424

THE THREE SISTER ARTS.

have seen that the greatest masters of antiquity excelled in all the three. Can we suppose that Phidias, Praxiteles, and Lysippus could have reached such perfection in statuary-Zeuxis, Parrhasius, and Apelles, in painting and design-Mnesicles, Callicrates, and Ictinus, in architecture, without the knowledge and aid of the sister arts? The same remark will apply to the great Italian masters. Who shall decide in which department Buonarotti was most pre-eminent "the architect of the Cupola -the sculptor of the Moses-the painter of the Last Judg ment?" Raffael, the prince of painters, was highly distinguished as an architect, besides being intimately acquainted with classical sculpture. Leonardo da Vinci, in addition to his fame as a painter, was distinguished for his skill in sculpture and modelling, as well as engineering and mechanics--Giulio Romano was at once painter, architect and modeller-Bernini, sculptor, architect, and painter-Brunelleschi and Ghiberti were equally famed for architecture as for sculpture. In our own times, Canova, besides sculpture, had a fine taste for architecture, and was eminently skilled in painting; in proof of which, it is only necessary to refer to his beautiful temple at Possagno, designed by himself, and its fine altar piece of the Descent from the Cross, painted with his own hand.

With regard to the cultivation of modern art, there can be but one opinion as to the inestimable benefit to be derived from antique sculpture and the ideal, provided it be conducted with judgment and discrimination, and accompanied by a constant reference to select nature, as a guide and corrective. In following this course we are trea ling in the footsteps of the great masters of Greece and modern Italy. Even had we possessed all the works of antiquity in perfect preservation, never could we have dispensed with the study of nature without becoming mere mannerists and copyists, destitute alike of originality and excellence. Among the various antique statues, busts, relievi, &c., now extent, with the exception of the sculptures of the Parthenon, and a few others of doubtful authenticity, we possess no works of the greatest masters of antiquity, or of the most flourishing periods of art. The chefs-d'œuvres of Grecian sculpture the colossal statues of ivory and gold by Phidiasthe great works of Praxiteles-the splendid bronze equestrian statues, quadrigæ, and groups of Lysippus,-all have perished in the wreck of ages. How excellent soever the existing spe

cimens may be, some of the most celebrated, including the Apollo Belvidere and the Venus de Medici, have been suspected, not without reason, of being but good copies of former originals. Many must be copies, or copies of copies-many the works of secondary and inferior artists, who, it may be supposed, made a trade of their art, in repeating the same subjects in a cold and conventional manner, independently of any sentiment of beauty or study of nature. Such productions, and they form a considerable proportion of antique collections—have nothing of the style and taste of the great masters, but " a certain appearance of tradition more or less faithful." Moreover, all are mutilated and defaced, and what is even worse, many are patched, restored, or metamorphosed. Such considerations render it doubly imperative to beware of a blind, indiscriminate, and slavish admiration of the antique, to the exclusion of living nature. On the other hand, the sole and exclusive study of individual and ordinary nature will be apt to degenerate into the commonplace and vulgar. The highest department-the true epic of the heart, as already remarked, will be found in the union of select nature and the Grecian ideal.

-CLEGHORN.

INSULT.

THE purpose of an injury 'tis to vex

And trouble me; now nothing can do that
To him that's valiant. He that is affected
With the least injury, is less than it.

It is but reasonable to conclude

That should be stronger still which hurts, than that
Which is hurt. Now no wickedness is stronger
Than what opposeth it; not fortune's self,
When she encounters virtue, but comes off

Both lame and less! why should a wise man then
Confess himself the weaker, by the feeling
Of a fool's wrong? There may an injury
Be meant me. I may choose, if I will take it.
But we are now come to that delicacy

And tenderness of sense, we think an insolence

Worse than an injury, bare words worse than deeds;
We are not so much troubled with the wrong,
As with the opinion of the wrong; like children
We are made afraid of visors.

-JONSON.

THE BETTER LIFE.

WHAT is this life to me? not worth a thought:
Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it

To win a better even thy malice serves

:

To me but as a ladder to mount up

To such a height of happiness, where I shall
Look down with scorn on thee and on the world;
Where, circled with true pleasures, plac'd above
The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory
To think at what an easy price I bought it.
There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth:
No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat,
Famine, nor age, have any being there.
Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury in
Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards ;-
The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon,
Which did require a Hercules to get it,

Compared with what grows in all plenty there,
Deserves not to be named.

-MASSINGER.

THE TRUE KING.

'Tis not the bared pate, the bended knees,
Gilt tipstaff, Tyrian purple, chaires of state,
Troopes of pide butterflies, that flutter still
In greatnesse summer, that confirm a prince:
'Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes,
Showting and clapping with confused dinne,
That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king,
A true right king, that dares doe ought, save wrong:
Feares nothing mortall, but to be unjust;

Who is not blowne up with the flattering puffes
Of spungy sycophants; who stands unmov'd,
Despight the justling of opinion:

Who can enjoy himselfe, maugre the throng
That strive to presse his quiet out of him:
Who sits upon Jove's footestoole as I doe,
Adoring, not affecting, majesty :

Whose brow is wreathed with the silver crown
Of cleare content: this, Lucio, is a king.
And of this empire, every man 's possest,
That 's worth his soule.

-MARSTON.

SOCIETY.

WHY striv'st thou to be gone?
Why should'st thou so desire to be alone?
Thy cheek is never fair when none is by:
For what is red and white but to the eye?
And for that cause the heavens are dark at night,
Because all creatures close their weary sight;
For there's no mortal can so early rise,
But still the morning waits upon his eyes.
The early rising and soon-singing lark
Can never chant her sweet notes in the dark;
For sleep she ne'er so little or so long,
Yet still the morning will attend her song.
All creatures that beneath bright Cynthia be
Have appetite unto society;

The overflowing waves would have a bound
Within the confines of the spacious ground,
And all their shady currents would be placed
In hollow of the solitary vast,

But that they loathe to let their soft streams sing
Where none can hear their gentle murmuring.

THE DEATH OF THEODORE.
A.D. 1868.

-BEAUMONT.

Ar first the King remained on foot, superintending the transport of the guns, but suddenly his eyes fired up, and he called for his favorite bay horse Hamra, and for his rifle sent him by M. Barroni, called the "elephant rifle." His friends asked him not to endanger his life; but he replied that he could not do better than die then and there. Six chiefs mounted at the same time. Theodore galloped furiously up and down, and in circles, firing off his rifle as a challenge; but no one came forward to fight him. Next to the Wakshum Teferri, whom he had immured in Magdala, the King was the best horseman, the best spearman, and the best shot in Abyssinia. Now for the last time he could display these qualities; and probably he then experienced a few short minutes of enjoyment for the last time in his life. He had barely four hours to live. More troops came up and opened fire, and at last he retreated up into Magdala, followed by the faithful few, and necessarily abandoning the two guns. After closing the doors of the Koket-bir, hey set to work piling large stones against the inside, Theodore and

428

THE DEATH OF THEODORE.

Ras Engeda setting the example. They then passed a weary time awaiting their fate, while the English were honoring them with a cannonade. The King was dressed in a magnificent kinbob, or shirt of gold and silk, with a lion-skin lemd, or tippet, and a belt containing sword and pistols. He took his seat on the rocks, between the first and second gates, surrounded by his friends, and watched the English guns with his glass. A shell burst a few feet above his head and killed two cows. He then changed his dress, believing that he made a conspicuous mark, and during the brief remainder of his life he had on a pair of cotton drawers, a fine muslin shirt, and a white shama, with a pistol-belt round his waist. He continued to watch the guns with his glass, ducking his head when he saw the flash and smoke. Soon his friends began to fall around him. His faithful minister, Ras Engeda, and his brother, were killed by one shell. Ras Engeda had sent his three little sons out of the amba for safety-fine young fellows, between twelve and fourteen, who stood amongst the English troops on Selassye, crying bitterly at the thought of their father's danger, and offering drinks of tej to the men if they would leave off firing.

When the firing began to get hot some of the chiefs and nearly all the soldiers deserted, and took refuge among the huts on Magdala. The chiefs who retired were Bitwaddad Hassane, Engeda Wark, and Agafari Mashesha. Thus when the assault commenced, and King Theodore came down into the Koket-bir to fire upon the overwhelming numbers of his assailants, many of his own little band were missing. The defenders of Magdala numbered about ten men, including Theodore himself. Basha Engeda, and the gun-bearer Amanyi were killed as they went down into the gateway. Walda Gabir, therefore, loaded the rifles and handed them up to the King, who fired through badly-constructed loop-holes in the wall. The others also kept up a feeble fire. When the English soldiers climbed over the hedge, and poured a volley into the heroic little band, most of the survivors were wounded. The bodies of the dying chiefs had, by the King's order been brought down from the rocks, and placed in a corner of the gateway, as the most sheltered spot. Even in this supreme moment of danger, Theodore took thought of his faithful comrades in arms. Bitwaddad Bakal, an old man, was seized, and afterwards half his head was blown -out. His body was inside the gateway, by that of Ras Engeda,