"By whose most precious blood was bought
"The victory! Would God had brought
"Deep ruin on my arms this day,

"So thou hadst not been snatched away!"

Oh man! blind man! that morning's sun
Found all his hopes bound up in one,
A battle gain'd! Defeat and shame,
The only ills whose dread could claim
Averting prayers from that proud heart!-
Now what could granted prayers impart?
Fame came too dearly bought to bless!
And victory came-but valueless!

RECLINED on his couch lay the excellent old Andrea Verochia. The dews of death moistened his furrowed and pale forehead; yet his eyes sparkled still with a deep enthusiasm, as he contemplated a picture he had completed for the religieux de Valombreuse. It was the baptism of our Saviour;-but it was not the work of his own pencil that he was contemplating; it was the figure of an angel, which his youthful pupil, Leonardo de Vinci, had introduced. He had given it a celestial expression, an ethereal smile, that the master felt was far beyond his own conception.

At that moment his pupil entered. "My son," said he, "I have closed my easel and laid aside my pencil forever! But not with me expires my art,-to thee I bequeath these implements,-thou shalt go forward, and thy fame extend over Italy,-in thy hands they may reach an excellence unknown before ;-but remember, that in mine they have never been degraded to an unworthy use! Guard them, my son; but, above all, guard thyself!"

* Verochia was a goldsmith, or graver, a musician, a geometrician, and a sculptor, before he became a painter. It would seem from many instances that the arts were more intimately connected in former times than at present; and yet how many must unite to form the perfect artist. His success in casting was very great. His death (in 1488) is said to have been occasioned by a pleurisy, brought on by the fatigue and anxiety he experienced in casting a brass statute of Bartolomeo de Bergamo.

Leonardo kissed the emaciated hand which pressed his own. "My more than father," he exclaimed, "thou knowest my imperfections, that I am proud and head strong,-passionate and easily offended,-revengeful, and prone to a disposition to ridicule and caricature. Thou knowest my many faults, yet thy voice, nay thy very glance, can subdue my over bearing temper,-but without thee what am I!"

"My son," said the old man, smiling faintly, "thou must do that for thyself which I cannot do for thee. Thou hast the seeds of great good and great evil. To mature the one, and repress the other, must be the devoted object of thy own perpetual self-vigilance. I leave thee my precepts, as they have full often been repeated, and my example, such as it has been ; and were I living I could give thee no more. I know, indeed, thy nature-it is capable of the most glorious efforts,—but beware of the first impulses of every emotion unworthy of it. Why, tell me, wert thou cold and indifferent, yesterday, when I applauded Perugino's work? Beware of envy !"

The color of Leonardo rose high, and his eyes sparkled with an unwonted fire. "To that charge, not guilty," he quickly exclaimed. "I looked coldly on the work because I felt that he had not done his noble subject justice. Envy, at least, has no share in my composition."

"I believe thee," said Andrea; "remember that Perugino has his own merit-thou thine. Seek not to obscure that of each other. Always bear in mind, that it is for the perfection of thy divine art thou art laboring, not for thy own glory. There are many paths to eminence. Observe how multiplied and various are the forms of nature-how endless the realms of imagination. Cultivate a patient and humble temper; be open to reproof, and learn to subdue thy irritable nature. If thou art suffering under the scourge of oppression, or the bitterness of undeserved calumny, profane not thy exalted art by low and satirical revenge-which can have no part in a truly great mind. I repeat to thee, use it for no ignoble purposes. Let a pure soul animate thy works. Tread with generous steps the path of fame. Make room for thy compeers, if they overtake thee, and honor the excellence to which perhaps, thou mayst not attain."

"I have been gazing on thy work," continued he, "and I confess to thee, Leonardo, that were my life to be prolonged, I would not retouch that picture. I feel that thy gift is beyond mine. I rejoice that it is so. I have cast but a faint light around me, thou wilt · illuminate distant regions;-yet, remember, thy brightness will not be like the splendor of noon-day, but like the rising beam of the morning-or the mild lustre of the evening. Thy powers are various; thou art not born to fill the ideal alone. I perceive in thee the germs of invention and usefulness-cultivate them, my son—

narrow not thy path of life-live for thy fellow-men, for thy age,— and long after the name of Perugino is forgotten, may that of Leonardo de Vinci be preserved by its own brightness. Virtue creates immortality; genius may emblazon the name of an artist in this lower world; but his virtues are to find their reward in Heaven. Be it yours to live in the blessings of posterity-but look only to another existence for their recompense. My strength is fast failing; I must depart to that land where the good and the true shall meet again. Thou couldst not desire to detain me here. Farewell! I leave behind me, in thee, a glorious continuation of myself. My mission is finished."

In a few minutes after these his last words, Leonardo's tears fell fast and bitter on the lifeless form of his good old master, as he gently closed his eyes, and signed the holy cross on his venerable forehead. "Yes," he exclaimed, as he knelt reverently by his side, "thy prayers shall be fulfilled. I will subdue the evil elements of my nature, and not for myself, but for mankind, will I labor in the divine art which I learned from thee, and of which thy last lesson has now taught me the true spirit;—and my reward shall be with thee in Heaven."

The Chateau de Vinci, situated in the beautiful Val d'Arno, was the birth place of Leonardo. He was one of the most accomplished men of his time. His face was fine and intellectual, his figure commanding, his bearing graceful, his air noble and courteous. also distinguished for his youthful strength and skill in all manly exercises, and for his acquaintance with military science. His voice was clear and musical, his conversation amusing and instructive, while he united a peculiar gentle simplicity of manners, with politeness and natural dignity. When to this was added his glorious and almost universal genius, it is not strange that he was generally regarded as one of the most remarkable men of his day. He excelled in music, poetry, and belles-lettres. He was not less successful in architecture and in sculpture, (of which he began the study with his old master, Andrea,) than in painting; while he cultivated all the science of the age, chemistry, anatomy, and mathematics, to make them all subservient to his art.

One peculiarity deserves to be noted, that all his manuscripts which have been preserved are written in the oriental manner, from right to left, the reverse of the common usage. It has been conjectured from observation of his drawings and designs, that he used his left hand instead of his right, as they are all reversed from what is generally found in the works of other artists, whether ancient or modern.

From the time of the death of his master, he made rapid advances in excellence. He cherished his memory with the most reverent affection; he reflected on his lessons, and studied to model him

self by his precepts. He examined his own performances with the most jealous and fastidious eye, finding always more to condemn than approve, by the unapproachable standard of his own ideal. He even carried this self-dissatisfaction too far. The higher the perfection he attained in his art, the less was he himself satisfied with his own productions. He thus destroyed a great number of his own performances, especially of his earlier days.

The Duke of Milan, Ludovico Sforza, was anxious to secure so brilliant an ornament to his Court, and was eager in offering inducements to attract Leonardo to a residence in his dominions; and he accordingly was prevailed upon to leave his native abode near Florence, for that purpose. It is said that the jealousy and suspicion of Michael Angelo, who was just then beginning to rise into distinction, made him the more willing to quit a place where he was hated as a rival. Though both of the artists were of surpassing excellence, their perfections lay in different lines. Leonardo was full of sensibility and imagination; his region was mind; he delighted to express all the pure and exalted emotions of the soul. He was select in his choice of subjects, and unless they were such as to interest his heart, his hand became utterly paralyzed, and he abandoned his attempt. He was sensitive and delicate; but his passions, when excited, were hasty and violent. If Raphael afterwards surpassed him, he had the glory of being first in the new path which he struck out.

Michael Angelo, on the other hand, studied strength and sublimity, and affected to look down on the less bold conceptions of Leonardo; while he met his generous advances with coldness, and appeared to avoid any association.

It may readily be imagined that the Duke of Milan welcomed De Vinci, and loaded him with honors. He prevailed on him to be director of the Academy of Architecture which he had just established. Here, Leonardo soon restored the beautiful simplicity of the Greek and Roman styles. He constructed the famous aqueduct that supplies the city of Milan with water, which goes by the name of Mortesana, and by which the waters of Adda are conducted two hundred miles to the city.

The following anecdote has an interest, as illustrating the wonderful versatility of talent of Leonardo. The painter, the sculptor, the architect, the poet, the man of science and polite literature, the accomplished gentleman and soldier, and equally distinguished in all, it exhibits him also as remarkably ingenious in the principles and art of mechanics. In 1479, when Louis XII. of France was to make his entrance into Milan, he constructed an automaton lion, which marched out to meet the King, reared upon its hind legs, and, opening its breast, displayed an escutcheon with the arms of France quartered upon it. In the military sports and feats which were performed,

Leonardo was unrivalled; and, as a horseman, he excited universal admiration, by the boldness and skill with which he could manage the wildest and most ungovernable steed. Louis greatly coveted the honor of possessing so distinguished an aquisition to his Court, and is said to have made him splendid offers; but Leonardo declined them all. Certainly, however, he felt no great friendship for, or sympathy with, the Duke-who possessed a countenance expressing all the low passions of his character, and which could excite in the high-minded artist only aversion and disgust.

There was one, also, who was constantly with the Duke, that regarded the Florentine with an evil eye; this was the Prior of the Dominican convent. Though his words dropped honey, the honey was mingled with gall. His dark malicious eyes looked slily out from over hanging eye-brows,-his forehead was knit into a thousand wrinkles, and his scornful mouth covered with a bristly red beard, his nose hooked over this frightful mouth, like the beak of some obscene bird,-in short, his whole appearance inspired equal distrust and detestation.

Nothing could exceed the displeasure with which this monk regarded Leonardo,-whose abhorrence for so fiend-like a countenance, and contempt for the character of which it was the mirror, were probably scarcely concealed. Every honor which the Duke conferred upon the artist, he considered an insult to himself, and he determined to hesitate at no means which might accomplish his ruin.

Leonardo soon found himself, at the court of the Duke of Milan, in a situation wholly uncongenial to his tastes, and the darkest gloom took possession of his mind, and which he in vain endeavoured to banish. He sometimes succeeded in the open air, when he was engaged in his mechanical or architectural works, for then the bright and glowing colours of nature spread their own hues over his feelings. The fresh air invigorated his mind,-the showers of the morningthe dews of the evening-the exhalations of the night-the starry vault of the Heavens, all gave impulse to his spirit, and carried him over hills and through valleys. But when he sat silent before his easel, then did his brow become clouded, and his hand unsteady. At this time many of the pictures of Leonardo are lost,―he often destroyed them himself in a fit of disgust, when they only wanted a few masterly strokes to complete them.

The Duke possessed an ardent love of the fine arts; his great misfortune was that of having fallen so entirely under the influence of the artful Dominican, who swayed him to his own purposes, which were all low and selfish. Often did he stand enraptured over the works of the artist. "This," he would exclaim, "will be the gem of my collection. Gifted Florentine! proceed with thy work, and ask what thou wilt-all price is below it!"