sculptor, Antonio Canova. He was born in 1757, at the little village of Passagno, in the Venetian territory. His father, a stonecutter, died when he was only two years old, and his mother, speedily re-marrying, abandoned him to the care of his father's parents, who, it is but justice to state, tended him with the most anxious solicitude. His grandfather was a stonecutter, and a man of more than ordinary intelligence, and he delighted to have his little grandchild constantly with him, to teach him the elements of drawing, and something of the art of modelling in clay. As early as his ninth year he displayed so much ability that his grandfather employed him regularly as a workman, and he continued at his work until he was twelve years old, when the proprietor of the village, a member of the Falieri family, having remarked his indications of superior capacity, generously placed him under the eminent Venetian sculptor, Giuseppe Toretto. After he had laboured in that master's atelier for about a twelvemonth, he seized the opportunity of his master's absence to model two figures of angels in clay. Toretto, on his return, was surprised at their perfection, and enlarged the course of instruction which he had previously considered sufficient. 5. When Canova had attained his sixteenth year his munificent patron sent for him to Venice, and placed at his disposal the means of adopting the profession of an artist. But that he might not altogether be dependent on the generosity of Falieri, although he lived in his palace, Canova engaged himself in the afternoons to assist a Venetian sculptor. 'I laboured,' he says, 'for a mere pittance, but I thought it sufficient. It was the fruit of my own resolution, and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honourable rewards; for I never thought of wealth.' His mornings were devoted to study in the Academy or the galleries, his afternoons to the sculptor's workshop, his evenings to the acquisition of general knowledge. At length he obtained a commission from a Venetian signor for two baskets, containing fruit and flowers, in marble, but it gave little indication of the genius he afterwards displayed. More study and more NULLA DIES SINE LINEA. 207 work were needful; and the sculptor accordingly withdrew from his patron's palace, and set up a small studio in a ground cell of the monastery of the Augustine Friars, the use of which was allowed him by the fraternity. Here he toiled for four obscure and profitless years, labouring hard at the study of nature as introductory to the practice of art. When he wished to learn anatomy he attended the public spectacles and theatres, and noted the attitudes and gestures of the living figure. He laid it down as an unalterable rule that every day he should complete a design, or make one step in advance. Nulla dies sine lineâ. And sedulously did he devote himself to the study of literature— of poetry, history, and the classics-as calculated to enrich his imagination and refine his taste as an artist. 6. He first rose into repute on the completion of his group of Orfeo è Euridice,' exhibited in 1776. Commissions now poured in upon him, and in 1780, the Venetian senate gifted him with an annual pension of 300 ducats (about 607.) in order that he might prosecute his studies awhile at Rome. In that famous city of the Arts he finally took up his abode, gradually rising into estimation as the foremost sculptor of his age and nation. The Emperor Napoleon fully appreciated his genius, and from almost every crowned head in Europe he received commissions; while in England his works have always been sought after with the utmost avidity. After a career of triumphant success, and a life of unblemished virtue, the great sculptor died in 1822, aged 65, leaving behind him a memorable example of the success with which well-directed labour is always attended. CHAPTER IV. EXAMPLES AND ENCOURAGEMENTS FROM THE LIVES How dull it is to pause, to make an end, Some work of noble note may yet be done. TENNYSON 1. It is observable that many of our most illustrious men have failed at first in those very pursuits in which they have afterwards gained a triumphant reputation. They have not suffered themselves, however, to be discouraged, but redoubled their efforts until the light of success has shone full upon their paths. C'est des difficultés qui naissent les miracles. Bulwer Lytton's first novel was a failure, and afforded little indication of the genius which in the fulness of time was to give birth to 'The Caxtons.' His first poem was a failure, and so was his first drama. But he worked on, undismayed, inspirited, in fact, by the very difficulties which would have overthrown weaker minds, and became the first novelist of the day, a successful dramatist, a distinguished statesman, and a poet of no mean order. Disraeli's first speech in the House of Commons was received with shouts of laughter and bursts of ironical cheering. These did not daunt him. He exclaimed, 'The time will come when you shall hear me,' and he took care to ensure the fulfilment of his own prophecy. Curran, the great Irish orator, when a youth, stuttered terribly. He joined a debating club, but found himself unable to give expression to his thoughts. One day, however, an opponent characterised him as Orator Mum.' Stung by the sneer, he sprang to his feet, and poured forth a torrent of impassioned eloquence. Gaining confidence in his own powers, he now set himself to work to conquer his defective articulation by reading aloud, slowly, distinctly, and emphatically, for several hours daily, and correcting his gestures and attitudes by practice before a mirror. The result was, that the stuttering youth became one of the most famous of the famous orators of Ireland-a country always rich in men of eloquent utterance. 2. Poverty has never been accepted by the earnest student as an argument for despondency. He who throws down his weapons in the heat of the battle, will hardly live to join in the last triumphant charge. The ardent seeker after knowledge suffers neither want nor penury to dispirit him. Ferguson, the shepherd-boy, wrapped his plaid around him, as he lay out on the wintry moorland, and observed the places of the stars by means of a thread on which he had strung a few glass beads. Dr. Alexander Murray, the eminent Orientalist, learned to write with the black end of a charred heather root on the board of an old wool-card. As he advanced in years his desire for knowledge became insatiable. He taught himself French, and Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew, supporting himself, meanwhile, by teaching, and earning sometimes as much as forty shillings in a whole winter. His wonderful career was terminated at the early age of 38, but before his death there was scarcely one of the oriental or northern languages with which he was not familiar! 3. Knowledge, to the true student, brings its own sweet recompense, and he will not appraise his gains by the huckstering estimate which the world is so fond of forming. As Robert Nicoll, the poet, wrote, he will feel that, whether he be growing richer or not, he is growing a wiser man, which is far better. 'Pain, poverty, and all the other wild beasts of life which so affrighten others, I am so bold,' writes the brave Scotch lyrist, 'as to think I could look in the P 210 THE LOVE OF KNOWLEDGE face without shrinking, without losing respect for myself, faith in man's high destinies, or trust in God.' To industry it cannot be difficult to attain a lofty eminence in letters, inasmuch as for industry rather than genius does knowledge bridge the depths which roll between the world and her enchanted land. Only be in earnest; only be resolute of will, and fixed in purpose; only cleave to your determination with all your heart and soul, and the wide circle of human science, the vast field of ancient and modern learning, lies at your command. You must need no royal road to knowledge. When William Cobbett learned grammar, he was a private soldier, receiving sixpence a day. The edge of my berth,' he writes, or that of my guard bed, was my seat to study in; my knapsack was my book-case; a bit of board lying on my lap was my writing-table; and the task did not demand anything like a year of my life. life. I had no money to purchase candle or oil; in winter it was rarely that I could get any evening light but that of the fire, and only my turn even of that.' When the great Erasmus was a poor student at Paris, without a sufficiency of food or clothing, he could still write to a friend, 'As soon as I get money I will buy, first'-what? raiment or provisions?' first, Greek books, and then clothes.' Winkelman, the German writer upon art, while attending the grammar-school, earned his living by singing at night in the streets. Dr. Johnson, at the outset of his career, endured poverty and hunger uncomplainingly, picking up a dinner at a sixpenny ordinary, sleeping under any shelter he could procure, but still pursuing knowledge with a devotion which nothing could weaken. Lagrange, who translated Lucretius into French, was so poor, when a student at the University, that a little dry bread was all his food for the day. Prescott, the admirable American historian, contended, and successfully, with even a greater difficulty-blindness. He relates his sad experiences in his preface to the 'Conquest of Peru: ''While at the University,' he says, 'I received an injury in one of my eyes, which deprived me of the sight of it. The other soon after was attacked by inflammation so severely that for some time I lost the sight of that also; and, |