, which
t’hall bo able to sell at as to induce
leavers to await that arrival.- I , .
11. T. RREKNWOOD.
April. 1. 14—It
Sh ;:i r! Siiganf’
lYk/AD'ils prime New jnSt'rS-
J* V/V/ceived i for sale by mT
H. T. GREENWOOD.
Anri!, 1, 1546. L;—g
Sundries. T
lIAA Keg* prtiil“ leaf Lard, 10
I™ A r 50 Drum Nmyrna Figs, Loaf, Apshed
rid Powdered Sugar, “Otard Duprey ,lfo.”
Brandy. Holland Gin? an assortment AmKcaif
Liquors, just received and for sale by 1
H. T. GREENWO<W
April, 1, 1546. 14—^
FIUU.Vi my absence from Columbus, kb
-Le (red Iverson, Esq., will act as my attorney
and agent iu relation to the estate of Gen, Wht
•©*, of which I ani at present efire Executor.
B. W. WALKER.
Jan. 28, TS46. s—ts
to rkntT
K Comfortable dwelling House with all the
-tm-necussary out-howees* and the privilege of
wood. Situated on the Tilbotton ‘ road, about
“no miles from Columbus. It is the place where
Matt ft. Evans-formerly lived. Apply to
A. 11. jCOOP'ER.
Jaa. 24, 1846. 4—ts
OR ft ERA V. ORDERS.
THERE Wilftf an ftatiittCrM for retofiif
of .l/uscogA Courthouse, in
the city of Collmbns, aJK.it the. different pre
vnets in said conSy tlic sixteenth
of.Vi| next,
Jr Renrk h. to h e.
Rng. Gun. ftrsdnuade lOtlDivision. G. M.
Apnl $. fß4§v 15—3 t
VOLUME VI.
T.eS'P CSQCXT/B.
S3OO REWARD.
LOST or stolen, from my plantation on the
Chattahoochee River, 6 miles belowEu
faula, a very likely negro child, near thmgtfftm
old. Me was missed from the yard
evening of the 24th March, a
was made that night and for several suc^H^e
days without discovering a trace of his f^^Bps,
which induces the opinion that he may IflHKcer:
stolerf, circumstance of two men
on the same day in thd woods near the
also, favors that opinion.
lie is a thick set, lull-faced child,
legged and had a thick bushy head cHHHHH
( think a lanrc scar upon Ins wrist proHdgrafßf;
burn. His name is Reuben, pcrhaps^^^HP^
answer to it. If he be stolen, t wi
abave reward Rr the apprehension 6f tTJpfief;
and if he has been sold I will pay the piirpAaser
the amount he paid for him, and all expense for
furnishing me with the information. I will.also
pay *riy reasonable demand for any ifitelHgentie
communicated to me, or to Mr. Thomas Lowry,
near Eufaula, Alabama, which may lead tom Jl
covery. JOHN H. HOWARD.
Columbus,'Ga. April. 8, 1846. 15—2 t
The Eufaula, the Montgomery, the Apalachi
cola, the Tallahassee, and the Albany, (Ga.) pa
pers will please publish twice j and forward ac
counts for payment. * J. H. H.
AUGUSTA, WARRENTOL “
3ULLED6EYILLE A OTACOft
maxi
PARE REDUCED!
Only $9 00 through from Augusta to Macon!
Nearest , cheapest, and only direct route daily,
(Sundays not excepted,) through without deluy.
LEAVING Augusta by Georgia Bail Road, 91-1
A o’clock, P. M., Warrenton by Stage I2’l
o’clock, A. M;, thence hy Sparta, arriving at Mill
edgeville at 11J o’clock, A. M., at Gordon at 4J
o'clock, P. M., thence by Central Rail Road to
Macon at 6 o’clock P. M.
From Macon, leaves for Gordon hy Central
Kailrottd at 6 o’clock, A. M., thence by stage to
Milledgeville at 10i o’clock, A. M., to Warren
ton 9 o’clock, P. M., in time for the cars on the
Georgia Rail ROad for Augusta, and arrives there
in time for the cars on the Charleston Road.
Passengers tlirottgh, on this line will in all
cases have the preference over those on the way.
The line connects immediately at Macon, with
the Macon and Western Railroad, and with the
line of stage* going South and West, to Talla
hhSsee, Columbus, and Montgomery, Ala.
Fare at Augusta, received by Agent Georgia
Railroad ; at Warrenton, by E. Hale ; at Macon,
by W. A. Mott; at Milledgeville, by A. Mott.
KNOX & MOTT, Proprietors.
Milledgeville, April Bth, 1846 [S. C.] 15 —8t
A SAFE AND EFFICIENT
fcEMEDY FOR WOR MSf
May be found in Dr. WOODRUFF’S
WeXItM 83?3SeX3?X6.
THE above preparation for Worms is a very
certain remedy. It has advantages over ma
ny other preparations for Worms, from’ the fact
that it caif be given with perfect safety to a child
of aiiy age ; nor is it nOcessafy to give any other
Medicine with it, or after it, as it operates upon
the bowels, carrying away the Woritis, and cleans
ing the bowels of unhealthy secretions at the
’sarnie time.
A trial of it we think, will give satisfaction to
any one. It may not cure every case, but such is
- our cohfidetfoe in it, that We'Are willing to war
rant its benefiting in every instance, or the money
will be refunded.
, CERTIFICATES.
1 Dr. Woodruff Dear Sir —1 have had a negro
child that has been sick for some time. Not know
ing what was the matter with it,We had pretty much
igive up doing anything for it ! ; hcWrever/ as a last
I resort, we concluded to try some of your Worm
Specific, thinking it probably might be Worms
.'that had’reduced it so much—'acnofdiiigly we com
menced giving yctir “ Specific,” (which by the
bye, yoif have rightly named,) when, astonishing
to tell, it commenced pkssing Worms/ and con-
Uinued doing so for several days/ until it had pass
ed more than two hundred, some of them a foot
.or more in length/others twisted and knotted to
gether in hard balls, so that they coiild not be sep
erated without cutting them apart. Knowing that
a Worm Medicine so valuable as yours has pro
ven to bCj would be used by hundreds, if they
only knew ofits virtues, I have concluded to give
you this certificate, so that all may knbw where
to find a medicine that can be relied on.
, JOSEPH SHIPPEY.
Columbus, July 29/ 1845.
Remarkable cure of Tenia/ 6r Tape
Worm.
This is to certify, that I have made use of Dr.
Woodrutf’s “Work Specific 4 ” in my family in
several cases/with the happiest effect. In one
case it brought away immediately some fifty
Worms of the kind called Ascarides —but its
most remarkable effect was exhibited iu another
case/a girl oßrhther delicate health, who com
plained pretty constantly of her abdomen.’ Being
satisfied that she had been troubled with Worms
of some kind, we administered the “Specific,”
‘and to our astotilshriient, it brought from her a
nuhiber of pieces of Tape Worm, from two to six
or eigh* inches in length! Since that time, her
health has considerably improved; and I have no
dhubt but that the Medicine has relieved her of
that much to be dte'aded Wtff'm. The ••Spe
cific” is in high repute in this place, and is with
out doubt a valuable remedy for Worms.
JOHN J. LITTLE.
. Whitesville, Harris co. Ga. Jan. 10, 1845.
From Dr. J. K. Turner.
’ Dear Sir—l have tested your “Worm Fipecific,”
until lam fully satisfied of its virtues. But a
few days since, I prescribed it in a case of Irri
tative’ Feve’r from Worms. The child had been
‘very sick for two or three days, high fever all
; the time', for which I gave j’our “Specific;” less
than a bo'ttlc ertred the child perfectly. The par
ents now set a high estimate upon it, fetrit is an
excellent Remedy for Worms.
Respectfully, Sc.
Pine Valley, Aug. 6. 1845
Frdtn Dr. Si. Fudge!f
Dr. Woodruff: Your “Worm Specific” has
given general satisfaction, rarely ever failing to
please, ltisalsoan excellent catharticfor chil
dren, much better thafi/CostOr Oil. I frequently
use it in my pfactice in that wav.
Abbeville, Htpiryco. Ala. Ang. 1,4845.
For stJlc by Dr. R. A. WARE. > Broa*! street,
and Dr. WOODRUFF, J Columbus Ga.
Aisc, at the following places:
Jtrihrta R. McCook, Ha/loca post-office* Mus
cogee ;
Mrs. E. Leefch^Talkot’on.
Wm. NT. Cochran* B f JtL. Wmussvmo, &**/-
country;
J. E. McElhany, Ellerslie post-office,’ “ “
Stephen Weston, Weston's cross-roads, Stew
art county;
D. A. Garnett, Lumpkin. Stewart county.
W m. Stafford, P. M: Florence, Stewart coun
‘y-
A. M. McLendon, Roanoke, Hfandolpft county ;
D. Morris, Georgetown, Randolph county.
Dr. J. W. Savage, near Tazewell, Marion coun
tyr
11. R Lamb, Marion county.
C. S. Cox, Ptnevtlle, Marion county.
W. T. & H. Davenport, Americus, Sumter coun-
I
Robipson &. Anderson, Blakely, Early county ;
J. M. Morison, Eufaula, Ala.
Junius Jourdan, Glcnnville, Ala.
Hora & Adams, Tuskegee, Al.
Jones & Brown, Union Springs, Ala.
J. T. Crawford & Cos. Enon, Ala.
Robert Allen. Sand Fort, Al.
John Frailer, F. M. Lafayette, Chambers, co.
Ala. ,
Dr. Moses Pifdgett, Abbeville post-office, Ileii
rv co. Ala.
April, 1, 1845. 14 —ts
Medical Books.
DUNGWSON% ChHrehill’B, imiti’s, Con
die’K, Dewee’s, Horner’s, Hooper’s, Coop
r’si Bell and Stokes, &c. kc. For sale by
J. M. TARBOJt. & CO.
April 8, 1846. I ts
REMOVAL.
DOCTOR C< P. H ERVBY, .
HAS removed his residence and Office to the
Dwelling formerly occupied by Dr. WM.
K. SCHLEY, one door South of the Episcopal
Church, and directly opposite the residence of
Captain P. TANARUS; Schley; where he may be found at
all times prepared to perform all operations apper
taining to his prbfession.
7, 1846; 2—ts
3300XCS! 3300DK8!!
V SELLING OFF AT NEW-YORK TRICES,
By GEORGE DUNttAft,
At the Cheap Book Store near the Market:
S BOOKS of all kinds together with Statione-
Paper and Quill?, selling off at N.
Also, Paper Hangings, Visiting
Drawing, Bristol and perforated
id Parents are invitCd to give me a
fttermined to sell at the above pri
__ rfso far reduce the amount of stock
now on hand as to effect an entire sale as soon as
possible. GEORGE DUNHAM.
April 8, 1848. 15—ts
CITY OjyCOIiUMBUS.
T\T OTICE is lierebnben thaUn and after the
•Ift Istday ofjuly nexMiotluJgwill be received
in payment of Bridge ToJßnxe9, but the bills
of the City Council Specie or the
bills of Specie By order ol’ the
city Council of CotaJ^H^Pp|K^
Treasurer.
Council 2 —lm
G-DaXSWGX/B’S
IMPROVED COTTOft GINS.
THE snhscriber will continue the manufacture
-J- of these Gins, at his Old establishntdnt in
Clinton, Jones county, Georgia.
He can ofler no better recommendation in favor
of his Gins than the fact, of having supplied more
than twelve hundred planters with thefri during the
last two years, while no other factory has proba
bly sold in the State more than one hundred du
ring the same time.
No expenses will be spared to sustain their high
reputation; and render them still more perfect if
possible.
They will be warrCnted as usual to perform well;
and delivered at the purchasers residence.
Engagements can be made with his travelling
agents, or by letter directed tti hiin.
SAMUEL GRISWOLD.
April 1, 1848. . 14—ts
Boap.Txi'sr.
MIGHT MAKES RIGHT.
Translated from the German of PfeffeL
A sparrow on a bough espied/
A little tty there pdrehed in pride,’
He seized his prey, despite her moans,
For nought he cared for prayers and groans,
f‘Ahf” said the murderer, “’tis no wrong,
For thou art weak, and I am strong.”
A hawk surprised him at his feast;
“Ah!” cried the victim, “I at least
* Have done no harm/ Then set me free,
You cannot find a fault iu me.”
“No,” said the murderer, “’tis no wrong,
For thou art weak, and I am strong.”
, An eagle spied the hawk t straightway
: He potlncfcd upon the greedy prey ;
Away he bore the luckless bird,
Nor once the suppliant’s prayer he heard
“No,” said the murderer, “’tis no Wrong,
For thou art weak, and I am strong.”
But while he ate, an arrow came
And pierced his breast, like forked flairiW;
“Tyrant,” he cried in agony,
“Why berid your murderous boW on me?”
s “Ah'” said the murderer 4 “’tis no wrong,
For thou art weak, and I am strong.”
From the Washington Union.
THE FLAG OF THE UNION.
j BY MRS. E. L. SCHEKMERHORN.
Oh !’ rend it not—still let it wave,
That star-gemmed flag, o’er land and sea,
The cherished signal of the brave,
. The glorious banner of the free ;
> Still let its eagle soar on high,
Its stripes still fresh, its stars still bright,
No teirlpest in the smiling sky,
No gathering cloud to quench their light.
Oh ! plant it on each glorious spot,
Unfurl it wide but rend it not.
There comes a voice from every plain,
From every mount of strife and glory,
Where valor’s blood has left a stain,
Or history found a (heme for story ;
From Bunker Hill, from Bennington,
From glorious York the cry is heard ;
From vale to mount the sound rolls on,
And e’en the ocean depths are stirred j
From every fame-remembered spot
The erv is heard, Oh! rer.d it nht!
Oh ! by the chiefs vvhosfi awful forms
Are bending from the starry sky,
Who bore that flag through wstY’S v.'ild storms,
And proud and gloriUftS'bade it fly,
; Their blood bought gift do not despise,
The proudest gift a nation knows—
A flag, bright, streaming to the skies,
That droops uot to its vaunting foes,
Oh ! be the treasure ne’er forgot—
Unfurl it wide but rend it not.
i
Oh ! ye, the sons of noble sires,.
Who bravely struggled side by side,
, blazed thfe tented field’s watch-fires,
Or navies pressed the surging tide;
t Shall petty bickerings rend the tie,
The oath fraternal sealed with blood?
Shall our proud banner cease to fly,
A victor flag o’er field and flood!
No ! be the Union ne’er.fmg^’
Unfuri it wide, but rend itnot.
NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD’
BY CHARLES SWAIN.
jNevef rail at the world, it isjusts* xve'rrtake it—
We see not the flower if"we set not the seed;
And as for ill luck, wlvf it’s just as we take it—
The heart’s tliat'iifearnest no bars can impede.
You question the justice which governs man’s
breast, % •’
And that the fcY t ttfW ’ is
.*■ vain f
But remember, this world, though it be not the
best, •* ....
Is the next to the bes£ we shall ever attain.
IN ever rail at the world, nor attempt to exalt
That feeling which questions society’s claim;
For often poor Friendship is less in the fault.
Less"’ chfiTgeable tfft,’ than the selfish vrifio
Ntlame;
Then ne’er by the changes of fete be depress’d,
1 Nor wear like a fetter Time’s sorrowful chain ;
But believe that thia Vokld, though it be aotthe
■ best',’
Is the next to the best we shall ever attain.
Mortality of March. — There were 729
deaths in the city of New York during the past
month. 145 were from consumption; 128 of in
flamation; 70 of dropsy; 20 of apoplexy; 18 of
small pox; 35 of fevers; 7’ of intfmperarifce; S’
drowned; 18 of disease of the heart; 62 of con
vulsions; 19 of hooping cough; 19 of croup; 8 of
bums and scald, arid 6of old age. Os ages, 337
were under 10; 222 from 10 to 40; 147 from 4Q
to 70, and 34 over 70/ Assuming that all under
20 years of age were born here, 359 in number,
we have of adults, 154 Americans', and 216
foreigners, of whom 136 were Irish and 32 Ger
mane. The’ Ijish inhabitants amount by the
census, to about'two-fifths of the whole popula
tion, and the bills of mortality seem to prove the
’statement.
THE UNION OF THE STATBS, AND THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE STATES.
COLUMBUS, GA. WEDNESDAYS APRIL 22, 1846.
MISCELLANY.
From the Dublin University Magazine.
THE SCULPTOR’S FIRST LOVE.
The young stranger, with the mild, pale face,
and the thoughtful eyes, had already knocked
three times at the door of Volpato’s studio. The
sun, though it was December, oppressed him as
he stood there without shade, under the high
white gable; and his walk from the farthest end
of Rome had not tired him the less, that he
had to ask his way from street to street. He
would have concluded that the old master was
gone out, and have turned away, disappointed,
to retrace the wearisome route which had brought
him thither, had not a certain indefinite sound
of life, a stir, a suspicion, the low tone of a voice,
that now and then made itself perceptible, assur
ed him that the studio was not empty. With a
hesitating hand, he at length raised the latch—
he opened the door—and stood like one spell
struck on the threshold, as a spectacle met his
eyes, which for an instant made him feel as if the
days of Grecian fable were come back. ’ Nearly
in the centre of the wide room, wondrously irra
diated by the golden light that flooded in through
its single, high placed window, wondrously con
trasted with the dead white casts of many a
group of ancient sculpture that lifted themselves
on either gide, appeared to hover a being, such
as young goddesses must have been, if 1 young
goddesses were, who, with bared arms and bo
som, an uplifted antique ewer in one hand, and
in the other a broad and shallow goblet, seemed
on the point of pouring ost to a gray-haired
man, who sat with rapt countenance looking up
to her, the drink of the immortals. Had the
stranger been a Greek oftho olden time, he
would have believed that he saw Hebe, sent
down with the cup of eternal youth to some fa
vdtitc.of the gods; being a Venetian of the
eighteenth century’, he knew that he had be
fore him nothing more than a young girl serving
as a ifiodel to a painter. But how beautiful was
that young girl ! How faultless the outline of
that classical head, of that low, antique brow,
that sculptural profile; that undulating and sym
metrical form, so perfect, So harmonious, so flow
ing, from the small and rounded neck down to the
finely moulded ancle, and the firm, elastic foot,
which her scanty statuesque drapciy, looped up
to thg knee, suffered to appear ! Motionless as if
of marble she stood ; but this immobility was the
only attribute of the lifeless stone that she pos
sessed ; the warm blc'od coursed berth4th that
pure, transparent skin; the dark eye of Italy
flashed beneath that chiselled brow; dewy breath
came grid Went softly between those half-opened
lips. You were not reminded 5f the o?atft e qf
Hebe, but of the living goddess of youth herself,
I' he stranger stood motionless the Object that
t riveted his attention.’ Neither the painter nor the
divine suhibet took any notice of him ; his en
trance seemed unobserved. • Btit he too forgot
that he was forgotten; remarked rtot tlia.t lie was
unremarked; He hail neither eye nor thought
but for the picture before him. He lost all recol
lection Os his errand—all recollection of where he
was, and who he was; as if grown to the
threshold, he stood, his breath held back, his
: heart beating, not fast, but with a force that shook
all his frame, till some five or six minutes after
his appearance, the old man threw down his pen
. cil, and nodding to the young goddess, said, with
i a faiher’s'smilb
44 There/thou art released for this turn. Go,
dress thee like a Christian maiden, and then see
if Raphael be in the garden. I want him.”
Hebe sprang lightly from her pedestal, and set
down her pitcher and cup; then throwing her
arms around the old man’s neck, she contemplat
ed hfer picture for a few moments with sparkling
■ books/
‘ “But the hrtir,” said she, “is “not done.”
“Raphael will do thfe hair,” said the old man ;
“‘go, put oh thy clothes and call him.”
And Hebe vanished.
The old malt ritfw rose, and approached the
stran'ger;
44 Pardon, signore,” said he, 44 that I have
treated you with so'very little ceremony. I was
within a feW rhinutes df finishing my work, and
feared the effect of an interruption. May I now
ask in what manner I can serve you?”
> “I wish,” began the stranger, “to take lessons
in drawing from you. I have, doubtless, the
honor of speaking to the renowned Maestro
Giovanni Volpato.”
The painter bowed; c
“I am also off artist,” continued the young
man. “I have already done some trifling things
in sculpture, which have been praised far above
their worth. I shall be a sculptor one day, but I
feel that I must learn to draw first.”
“Drawing,” said Volpato, with a smile, “is,
without doubt, a qualification of some importance
for a sculptor.”
44 I can draw what is before,” proceeded the
stranger ; “but when I attempt to carry out my
own ideas, to embody a beauty beyond : what the
actual forms that surround me present, I feel that
lam like a mariner without his compass. In
short, Signor Maestro, you see in me a swimmer
that cannot do without his corks ; take away my
rficklel, aiid I am not sure of a line.”
“My instructions,” said Volpato, “are very
much at your service, young sir. May I crave to
know by what name I am to address my pupil.”
“l am called Antonio Canovo,” said the stran
ger. .
A flush of pleasure lighted up the face of the
old man ; and seizing the hands of the young
sculptor with both his own, he kissed him, more
Ronumo, first on olid cheek and then on the oth
er.
44 You may well say that you will cft6 day be.
a sculptor,” said he. “I know yottr works, and
I will not allow that they have Keen praised above
their merit. In praise, Signor Antonio, quantity
and quality are two tiling?; and your works
tZhy have had more praise, but not better praise
than they deserve. Your contemporaries have
commended you much; You have to teach them
to comn.irM ycu well. You have to teach your
age to think of the works it now praises as you
think them, by giving it works which you can
join with’ it in praising. That is your mission,
and you will accomplish it.” .
44 Ah, Maestro!” said’ Canova, 44 as I stood
for the first time—it was but y^sterduy-T-Uiifqrc
the fiwr the Vatican, I doubted whether
I had a mission at all. I had not the courage to
say, “And I, too, am a sculptor.’ ”
The young artist was but a few days arrived
jn the Eternal City, under auspices which opened
to his ambition prospects the most intoxicating.
Already the cities of Italy rang with the fame of
his juvenile efforts, of which others formed a
higher, and, as we may now .safely say, a less
•jftsf estimate than himself. Tet rief until with a
pilgrim’s ardor, he had, immediately on his arri
val, flown to the Vatican, and looked on the
transcendent creations of the, Grecian chisel, sn<f
;of the pentwt of Raphael,’))ad he felt the deep dis
satisfaction with himself’ and his works which
now wrought so painfully in his bosom.
Revelations of a beauty and a majesty which
his soul had fill then bat dimly drearried of, had
that day embodied themselves ft ‘his waking
sense. The heroic, the divine, had lightened
upon him.—ln his own works he found, when
his reluctant thought turned back to them, the
mere impress of the commonest forms of every
day life—the limbs, the features, not of goth, nor
of demigods, but of men, and of the men of an
unheroic, unpoetic eighteenth century. Come
to Rome in the sflite of the? Venetian ambassador,
adopted by the queenly republic, who looked for
the revival of the ancient glories of art at his
hands, it was with dismay that he heard, as it
seemed so him. an inward voice ask doubtfully if
he were indeed called of the goddess, or if his mis
sion were not, peradventure, one of fancy—of an
a.Tpiration that fondly mistook irieli fer inspiration.
And yet no : he felt, in the next moment, that
the doubt was an impiety to the godhead who
spoke to him—who spoke to him, though her
voice had not yet found clear utterance through
him. One missipn, at least, was surely his. If
he could not shtii the ligKt of Greece anew on
his generation, he would make it ashamed of the
false light in which il walked. He would re
deem the world from Bernini—he would restore
to mankind the sense of the beautiful, of the
graceful, for to him it had been restor’fed.
The young sculptc'r, however; felt rightly ifiSt
drawing was his weak poinf. As long as he ad
hered slavishly to the forms of tlic real, to models
which every day life afforded him, his works had
not only a fair degree of correctness, but a certain
facile prettiness’ which gatned him the suffrages
of an age accustomed to no excellence ol a higher
order. But the master’s hand, which can com
pel ideal beauty into the limits of given measure
and proportion, he had yet to acquire; .He had
not learned—in the phrase of Schiller—so ‘finite
the necessary With the possible;’ and when he
would soar after the ideal, tile want of elementary
knowledge betrayed itself. He saw that, to rear
a structure, the pinnacles of which should rise
into the lofty and pure legion of creative art, the
basis must be laid deep and on the common ground
of existing nature ; and he adopted the prompt
resolution of studying the art of drawing, from its
first principles upwards, under the most accom-
master of it then living—the engraver
Volpato. It even passed across his mind that
perhaps a painter, rather than a sculptor, might
lie hid in him. Raphael seemed to him less re
mote, less hopelessly unapproachable than the
creator of the Apollo, of the Antinous, or the
Gladiator..
Become VoTpato’s scholar, Canova applied
himself, with the energetic industry that belonged
to his character, to the study of drawing, and
made a progress that in the highest degree grat
ified the old master. The image of the glorious
creature, however, whom he had seen at his first
visit to the strt'dio, dwelt continually iu his
thoughts; and tis often as he took his way to the
Trastevere, where the house of his instructor
was situated, his heart beat tumultuously with
the hope of again seeing her. But the cncgrav
er’s daughter—for such, he had learned, was
Hebe—did not often appear in the studio; and
when she did, it was generally but for a moment
Nevertheless, even such moments were sufficient
to render deeper and deeper the impression which
her first appearance had made on the young ar
tist, and to make his heart, with its rich store of
affections, more and more devotedly hers. Ca
nova had just that constitution of mind—that ex
treme sensibility—that quick and intense feeling
of Ae beautiful—that open and confiding tem
per, which predispose to love at first sight; and
in effect he had, from the first moment of his
looking upon her, loved the daughter of Volpato
with all flic strength of his soul. This love had a
singular and, in the highest degree, beneficial effect
upon him Its an artist. The sight of the Belve
pere Apollo had for a moment made him doubt
that he was a sculptor—had shown him the high
goal of his calling as something so distant, so in
accessible, that he had felt tempted to give up
the race in despair. It was like the glimpse of
the icy summit of Ararat to the adventurous
traveller, who only learns, when he has accom
plished half the ascent, and surmounted the lower
eminences that hid him from the point he would
reach, bow far oft is ftiax point, and what depths
to be fathomed, what precipices to be sealed,
lie between him and it. But Maria Volpato’s
beauty, so ideal, and yet real,’ ffe’ettied to inspire,
rather than to daunt and depress him. It gave
him faith in his art, which he had before half
suspected of falsehood. He rid loriger strove af
ter the antique, but after the living loveliness that
. still walked Upon earth; and tire beauty which he
loved seemed not tclxini tobe placed on the fur
ther edge of a great gfiipfv, as did, that w hich he
only wondered eT and worshipped.
Volpato often said to him, as the highest order
of beauty more and more developetTitself in his
designs—
“ Ay, ay ; one can see that you are a diligent
visitant of the Vatican, Antonio mid.”
But Canova felt that the sight of the Hebe in
that studio had done more foV mim than all the
remains of Grecian genius.
As for Volpato, he was every day pro Mer and
fonder of his pupil, the sweetness of whose dis
position, his freedcin from all vanity and artistic
envy, and his singular candor and innocence of
character, were as certain to win him the love of
those around him, as his rapidly developing genius
was to command their admiration. The old
master generally called him “son,” and Canova
never heard the appellation without feeling his
heart throb w ith an uneasy pleasure, a hope that
was more than half fear. Should he, perhaps,
one day have a right to call Volpfito “father ?”
But our yourig sculptor w as riot the engraver’s
only pupil; so early as the second time of his vis
iting the studio, he had made the .acquaintance of
a young Neapolitan, who had already been more
than a year under Volpato’s instructions. This
was the “Raphael” to whom the old master had
left the task of finishing the hair of his Hebe ;.his
family name was Morghen ; he was of Flemish
extraction, and was in person, and in many
qualities of mind afld disposition, the opposite of
Canova. The. Italian and the Netherlander
Were wonderfully blended in this young man,
who was beautiful as his fellow'-student was
homely in person, and confident, joyous, hold, as
the latter w r as retiring and distrusted of himself.
The fair hair betrayed his northern descent
lie wore after the fashion of tHe divine painter
whose baptismal name he bore, and whom he was
accustomed to cal! his patron saint. In perfect
harmony w ith those bright locks were the merry
blue eye, the fair and ruddy cheek, the large arid
well-moulded* limbs; and in this Transalpine ex
terior was lodged an Italian soul, fiery, full of
genius 1 , quick of feeling; in short, having hut one
quality of the Fleming, that of indomitable pa-,
tierce in the finishing of all that he took in hand.
Raphael Morghan was second only to Canova
in their master’s love ; he was learning the .art
ofthe engraver, and old-Volpato already prophe
aifeu'that the young Neapolitan would soon leayej
his instructor behind.
Canova had not long been under Vuipete’s
tuition, when he produced a little track, trhlfih,
insignificant as if is by the side of hi latter crea
tions, yefhas aTr importance ofits owfl/ai Near
ly marking that anew epoch had coriiTncnced in
his aristic developement. This was an Apollo,
who is represented as with a
wreath of laurel. When he showed it’to Yol
peto, the old master said—
“ This is not iritich in itselft ifiy son; but there
is more promise in it than all have done be
fore. You'll ave ‘thrown away your corks,’ An
tonio niio; these are not the limbs of the sun-god
indeed, but neither are they the limjts of the
common sortN 6f day. The Ideal has obeyed
your spell: yon have learned in the Vatican to
conjure.” ~ .
44 Ah! lather,” said the yourig man, hfe pale
cheeks bocotritng scarlel, as he for the first time
addressed Volpato thus—“not in Vatican, but in
this stulfto did the first Inspiration of higher art
visit me. Tlic wonderful Apollo did indeed open
my eyes, but one more wonderful than he waked
m3’ heart, one whose image, grown into and in
corporated with my inmost thoughts, instills into
the creations of my fmgefrs whatever beauty they
can boast.”
And taking heart of grace he declared to the
old artist that he loved Maria; that he had loved
■ her from the 1 first moment he saw her; and that
only she could make his life worth the living,
fame worth'the laboring for, or health worth the
winning.
Volpath’s surprise at this avowal was not great
er than his joy* Embracing the young sculptor,
he rri**d—
“And sc then wilt be my sen in reality ! Now.
NUMBER 17.
as I ani a sinful man and a good Christian, I
have heard nothing that gave me so much plea
sure since Maria’s mother (whose soul Heaven
keep) said to me * yea,’ and that is a long time,
Antonio, And thou lovest my girl from the first
day; and - sfs I grew to know thee better—loved
thee as a son, and spoke to thee as a son, as thou
knowest; and now, per Bacco, thou shdlt be my
son. I could not wish my child a better hus
band, and I will say—well as I love thee—l could
not wish thee a better wife.”
“But will she consent?” asked Conova.
“Will she?” laughed the old man. “We will
not ask her, boy. We will not put it into the
head of young girls that they have aVi 11; they
will find that out soon enough when they are
; married;
Thou Shalt have her; I say it, and thou Wilt
see that I have will enough for myself and her.”
“But I have no reasdn to believe thal she loves
me,” said the sculptor.
“ Not love thee !” cried Volpato, “why should
she not love tKFri ? hast thou vexed hes!”
“.Heaven forbid!” cxclaiiried the young man.
“Well then, what should hinder her to love
*thde ? I love thee, Raphael loves thte; why should
■ not Maria love tlice as well as we? And when
she is once thy wife, boy, she will love the better
than any of its.”
Volpato lost no time in communicating to his
, daughter the young sculptor’s declaration, and
his own promise. But the communication was
by no means received in the manner he had ex
pected. Maria stood aghast; all color forsook
■ her cheek—and her voice was scarcely audible
as she faltered,
“You have promised, father—you say you have
proposed?”
“Yes, yes, my child, I have promised. But
what is this ? Art thou frightendd because I
tell thee of a husband? Ha; thou thinkest mar
riage is a very terrible thing? Silly girl! What
: dost thou think young maidens are in the world
for but to be married?”
Maria burst into tears. /•
“ Per Bacco ! Per Glove /” cried the c)d man
.“this is too much; art such a child, to cry because
i my good Antonia loves thco well enough to wish
thee to be with him always ? Dost think a young
girl comes into the world for no other piirposcbut
to keep house for hrir old father?”
“I ani sure, dear father:” Subbed Maria, “ I
shall never be half so happy doing anything else.”
Then, thiowing her arms round his neck, she
went on coaxingly, though with a Voice* inter
rupted with tears, “Is papa tired of Maria? Is
she a bad housekeeper 1 Has she to leave her
, place?”
“Tut, tut,” said her father— !< My Antonio
will make thee a great deal happier tiian thy old
father can do, Marla mia. And thou shalt keep
house for me still, good chili! if tha t be all. What
is to hinder us to live together; thou and thy Ims
iband, and I and Raphael? Dost know, girl that
thou w ilt one day be the wife of the greatest man
living? Antonio I tell thee, will give his name
to his age.And then, to look at the picture from
anothor side, he has already a pension of three
hundred ducats from the Venetian senate ; and
that is but a beginning. He is not three and
twenty years old, and has a pension of three
hundred’ ducats. Thou wilt be rich Maria; canst
do good—give alms to thy heart’s content, my
good child.”
“ I do not want to be rich,” said Maria, still
Weeping. “Why.must I marry? . Are we not
all happy as we are ? Aftd I never can be hap
py with Signora Canova. Ido not love him.”
“Not love him!” exclaimed Volpato, with
some indignation—“not love my good Antonio
—my diligent, gentle, innocent boy ! What has
.thou against him then? What has he ever done
to thee?” . •
“Nothing,” sobbed the girl,.“l do not think he
ever spoke to me, good or bad; “bit for dll that, I
don’t love him.”
; “Well; but when thou art his wife thou wilt
love him. Thou shalt marry him fi.irsf, end learn
.to love him after. There, don’t plague
girl, say no more ; thov wilt be happier than ihou
• thinkest for.”
“How can one be happy with a husband one
,does not love?”
“Have I not told thee thou wilt love him w hen
ihe is thy husband? Every good wife loves her
husband. Don’t plauge me, Maria; be a reason
able maiden, as thou always wast. I tell thee it
is all settled.” And the did artist went back to
jiis studio.
Maria went into the garden to cry at her lei
sure. There w'as, in a retired part dfthc garden,
a sunny spot, where Raphael Mprghen was in the
habit of laying his sketches to dry. Whether by
accident or design, tlie daughter ‘of Volpato bent
iher steps to this spot, sat down on a bench which
w'as shaded by a tall group of stout pines and
cypresses, and gave vent to her tears. She had
not long been there, when approaching footsteps
were heard, and the next moment, the young Nea
politan stood before her. “
“Maria!” cried he, “in tears! What has hap
pened!”
And sitting down at her side, he passed one
arm round her w aist, and drew her towards him
with the other. Maria laid her head an his
shoulder, and wept with increased violence.
“Raphael,” sobed she, “my father has prom
ised my hand to Signora Conoya-’’ • ~
The young engravTr started, and changed co
lor.
“To Antonio!” exclaimed he—“Tolly Jit is out
of the’ question!”
“Alas !” said Maria,’ “his mind is maife up.—
He will hear nothing. His last words to me
were, •It is all settled.’ There is no help Ra
phael.” *
“No help!” repeated Morghen, “all settle-?!
And you have then consented? Do you give
m 6 up so easily, Marir? Aha! perhaps you
love A ntonip! every one Ic''os him; it is impos
sible not to love him. I loveo him myself till
this moment; but if he has robbed me of you—”
“ Alas! Raphael, you well know'that this is
impossible. I can never love any one but you.”
“Well, then, Maria, there,i&, nothing
sayjfttt father . ioves Anto-*
Inio, it is true'; but he loiut me also. He knows
mg.loriger, fam an older pupil. I shall bring
him more credit in the end than Antoniq f for
Antonio will open a path for himself, while I fol
low that which my master has trod before me.—
Maria, it was a great folly tc keep otir love secret.
We should have told your father of it Icdig ago,
and then none of these troubles would have
arise#!. He would have promised you to me as
readily as he has promised you to Antonio, and
you would at this time be my betcethed—per
haps my irTife, Well, it is not too late. I w ill go
to yotfr father this instant.”
Leaving the daughter of . Volpato somewhat
4ess desponding than he had found her, Raphael
‘’Morgnen hrfsfenecf back to the studio, where he
found the master alone.- The young Neapolitan
begad at once, but without making any reference
to Canova; declared to Volpato his own and Ma
ria’s mutual affection, and asked his sanction to
their betrothal.
The old roan> brow-was clouded.
“ This cannot be, Raphael,” he replied. “ I
have but this morning promised Maria to Anto
hief.”
“To-Antonio, maestro / But Maria does not
love Antonio.”
“That is not his fault, poor youth,” said Vol
pato! “she has no one to blame for that but her
self.”
“But she cannot be happy,” urged Raphael;
“with a husband she does not lcVe; and I can tell
you, maestro, you will promote Antonio’s hap
piness as little as your daughter’s by 1 giving hint
a wife who loves him not.”
“ Diavofo /” cried the old ir.an impatiently,
“this talk of love again! I think young people
arc all in fl story. ‘I do not love Antonio,’ fa vs
one; ?h ddec ftfylore Ar.tcr.io,’ says the ether
- ,T -- - - - 11 ■
can flSe l&ppy wiflfi ‘T’TlWßafirt
love?” “cries the other again. ‘How can she fee
happy with a husband she doesn’t love?’ echoes
the other! Now I ask you you. Raphael
it not enough a turn a reasonable man’s brain? I
fell thee what I told my girl, she will low Wall
vVhen he is one her husband.”
“But she loves me,” persisted the Neapolitan;
“and-I her. We love each other, maestro yed
will break her heart and mine if you port si--n
Look, maestro, I have long promised myself that
the closest bonds should hind ns to one another
—that is, you and me; and the remainder of dyr
lives should be passed.together. I have always
intended to settle in Rome. I know that I ‘shad
She day be the first artist, jn mv way, livings
you have yOurself Said so, and I feci it—-and 1
said to myself, What is to hinder my dear- good
master and I should hereafter form a partnership,
Fe one in family, and that I, who am his son in
art, should also be his soitMn-luw, Ond in love?
Now', Antonio, maestro —Antonio will be a great*
er man than I, but he will not lie your fellow*
laborer. He has another ckrecf befere him.—
The w’orld is his Rome. Clive him yotir daugh
ter, and you foOse her and him; give her to me;
and you keep us both.” 5
“f can’t, Raphael,” said Volpato, “I haVepro
mised. My word is my word; Hadsf thou asked
me for Maria last week—n ve, or yesterday—l
had given her thee with all my heart, for I love
thee well, aS thou knowest ; but Antonio has my
promise.” -v
“But, maestro, tnlo, if it Were you that Anto
nio wanted to ma.ry, you could give him vow
most certainly, ami nobody would have
a riglv? to say against it. But ought not Maria
to have a vdfee in giving herself away ? You
‘would not marry her without her own consent?
That is more than nature and God have girveti
you a right to. You would not break her'heart?
.take her from one she loves, to give her to one
she does riot love ? That would be frightful!”
“O great Jupiter!” cried the old man in des
‘peration -“how much must these ears hear ■of
‘love’ this blessed day ! Can the young gener
ation, then, speak of nothing else 1 To all rep
resentations, to all grounds, to all that reason
‘can urge, they have no answer but ‘ Love!
Love!’ aiijjj tfrisfcrisWOT is to settle every points!”
“There is no use in calling upon Jupiter,
.maestro,” said Raphael with a smile, “for Atnar
is a god as well as he, and, if the poets lie not,
,the blind boy’s bolts are more than a match for
the Thunderer’s. But there was a time, maes
tro, when ‘Love! Love !’ would have been your
-answer, too, to all representations, to all grounds,
to all that what the world would call reason
could urge. Think of that time, and have sym
pathy yfth those who arc but what you were.”
“And shall I have no sympathy with my poor
Antonio? Is Ms ,f lie only mouth in which ‘Love!
Love !’ is to Lc an inclusive plea? Well, well,
I W ill tell thee what I will do—though I am not
sura but it is holding my promise too loosely.—
Ye shall each paint Maria—thou and Antonio—
anil whoever paint : her best shall hive her.—
And, what is more, she herself shall be the judge.
That must satisfy thfcc, Rstphael. I love the—
I need not tel!-thee that'—and I were right glad
to frftVe’ thee for a partner. Thou art my son hi
art, as thou hast said; and, hereafter, Volpato
will bn remembered as Raphael Morghen’s mas
ter, while the world will hardly inquire if Ca
nova, too, did not take a few’ lessons in drawing
front me. But—more than I have now- said I
cannot do.”
“I am satisfied, maestro; I ask nothing more.”
“Nay, be not too sure, boy. Maria may love
thee as thou sayst; but do not think that will
bias her judgment. She is an artist’s child, and.
.will riot call a bad picture a good one, or a good
‘one a bad, even, for the love of thy lair locks
and broad shoulders, thou Hercules of Fland
ers;”
“If I be a Hercules, maestro, there is all the
more reason I should have a Hebe for a mate,”
cried Raphael; arid Hew, full of confidence, to
communicate her father’s decision to Maria*
, The next morning Volpato informed the young
sculptor that he had a rival in the Neapolitan,
but mentioned nothing of Moria’s prefereence for
the latter. Raphael and Antonio w r ere alike
dear to him—And their affections for his daugh
ter, he believed, wrns equal—and he bad resolved
ori giving them both an equal chance of the fulfil
ment of their wishes. As for his owh wishes, fee
did not conceal that they were wholly on tlie
side of his younger pupil.
* He then explained to Canova on what issuo
the prifc of Maria’s hand was set, and the young
man, too gentle, and too modest in all that regar
ded his owm claims, to protest against this invali
dation of of the absolute promise he had received
the preceding day, at once accepted the condi
tions. The work was to begin without delay; it
was arranged that the fair cause of strife should
give a sitting alternately to the two competitors
for her love, the first day fell to the lot of our An
tonio.
With a heart, he hurried throbbing of which
did not help to steady his hand, Canova seated
himself before the canvass to which be W'as to
transfer the features of Maria Volpato. ’Hie
pencil trembled in bis unassured grasp ; he had
ipade no contemptible progress in drawing un
der the engraver’s guidance, but to-day seemed
as if all he gained sipee coming to Rome had
.suddenly forsaken biin. Ilis touch was becom
ing hesitating, uncertain; his hand had forgot its
cunning; The face upon which his eyes were
fixed rcftised to reproduce itself beneath his pen
cil; no line that he drew satisfied him, the very
power of catching ft resemblance appeared to
have departed from him. Perhaps it was that
he did riot carry with him the sympathies of his
fair sitter, that she yielded not herself to his En
deavor. Certainly, nc spark of animation lighted
up those exquisite features; they were there; it
is true, in their faultless, matchless beauty, but it
Htfds a beauty without a soul. , Listlessness; wear
iness, almost sullness, was all the expression with
which they met his troubled and self-d s rusting
gdZ". Then Came a change over brow and cheek
—an uneasy, restless; look: the daughter of Vol
pato could not stay two minutes in the same po
sition; she mused, she started, she pouted, she
sighed—all tokens of the reluctance with which
she sat to our poor Antonio! At times her ex
pression was disdainful, at times malicious, and*
the artist himself shuddered at the reflection of it
on his canvas. He rubbed out the lines,s which
gave almost the impression of a beautiful fierid;
he tried again, ftnq the face that grew beneath his
hands wrs that ofjdiot. What wonder if the
unhappy scholar of Volpato found himself baffled,
if all his’ attempts to, seize the lines of the ever
varying visage beford him proved aboritive? At
first he thought the fault was his own, and his
genius had deserted him, and again the old
doubts, as to his vocation came back upon him iu
their bitterness, *rtr*Wj3Ho he
?? ,’ ; was Maria’s calculated plan to
‘t&tfadb arid bewilder him. “She will not. be
painted by me,” thought he; and the thought’ Was
bitterer to him than that which is displaced.
Nothing could have wrought more favorably for
her purpose than his divining it; for the suspicion
that his failure was the dearest hope ofher heart
seemed to paralyze his hand, and rft length he’
threw down the pencil in despair, arid put an end
to the sitting.
This scene was repented more than once, till
the very soul of Antonio sickened within him at
the hopeless toil. Meanwhile, how different a
sifter had Rapheal Morghen !—and with how
different results did he pursue the labor w hich**
all combined to render so easy to him! To say
nothing of this artistes undeniable superiority to
Canova in drawing, be enjoyed the inestimable
advantage of a perfect good understanding with
her on whose portrait he wrought. Entering
with the instinct of a painter’s child into all bis
’ Jews—divining his wishes, and responding tn
them—animating him with smiles of affection,
she helped him in the very same proportion in
w’hich she hindered his rival. Raphael’s gav
hearted self assurance, too—a quality in which
no Neapolitan is dcftoientL-Was here of un
epeakatile service to him. With looks of fin v
passion which the object of them returned w ith
g’ances no less ardertt, he perused the lineaments
of his mistress; and it was not long ere life Can
vass mirrored with virid faithfulness the face of
which his heart had already lorig dern the'mir
ror. Volpato’s daughter herself -seemed from
♦he picture as in the reality to m?et his looks of
love with responsive looks, to look f6rfh upen him’
as she looked upen none else.
After all, ft was not stfth a picture of Maria
as Antemc would wish to have produced. If
was rot 2lebe; it was the Cyprian godders.—
Whst Jd’ ej ” mid net with the whole world id