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cuniary point of view. To combine the two was his ardent wish, and, with the profits of his play and other assistance, he determined to do so. With this object in view, he opened a bookseller's store in Pall Mall, London (1735), and by politeness and attention succeeded in making it a daily resort of the most eminent authors. Pope was his great literary patron, and his countenance was, of course, a powerful auxiliary. In a short time Dodsley became celebrated for the fairness of his dealings and the liberality with which he conducted his business, and soon had the most famous and most prosperous publishing house in the British metropolis. Among the works of sterling merit which in the early part of his career he ushered into the world, was Johnson's "London," the copyright of which he purchased after several other houses had declined to have any thing to do with it. Nor was his own pen idle. In 1737 he produced "The King and the Miller of Mansfield," a farce founded on a traditionary story of English history. It was acted at Drury Lane, and was quite as successful as his first effort. In the following year he wrote a sequel to this piece, called "Sir John Cockle at Court," and subsequently two other pieces, all of which have been forgotten, and need not be mentioned here. In 1748 he collected these productions into a volume with the unassuming title of "Trifles," adding to the number a pantomime on a new plan. He was fond of dramatic composition, and made it the vehicle for holding pleasant communion with the public. Beside his original compositions, Dodsley was engaged in planning and publishing many other works. It was he who suggested to Johnson the idea of an English Dictionary.

In 1750 Dodsley produced an original work, which was at once a source of profit and reputation to him. It was called "The Economy of Human Life," and professed to be a translation from an Indian manuscript by an ancient Brahmin. For some reason, into which it is unnecessary to grope, the work was universally ascribed to the Earl of Chesterfield. It had a considerable share of merit, and enjoyed a wide reputation, having been translated in France by several publishers. Indeed, its reputation was so great that many imitations followed its advent, one of which boldly assumed to be a second part by the author of the first. In 1754 Dodsley tried his skill in an elaborate poetical composition, the subject being Public Virtue. The public failed

to display a proper interest in virtue, and Dodsley satirically remarked that it was not a subject to interest the age. In 1757 he published "Melpomene, or the Regions of Terror and Pity. An Ode." The poem contained some fine passages, and was successful. It is considered the best of his poems. In the following January he produced a tragedy called "Cleone," with applause. Bennet Langton relates that Dodsley one day began to read "Cleone" to Johnson, who displayed obvious signs of uneasiness. At the end of an act, however, he said, “Come, let's have some more; let's go into the slaughter-house again, Lanky. But I am afraid there is more blood than brains.” Yet he afterward said, "When I heard you read it, I thought higher of its powers of language; when I read it myself, I was more sensible of its pathetic effect;" and then he paid it a high compliment. "Sir," said he, "if Otway had written this play, no other of his pieces would have been remembered." This anecdote gives us a good insight into the very unequal character of Dodsley's writing, leaving the reader uncertain whether to condemn or to praise, but finding justification for either extreme. "Cleone" was the last of his poetical effusions. Having acquired a handsome fortune, Dodsley retired from the active pursuit of business. A predisposition. to gout was perhaps one of the reasons why he did so, for business was unquestionably pleasure with him. Of this disease he died on the 25th of September, 1764, in the 61st year of his age. He was buried in the Abbey Church of Durham, and the following just epitaph is inscribed on his tombstone:

"If you have any respect for uncommon industry and merit, regard this place, in which are deposited the remains of Mr. Robert Dodsley, who, as an author, raised himself much above what could have been expected from one in his rank of life, and without a learned education; and who, as a man, was scarce exceeded by any in integrity of heart, and purity of manners and conversation. He left this life for a better, September 25th, 1764, in the 61st year of his age.”

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ANTONIO CANOVA, the most remarkable sculptor of modern times, whose works lend grace, beauty, and durability to the homes of the nineteenth century, was a native of Possagno, a village situated at the foot of the Venetian Alps, where he was born in 1757. He was descended from a family of sculptors, the arts descending from father to son in Italy like the titles of the privileged classes. His father had some little reputation, but young Antonio derived no advantage from it, for he was an orphan at the age of three years. A grandfather adopted the lonely boy, and gave him some instruction in the rudiments of art, employing him in the quarries and in the workshop of the old stonemason. His grandmother was most kind and affectionate, and neglected no opportunity of encouraging the lad. Not only for fame, but for fortune, she was desirous that her grandson should stride beyond the narrow limits of the stone-cutting room. At an early age he modeled in clay, and shaped little fragments of marble into easily-recognized objects. He was enthusiastic, and loved his adopted profession. Nothing afforded him so much de

light as being left alone with a few tools and a piece of marble. They were all the companions he needed.

Progress was the necessity of such a disposition. So early as his ninth year young Canova could command the wages of a workman, and was a favorite even at that. His grandfather was proud of him, and, whenever any repairs were to be done to the neighboring palaces, took the youthful journeyman with him. His remarkable talents were not long in attracting notice. A Signor Falieri, a gentleman of cultivated tastes, interested himself in the lad, and volunteered to take him into his house in order that he might enjoy advantages of an education which his grandfather's humble means utterly denied him. A story has been told that Canova first attracted the attention of the Falieri family by modeling a lion in butter for that gentleman's table, but it is very questionable if this story has any actual foundation in truth.

After receiving some general instruction in the family of the Falieri, he was placed under Torretto, one of the best Venetian sculptors. He accompanied this distinguished artist to Venice, and remained under his tuition until the time of his death, which occurred two years later. By this event Canova was left without any guidance or restraint, at a moment, too, when both were most needed. His patron, Falieri, once more came to his assistance, and secured him admission into the studio of the sculptor Gio Ferrari, who was engaged at the time on a series of statues for the Casa Tiepolo at Carbonara. With this maestro Canova continued for about twelve months, and saw sufficient to convince him that the conventionalities of art were a restraint on genius, and impeded the natural suggestions of a poetic temperament. From these conventionalities he determined to cut loose, and explore the wide and ever-remunerative paths of nature. His first known works were two baskets of fruit, still to be seen on the first landing-place of the Farsetti Palace, now the Hotel della Gran Brettagna, at Venice. The performance did not give promise of that excellence which Canova afterward attained, but it was perhaps a step in the right direction.

An effort of a more ambitious kind was the group called Orpheus and Eurydice, part of which was completed, and the whole designed before his sixteenth year. This composition, executed in soft stone, was publicly exhibited in Venice on the occasion of the festival of the Ascension, and attracted considerable attention.

The following year he executed the same subject in marble, having obtained his first important commission for that group. Much of his time was still occupied with studies. He divided his day into three parts: the morning he devoted to study in the Academy or Galleries, the afternoon to the labor of the workshop, and the evening to the improvement of his mind in general knowledge. "I labored," he says in one of his letters, " for a mere pittance; but it was sufficient; it was the fruit of my own resolution, and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honorable rewards, for I never thought of wealth."

Having thus obtained some popularity, and being still a favorite with his old patron Faliero, he found ready employment on busts. He also modeled his group of "Dædalus and Icarus," a work which may be said to have laid the foundation of his future fame, and which was immediately beneficial, inasmuch as it induced his patron to insist that he should repair to Rome, and in that ample theatre of the arts extend his studies and his fame at the same time. In October of the year 1779 Canova reached the Eternal City, and enjoyed the delicious sensations which all devotees must experience in that vast emporium of plastic masterpieces. He received a cordial welcome from the artists of the day, and was warmly praised for his "Dædalus and Icarus” group, which he took with him as a specimen of what he could do.

"On the first exhibition of this work," says his biographer, "he was surrounded by the most distinguished artists and critics then residing at Rome, who contemplated the group with silent astonishment, not daring to censure what, although at variance with the style then followed, commanded their admiration and revealed the brightest prospects. The embarrassment of the young artist was extreme, and he frequently spoke of it afterward as one of the most anxious moments of his life. From this state of anxiety he was, however, soon relieved by the almost unanimous approbation of the spectators. Even the critics praised-an effort which they are not willing to make in the cause of mediocrity. They saw in the production of the young man much simplicity, expression, and unaffected truth to nature. From that day Canova had a position among the highest. More than this, he received the kindly advice of the best critics and connoisseurs, and was able to detect errors in his own style which he was not too proud or too foolish to rectify,”

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