he can get it, will not give him that for which it is most sought, respect and importance; and I must say, that if a man does become rich in Italy,-(8 rare circumstance !)-it is generally by knavery, by iniquity, by the most nefarious practices; not by honourable industry, integrity, and good conduct, That they might become rich by these means, I do not doubt; on the contrary, I think,—in thus continually labouring to cheat others, they often cheat themselves, and that they would find "honesty the best policy," if they could be persuaded to try it; but it is certain that men in Italy do sometimes make large fortunes by practices that, in England, would lead them to the gallows.

In England, every thing is open to talent, merit, and enterprize: In Italy, every thing is closed. A man, by his own personal exertions, scarcely can expect to make himself other than he is. Thus the powerful stimulus of hope is taken off; and can we wonder at the paralysing effect?

LETTER LXXXVI.

CANOVA.

ROME indisputably possesses both the first ancient and modern school of sculpture. The incomparable Museums of the Vatican, the Capitol, and the Villa Albani, have drawn around them those great artists, whose genius far surpasses all the world has seen since the days of Michael Angelo, and John of Bologna; and in the judgment of many, even soars above those celebrated masters.

The first of these, both in fame and merit, is Canova. To him, the renovation of modern taste,which had fallen into the most woeful corruption, through the tortuous labours of Bernini, and his wretched imitators, must be attributed. He restored the study of the fine forms of Nature, and of the antique; and sought in these true sources of beauty, for that purity of taste, and that chastened simplicity and grace, which can alone make the works of the artist live. He first had the merit of striking into the long-neglected path, and even if others should outstrip him in it, they must

own him for their guide. In one great branch of the art, that of basso rilievo, he is unquestionably surpassed by Thorwaldsen, (of whose works I shall speak hereafter,) but it is the branch in which he is remarkably deficient. I should say his basi rilievi are positively bad.

Canova was born at Possagno, a small village in the Venetian territory, of parents, whose poverty disabled them from giving to the genius his earliest youth displayed, the usual cultivation or encouragement. But he resolutely struggled with every difficulty, and finally triumphed over his fate.

At the age of fourteen, having obtained the long-wished for boon of a small piece of marble, he sculptured out of it two baskets of fruit, which are now on the staircase of the Palazzo Farsetti, at Venice.

The next year, when only fifteen, he executed Eurydice, his first statue, in a species of soft stone, called Pietra Dolce, found in the vicinity of Vicenza; and, three years after, Orpheus, both of which are in the Villa Falier, near Asolo, a town about fifteen miles from Treviso.

His first groupe in marble, that of Dædalus and Icarus, he finished at he age of twenty, and brought with him to Rome, where he vainly solicited the patronage of the Venetian ambassador, and of many of the great; but when almost reduced to despair, without money or friends, he became known to Sir William Hamilton, whose discernment immediately saw the genius of the young

artist, and whose liberality furnished him with the means of prosecuting his studies, and of establishing himself as an artist in Rome. To this, his first patron, and to all his family, Canova has through life manifested the warmest gratitude.

Through Sir William Hamilton, his merit became known to others; even the Venetian ambassador was shamed into some encouragement of his young countryman, and ordered the groupe of Theseus and the Minotaur. A few years after, Canova was employed to execute the tomb of Pope Ganganelli, in the Church of the SS. Apostoli, at Rome. With these exceptions, all his early patrons were Englishmen. Amongst these were Lord Cawdor, Mr Latouche, and Sir Henry Blundell, for the latter of whom the Psyche, one of the earliest and most beautiful of his works, was executed.

In the bewitching grace and softness of feminine beauty, and the playful innocence of childhood, Canova excels all others-and even himself; for in the heroic style he certainly does not soar so high. His heroes either border on effeminacy, like his Perseus; or fly into extravagance, like his Hercules. Yet, with all their faults, his works in this style are conceptions of true genius. The idea is bold and grand; but we feel that he has overshot his mark. He has got out of Nature, in attempting to rise above it,-and the eye that has been accustomed to the chaste design and correct forms of ancient art, must be hurt with their glaring defects.

Indeed, it is unreasonable to suppose, that any one artist, of whatever powers, should excel in departments so opposite. One might as well expect that Michael Angelo,-whose genius, by the way, is the very Antipodes of that of Canova,-should have produced his smiling Hebes, voluptuous Venuses, and dancing Nymphs,-that Albano should have pourtrayed the gloomy anchorites and martyrdoms of Caravaggio and Spagnoletti, Salvator Rosa painted the warm sunshines of Cuyp,— or Pindar written the epic poems of Homer,-as that Canova, who can call forth at will the most bewitching forms of female beauty and grace, should excel in an Ajax or a Hercules.

Canova's sepulchral monuments, too, seem to me to have a heaviness and want of interest. We feel they have been a labour to his fancy, and they are rather a toil to us:-For whether Italy weeps over the tomb of Alfieri,-Rome writes on a tablet, -Padua's castellated head meditates, over nothing, -or Religion looks clumsy on the tomb of Rezzonico, we turn wearied from their contemplation, and from the expression of the unmeaning lisp of admiration which habit or politeness draws forth,

to the bright and immortal creations of his genius, to his Hebes, his Venuses, his dancing Nymphs, his infant Loves, and his laughing Graces.

Of these, his Hebe, which has been four times repeated with variations, is, perhaps, the most universally admired. I cannot, however, approve of the gold necklace with which the last is adorned; not even the sanction of antiquity can ever recon