fame unsullied by one desire of gold. You have escaped the two worst
perils that beset the artist in our time and land,--the debasing
tendencies of commerce, and the angry rivalries of competition. You have
not wrought your marble for the market,--you have not been tempted, by
the praises which our vicious criticism has showered upon exaggeration
and distortion, to lower your taste to the level of the hour; you
have lived, and you have laboured, as if you had no rivals but in the
dead,--no purchasers, save in judges of what is best. In the divine
priesthood of the beautiful, you have sought only to increase her
worshippers and enrich her temples. The pupil of Canova, you have
inherited his excellences, while you have shunned his errors,--yours his
delicacy, not his affectation. Your heart resembles him even more
than your genius: you have the same noble enthusiasm for your sublime
profession; the same lofty freedom from envy, and the spirit that
depreciates; the same generous desire not to war with but to serve
artists in your art; aiding, strengthening, advising, elevating the
timidity of inexperience, and the vague aspirations of youth. By
the intuition of a kindred mind, you have equalled the learning
of Winckelman, and the plastic poetry of Goethe, in the intimate
comprehension of the antique. Each work of yours, rightly studied, is in
itself a CRITICISM, illustrating the sublime secrets of the Grecian
Art, which, without the servility of plagiarism, you have contributed to
revive amongst us; in you we behold its three great and long-undetected
principles,--simplicity, calm, and concentration.

But your admiration of the Greeks has not led you to the bigotry of
the mere antiquarian, nor made you less sensible of the unappreciated
excellence of the mighty modern, worthy to be your countryman,--though
till his statue is in the streets of our capital, we show ourselves not
worthy of the glory he has shed upon our land. You have not suffered