"I am Antonio Canova, Pisano's grandson," answered the pale-faced little fellow. "And what can you do, pray?" asked the man, astonished at the conceit of the lad. "I can make you something that will do for the middle of the table,” said the boy, "if you will let me try.” At last he consented that Canova should try. Calling for a large quantity of butter, little Antonio quickly modeled a great crouching lion, which everybody in the kitchen pronounced beautiful, and which the now rejoicing head-servant placed carefully upon the table. The company that day consisted of the most cultivated men of Venice, merchants, princes, noblemen, artists, and lovers of art -and among them were many who, like Faliero himself, were skilled critics of art-work. When these people were ushered in to dinner, their eyes fell upon the butter lion, and they forgot for what purpose they had entered the dining-room. They saw something of higher worth in their eyes than any dinner could be, namely, a work of genius. They scanned the butter lion critically, and then broke forth in a torrent of praises, insisting that Faliero should tell them at once what great sculptor he had persuaded to waste his skill upon a work in butter, that must quickly melt away. But Signor Faliero was as ignorant as they, and he had, in his turn, to make inquiry of the chief servant. When the company learned that the lion was the work of a scullion, Faliero summoned the boy, and the banquet became a sort of celebration in his honor. But it was not enough to praise a lad so gifted. These were men who knew that such genius as his belonged to the world, not to a village, and it was their pleasure to bring it to perfec tion by educating the boy in art. Signor Faliero himself claimed the right to provide for young Antonio, and at once declared his purpose to defray the lad's expenses, and to place ANTONIO CANOVA him under the tuition of the best masters. The boy whose highest ambition had been to become a village stone-cutter, and whose home had been in his poor old grandfather's cottage, became a member of Signor Faliero's family, living in his palace, having at his command everything that money could buy, and daily receiving instruction from the best sculptors of Venice. But he was not in the least spoiled by this change in his fortunes. He remained simple, earnest, and unaffected, He worked as hard to acquire knowledge and skill in art as he had meant to work to become a dexterous stone-cutter. Antonio Canova's career, from the day on which he moulded the butter into a lion, was steadily upward; and when he died, in 1822, he was not only one of the most celebrated sculptors of his time, but one of the greatest, indeed, of all time. ar-tis'tic, showing taste. dis-mayed', disheartened from fear. scul'lion, a kitchen servant. scanned, looked at closely. GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON. ig'no-rant, without knowledge. A TRADITION OF WEATHERFORD Just below the junction of the Alabama and Tombigbee rivers, on the east side of the stream, you will find the little town of Tensaw. Near this Fort Mims once stood. Not far away were Fort Sinquefield and Fort White, and farther south was Fort Glass. On the 30th of August [1813], the Indians attacked Fort Mims, and after a desperate battle, destroyed it, killing all but seventeen of the five hundred and fifty people who were living in it. The news of this terrible slaughter quickly spread over the country, and everybody knew now that a general war had begun, in which the Indians meant to destroy the whites utterly, not sparing even the youngest children. The fiercest and most conspicuous leader of the Indians in this war was Weatherford, or The Red Eagle. He planned and led the assault upon Fort Mims, and was everywhere foremost in all the fighting. As rapidly as possible people gathered into the forts for safety, but by one accident and another many were cut off. Among the latter was Sam Hardwicke, a boy of sixteen. Mounted on a good horse Sam tried to make his way to safety. With a party of about twenty-five Indians, Weatherford bivouacked one night in the edge of the woods, and when Sam mounted his horse the next morning the Indians were lying asleep immediately in his path. The first intimation that he had of their presence was grunt from a big savage lying almost under his horse's feet. Coming to himself, Sam took in the whole situation at a glance. He saw before him the savages, rising from the ground at sight of him. He saw their horses browsing at some little distance from them. He saw a rifle, on which hung a powder-horn and a bullet-pouch, standing against a bush. He saw that he had already aroused the foe, and that he must stand a chase. His first impulse was to turn around and ride back, in the direction whence he had come. But in that direction lay the thicket through which he could not ride rapidly. Just beyond the group of Indians he saw the open fields. He made up his mind at once that he would push his horse into a run, dash right through the camp of the savages, pick up the convenient rifle if possible, and reaching the open country, make all the speed he could. He suc Without pausing or turning, he pushed his horse at a full run through the group of savages, receiving a glancing blow from a war club and dodging several others as he went. ceeded in getting possession of the rifle, and reached the field before a gun could be aimed at him. Infuriated by his boldness, the Indians immediately mounted their horses and gave chase. The question had now resolved itself, Sam thought, into one of endurance. How long the Indians would continue a pursuit in which he had the advantage of half a mile the start, he had no way of determining, but he had every reason to hope. Just as he had comforted himself with this thought, a new danger assailed him. One of the Indians, with a minute knowledge of the country, had saved a considerable distance by riding through a strip of woods and cutting off an angle. When Sam first caught sight of him, coming out of the woods, the savage was within a dozen yards of him, and evidently gaining upon him at every step. Sam's horse was a fleet one, but that of the Indian was apparently a thoroughbred, whose speed remained nearly as great after a mile's run as at the start. Finding at last that he must shortly be overtaken, Sam resolved upon a bold maneuvre, by which to kill his foremost pursuer. Seizing his hatchet, he suddenly stopped his horse, and, as the Indian came alongside, Sam aimed a savage blow at his head. "Don't you know me, Sam?" said the Indian in good English, dodging the blow. "I'm Weatherford. If I had wanted to kill you, I might have done so a dozen times in the last five minutes. You know that I don't want to kill you, though you're the only white man on earth I'd let go. But the others will make an end of you if they catch you. "Ride on, and I'll chase you. ride to the bluff. I'll follow you. top. Ride down it as far as you can and jump your horse over the cliff. It is nearly fifty feet high, and may kill you, but it is the only way. The other warriors are coming up, and they will kill you if you don't jump. Jump, and I'll tell them I chased you." Turn to the left there, and There's a gully through the Sam knew Weatherford well, and he knew why the chief wished to spare him if he could. Sam had rescued Weatherford once from an imminent peril at great risk to himself. So the two rode on, Sam going down the gully furiously, that his horse might not be able to refuse the frightful leap. Coming to the edge of the precipice with headlong speed, the animal could not draw back, but plunged over with Sam sitting bolt upright on his back. He had no saddle or stirrups in which to become entangled, and as the horse struck the water fairly, the blow was not so severe a shock to the boy as he had expected. Both went under the water, but rising again in moment Sam slid off the animal's back, to give the poor horse a better |