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brow':—a fine conntenance, and fine sonl of its sort, poor Gellcrt: 'punctual like the chnrchclock at divine service, in all weathers.'
"A mnn of some rcnl intellect and melody; Borne, by no means much; who was of amiable meek demeanor; studious to offend nobody, and to do whatever good he could by the established methods; and who. what was the great secret of his success, was orthodoxy of perfect and eminent. Whom, accordingly, the whole world, polite Snxon orthodox world, hailed as its Evangelist and Tiismegistus. Essentially a commonplace man; bnt who employed himself in beautifying and illuminating the commonplace of his day and generation:—infinitely to the satisfaction of said generation. 'How charming that you should make thinkable to ns, make vocal, musical, and comfortably certain, what we were all inclined to think; you creature plainly divine!' And the homages to Gellert were unlimited and continual, not pleasant all of them to an idlish man in weak health."
And there are many touches equally good. For instance, there was a certain Biisching, who dined with the Queen of Sweden, of whom we read:
"Biisching dined with Her Majesty several times—'eating nothing,' he is careful to mention, niul was careful to show Her Majesty, 'except, very gradually, a small bit of bread soaked in a glass of wine !'—meaning thereby, 'Note, ye preat great ones, it is not for your dainties; in fact, it is out of loyal politeness mainly!' the gloomily humble man."
Hero is a whole portrait of a mnn in two or three lines. Whether, as n matter of fact, Biisching in the flesh was like this, no one cansav; but at any rate this is a first-rate picture of a possible Biisching—of a man gloomily humble—a character and a scene condensed into two words. In a more comic but equally vivid vein is the following account of a remedy to which the great Zirmneimann, author of Solitude, heroically submitted:
"The famed Meckel received his famed patient with a nobleness worthy of the heroic ages. Lodged him into his own house, in softest beds rind appliances; spoke comfort to him, hope to him— the gallant Meckel; rallied, in fact, the due medical staff one morning; came up to Zimmcrmann, who 'stripped,' with the heart of a lamb and lion conjoined, and trusting in God, 'flung himself on his bed' ion his face, or on his back, we never know), and there, by the hands of Meckel and staff, 'received above 2,000 (two tiioiumndt cuts, in the space of an hour and a half, without uttering one word or sound.1 A frightful operation, gallantly endured, and skillfully done; whereby the 'bodily disorder' (LeUiexschade), whatever it might be, was effectually and forever set about its business by the noble Meckel."
And not less effective in its way, though with a comedy that is, we will hope, misplaced, is this account of the famons British Constitution in its palmy Hanoverian days:
"Stranger theory of society, completely believed in by a clear, sharp and altogether human lieud, incapable of falsity, was seldom heard of m the world. For Kiug: open your mouth, let the
first gentleman that falls into it ''a mass of HanI over stoliditv. stupidity, foreign to you, heedless I of you" be King: Supreme Majesty he, with hypothetical decorations, dignities, solemn appliances, high as the stars (the whole, except the I money, a mendacity, and sin against Heaven; him you declare Sent-of-God, Supreme Captain of your England; and baring done so—tie him up (according to 1'itt) with Constitution il straps, i so that he can not stir hand'or foot, for fear of necidents; in which state he is fully cooked; throw i me at his Majesty's feet, and let me bless Heaven for such a Pillar'of Cloud by day."
Passages like these irradiate the volumes, and cheer up admiring readers after the dreary struggle
1 of the Seven Years' War. In spite of all the pains Mr. Corlyle has taken to make it lively, the history
! of the struggle remains as dreary asever. Itisnothing but a long mournful series of marches across brooks at 2 p. M. and into bogs at 6 p. M. The brook
j and the bog are minutely described to ns, and the hour precisely noted; but we can neither realize, nor persuade ourselves to care about, the cyntest. Sometimes Frederick wins, and sometimes he loses; bnt we know beforehand that all the parties to it ended as they began, and therefore the tips and downs do not affect us much. Unquestionably we learn to admire Frederick for fighting a losing game with such astonishing pertinacity. But the exact steps he took are duller and drearier to read of than most military events; and it makes the account of the Seven Years' War less interesting that, when it is over, we begin to read of Frederick only, and of his sayings and doings in daily life, so that we then get much more of the
i ratlin subject—I hat is, Frederick himself—than when we are trving to keep up with the marches and counter-marches of his army. Among the small events of Frederick's latter days was the ap
| peal to his justice in the case of the miller Arnold—a man who hod lost the water from his mill, but who, as even1 successive Court, even to th© very highest, re|jentedly held, lost it because the man who took it had a legal right to take it. Frederick would listen to no legal arguments. Here was a poor man who lived by his mill, and a rich man took the poor m:in's mill-water away. It was a cose for a King to interfere, nnd Frederick did interfere to Mr. Carlyle's great delight. The King was, as his biographer says, "very impatient indeed when he came upon imbecility and pedantry threatening to extinguish essence and fact amonii his law people." These wicked law
'people, in an imbecile and pedantic way, insisted on seeing what, under the acknowledged law of the country, was the position of the parties, what evidence was adduced, what damage done. But the captain of men acted in a far better way. His
! unerring sagacity taught him that what a poor man says must lie true, and that what a poor man claims must be just; and for not seeing this, but for honestly abiding by their own views of law, he sent the judges themselves to prison—thus showing, as Mr. Carlyle says, that he had very little jympathy for mere respectability of wig. In modem England, we may say without regret, the doggeries are too strong and fond to let such noble principles of the unpcdantic take root; and, greatly to their credit, the Berlin doggeries yelped bravely
| enough. But the captain hud his owu way, and "continued his salutary cashierment of the wiggcd gentlemen and imprisonment till their full term run." And in this way, and in this mood, he set atmut everything, always assiduous, inexorahle, duinu everything possible, and doing everything possible himself. "The strictest husbandman is nut busier with his farm than Friederieh with his kingdom throughout; which is indeed a farm leased him by the Heavens, in which not a gatcl«r cnn lie broken, nor a stone or sod roll into the ditch, but it is to his, the husbandman's, damage, nnd must Ik? instantly looked after." this was his notion of duty, and it was because he did his dutv after his fashion so earnestly and thoroughly that Mr. Carlyle has set him up on a literary pedestal, grieved a little that he was not a greater anil complctcr hero, but finding such comfort and assurance as are expressed in the following striking words at the end of the book:
"He well knew himself to be dying; but, some think, expected that the end might be a little farther off. There is a grand simplicity of stoicism in him; coming as if by natuie, or by long uecon</-nature; finely unconscious of itself, and finding nothing of peculiar in this new trial laid on it. From of old, Life has been infinitely contemptible to him. In ili'Mtli, I think, he has neither fear nor hope. Atheism, truly, he never could abide; to him, as to all of us, it was flatly inconceivable that intellect, moral emotion, could have been put into him by an Entity that had. none of its own. But there, pretty much, his Theism seems to have stopped. Instinctively, too, he believed, no man more firmly, that Right alone has ultimately any strength in this world; ultimately, ves;—but for him and his poor brief interests, what good was it? Hope for himself in Divine Justice, in Divine Providence, I think he had not practically any; that the unfathomable Deminrgus should concern himself with such a set of paltry ill-given animalcules as oneself and mankind are, this also, as we have often noticed, is in the main incredible to him.
"A sad Creed, this of the King's ;—he had to co his duty without fee or reward. Yes, reader; —and what is well worth your attention, you will have difficulty to find, in the annals of any Creed, a King or a man who stood more faithful to his duty; and, till the last hour, alone concerned himself with doing that To poor Frciderich that was all the Law and all the Prophets; and I much recommend you to surpass him, if yon, by good luck, have a better Copy of those inestimable Documents I"
Professor Aynssiz has laid before the Paris Academy a remarkable paper upon the "Metamorphoses of Fishes," which he states arc, according to his observations, as important as those of Reptiles (Amphibia.) At the present time, when pisciculture is so much studied, it appears remarkable that such metamorphoses should not have l>een sooner observed, but Agassiz accounts for it by the fact, that the metamorphoses generally commeni'e immediately after hatching, at which period the fishes die rapidly when kept in captivity. He says he u prepared to^how that !" This important work, more complete than any of the kind published, is the most magnificent, useful, and interesting souvenir of the International Exhibition of l£t>2—rendering with exact fidelity, both in form and color, the chefsd'aaam of the world's progress in Art and industry. Its value is enhanced by the thorough independence with which the selection of examples was made—the only influence brought ! to bear on that selection being the merit of the ! subjects themselves,—which, as a series, form, both in style and size, an attractive and elegant | work, and also as permanent models for oil interested or occupied in the various aits and manufactures represented."
certain small fishes, which at first resemble Gadoids, or Blennioids, gradually pass to the type of Labroids and Lophioids; and that certain embryos, similar to the tadpoles of the frog or the toad, take by degrees the form of Cyprinodonts—that certain Apodes are transformed into Abdominal fishes, while sorne Malacopterygians (soft-finned) are changed into Acanthopterygians (hard-finned ;) and, further, that a natural classification of Fishes can be founded on the correspondence which exists between their embryonic development and the complication of their structure in the adult state. M. Agassiz lately discovered that the metamorphoses of some members of the family of the Scomberoids are still more unexpected. All icthyologists know the generic characters of the Dory (Zeusfaber,) and the peculiarties which attach it to the family of the Scomberoids. Another fish, less known, but more curious, which lives also in the Mediterranean, the Anfyro/wlecus liemit/ymnus, has been generally classed with the Salmon family, or placed with the salmon as a sub-family. Systemic authors have generally considered the Scomlteroitls and Salmon as very different fishes, the first being Acanthopterygians, and the second a Malacoptcrygian. But the Arf/yropele.cus hemiyyinaut is nothing else than a young Zeus falter. Agassiz says he expects ichthyologists to declare this opinion erroneous, but, in reply, he invites them simply to compare specimens of Argyropelecus with young Dories, 8 to 10 decimetres in length.
Why the Wind Blows.—What, then, is the cause of the winds? The simple answer is—the sun. If you light a fire in a room, and afterwards stop up every chink by which air can gain access to the fire,"except the chimney, the fire will go out in a short time. Again, if a lamp is burning on the table, and you stop up the chimney, at the top, the lamp will go out at once. The reason of this is that the flame, in each case, attracts the air, and if either the supply of air is cut off below or its escape aboved is checked, the flame can not go on burning. This explanation, however, does not bear to be pushed too far. The reason the fire goes out if the supply of air is cut off is, that the flame, so to speak, feeds on air; while the sun can not be said, in any sense, to be dependent on the earth's atmosphere for the fuel for his fire. We have chosen the illustration of the flame because the facts are so well known. If, instead of a lamp in the middle of a room, we were to hang up a large mass of iron, heated, we should find currents of air set in from all sides, rise up above it, and spread out when they reached the ceiling, descending again along the walls. The existence of there currents may be easily proved by sprinkling a handful of fine chaff about in the room. What is the reason of the circulation thus produced? The iron, unless it be extremely hot, as it is when melted by Mr. Besscmer's process, does not require the air in order to keep up its heat; and, in fact, the constant supply of fresh air cools it, as the metal gives away its own heat to the air as fast as the particles of the latter come in contact with it. Why, then, do the currents rise? Because the air, when heated, expands or gets lighter, and rises, leaving an empty space or vacuum where it was before. Then the surrounding cold air, being elastic,
fV>rces itself into the open space, and gets heated in its turn. From this we can see that there will Ik: a constant tendency in the air to flow towards that |i<iiiit on the earth's surface where the temperature is highest—or, all other things being equal, to that point where the sun may l>e at that moment in the zenith. Accordingly, if the earth's surface were either entirely dry land, or entirely water, and the sun were continually in the place of the equator, we should expect to find the direction of the great wind currents permanent and unchanged throughout the year. The true state of the case is, however, that these conditions are very fur from being fulfilled. Every one knows that the sun is not always immediately over the equator, but that he is at the tropic of Cancer in June, and at the tropic of Capricorn in December, passing the equator twice every rear at the equinoxes. Here, then, we have one cause which disturbs the regular flow of the wind-currents. The effect of this is materially increased l>y the extremely arbitrary way in which the dry land has been distributed over the globe. The Northern hemisphere contains the whole of Europe, Asia, nud North America, the greater part of Africa, and a portion of South America; while in the Southern hemisphere we only find the remaining portions of the two 'last named continents, with Australia and some of the largo islands ill its vicinity. Accorfingly, during our summer there is a much greater area of dry hind exposed to the nearly vertical rays of the sun than is the case during the winter.—CortMU Magazine.
Masterpieces of Industrial Art.—Messrs. Day have at length issued their great work—a representation, in colored lithography, of thu principal Art-treasures contained in the International Exhibition, 1862, and designed as a sequel to that they published soon after the Great Exhibition, 1851. It is dedicated to the Queen, and is a right regal offering, for it contains three hundred prints, in most instances facsimiles of the objects pictured, and is, therefore, a worthy monument to the Exhibition, of which it will be a record long after that event i- forgotten. Even now, it would be difficult to bring together a hundred of the hundreds of thousands of beautiful works collected at South Kensington ; they are widely scattered ; few of them were returned to their producers; their homes are in the mansions of the wealthy in Great Britain, where, although they continue to give enjoyment, they have ceased to be instructors. In these volumes, however, their teachings are perpetuated. There is no manufacturer ot the kingdom, neither is there any artisan, who may not here acquit <• valuable lessons, that will add to his honor and to his prosperity; on tbia ground, chiefly, the work is to be commended aud recommended. It ought to be a cherished guest in every Art-workshop; probably it is Bo ; for, we believe, the list of subscribers contained the name of nearly every British producer of Artworks, and no doubt the work was obtained less as a luxury than a necessity. We gladly endorse the statement Messrs. Day have put forth regarding this most remarkable achievement:
There is no class of Art or Art-manufacture that is not represented ; we turn over page afier page to refresh our remembrances ot the wonderful assemblage of Art-treasures—such a colicriMii as even the youngest among us are not likely to see again in England. They were indeed the treasures of the world, for there was no country that held back from a contest iu which victory was almost sure to the swift and the strong; and now that we have obliterated from our note-book humiliating memoranda of fatal mistakes committed, generally from incapacity, but sometimes wilfully, we may contemplate with exceeding satisfaction the memory of i a glorious assemblage of Art-wonders, that made the year ltit>2 memorable iu Art history.
Here are the rare jewels, set with true Artpower, by the most famous jewelers of England, Italy, Germany, and France ; plate, the value of which is a thousandfold beyond the cost ot the precious metals of which they are composed; furniture of surpassing beauty, from a hundred renowned estab.ishmeuts; porcelain, renduivd by Art of greater worth than gold : in a word, every class of Art manufacture is here, very few objects being omitted which the memory recalls with satisfaction and pleasure ; each and all supplying lessons to Art-manufacturers for centuries to come.
We can not devote to this valuable work the space to which, in review, it is entitled. It must suffice to say, there is no class of Artmanufacture unrepresented, and tbat consequently there is no manufacturer who may not study with advantage the works of his rivals side by side with his own. Air. J. 13. Waring, to whom was confided the duty of "selecting,'' and whose written descriptions accompany each print, merits the praise he has received for the entirely satisfactory manner in which he has accomplished his arduous and onerous task. Messrs, bay have sacredly fulfilled the pledge they gave to the thousand subscribers by whose support the costly work was undertaken, and has been carried to completion.—Art Journal.
MacKse's "Death of Nelson."—This great picture is now finished, and will shortly be open to public inspection. The work is spoken of As completed, but all available time will yet be employed in re-touching parts which may seem to require strengthening; and although, by the ordinary observer, the details of this revision would be inappreciable, yet the effect will be felt as a whole. This magnificent painting having been already more than once minutely described in these columns, it is not now necessary to repeat the story of its composition, and
that of the labors of the artist. It has been in contemplation by Mr. Maclise to exhibit at the Academy the carefully finished oil picture from which it hag, figure by Hgure, been worked out. If, however, he had determined to send it for exhibition, be has, we believe, abandoned that resolution from a chivalrous regard for Ihe interests and feelings of others. It is to be hoped tliut the singular delicacy and modesty of such un act will be understood, although as regards the line of sight at the Academy there are two extreme feelings which extinguish all considerations immediately relative—those of exultation, aud those of bitter disappointment. Hiu lor the last five years we do not remember that Mr. Maclise has occupied a foot of the line. The exhibition, therefore of such a picture couid not reasonably open a source of discontent, even to the most ambitious or most unworthy pretenders. There are many important reasons, entirely independent of its great merit, which render it desirable that the oil study should appear on the walls of the Academy, and those alone would have morally silenced the voices of the small authors of smaller themes. The extensive and patient research whereby, in the Waterloo picture, the military equipment and material, already all but forgotten, of the early part of the present century has been reproduced in painting, has, if possible with greater earnestness, been applied to circumstantial verification of the Trafa.gar picture. Sentimental battle-painting is not, and never can be, a fashion among us; if it were a national taste, it could be more than gratified without divergence from truthful narrative. The accounts that have come down to us of the death of Nelson are too meagre to satisfy the inquiries of a very conscientious artist, and of the persons who were with Nelson when he fell, but very few are known; therefore, in the direction ot portraiture the painter has had but little assistance. In modern pictures called historical, there is a marked tendency to dramatize serious narrative, but here is no approach to theatrical elt'ect. The emotions of all the ac(o.-s are ub.sorbed by the circumstances of their situations respectively, without acknowledg°ment of an exterior circle of spectators, to whom the scene is as nothing without some vain compliment to national glory. Mr. Maclise has read his subject naturally, and set it before us with as- near approach to reality as possible. With him an exaggerated utterance of grief is not necessary to tlie description of a calamity, nor an expression of wild exultation indispensable to that of a victory. We can not dUmiss the subject without one word in reference to the inadequate remuneration granted for these national pictures, the discussion of which, at any length, may, however, be postponed until the subject is again brought before the House of Commons.—Art JaurnaL
Tuscan Sculptors: their Live*, Works and Times. \ With Illustrations from Original Drawings and Photographs. By Chables C. Perkins. 2 Vols. j Published by Longman & Co., London. It has often occurred to us as something singular that the attention of English writers upon Art has never been diiected to the subject of Sculpture in the sauii way thatPaiuting and Architecture have
! been. These two Arts appear almost to have been exhausted by historians, who have invegti'gated each subject respectively from the earliest known ]jeriod to our own time, both in its rise and progress in different nations, and in its universal life. Sculpture, on the other hand, has met with entire neglect, except as connected in some way or other with the other Arts, or in the mere outline sketches contained in academical lectures. It has, in fact, "found but few admirers or illustrators," so guys Mr. Perkins when speaking of the Sculpture of Italy, and it is equally true of the Sculpture of other countries. The reason for this, he says—still with reference to Italy—"does not lie so much in the greater claims of painting upon lovers and students of Art, as in the existence of an antique standard, by which all modern Sculpture is habitually judged, and of which it falls short; while Painting, which can not be submitted to this formidable test, is judged more according to its ! merits. Another aud more positive reason why Italian Scnlpturwis so much less known, and consequently less widely appreciated than Italian Painting, is because it can only be studied in Italy, where its masterpieces are not to be found in splendid and commodious galleries, but in scattered churches and. palaces, in which they are 'seldom so placed as to attract the attention of any but careful observers." He, however, admits that the collodion of Italian Sculpture at south Kensington "makes it possible for a student to learn more about it in England than anywhere else out Italy." Bnt Mr. Perkins entirely overlooks the vast and magnificent collection of casts at the 'Crystal Palace; true, they are principally of statues, and not of relievos and other works of numerous figures, such as compose the majority of the sculptures at Keusington; till along that lengthened vista of sculptured Art at Sydenhiim, from which scarcely a statue of note, whether ancient or modem, is absent, the student and the man of taste may pause, and admire, and reflect, and learn. And one has only to notice the utter disregard of these noble works by the thousands who visit the Palace, and also to observe the few who ever enter the Sculpture-room of the lioyal Academy, and the problem of our national indifference to Sculpture is at once solved. It has comparatively hut very "few admirers" among us, and hence there is small encouragement fur men to write about it. Let us hope Mr. Perkins's volumes will inaugurate a new era in this matter. He divides his history of the "Sculptors of Tuscany" into six books. The first is assigned to architectural sculptors, Niccola Pisano and his scholars; the second to allegorical, Andrea Pisano, Balduecio, Orcagua, and others; the third to pictorial sculptors. Guibcrti, Donatello, Lucca della Uobbia, and others. The fourth book is entitled "Tares among the Wheat;" it is devoted to a record of certain sculptors whose works are presumed to have had a deteriorating influence upon the art, who departed from the pure traditions of their predecessors, and "aimed at smooth elegance rather than at truth and character." The fifth book spenks of Michael Angelo and his scholars; the sixth of Tuscan Sculpture uuder Cosimo I., among whom stand prominently forth Cellini, Bandiuelli, Triuollo, and Gian Bologna. The history is thus brought down to the end of the sixteenth century, from which date the art,
as practised in Tuscany, possesses no longer any interest.
A narrative which, like this, embraces so wide and varied a range of subject-matter, and that includes iii it a record of the labors of a very large number of artists, many of whom are comparatively unknown out of their own land, can not but be a most welcome addition to the Art-literature of our country, especially when we are able to recognize and estimate the care and industry evidently bestowed in collecting the materials and preparing them for the press; and, in addition to this, teel that the critical examination of the works referred to, though generally concise, has been guided by discriminating judgment and a knowledge of the art spoken of. I
It is not to be denied that artists of transcendent genius exercise oftentimes an unfavorable influence upon their successors, who, attempting to imitate them, and possessing but little of their supreme ability, fail utterly in their endeavors. Such, in Mr. Perkins's opinion, were the imitators of Michael Angclo. "We are not prepared," he writes, "to say what would have been the fate of Sculpture had he never lived, for we have already pointed out signs of decay in artists who were old men when he was born, such as Pollajuolo, whose vicious style was unredeemed by any sublime element, and in those who enjoyed great reputation contemporaneously with himself, such as Andrea Sansavino. of whose evil influence the bas-reliefs upon the Santa Casa at Loretto mav suffice as an example; but as Michael Angelo was fur strouger than these men, his power for good or for evil upon his times was proportionably greater, and as his peculiarities were especially marked und imitable, while bis sublimity was unattainable by men of interior stamp, he above all others did hurm in his day mid generation."
The jieriod at which Mr. Perkins's history ends, commences almost a new era in the annuls of Sculpture, not only in Tuscany, but also throughout the whole of Italy. Simplicity of design and dignified expression, gave place to florid compositions and finished and elaborated execution. Her- i niui, the Neapolitan, and Algardi, of Bologna, led the van in the inarch of decadence, and their followers degenerated more and more till real Art became entirely a thing of the past,
We are promised by the author a continuation , of the subject in the history of the Sculpture of other parts of Italy, and trust that the success which we predict will attend these volumes—they are, by the way, copiously illustrated with engravings of many of the principal works to which reference is made—may ensure the fultilmeut of the promise—Art Journal.
John Berridge'i Clock.— The following lines i were written and posted on his house clock by the Kev. John Berridge:
"Here my master bids me stand,
The name of Berridge is familiar to all who know the history of the revival of evangelical religion in Ktigland, from the days of Wesley and Wliitfield to the close of the last century. The leading events of his personal history may be gathered from the characteristic epitaph written, with the exception of the last date, by himself: "Il3re lie the earthly remains of John Berridge, late Viear of Everton, mid an itinerant servant of Jesus Christ; who loved his Master and his work; and, after running his errands for in my years, was called up to wait on him above. Reader, art thou bom again? No salvation without a new birth. I was l>om in sin Febuur.% 1716; remained ignorant of my fallen state till 1730; lived proudly on faith and works for s.ilvation lill 17"»1; was admitted to Everton Vicarage 17.V>; fled to Jesus for s.ifety I7i>6; fell asleep iu Christ Jesus, January 22, 17'J3."
The admirable Cric/iton.—In the minutes of tlv" Council of Ten for the lilth of August, 1580, it is set forth that "A young Scotchman has arrived in this city, by name, Giacomo Critonio, of very noble lineage, from what one hears about bis quality; and—from what lias been clearly seen by divers proofs and trials made with very learned and scientific men, and especially by a Latin oration which he delivered extempore tliis morning iu our College—of most rare and singular ability; in sncb wise that, not being above twenty years of age, or but little more, he astounds and surprises everybody—a thing which, as it is altogether extraordinary and beyond what nature usually produces, so ought it extraordinarily to induce this Council to make some courteous demonstration towards so marvelous a personage, more especially as, from accidents ami foul fortune which have befallen him, he is in very straightened circumstances. Wherefore it will be put to the ballot, that of the monies of the chest of this Council there be given to the said Crichton, a Scottish gentleman, one hundred golden crowns. Ayes, 22; noes, 2; neutrals, 4."— "Venetian Archives,"by W. RaMidon Broicn.
A Styrian Lanclnm/ie.—A pilgrimage-looking church *hone white upon a hill, and in the distance to the west rose the rocky barrier of the Caldron—one huge stony mass in particular, the liadueha. representing in this direction the last bulwark of the Alps; eastward now lay the plains of Hungary, und then the Carpathians. With two heavy farm-horses we started for Cilli about eleven o'clock. At the leisurely pace they took, it was seven at night before we reached it—.ill down n widening valley, expanding till it was almost a plain, and a cluster of dark peaks on the backward horizon aloue remained of the. mountain world. The day was pleasant, with a fresh autumn feel in the air. Gardens, gay with dahlias and China-asters; orchards, laden with plums: corn-plots with the harvest all gathered; low hills covered with wood, crowned with small white churches by the dozen, and stretching into hazy, sunshiny distance on cither hand; a river flowing broadly in the center, and bearing innumerable timber-logs, to be formed lower down into rafts for the navigation of the Save and UaiiulK!; such was this Styrian landscape. By five o'clock the valley hod become quite a plain, an expanse of Indian corn, though still bor