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UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION, APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.

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MODERN SCULPTURE.

MANY of our readers are probably unacquainted with the various stages in the labour of a Sculptor, before he turns out the finished statue in marble. First, he draws or designs his figure, or group of figures, on paper; secondly, he moulds a copy of his design in clay, of the exact proportions which he intends ultimately to carve in marble; and this is, as may be imagined, a most important part of the whole work; for any defect in the position or size of the clay model is a fundamental defect, which, even if it be afterwards discovered, it is extremely difficult to remedy. In the third place, the clay model is cast in plaster, for the purpose of fixing and preserving the figure, and of enabling the artist to mark his lines; and to judge of the total effect of his composition on a white surface. After all this, the sculptor, having so placed his block of marble immediately before the cast, as to be able to measure any distance, VOL. I.

on one or the other, by means of an instrument fixed between them, begins the last and delicate operation of cutting or chipping away the stone itself; and so proceeds, from rougher to finer strokes, till he ends with working for days together, with his chisel, in drawing out the rich folds of a woman's hair, or in giving life and pliability to a hero's muscle.

By this process are produced the statues that adorn our squares and other public places, and the decorations of palaces, castles, and public buildings. To the ancient and noble art of sculpture we are also indebted for those beautiful monuments in our churches and cathedrals, by which the memory and the example of the good and the great are transmitted from generation to generation.

The work from which the annexed engraving is taken, is what is called a bas-relief, or basso-relievo, the cast of which (for it is not yet executed in marble)

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was exhibited by Mr. Behnes, a sculptor of deserved eminence, at one of the annual exhibitions of the Royal Academy at Somerset-house. It is the most recent work of its kind brought before the public, and is deserving of notice both as a composition and for its execution.

The subject proposed by the Sculptor, is Shakspeare's course of human life, as that great poet has drawn it, in a well-known passage of his beautiful play, As You Like It. Any good passage from the works of the greatest dramatic poet of England ought never to come amiss; and, as it must be the basis for a few remarks on Mr. Behnes's composition, we will quote it at once:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the Infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;

And then, the whining School-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: and then, the Lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow: then, a Soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation,

Even in the cannon's mouth: and then the Justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lined;
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: the sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again tow'rd childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second Childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Mr. Behnes has very aptly represented these several stages of life, or his conceptions of them, in a circle, so as to bring together the extremes of new-born infancy and scarcely-conscious old age, at the door of the tomb. This tomb, with the latin inscription, Mors janua vitæ," Death the gate of life," on its face, is so placed, as to form, by its open side or angle, a base for the weight of the Soldier-the principal figure in the centre of the work-who is thus seen trampling on death, in his eagerness to plant a conquering standard on the enemy's ramparts; regardless alike of the cannon's mouth at his side, and of the fallen warrior beneath his feet. This central figure is very spirited and noble, but exhibits something of that pedantry of muscle, as it has been called, that striving after mere anatomical effect, which may be observed in almost all the athletic statues of our modern sculptors, under Westmacott and Chantrey.

Passing over Mr. Behnes's very pretty groups of infancy, and of early and later boyhood, we come to the Lover, musing, as we must suppose, upon the charms of his mistress, whose perfect image is brought before his mind, by the imaginative power of his passion. This is a beautiful group, as far as the two principal figures are concerned; but we are surprised that so ingenious a designer as Mr. Behnes should have been reduced to so very awkward a mode of representing the power of an ardent imagination as that of horsing a chubby Cupid upon a young man's right shoulder, and of giving the said Cupid leave to drag, for it looks like dragging,-the lady forward by force of arms.

In the declining scale of life we come to a very grand figure, intended to be the equivalent for Shakspeare's Justice. We say equivalent, because it is impossible that Mr. Behnes should have supposed that the port was speaking of a Judge, as that term is generally understood by us, or represented by him,

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instead of a Justice of the Peace, a character into which many modern soldiers very naturally and comfortably descend, after their campaigns are over. Mr. Behnes, indeed, as a sculptor of the course of human life, would have done very well in substituting a general representative of the judicial office, if he had been minded to make his figure as truly general and abstract as all his other figures properly are. But where could this ingenious artist's good sense and taste have been slumbering, when he took it into his head, in such an ideal scene as this, to introduce a crude and ignorant satire on the administration of the English criminal law, in the shape of an unequal balance, and a condemned youth, whose countenance and demeanour are intended to bespeak his innocence? This is a positive fault, and one of a grave description with reference to Mr. Behnes's character as an artist; it seems to denote a want of judgment, and of due feeling of the nature and limits of sculpture, which is the most ideal of all the fine arts, and from which any touch of particular satire or local sarcasm is utterly abhorrent.

Lower still in the scale, is seen the 'slippered Pantaloon,' as Shakspeare calls him, bending over the tomb, and examining, by the help of an eye-glass, the horoscope of his nativity. The circle is completed in the figure of that second childishness, which sits at the door of the sepulchre, waiting its hour of release from a state of total incapacity of mind and body.

It will be seen that we have expressed our opinion on some parts of this very noble and beautiful work with freedom. Mr. Behnes must construe that freedom into a sincere tribute paid to the great general excellence of his performance; he is a sculptor of such decided promise, as to deserve the boldest and most impartial criticism. We hope some of ours will not be altogether useless to him.

INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY ON THE

FEMALE CHARACTER. THERE is one topic, intimately connected with the introduction and decline of Christianity, and subscquently with its revival in Europe, which the occasion strongly suggests, and which I cannot forbear briefly to touch upon. I allude to the new and more interesting character assumed by woman since those events.

In the heathen world, and under the Jewish dispensation, she was the slave of man. Christianity constituted her his companion. But, as our religion gradually lost its power in the dark ages, she sunk down again to her deep moral degradation. The age of chivalry, indeed, exalted her to be an object of adoration: but it was a profane adoration, not founded upon the respect due to a being of immortal hopes and destinies as well as man. This high character has been conceded to her at a later period, as she has slowly attained the rank ordained for her by Heaven. Although this change in the relation of woman to man, and to society, is both an evidence and a consequence of an improvement in the human condition, yet now her character is a cause operating to produce a still greater improvement. And if there be any one cause, to which we may look with more confidence than to others, for hastening the approach of a more perfect state of society, that cause is the elevated character of woman as displayed in the full developement of all her moral and intellectual powers.

The influence of the female character is now felt and acknowledged in all the relations of her life. I speak not merely of those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the public press; nor of those whose devout strains we take upon our lips

when we worship; but of a much larger class of those whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbour, friend, daughter, wife, mother. Who wait at the couch of the sick to administer tender charities while life lingers, or to perform the last acts of kindness when death comes? Where shall we look for those examples of friendship, that most adorn our nature; those abiding friendships, which trust even when betrayed, and survive all changes of fortune? Where shall we find the brightest illustrations of filial piety? Have you ever seen a daughter, herself, perhaps, timid and helpless, watching the decline of an aged parent, and holding out with heroic fortitude to anticipate his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his tottering steps to the very borders of the grave?

But in no relation does woman exercise so deep an influence, both immediately and prospectively, as in that of mother. To her charge is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. Upon her devolves the care of the first stages of that course of discipline, which is to form, out of a being perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of its great Creator. Her smiles call into exercise the first affections that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes and expands the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares and her anxieties on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth. What constitutes the centre of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn, when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointment? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go for sympathy, unalloyed and without design, but to the bosom of her, who is ever ready and waiting to share in his adversity or his prosperity? And if there be a tribunal, where the sins and the follies of a froward child may hope for pardon and forgiveness on this side heaven, that tribunal is the heart of a fond and devoted mother.-J. G. CARTER.

THE WIDOW TO HER DYING CHILD. THAT sigh's for thee, thou precious one! Life's pulse is ebbing fast, And o'er thy once all-joyous face, death's sickly hue is cast: The azure eye hath lost its ray, thy voice its buoyant tone, And, like a flower the storm has crush'd, thy beauty's past and gone. Another pang, and all is o'er; the beating heart is still: Meekly, though sad, thy Mother bows to the Almighty's will. Grief presses heavy on my heart, my tears fall thick and fast, But thou, thou art in heaven, my child! Life's chequer'd dream is past. The busy feet that gladly ran thy mother's smile to greet; The prattling tongue that lisp'd her name in childhood's accents sweet; The glossy curl that beam'd like gold upon thy snowy brow; The lip, meet rival for the rose.-Oh, Death! where are they now? Wither'd beneath his icy touch; lock'd in his dull cold sleep; Whilst all the joy a Mother knows, in silence is to weep, Or start, as Fancy's echo wakes thy voice to mock her pain, Then turn to gaze upon thy corse, and feel her grief is vain. The grave, the dark cold grave, full soon will hide thee from my view, Whilst I my weary path through life in solitude pursue; My early, and my only love, is number'd with the dead, And thou, my last sole joy on earth, my boy, thou too art fled! Hereford.

K. D'W.

A BLACK cloud makes the traveller mend his pace, and mind his home; whereas a fair day and a pleasant way waste his time, and that stealeth away his affections in the prospect of the country. However others may think of it, yet I take it as a mercy, that now and then some clouds come between me and my sun, and many times some troubles do conceal my comforts; for I perceive, if I should find too much friendship in my inn, in my pilgrimage, I should soon forget my father's house, and my heritage.DR. LUCAS

MODERN INFIDELITY. MODERN INFIDELITY is a soil as barren of great and sublime virtues, as it is prolific in crimes. By great and sublime virtues are meant, those which are called into action on great and trying occasions, which demand the sacrifice of the dearest interests and prospects of human life, and sometimes of life itself; the virtues, in a word, which, by their rarity and splendour, draw admiration, and have rendered illustrious the character of patriots, martyrs, and confessors. It requires but little reflection to perceive, that whatever veils a future world, and contracts the limits of existence within the present life, must tend, in a proportionable degree, to diminish the grandeur, and narrow the sphere, of human

agency.

As well might you expect exalted sentiments of justice from a professed gamester, as look for noble principles in the man whose hopes and fears are all suspended on the present moment, and who stakes the whole happiness of his being on the events of this vain and fleeting life. If he be ever impelled to the performance of great achievements in a good cause, it must be solely by the hope of fame; a motive which, besides that it makes virtue the servant of opinion, usually grows weaker at the approach of death and which, however it may surmount the love of existence in the heat of battle, or in the moment of public observation, can seldom be expected to operate with much force on the retired duties of a private station.

In affirming that infidelity is unfavourable to the higher class of virtues, we are supported as well by facts as by reasoning. We should be sorry to load our adversaries with unmerited reproach; but to what history, to what record, will they appeal for the traits of moral greatness exhibited by their disciples? Where shall we look for the trophies of infidel magnanimity, or atheistical virtue? Not that we mean to accuse them of inactivity; they have recently filled the world with the fame of their exploits; exploits of a different kind, indeed, but of imperishable memory and disastrous lustre.

Though it is confessed, great and splendid actions are not the ordinary employment of life, but must, from their nature, be reserved for high and eminent occasions; yet that system is essentially defective which leaves no room for their production. They are important, both for their immediate advantage and their remoter influence. They often save, and always illustrate, the age and nation in which they appear. They raise the standard of morals; they arrest the progress of degeneracy; they diffuse a lustre over the path of life; monuments of the greatness of the human soul, they present to the world the august image of virtue in her sublimest form, from which streams of light and glory issue to remote times and ages; while their commemoration, by the pen of historians and poets, awakens in distant bosoms the sparks of kindred excellence.

Combine the frequent and familiar perpetration of atrocious deeds with the dearth of great and generous actions, and you have the exact picture of that condition of society which completes the degradation of the species: the frightful contrast of dwarfish virtues and gigantic vices; where every thing good is mean and little, and every thing evil is rank and luxuriant; a dead and sickening uniformity prevails, broken only, at intervals, by volcanic eruptions of anarchy and crime.ROBERT HALL.

GOD doth sometimes permit the wicked to have, but impiety permitteth them not to enjoy, no not temporal blessing, -HOOKER. upon earth.29-2

THE COTTON-TREE.
Gossypium Herbaceum.

THE Cotton-tree is an herbaceous plant, a native of the East Indies, growing to about three feet high. The whole plant is downy, and, while young, sweetscented. The blossom is of a pale yellow, with five red spots at the bottom; and its seeds, which are

ripened in September, are immersed in fine white cotton. The Cotton which is produced in China, and of which the cloth called Nankeen is made, is said to be tinged with red in its vegetable state, which is supposed to be the cause of its washing of a better colour than any cloth that we can manufacture to imitate it. Few plants are more useful than this: it furnishes clothing to the four quarters of the world; and the seeds are an article of food to the inhabitants, where it is cultivated..

There are six species of this genus, of which the Barbadoes cotton is the most cultivated in the West Indies, and forms a considerable branch of their exports. It is set in rows, about five feet apart, grows from four to six feet high, and produces two crops annually; the first in eight months from sowing the seed, and the second four months afterwards. Each plant, at the two gatherings, is reckoned to produce about one pound weight of cotton; and an acre of land to produce 270 pounds weight on an

average.

The certainty of gathering a good crop, however, is very precarious; since it may be almost literally said of this plant, that in the morning it is green and flourishing, and in the same evening, withered and decayed. For when the worms begin to prey upon a whole plantation, though they are, at first, scarcely perceptible to the naked eye; yet in three days they will grow to such a size, and prove so destructive, that the most verdant field, thickly and beautifully clothed with leaves and flowers, is reduced to as naked and desolate a condition as trees are, in the month of December, in England.

When these worms, which, in their caterpillar state, effect all this mischief, have attained to their full growth, they spin and inwrap themselves, as in a bag, or web, like silk-worms, in the few remaining leaves, or any other covering; and, after remaining a few days in this, their chrysalis state, they turn into dark-coloured moths, and fly away.-DUPPA'S Botany.

The Cotton-plant is also found growing naturally in all the tropical regions of Asia, Africa, and America, whence it has been transplanted, and has become an

important object of cultivation, in the southern parts of the United States, and to some extent also in Europe.

Cotton is distinguished in commerce by its colour, and the length, strength, and fineness of its fibre. White is usually considered as characteristic of secondary quality; yellow, or a yellowish tinge, when not the effect of accidental wetting or inclement seasons, is considered as indicating greater fineness.

There are many varieties of raw cotton in the market; their names being principally derived from the places whence they are brought. They are usually classed under the denominations of long and shortstapled. The best of the first is the Sea Island Cotton, or that brought from the shores of Georgia; but its qualities differ so much, that the price of the finest specimens is often four times as great as that of the inferior. The superior samples of Brazil Cotton are

reckoned among the long-stapled. The Upland or bowed Georgia Cotton forms the largest and best portion of the short-stapled class. All the Cottons of India are short-stapled. The inferiority of Bengal and Surat Cotton is sometime ascribed to the defective mode in which it is prepared; but it is doubted whether it can be grown in India of a better kind. The raw Cotton of the Indian islands has hitherto beer. almost entirely consumed on the spot. A small quantity of very superior Cotton has been imported from New South Wales.

The manufacture of Cotton has been carried on in Hindostan from the remotest antiquity. Herodotus mentions that, in India, there are wild trees, that produce a sort of wool, superior to that of sheep, and that the natives dress themselves in cloth made of it. The manufacture obtained no footing worth mentioning in Europe, till last century.-M'CULLOCH'S Commercial Dictionary.

In a future number, we shall give a history of the Cotton manufacture in this country.

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THE HORN OF THE ALPS. THE Horn of the shepherds of the Alps is chiefly known among us by the accounts we have heard of the effect of its wild mountain music, in calling in the cattle from their pastures; but it is also used for a more noble purpose, namely, as a signal for the performance of a solemn and religious ceremony.

When the sun has quitted the valley, and his lingering beams still cast a glow of fading light on the snowy summits of the mountains, the shepherd whose hut is placed on the highest mountain peak, takes his horn, and pronounces through it, as through a speaking trumpet, the solemn injunction to the world below," Praise ye the Lord." Every shepherd in the neighbourhood, as he catches the sound, repeats, in succession, the same sentence at the door of his cabin. Thus, perhaps, for a quarter of an hour, the cliffs and rocky precipices fling to each other the oft-repeated echoes of the sublime" Praise ye the Lord." A solemn stillness succeeds the last reverberation, and all kneel, bare-headed and in silent devotion. When darkness rests on the earth, and veils the towering mountains, the horn again sounds, and a peaceful, social "Good night" is pronounced; this is repeated from rock and cliff, till the distant echoes melt away, and the shepherds then retire to the peaceful cabins. C. M.

THE churlish man will necessarily think worse of human nature than it deserves. As there are some flowers which never open but when the sun shines upon them, so there by sympathy and kindness. are many hearts, whose good qualities must be drawn out

THE GRIFFON, OR FULVOUS VULTURE. THE Griffon is placed by naturalists at the head of that division of the birds of prey known by the name of Vultures. The disgusting, but useful instinct, implanted in these scavengers of the warmer latitudes, is one example, among many, of the wise purposes in which creatures, apparently the most filthy in their habits, are employed, and should at all times teach us how little we ought to rely on our own limited understandings, when observing the manners of any part of the creation.

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a beautiful ash-colour, nearly blue." When the bird is full grown, the short feathers, with which the neck was covered, entirely disappear, and the skin becomes quite smooth. This appears to be a beautiful provision of Providence, to enable the animal to shake off the more readily whatever portion of its uncleanly meal may remain on its head, which it is in the habit of thrusting into the carcass of its prey.

The Vultures, and the Griffons, in particular, are, perhaps, more widely scattered over the warmer parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa, than any other tribe of birds, and are of great use in those climates, in devouring the carrion and other filth, that accident, or the uncleanly habits of the people, may have left, exposed; by this means preventing, or staying the progress, in many instances, of contagious disease.

USE OF RUSHES.

I SHALL make no apology for troubling you with the detail of a very simple piece of domestic economy, being satisfied that you think nothing beneath your attention that tends to utility: the matter alluded to is the use of Rushes instead of Candles. As I have considered the subject with some degree of exactness, I shall proceed in my humble story, and leave you to judge of the expediency.

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The instinct of another division of the birds of prey, the Eagles and the Hawks, teaches them to live a solitary life, and to hunt their prey singly, or in pairs, seeking chiefly living animals for food: the Vultures, on the other hand, when attracted by the scent of carrion, hasten to their banquet in hundreds; the air is darkened with their numbers, and the nuisance is rapidly removed.

The following description of this individual species is copied from GRIFFITHS' edition of CUVIER's Animal Kingdom.

The proper species of Rush for this purpose seems to be the Juncus Conglomeratus, or Common Soft Rush, which is to be found in most moist pastures, by the sides of streams, and under hedges. These rushes are in best condition in the height of summer; but may be gathered, so as to serve the purpose well, quite on to autumn. It would be needless to add, that the largest and longest are best. Decayed labourers, women, and children, make it their business to secure and prepare them. As soon as they are cut, they must be flung into water, and kept there; for otherwise they will dry and shrink, and the peel will not run. At first, a person would find it no easy matter to divest a rush of its peel or rind, so as to leave one regular, narrow, even rib, from top to bottom, that may support the pith; but this, like other feats, soon becomes familiar, even to children; and we have seen old women, stone blind, performing this business with great despatch, and seldom failing to strip them with the nicest regularity. When these rushes are thus far prepared, they must lie out on the grass to be bleached, and take the dew for some nights, and afterwards be dried in the sun.

"The Fulvous Vulture, which M. Viellot calls 'le Griffon,' is about three feet and a half in total length, and eight from the tip of one wing to that of the other. Its head is covered with small white and slender feathers. The neck is almost naked: the short and scanty down with which it is sprinkled does not prevent the brown and bluish tints of the skin from being visible. At the bottom of the neck some long feathers are arranged, like a ruff, of a dazzling white. There is a large hollow, furnished with hairs, at the top of the stomach: this marks the situation of the crop. The feathers of the body are of a reddish-gray the quill-feathers, and the wings and tail, are black; the beak blackish, with a blueish tinge in the middle; the circle round the eye, of a fine orange; the feet and claws, blackish.

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Some skill is required in dipping these rushes in the scalding fat or grease; but this knack also is to be obtained by practice. The careful wife of an industrious Hampshire labourer obtains all her fat for nothing, for she saves the scummings of her bacon-pot for this use; and if the grease abounds with salt, she causes the salt to settle to the bottom, by setting the scummings in a warm oven. Where hogs are not much in use, and especially by the sea-side, the coarser animal oils will come very cheap. A pound of common grease may be procured for fourpence; and about six pounds of grease will dip a pound of rushes, and one pound of rushes may be bought for one shilling; so that a pound of rushes, dipped and ready for use, will cost three shillings. If those who keep bees will mix a little wax with the grease, it will give it a consistency, and render it more cleanly, and make the rushes burn longer; mutton-suet would have the same effect.

The plumage of this Vulture varies with age; in the first year, the body is of a fawn-colour; in the second and third, varied with gray and fawn, more or less deep above; in a more advanced age, it is totally of

A good rush, which measured in length two feet four inches and a half, being minuted, burnt only three minutes short of an hour; and a rush of still greater length has been known to burn one hour and a quarter.

These rushes give a good clear light. Watchlights (coated with tallow), it is true, shed a dismal "darkness visible;" but then the wicks of those have two ribs of the rind, or peel, to support the pith, while the wick of the dipped rush has but

one,

one.

The two ribs are intended to impede the progress of the flame, and make the candle last. In one pound, avoirdupois, of dry rushes, which

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