DANIEL WEBSTER. head, and said, King, if you had as much practice as I have had, you could model as good a bust as I can.' I asked him why he said so; he replied, I know it from the remarks you have just made on that model. Get a piece of clay, and I will give you my modeling stand, and lend you my modeling tools, and if your modesty will not allow you to ask any gentleman to sit, make a bust of your wife; and if you should fail, don't be discouraged, as a female study, for a beginner, is rather a severe test.' The clay was procured, and the block set up, into which I was to work my way, to come at the likeness. Most of the work had to be done at night, as early in the morning I had the duties connected with my business to attend to. About two weeks served to throw aside the clay in the front of the head, and, somewhat to my astonishment, the likeness was apparent. I summoned courage to ask Powers to look at it. I confess that I was quite nervous about the time the model was uncovered. He looked at it, and said, 'Did I not tell you that you could model? And if circumstances should occur that make it expedient for you to resort to sculpture as a means of supporting your family, you need no teacher: you have that within you that will guide you better than any master." Thus was one artist quickened into life by the genial and unselfish kindness and appreciation of another. From this time Mr. King continued to cultivate the art which he had espoused with all the warmth of a first love, modeling busts and medallions. In 1837 he removed to New-Orleans, and gave himself up to his profession, leaving in this city when he removed, as In the evidences of his peculiar skill and success in copying nature, among others, the busts of Rev. Theodore Clapp and Honorable Pierre Soulé, and a number of his remarkable likenesses in cameo. 1840 he removed to Boston, continuing his work of modeling busts with great assiduity, and multiplying his accurate and beautiful cameos. His great works in marble are the busts of John Quincy Adams, Dr. Samuel Woodward, and Daniel Webster. Mr. King has not yet illustrated his genius by any ideal statuary; indeed, although in the simple sketch that we have given, the life of the artist may seem to have run quietly and happily on, behind this outward and visible life there may have been the keen inward struggle against the pressure of daily necessities, and also against the mental despondency arising from the inadequate returns of labors that had become a craving and an almost necessary condition of happiness and life. A more touching and painful record could hardly be written than the confidential history of most of our artists. Long months of toil, without resources to meet the continual wants of a family, must be passed, before the speaking marble or canvas returns even its limited recompense; and with the comparatively few appreciators of art, the supply ordinarily is in advance of the demand. The wonder is, that art is still so generously cultivated by its devotees, at such a price of neglect and agony. But the ideal power is not lacking in Mr. King: it reveals itself by unmistaken symbols in his marble busts. The original forms of beauty stand around his mental gallery awaiting the hour of hope, when they shall come forth and assume a material embodiment. "Those can know but little of the miracles in primitive clay," says the Washington National Intelligencer, "who have not seen King's gorgeous, but truthful bust of the great expounder of the constitution." His power of seizing upon the best expression and producing a likeness of extraordinary precision both in cameo and in marble, is not more marked than the ethereal grace of original genius with which he invests the perfect images that rise under his hand. His noble bust of the "old man eloquent stands in the room of the speaker of the House of Representatives, on the very spot where Mr. Adams breathed his last-a perpetual remembrancer of the fearless and faithful sage of Quincy, and honor to the sculptor. In the spring of 1850, Mr. King had the privilege of a series of sittings from Mr. Webster. He saw him under the most favorable circumstances, and by careful measurements was enabled to secure an exact counterpart of the illustrious statesman. The majestic subject, in both physical and mental proportions, was all that art could ask for a noble display of her handiwork. And the success of the artist was complete; he has suceeded in perpetuating in marble that wonderful " personification of intellect and power, and of self possession and energy in repose." Of this work the discriminating critic of the Boston Post remarked: "The likeness, the expression, the character of the remarkable man are all faithfully and wonderfully presented, the bust is lifelike, impressive to an astonishing degree, and must rank altogether among the best efforts of modern art." Another Boston critic, the editor of the Transcript, remarked: "It is the true historic head of Webster-that by which he will be best known to posterity-that which his most intimate friends will most confidently refer to, as, at once, the most agreeable and the most minutely accurate of the many likenesses of the man." A marble copy of this bust was ordered for Faneuil Hall; and when completed and the object of universal commendation, the memorable fire which consumed the Tremont Temple destroyed this noble result of months of toil, together with the artist's casts, models, valuable busts, all his cameos and all the implements of the art which he had collected in his studio. The gentlemen, however, who had ordered the original bust, generously called for another; a plaster cast, happily, having been preserved. Mr. Grinnell, of New-York, is possessor of another marble bust of Webster from the hand of Mr. King; and the artist is at present in England with his fine copy of the American senator, ordered by Lord Ashburton. We hope he may bring with him, upon his return, orders for many more of his great work. If life and an opportunity for the development and cultivation of his genius are enjoyed by Mr. King, we may confidently predict a still richer recompense of emolument and fame for him. He is but inspired by his early successes, and the cunning of his hand has not yet expressed itself as it may when the pressure of necessity is removed from it, and it follows unembarrassed the conceptions of an untrammeled mind. A keen observer, and one well qualified to form a comparative estimate of the genius exhibited by the cultivators of art, says in a letter to the writer: "I know of no artist of our own day so well entitled, whether in cameocutting, or in modeling, or in exquisite skill in chiseling, to unqualified eulogy and ample patronage, yet securing so little in proportion to his merits. In cameo work, we have no living artist, at home or abroad, who, in his characteristic style, unites, with original life and freshness, so much classical elegance and finish. In his admirable busts he has the rare skill to retain a well-marked individuality and life-like portraiture, with an ideal dignity and grace, seldom revealed by other artists without sacrificing truth and resemblance." We trust that brighter days are beginning to beam upon the pathway of the artist, and that his genius will have yet an unobstructed path. However this may be, the true artist may ever say of his art as Coleridge said of his poetry: "I expect neither profit nor general fame from my writings, and I consider myself as having been amply repaid without either. Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward: it has soothed my afflictions; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude, and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me." LUTHER BESIDE THE COFFIN OF HIS DAUGHTER MADELEINE. little daughter, thou wouldst gladly remain here with thy father; but thou wilt also W as E stand here before a sanctuary. readily go to thy other Father?" the dying inmost depths of his painfully struggling soul, the father gave up the dearest of all he possessed; his beloved child, ripe for heaven while still on earth, he placed resignedly into the lap of his Creator and Redeemer. On Wednesday, September 20, 1542, his daughter Madeleine, not yet fourteen years old, closed her eyes forever. "I love her much," he said at her bed-side; "but if it be thy will, O God, to take her, I shall gladly know her to be with thee!" When he asked her: " Madeleine, my wills." And after the funeral he said: "My daughter is now provided for, body and soul. We Christians ought not to mourn; we know that it must be thus: we are most fully assured of eternal life: for God who has promised it us through his Son, cannot lie. God has now two saints of my flesh! If I could bring my daughter to life again, and she could bring me a kingdom, I would not do it. O, she is well cared for! Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord! whoever dies thus is assured of eternal life. I wish I and my children, and you all, might depart; hér mother had a dream. She dreamed for I see evil times coming." that she saw two fair youths beautifully attired, who came as if they wished to take Madeleine away with them, and conduct her to be married. When Philip Melancthon came the next morning and asked the lady how it was with her daughter? she related her dream, at which he seemed frightened, and remarked to others, that the young men were two holy angels, sent to carry the maiden to the true nuptials of a heavenly kingdom.' She died that same day. When she was in the agony of death, her father threw himself on his knees by her bedside, and weeping bitterly, prayed to God that he would spare her. She breathed her last in her father's arms. Her mother was in the room, but not by the bed, on account of the violence of her grief. The doctor continued to repeat, 'God's will be done! My child has another Father in heaven!' Then Master Philip observed, that the love of parents for their children was an image of the divine love impressed on the hearts of men. God loves mankind no less than parents do their children. When they placed her on the bier, the father exclaimed, My poor, dear little Madeleine, you are at rest now.' Then, looking long and fixedly at her, he said, 'Yes, dear child, thou shalt rise again, shalt shire like a star! Yes! like the sun! . . I am joyful in spirit: but O! how sad in the flesh! It is a strange feeling this, to know she is so certainly at rest, that she is happy, and yet to be so sad.'” The great effectiveness of this picture arises from the holy peacefulness breathing in the words of the mourning father, so powerfully impressive in their solemn simplicity. We seem to hear them "Thou hast given, thou hast taken away; blessed be thy name!" No woman knew better the affections of home than this sturdy gladiator of the moral world. Children especially were dear to him. "Children," he said, "are the happiest. We old fools are ever distressing ourselves with disputes about the word-constantly asking ourselves, 'Is it true? Is it possible? How can it be possible? Children, in their pure and guileless faith, have no doubts on matters appertaining to salvation. . . . Like them we ought to trust for salvation to the simple word; but the devil is ever throwing some stumbling-block in our way." Another time, as his wife was giving the breast to his little Martin, he said, "The pope and duke George hate this child, and all belonging to me, as do their partisans and the devil. However, they give no uneasiness to the dear child, and he does not concern himself what such powerful enemies may do. He sticks to the teat, or crows laughingly aloud, and leaves them to grumble their fill." One day, that Spalatin and Lenhart Beier, pastor of Zwickau, were with him, he pointed to his little Martin playing with a doll, and said, "Even such were man's thoughts in Paradise-simple, innocent, and free from malice or hypocrisy; he must have been like this child when he speaks of God and is so sure of him." He said, among other things, "God has not given such good gifts these thousand years to any bishop as he has to me. We may glorify ourselves in the gifts of God. Alas! I hate myself that I cannot rejoice now as I ought to do, nor render sufficient thanks to God. I try to lift up my heart from time to time to our Lord in some little hymn, and to feel as I ought to do." | "Well! whether we live or die, domini sumus, in the genitive or the nominative.* Come, sir doctor, be firm." 66 LUTHER AND HANS KOHLHASE. PROMINENTLY to depict the moral courage of Luther, and to show the great weight of his name, the artist refers to his intercourse with Hans Kohlhase. This unhappy individual, originally an honest much-respected man, of a strong and vigorous mind, but passionate, and with a keen perception of justice and of his own rights, was driven to desperation by a series of injuries, and a denial of all redress, inflicted upon him by the ruling powers: he became a robber, and on The night before Madeleine's death, several occasions acted in concert with the A play upon the word Dominus. "Domini sumus" may signify, (Domini being constructed in the genitive,) "We are the Lord's;" or else, (constructed nominatively,) "We are lords," (i. e., masters, teachers.) most violent opponents of the constituted authorities of that day. A character such as this was well calculated to inspire Luther with the most lively interest; for in the depths of his soul also violent pas |