with a hollowed piece of wood for a pillow, and fasting much longer than was good for him-he was very charitable and open-handed to others.

It must be confessed, however, we gather from this volume that the great naturalist was, out of his profession, by no means a wise man, and certainly not a witty one. He loved jokes of a school boy sort, and indulged in sarcasms more practical than theoretical. The two knockers of his front door were cast, from bell-metal, in the similitude of human faces, the one representing mirth, and the other misery. The former was immovably fixed to the door, and seemed to grin with delight at your fruitless efforts to raise it; the latter appeared to suffer ago nies from the blows you inflicted on it. In the vestibule was a singularly conceived model of a nightmare, with a human face, grinning and showing the tusks of a wild boar, the hands of a man, Satanic horns, elephant's ears, bat's wings, one cloven foot, one eagle's talon, and with the tail of a serpent; beneath it was the following motto:

"Assidens præcordiis Pavore somnos auferam."

It was his humor, more than once, when between seventy and eighty years of age, to welcome the author, when he came to dinner, by hiding on all-fours under the hall-table, and pretending to be a dog. He made use of his wonderful taxidermic talents to represent many individuals who took a leading part in the Reformation by loathsome objects from the animal and vegetable creation, and completed the artistic group with a sprinkling of "composite" demons. He was seriously vexed at a stranger under his own roof, who had profanely designated his favorite (stuffed) Bahia toad as "an ugly brute." These and similar

instances of bad taste we think Dr. Hobson might have left unrecorded with advantage. Still, there was

Sitting on the region of the heart, I take away sleep by fear.

much to like as well as to admire about the great naturalist. He could show good taste as well as bad. No museum of natural history elsewhere could compare with the beauty and finish of the specimens, prepared by the squire's own hand with wonderful skill and patience, which adorned the inside of Walton Hall. "Not even living nature," says our author, “could surpass the representations there dis played." In attitude, you had life itself; in plumage, the lustrous beauty that death could not dim; “in anatomy, every local prominence, every depression, every curve, nay, the slightest elevation or depression of each feather." The great staircase glowed with tropic splendor. At the top of it was the veritable cayman mentioned in the Wanderings, on which the squire mounted in Essequibo, and a huge snake with which he contended in single combat. Doubts have been thrown on both these feats, but Dr. Hobson relates instances of presence of mind and courage shown by the squire in his own presence quite as marvellous as these. Wishing to make experiment as to whether his Woorali poison, obtained in 1812 from the Macoushi Indians, was more efficacious than the bite of the rattlesnake, he got an American showman to bring him twenty-four of these dangerous reptiles, and took them out of their cases, one by one, with his own hand, while the Yankee fled from the room in terror, accompanied by very many members of the faculty, who had assembled to witness the operation. In his old age, he alone could be found to enter the cage of the Borneo orangoutang at the Zoological Gardens, in order minutely to inspect the palm of its hand during life, and also the teeth. It was with difficulty he obtained permission to run this hazard, the keepers insisting upon it that the beast would "make very short work of him." However, nothing daunted, the squire entered the palisaded enclosure. "The meeting of these two celebrities was clearly a case of love at first sight, as

the strangers embraced most affectionately, kissing one another many times, to the great amusement of the spectators. The squire's investigations were freely permitted, and his fingers allow ed to enter his jaws; his apeship then claimed a similar privilege, which was as courteously granted; after which the orang-outang began an elaborate search of the squire's head."

The strength and activity of Waterton were equal to his physical courage, notwithstanding that he was wont to indulge in venesection to a dangerous extent, always performing that operation himself, even to the subsequent bandaging. At eighty-one, the suppleness of his limbs was marvellous;

and at seventy-seven years of age our author was witness to his scratching the back part of his head with the toe of his right foot! Death, however, claimed his rights at last in the squire's eighty-third year.

Charles Waterton lies buried in a secluded part of his own beautiful domain, at the foot of a little cross, with this inscription, written by himself:

Orate

Pro anima Caroli Waterton,
Viatoris :

Cujus jam fessa
Juxta banc crucem
Hic sepeliuntur ossa.

Even those iron limbs of his, it seems, grew weary at last.

VOL. V.-13

CHAPTER X.

named the superb. This rich city is the rival of Venice, and is proud of her

THE first real stopping-place Robert made under the cloudless sky of Italy was at Milan, and its magnificent cathedral was the first place visited. This church, after St. Peter's at Rome, is the finest in Italy, and is built of pure white marble. There are few Gothic edifices so rich in ornament, or of so light and airy an appearance. His next visit was to one of the old Dominican convents, named Sainte Marie des Graces, where he saw "The Last Supper" of Leonardo da Vinci, one of the great Italian painters and the protige of François I.

The ancient capital of Lombardy does not present a very agreeable appearance, notwithstanding its numerous palaces, which is owing to the arrangement of the streets, which are so long and narrow that nothing shows its real magnificence, not even the cathedral. The memory of Eugene Beauharnais is always dear here, where as the delegate of Napoleon he exercised sovereign power, and Robert saw with pleasure that the glory and benefits of the one and the wise conduct of the other were not effaced from the hearts of the Milanese. From Milan he went to Parma, where he saw a number of choice paintings by Correggio, Lanfranc, and Mazzola, and at the cathedral the magnificent fresco of the Assumption; at the church of Saint Sepulchre, the Madonna and Child. He also visited the Farnese gallery, and the tomb of this family in the church of the Madopna Steccata. From Parma he went to Genoa, sur

ways held on the seas. She has almost entire the schools of Michael Angelo and Bernini, and has a prodigious number of paintings and sculptures. Thus was Robert obliged at each step to stop and pay his tribute of admiration to what he saw. And Genoa has produced so many distinguished artists that for a long time science and art have flourished there and acquired a high degree of renown. Robert passed three months of study there, which was longer than he intended, as he was burning with a desire to get to Rome, for it was there that he intended seriously to open his studies, but he could not resist the charm which held him in first one, then another place. From Genoa he sailed for Leghorn, and from there to Florence, which all travellers unite in considering one of the most beautiful of Italian cities. It is situated at the foot of the Apennines, and the number of its gardens and their beauty, its public squares, ornamented with fountains and statues, the shores of the Arno, with their charming quays, and the grandeur of the palaces, designed and embellished by Sanzio and Buonarroti, its smiling suburbs, and the brilliant titles of its citizens, combine to make it a most attractive place. Its largest gallery was commenced by Cardinal Leopold de Medicis, and is built in two parallel galleries, and at their end a third is placed, which stands on the right bank of the Arno. Here are classed in perfect order the master works of modern art. If the name of Medicis has odious remembrances in France since the massacre of Saint

Bartholomew, it is not so in Florence or any part of Italy; on the contrary, it recalls there all that is most dazzling and generous in literature, art, and science. Talent always finds an asylum and a welcome in Florence, and Robert was favorably received by the persons to whom he had been recommended by his master, who, more for his genuine affection for him than for the honor of having such a pupil, had given him letters to men of high positions. What could be a more powerful stimulant for him than the flattering encouragement he received from persous of known taste and hearty appreciation? Believing that nothing that we wish to accomplish is impossible, Robert, with increased passion for his art, studied the old masters with determined energy, though never daring to hope he could approach their ferfection. Mediocrity is always vain and boastful, while true merit is modest and mistrustful, and this was why Robert was ignorant of his wonderful talent. He left Florence with many regrets both as a man and an artist, but Rome was the crowning glory of his ambition, and he must go on. In passing through the gates of the sacred city he felt an emotion that it would be impossible to express; for the soul of the artist and the Christian were equally moved, and in his enthusiasm he cried with Tasso: "It is not to thy proud columns, thy arches of triumph, or thy baths, that I come to render homage; it is to the blood of martyrs shed for Christ on this consecrated ground!" At last he was really in Rome, whose walls enclose so many scattered leaves of the history of all nations, and the very name of which fills us with reverence. On the mutilated fragments here and there, and on the wrecks of past greatness, the artist deplored the too short duration of all earthly things, but the Christian read there a salutary lesson which told of the early end of worldly joys. In this grand old city he settled himself and commenced to work, giving himself up with ardor to composition as the

highest and truest art. In the beginning his ideas were not truly expressed, but still his pictures were full of talent. He preferred working at home and did not often go to the academy, but was aided in his studies by the advice of artists and connoisseurs. After a few years he composed works of wonderful power, and his genius seemed to take every turn; sometimes his conceptions were noble and sublime, then, again, delicate and tender, every passion being rendered with fidelity. As he became conscious of his rapid progress, the more his desire to find his father tormented him. It was not a sentiment of pride, still less of vengence, that made him wish it; it was the need he felt of a heart that responded to his own. It was the voice of nature crying unto him, "Thou hast a father; he lives, and thou dost not know him; search for him, and throw at his feet thy love and talent; speak to him of thy mother! See the task which is thine, now that thou art worthy of the name thou bearest." The young painter was admitted into many distinguished houses, and learned of his father, but could obtain no information which would put him on his track; yet he buoyed himself up with the uncertain hope that he might meet him in this city of repose and resignation. It is a place of sweet sojourn for those whose fortunes are cast down, and a dear asylum for troubled souls, the end of the artist's pilgrimage as well as that of the invalid, the tourist, and the savant. There all misfortunes are respected and all sufferings are consoied; and it is possible that the Count de Verceuil had been overtaken by some of the sorrows from which no one in this world is exempt; and surely he could not flatter himself that he would pass through life without the chastisement that falls on the heads of the guilty! God's patience is long-suffering, but sometimes his anger falls with a sudden blow on the hardened sinner, and makes him cry for pardon. The impressions made upon Robert in this city of majestic ruins and antique

monuments, and where the arts speak so noble a language, could not be other than exalted and religious. Before so many wrecks the soul is predisposed to pity all things here below; the projects we nourish appear so puerile, we conceive another glory and adore God and his imperishable glory. Faith gives to man a moment of calm in every trial, and opens to him the doors of a blissful eternity. These stones cry aloud to all," Passing away!" but it is in a consoling and solemn accent, and brings down all our pity upon the worldlings who have forgotten Jesus our divine Master, who said, "Heaven and earth may pass away, but my words will never pass away." With the exactitude with which he always fulfilled his promises, he knew that the time for his return to France was drawing near, and that there were two persons there who counted with sorrow the days which were passed far from him. He was not ignorant of the fact that time hung heavily upon these poor old people, and that it was difficult for them to support the long hours. The remembrance of these friends followed him everywhere; they were near him in his excursions through Rome, at the Colosseum, at the Capitol; day and night he found them in his thoughts and his heart, and knew that they were impatient for his return, and would amply repay him for the regrets he would leave behind; and as he wished to visit Venice and remain there some time, he bade fare well to the ancient city of the Senate of the Cæsars, now the residence of the Pope and the seat of the church miliFrom there he goes to Venice, the queen of the Adriatic. From a distance, resting tranquilly on the surface of the sea, it resembles a number of vessels with countless masts, but on a nearer approach the charm is broken, and it stands boldly above the waves, revealing its wonderful beauty to the astonished eye of the traveller. Formed of more than sixty small islands, Venice is interspersed with canals without number, the largest of

tant.

which is in the form of an S, and divides the city into two nearly equal parts. Everything in it has an original character, and silence reigns supreme over the city; no vehicles, and no pavements for them to rattle on, and the population, not being an industrious or commercial people, have nothing to make a noise at. But the great charm to Robert was in the magnificent palaces, nearly all of which were built by the great artists of Italy; and the churches, rich in pictures, frescoes, statues, and bas-reliefs, together with marble columns of rare workmanship. Before commencing his studies he visited the principal buildings, the church of St. Mark, on the front of which are four bronze horses, attributed to the cel ebrated sculptor Lysippus; then to the ancient palace of the doge, and to see the subterranean vaults, which are separated from the palace by the Bridge of Sighs, and then to the Arsenal, which occupies an island almost a league in circumference. This edifice is a citadel surrounded by high ramparts, and guarding its entrance are two colossal antique lions brought from Athens and Corinth. the city Robert renewed his favorite occupations, and, as in Florence and Rome, was inspired by the models in the Venetian galleries. Milan, Parma, Genoa, Florence, Rome, and Venice he had seen in turn, and they had each opened to him their treasures and their teachings, There was not a master the secret of whose genius he had not sought to discover; there was not one of his works he had not studied in its minutest details. Thus the object of his journey was attained, and his talent was ripened under the generous sun of Italy. He could now go home and consecrate the knowledge he had obtained to the glory of his art. Only fourteen days," he said to himself, "before I set out for France." But the event of the year was coming on, the general confusion of which inspires the goddess Folly, and makes her ring her bells more noisily. It puts every one in a complete vertigo,

66

After seeing