consented with a melancholy smile. A situation was selected for him by his nephew, which overlooked the bay, and the beautiful surrounding country. On the north, gradually arose the fertile hills extending from the shore to the Campagna Felice. On the east, the rich plains reaching to Mount Vesuvius and Portici. On the west, the grotto of Posilippo, Virgil's tomb, and the fields leading to the coast of Baia. To the south, was extended before him the noble bay, confined by its two promontories of Misenum and Minerva. The first morning after Annibale's arrival, he walked on the terrace, and felt refreshed and invigorated in this land of zephyrs; the sea breezes cooled his feverish and hectic cheek, and the gales wafted to his senses the perfume of the Campagna Felice. But it was only a temporary revival, and he grew earnest to return again to Rome. He reached it by short stages, and there breathed his last. He was buried with great honors, and Antonio deposited his remains near the tomb of Raphael, in the Church of the Rotunda, the ancient Pantheon.

There are melancholy reflections attached to the history of the young Antonio, gifted as he was with genius and invention. After

the death of his uncle, he pursued his profession and painted several celebrated pieces; but he stood alone in the world, scarcely daring to bear the honored name of his family.* His early death was perhaps a blessing for himself. But, had he lived, he would have been distinguished among artists. Lodovico alone now remained of the

In

family. He was still cheerful, active and beloved; with less of genius and what is called talent, than either of the others, he had been the founder of their usefulness and success. His first care, in early life, was to discipline himself, and cultivate benevolent and kind affections towards others. establishing the Academy, his motive had been the public good, and his eminent success was the reward of generous and exalted principle. He died in the year 1618, at the age of sixty-three, in the enjoyment of the highest powers of his mind.

The pursuits of the three Caracci, Lodovico, Agostino, and Annibale, were so entirely united, and all so happily directed to common objects, that it has been difficult to assign to each a separate influence in the arts. They were inadequately compensated by

* He is known by the name of Gobbo.

money for their labors; but wealth was not their aim all of them died in narrow circumstances. It is no slight praise, that their school stayed the progress of the arts decline, and restored their true principles.

The pupils they formed, threw a lustre on their mode of teaching. Domenichino was one of the most distinguished. Poussin pronounced him the next painter to Raphael; he had the art of depicting human passions with something of the same power-joy, grief, rage, sorrow and fear. He painted the soul, delineated the life, and excited in the bosom of the spectator all those emotions which belonged to the scene represented. It is this power which gives to painting its highest moral effect, makes the pure and holy affections, which are represented, throw a sanctifying influence over the character of the beholder,vice tell its own hateful story, and impress its own moral.

There appears to have been a timidity, a want of confidence in himself, that possibly arose in part from the early unkindness of his master. The influence of judicious primary instruction was not then appreciated; it remained for the Caracci to prove that the law of kindness is the most effectual in forming

Lodovico said of

the mind to excellence. Domenichino, "that his worth would not be appreciated till after his death." The saying proved true. He afforded one of the many examples of suffering genius, and late rewards. During his life, which terminated at Naples, in 1648, he was poor and abused. He could get no scholars, and was often without business. Many years after his death, if we may trust the relation of one of the books with which the Italian traveller meets, Poussin was employed by a society to paint an altar-piece for a church, and, to save the expense of a new canvass, an old picture was hauled out from the garret, and given him to paint on. The artist began to rub the dirt off, and was interested in the composition. It was the celebrated Communion of St. Jerome, by Domenichino, which is now esteemed by some the best, and by most the second, painting in the world. He hastened to his employers, and told them that here was a better picture than he could make, for the life of him, and begged them to have it taken care of. And so, by and by, it came into the honorable place it now holds in the Vatican Gallery and the public estimation. This story argues an ignorance of the

art, which is hardly credible to us; and the author is not able to quote any decisive authority in its favor.

Guido Reni was an illustration of the false and foolish maxim that is sometimes applied to infirmity of principle: his cotemporaries said, "he is a noble fellow, and nobody's enemy but his own." But the man who degrades himself, injures one member of society at least, in every relation he bears to it. His exquisite taste, his affectionate disposition, his exalted genius, and high conception of the beautiful and sublime, could not save him from the baleful effects of his passion for gaming. Though, in his best productions, every individual figure, however minute, brought him one hundred Roman crowns, the lofty power of his pencil was sacrificed to painting hasty and cheap pieces, for supplying immediate pressure, created by his losses. He died at Bologna, after having reduced himself from affluence to poverty, by this growing infatuation, at the age of sixtysix, in the year 1640.

Albani was the early friend and fellowstudent of Guido: like Coreggio he drew his beautiful images from the pure fount of affection. There is one striking difference,