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SEEM to know Cellini first of all as a man possessed by intense, absorbing egotism; violent, arrogant, self-assertive, passionate; conscious of great gifts for art, physical courage, and personal address. . . . To be selfreliant in all circumstances; to scheme and to strike, if need be, in support of his opinion or his right The world is too much with us; late and to take the law soon, into his own hands for the redress of injury or insult! this appeared to him the simple duty of an honorable man.

panion, a most learned old friar of more
than eighty years of age The Pope
sees that he can not live long; he has
resolved to give him to me as a com-
panion, for he is a man of high reputa-
tion, and of the greatest requirements,
in order that I may learn from him, and
if he has any secret in architecture that I
may become perfect in that art His
name is Fra Gio-
condo; and the
Pope sends for him
every day and chats
a little with us
about the building.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid

I beg you will be good enough to go to the Duke and Duchess and tell them this, as I know they will be pleased to hear that one of their servants does them honor, and recommend me to them as I continually stand recommended to you. Salute all friends and relatives for meandparticularly Ridolfo, who has so much love for me. The first of July, 1514, Your Raffael, painter in Rome.

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping

For this, for everything, we are out of


It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather

A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed
-William Wordsworth

But he had nothing of the philosopher's calm, the diplomatist's prudence, the general's strategy, or the courtier's self-restraint. On the contrary, he possessed the temperament of a born artist, blent in almost equal proportions with that of a born bravo Throughout the whole of his tumultuous career these two strains contended in his nature for mastery. Upon the verge of fifty-six, when a man's blood has generally cooled, we find that he was released from prison on bail, and bound over to keep the peace for a year with some enemy whose life was probably in danger; and when I come to speak of his homicides, it will be obvious that he enjoyed killing live men quite as much as casting bronze statues. . . Sensitive, impulsive, rash of speech, hasty in action, with the artist's susceptibility and the bravo's heat of blood, he injured no one more than himself by his eccentricities of temper. Yet there is no trace in any of his writings that he ever laid his misadventures to their proper cause He consistently poses as an injured man, whom malevolent scoun

Hubbard's Note:-Raphael's love for Cardinal Bibieni's niece ended in tragedy. The wedding was postponed at the request of the Pope, and she died before it occurred. Raphael's death followed soon after, at the age of 37, and his body was placed beside hers in the Pantheon.

He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer
The worst that man can breathe, and
make his wrongs
His outside, to wear them like his rai-
ment, carelessly,

And ne 'er prefer his injuries to his

To bring it into danger.-Shakespeare.


Make yourself an honest man, and then you may be sure that there is one rascal less in the world.-Carlyle.

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PULL of anxieties and apprehending

daily that we should hear distressing news from Boston, I walked with Mr. Samuel Adams in the State House yard [Philadelphia], for a little exercise and fresh air, before the hour of [the Continental] Congress, and there represented to him the various dangers that surrounded us.

He agreed to them all, but said, "What shall we do?" I answered him I was determined to take a step which should compel all the members of Congress to declare themselves for or against something. I am determined this morning to make a direct motion that Congress should adopt [as its own] the army before Boston, and appoint Colonel Washington commander of it.

Mr. Adams seemed to think very seriously of it, but said nothing. Accordingly, when Congress had assembled, I rose in my place . . . . Mr. Washington, who happened to sit near the door, as soon as he heard me allude to him, from his usual modesty, darted into the library-room.

Mr. Hancock heard me with visible pleasure, but when I came to describe Washington for the commander, I never remarked a more sudden and striking change of countenance. Mortification and resentment were expressed as forcibly as his face could exhibit them. Mr. Samuel Adams seconded the motion, and that did not soften the president's [Hancock's] physiognomy at all.

-John Adams.


T is but a little time-a few days longer in this prison-house of our degradation, and each thing shall return to its own fountain; the blood-drop to the abysmal heart, and the water to the river, and the river to the shining sea; and the dewdrop which fell from heaven shall rise to heaven again, shaking off the dust grains which weighed it down, thawed from the earth frost which chained it here to herb and sward, upward and upward ever through stars and suns, through gods, and through the parents of the gods purer and purer through successive lives, until it enters The Nothing, which is the All, and finds its home at last.-Hypatia.

T my first ball at Tortonia's, not knowing any lady, I I was standing about, looking at everybody, but not danc

ing. All at once some one tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "You also are admiring the beautiful Englishwoman there?" What was my surprise, when on turning around, I found myself face to face with Chevalier Thorwaldsen, who was standing by the door and intently observing the beautiful creature. He had hardly asked the question when some one spoke loudly just behind me. "Where is she then? Where is the little Englishwoman? My wife has sent me to look at her, per Bacco!"

The speaker was a slight little Frenchman, with stiff upstanding gray hair, and the Legion of Honor at his button-hole. I immediately recognized Horace Vernet s

days later, I was invited to the house of English friends from Venice, who wished, they said, to introduce me to some particular friends of theirs. I was delighted to discover that their friends were Thorwaldsen and Vernet. . . . ¶ In my capacity as a pianist I have enjoyed a

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I can not ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears. Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But, rather when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days die

Remember me a little then I pray,
The idle singer of an empty day:

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our bread

These idle verses have no power to bear:
So let me sing of names remembered,
Because they living not, can ne'er be dead,
Or long time take their memory quite away
From us poor singers of an empty day.
born out of my due
Why should I strive to set the crooked

Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate.
Telling a tale not too importunate
To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
"The Idle Singer," by William Morris

He and Thorwaldsen began a serious and learned conversation about the beauty, and what especially delighted me was to see the admiration of these two old artists for the young girl; they were never tired of looking at her, while she went on dancing with the most delicious unconsciousness. Thorwaldsen and Vernet had themselves introduced to the parents of the young English lady, and took no further trouble about me, so that I had no chance of speaking to them again But, some

special pleasure here. You know how Thorwaldsen loves music. He has

a very good instrument in his studio, and I go to him sometimes in the mornings and play to him while he works. When I see the old artist handling his brown clay, giving the last touches, with his firm and delicate hand, to a drapery or a limb, when I see him creating those imperishable works which will win the admiration of posterity, I feel happy in that I can give him pleasure. -Mendelssohn.

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which is but a HIS little globe

through space with mere speck, travels its fellows, lost in immensity. Man, a creature about five feet tall, is certainly a tiny thing, as compared with the universe. Yet one of these imperceptible beings declares to his neighbors; "Hearken unto me. The God of all these worlds speaks with my voice. There are nine billionsof us wee ants upon earth, but only my ant-hole is precious in God's sight. All the others are eternally damned by Him. Mine alone is blessed."-Voltaire. 10 10

Adversity is the path of truth.—Byron.

Y DEAREST BETSY, yesterday I received Letters from some of our Friends at the Camp informing me of the Engagement [Bunker Hill] between American troops and the Rebel Army in Charlestown. I can not but be greatly rejoyced at the tryed Valor of your Countrymen, who, by all Accounts behaved with an intrepidity becoming those who fought for their Liberties against the mercenary Soldiers of a Tyrant.

It is painful to me to reflect on the terror I must suppose you were under on hearing the Noise of War so near. Favor me, my dear, with an Account of your Apprehensions at that time, under your own hand.....

Mr. Pitts and Dr. Church inform me that my dear Son has at length escaped from the Prison at Boston.... Remember me to my dear Hannah and sister Polly and to all Friends.

Let me know where good old Swory is. Gage [the British General] has made me respectable by naming me first among those who are to receive no favor [of pardon] from him. I thoroughly despise him and his [amnesty] Proclamation. . . . The Clock is now striking twelve. I therefore wish you a good Night. Yours most affectionately,

S. Adams. (Letter to his Wife, June 28th, 1775)


E [Patrick Henry] rose to reply with apparent embarrassment and some awkwardness, and began a faltering exordium. The people hung their heads at the unpromising commencement, and the clergy were observed to exchange sly looks with each other, while his father sank back in his chair in evident confusion de

All this was of short duration, however. As he proceeded and warmed up to his subject, a wondrous change came over him. His attitude became erect and lofty, his face lighted up with genius, and his eyes seemed to flash fire, his gestures became graceful and impressive, his voice and his emphasis peculiarly charming. His appeals to the passions were over

powering. In the language of those who heard him," he made the blood to run cold, and their hair to rise on end." In a word, to the astonishment of all, he suddenly burst upon them as an orator of the highest order. The surprise of the people was only equaled by their delight, and so overcome was his father that tears flowed profusely down his cheeks.


He contended that . . . . in the case now before them... [the parsons] deserved to be punished with signal severity

"We have heard a great deal about the benevolence and holy zeal of our reverend clergy, but how is this manifested? Do they manifest their zeal in the cause of religion and humanity by practising the mild and benevolent precepts of the Gospel of Jesus? Do they feed the hungry and clothe the naked? Oh, no, gentlemen! Instead of feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, these rapacious harpies would, were their powers equal to their will, snatch from the hearth of their honest parishioner his last hoe-cake, from the widow and her orphan children their last milch cow! the last bed, nay, the last blanket from the lying-in woman!"

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These words, uttered with all the power of the orator, aroused in the audience an intense feeling against the clergy, which became so apparent as to cause the reverend gentlemen to leave their seats on the bench, and to quit the courthouse in dismay.-William Wirt Henry, (Life, Correspondence, and Speeches of Patrick Henry.)

"The Parsons' Cause" (1763) Patrick Henry's First Important Case.

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SOPHISTICAL rhetorician (is Gladstone) inebriated with the exuberance of his own verbosity, and gifted with an egotistical imagination that can at all times command an interminable and inconsistent series of arguments to malign an opponent and to glorify himself.-Disraeli.


The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.-Thomas Jefferson.

HEN Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest, he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance And Zarathustra spake thus unto the people: I teach you the Superman. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What have ye done to surpass man?

All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast than surpass man?

What is the ape to man? A laughingstock, a thing of shame And just the same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.

Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of the apes

Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?

Lo, I teach you the Superman! The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The Superman shall be the meaning of the earth!

* * * * * *

But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about your soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency?

Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted stream without becoming impure.

Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great contempt be submerged de What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue. The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify existence itself!"

The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" ☛☛

The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!"

The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I am fervor and fuel. The just, however, are fervor and fuel!"

The hour when we say: "" What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion.”

Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had heard you crying thus!

It is not your sin-it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!

Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy with which ye should be inoculated? Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!— When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: We have heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!” And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began his performance. -Friedrich Nietzsche.

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VIEW a return to the domination of Britain with horror, and would risk all for independence; but that point ceded, I would give them advantageous commercial terms. The destruction of Old England would hurt me; I wish it well, it afforded my ancestors an asylum from persecution.-John Jay.

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The damps of autumn sink into the leaves and prepare them for the necessity of their fall; and thus insensibly are we, as years close around us, detached from our tenacity of life by the gentle pressure of recorded sorrow.-W. S. Landor.

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