contributing to his happiness and comfort, and in perfecting his mind in all these solid and graceful accomplishments of education, which alone give lustre and eminence to the character of a Prince.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF EMINENT PAINTERS.-No. I

MICHAEL ANGELO.

66

"Surely," observed a friend to us the other day, "you are not going to claim Michael Angelo, for your countryman?" Certainly not!" said we, "but as genius, like the sun, is the property of all climes which it cheers and vivifies, we wish, in consequence, to raise our humble statue of the immortal Painter of the LAST JUDGMENT, to one of the biographical niches of the "Irish Shield."

Michael Angelo Buonarotti, the master-spirit of design-the matchless sculp tor-the creative architect-whose mighty genius reared the dome of St. Peter's to the skies, and diademed the Christian cross with the jewellery of heavenwas born in the castle of Chiusi, in the territory of Arezzi, in Tuscany, A. D. 1474.

His father was a gentleman of family and respectability -He, immediately after his birth, was sent out to nurse, to a woman at the village of Settiniano, whose husband was a sculptor, a circumstance which gave origin to the noted saying, respecting the illustrious subject of this memoir, that "he sucked in sculpture with his milk." As soon as little Michael was able to walk alone, the workshop of his foster-father was his favourite resort, and the mallet and the chisel became his favourite and amusing playthings. Here he manifested the first indication of that mighty genius which afterwards astonished the world,here the child carved baby-heads from splinters, who was the destined gigantic sculptor to impress the colossal image of the gods upon rocks of marble! When he returned to bis father's house, in his sixth year, he became so unhappy by the deprivation of his wonted delightful amusement, that his parent and his tutor dreading the effects of melancholy on his mind, judged it prudent to permit him to spend an hour every day in the sculptor's shop. In the tenth year of his age, he made such a progress in the art of sculpture, that he cut out of marble several human and animal figures; consequently, we may assert that his love of sculpture was instinctive. In order to indulge his enthusiastic propensity, his father procured some antique models for him-one of which, the Fawn, he copied so successfully, that the celebrated Lorenzo de Medici, on seeing the felicitous effort of the young artist, prevailed on his father to let him devote his future life to sculpture. In consequence of this entreaty, he became the disciple of Dominico Ghirlandaio, who was principal of an academy of Painting and Sculpture, at Florence. Under the instruction of this artist, and the encouraging patronage of Lorenzo de Medici, he made so wondrous a proficiency in the sister arts of painting and sculpture, as not only excited the admiration of his master, but the envy and hostility of his fellow-students, whose fame he had eclipsed, and above whose competition his genius towered. The jealousy and deadly resentment of one of them, Torcigiano, drove him into so ungovernable a rage of passion, that he inflicted a deep wound on Angelo's nose, which left a disfiguring mark on it that he carried with him to his grave.

While he was making gigantic strides in the career of improvement, the disturbances and dissensions of the house of Medicis, compelled him to remove to Bologna, where he did not sojourn long, but went to Venice, and there studied for some time, and furnished the design of the bridge of the Rialto. Tranquility being restored in Florence, he came back to that city, then the emporium of the fine arts, where he continued his application to painting and sculpture, with unwearied diligence. It was at this period, in order to ascertain whether he could imitate the antique, so as to deceive the incredulous critics, that he made his celebrated image of

Cupid, which he carried with him to Rome, and after breaking off one of its arme, which he retained, buried the mutilated statue in a place which he knew would soon be excavated. As he expected, his Cupid was shortly afterwards disinterred, and brought by the workmen who found it, to Cardinal St. Gregory, a great lover of the antique. No prize could have been more acceptable to his Eminence than this-as he thought it could be no other than a chef d'œuvre of Phidias or Praxiteles, so that he cheerfully paid to the fortunate finders, a large sum for the little god. But the happy exulting artist, as soon as the first transports of the credulous Cardinal had subsided, pruduced, as much to his Eminence's confusion, as to the sculptor's credit, the deficient arm, which caused the silly pretension of the Cardinal to judgment in the antique, to be a butt for laughter and ridicule during his subsequent life.

This artifice attracted great fame and notice to the talents of Angelo. Pope Julius II. employed him to lavish all his skill on the sculptural embellishment of his tomb. After completing this structure, he was reluctantly obliged to commence adorning the walls of the Sistine Chapel, and of the chambers of the Vatican, with fresco paintings, which, though his first efforts in that branch of the art, are its glory and miracle. It is said that Raphael, growing envious, instigated the Pope to assign this task to Angelo, as he dreaded his rising celebrity, and hoped that his failure in freseo painting, with which he was very little acquainted, would cast him into the shade of obscurity and neglect. But his envy only gave new plumage to the pinions of his rival's fame, and served to light a splendid torch in the sublimity of his genius, whose discriminating blaze convinced the Roman critics, that in originality of conception and grandeur of design, Angelo bore away the palm of perfection from his competitor, Raphael. Raphael, no doubt, excelled him in the play of light and shade-in elegant simplicity, grace of colouring, and truth of nature. Raphael, it is true, would descend, in trifling detail, to paint the wings of a butterfly; but the soaring genius of Angelo could only repose on the pinions of an archangel, from which it would

"Glance from earth to heaven-from heaven to earth.”

for his daring sublimity, and magnificence of conception, were too gigantic to be borne by the still elements of tameness and minute littleness." He," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "carried painting into the regions of poetry, and he emulated that art in its most adventurous flights; for the grandeur of character, air, and attitude, which he threw into all his figures, and which so well corresponds with the magnificence of his outline, is the original creation of a sublime poetic imagination."

His genius formed, indeed, a new epoch in the history of the art; for his mighty designs, grasping, as it were, in their eagle talons, time, space, natural and supernatural agency, roused the emulation of Raphael from its inglorious slumber on the prototypes of Pierto Perugino. We are told that while Angelo was occupied in painting the Sistine Chapel, that Raphael, through the treachery of Bramante, an inferior artist who attended the great Painter, obtained admission, and on beholding the graphic delineations, he was at once seized with the spirit of wonder and emulation-for the next picture he produced, the Prophet Isaiah, was in the style and manner of Buonarotti.

As an accomplished architect, the great church of St. Peter's is the noblest monument of architectural genius that the modern world exhibits::-as a sculptor, the embellishments of the tomb of the Duke of Florence-his groups in the palace of Farnese,-and the basso-relievos of St. Peter's, surpass the happiest efforts of the modern chisel :-as a painter, his most excellent performances are, "The Crucifixion," and that sublime and matchless effort of the graphic muse, "The Last Judgment," which adorns the chapel of Sixtus V. in the Vatican at Rome. To this wonderful picture, he devoted eight years; and as it is superior

for the magic of its drawing-enchantment of design-palpableness and breath of local tint, as well as fascinating mystery of reflex;-so it is for its striking exhibition of every muscle and limb of its figures, which are entirely naked. When this immortal painting was finished, Biagio of Cerenna, the Pope's master of the ceremonies, and the friend of Raphael, filled with envy and malice at the bursts of surprise and admiration that resounded through the chapel, petulantly observed, that "so immodest a picture was more suitable for the temple of Venus, than for an edifice consecrated to the worship of a virgin-born God." But the indignant artist amply revenged himself for this impudent and spiteful sarcasm, by painting the portrait of the man of bows, bends, and obeisances, exceedingly like, representing him as a demon in Hell, with ass's ears, encircled with fire-breathing serpents. The exhibition of this grotesque picture drove the hapless Zoilus mad. The Pope frequently entreated Angelo to deliver the poor master from this state of torment; but he always alleged as an excuse to his Holiness, that the master might have been redeemed by repentance and punishment, if he had only been in Purgatory, but as he was doomed to the hell of the wicked, he could not entertain even the hope of redemption. A late elegant and intelligent traveller, who viewed, with admiration and amazement, the sublime composition of the "Last Judgment," states, that its contemplation awakened feelings of awe and terror in his mind, and that, while he stood before it in mute reverence, his very blood was chilled-and for some moments so powerful was the illusion, that he felt as if all he saw was living reality; and that, to his imaginative, ear, the sounds of the painted trumpet conveyed a note of appalling terror.

This matchless paragon of genius loved to muse in solitude;-and on being once asked why he did not mingle with the happy and the gay, he replied, that "Painting was jealous, aud required the whole man to herself." Perhaps he was the most original painter that ever impressed sublimity on canvass; all his creations were generated in the inexhaustible source of his own plastic mind, which enabled him to raise gods and men of his own formation, from the dust and breathinto them the animating fire of his inspiration. This great artist was honoured and respeted by all the princes of his time, and posterity will continue to reverence his genius and every succeeding age shall add freshness to the bloom and beauty of the votive wreath, with which fame has crowned his bust, in the temple of immortality.

He discontinued painting in the seventy-fifth year of his age;-and as he died at Rome, A. D. 1563, after completing his ninetieth year, he was splendidly interred in that city, at the sole expense of Cosmo, Duke of Tuscany; but some time after he caused his remains to be conveyed secretly to Florence, and to be deposited there, with great eclat of funeral pomp, in a magnificent monument, enriched and adorned by three imposing marble statues, representing PAINTING, SCULPTURE, and ARCHITECTURE.

EDMORIN AND ELLA-AN EASTERN TALE.
Translated from the French, for the Irish Shield,

BY JUVERNA,

While India was yet an immeasurable forest, and her sparkling diamonds lay undisturbed in the mine, concealed from European avarice,-while her flowers blushed untrodden by the invader, and her perfumes were inhaled by her innocent inhabitants, a tribe of aborigines took up their residence in a sequestered valley, adjoining the sea, where a fragrant shade of orange and date trees agreeably admitted the odorous breathing of the summer zephyrs. EDMORIN, a gallant chief, whose fame was borne throughout all India by the voice of praise, was the elected chieftain of this erratic colony, His valour, humanity, and amiable disposition, gained for him unbounded popularity among his followers. Beyond the ridge of lofty mountains, which encircled this peaceable and fertile valley, were situated another clan, with whom Edmorin and his tribe had long

been at war,

VOL. 1.-56,

In the different battles that were fought between these hostile Indians, the chivalrous heroism of Edmorin commanded victory; in the fierce fight, his arm withered all his foes, like the lightning of the thunderbolt blasting the sugar canes, and no opposing thief had the courage to meet him single-handed in the martial combat. His arows were often known to soar out of sight, even until they seemed to lodge in a quiver of clouds; his speed surpassed in rapidity the swiftness of the rein-deer; and the manly and elegant proportions of his person, were as exact and graceful as the tall cedar that lifts its green head over the pigmy trees of the forest. His manners were as gentle as the wooing nightingale, and as bland and mild as the first blush of the morning rose, when kissed by the san-beam. His bosom was the shrine where goodness and charity were devoutly worshipped by all the noble passions of humanity. He was a lion in war, but a dove in all the other amiable relations of life. He governed his people with justice and gentleness. But he did not suffer his soldiers to slumber in apathy-be compelled them to observe the most rigid discipline; so, that like Cæsar's legions, they were in the midst of peace prepared for war. He invented upon plans of his own construction, new weapons, and martial instruments, for defence in war; and athletic sports and games for the entertainment of the tribe. With the bark of the fir, and the rind of the toughest trees, he formed a light species of shield; and contrived to fix a flint with such expert dexterity in the sling, as enabled it to kill at the most distant mark.

Edmorim was enamoured of solitary retreats, where his heart would vibrate to the melody of the birds, and his senses derive pleasure from the fragrance of the flowers; and though the polish of education never brightened his intellect, nature endowed him with refinements and gifts of sensibility that often reached a grace of intelligence, which scattered the blossoms of modesty over the rugged surface of his unlettered understanding. He would sometimes delight to sequester himself in the deepest retirement of his bowers, and appear ingeniously desirous to explore the hidden mysteries of nature.

At length, however, his heart fell under the stroke of dejection; his spirits suddenly forsook him, and his mind brooded over the grave of past happiness;-his eyes, which once sparkled with the beam of gladness that irradiated his soul, were clouded with the gloom of grief, and his former smooth brow ruffled with the wrinkles of anxiety. While in this mood of sorrow, he would often east his eyes around him, and view the fair valley smiling in flowery luxuriance, with its trees arrayed in variegated blossoms, and bending to the earth under the load of their luscious fruit. At such a moment he could not help asking himself" Why this despondency? what is the cause of my discontent? Here all enjoy happiness, but the sad-souled lord who sways this halcyon vale. O, Edmorin! wherefore dost thou repine, and in the very bosom of earthly felieity? Art thou not the monarch of a thousand warriors, whose lives are devoted to your interest-who would all willingly die to preserve thy existence? It is not female beauty can charm away the spirit of languor from thy mind, for the loveliest maidens of Circassia-the most voluptuous nymphs of Persia are ready to minister to thy enjoyment: what, then, desponding chief? can fill up the aching void which yawns in thy bosom?" After indulging some time in these reflections, he came to the determination of quitting the scenes of solitude, and of endeavouring to recover the wonted gayely of his disposition by mingling among the most joyous and vivacious of his officers, from whose society he expected a balm for the wounds of anguish.

Among those whom Edmorin distinguished with particular tokens of his regard, was an Indian sage, whose name was Ramor, This venerable man was a philosopher of nature, and had acquired Iris knowledge in her unlettered volumes, and by an unaided application to her laws. He was a patriarch, whom the Edmorineans universally regarded as an intuitive prophet, whom the angel of death spared in pity to themselves. His maxims were esteemed infallible and invariable, and his sentiments were held in the reverence due to divine inspiration. When Edmorin's father was dying, it was his last request to his son to make the counsel of Ramor his directing star in the thorny mazes of life. The chief, therefore, felt towards him much of the reverence and duty of a child; and the old prophet, on the other hand, united an equal degree of the affection of a parent with the loyalty of the subject. To Ramor he unbosomed himself with all the sincerity of a saint in the confessional.

"Alas! good Ramor," said he, "I am the victim of wo, and melancholy has enchained, in her icy fetters, the energies of my mind ;-despair is the only vista that opens a dreary prospect of futurity to my view. I shudder to look forward-I dare not look back at the felicity I enjoyed in the days of my youth. Ah, how unhappy is thy Edmorin, O venerable sage! Music has no charm now for my soul; the dulcet notes of the wood-lyrists sound discordant in my ear; the modulation of the stream, the verdure of the spring, the cheerifig glow of the summer, in my dark and dreary bosom cannot kindle a single ray of delight or pleasure. It is to me no longer pleasing avocation to glide

along rolling rivers in my light canoe; to stick the plumes of victory in the crown of palm, worked for their victor by the fingers of the loveliest of my women; or with my dogs pursue the chase to the summit of the mountain. Ah, good sire! so I shall calt you, I am wretched beyond expression; the malady of my heart cannot be cured by the medicament of friendship; there is for me no light in the blue, bland eyes of the beauteous Lincassians; no emotions of love or rapture is awakened by their seducing caresses, or amorous dalliances; all is tasteless and insipid. Ah, father! to thee I dy for comfort; to thee I have flown from solitude, and the evils of my own mind; do, then, console me; tell me how joy is to be restored to my breast; hasten, revered sage, and mitigate the grief and distress of Edmorin!"

The sagacious sage had long studied the temper and disposition of his prince, and was intimately skilled in the characters of men. He regarded Edmorin with a piercing look of observation, and soon discerned the latent cause of his unhappy distemper; and, without any servilities of prostration, thus addressed him in the candid language of sixplicity and truth.

"Be the agonies which lacerate the sensibilities of my child dissipated, and the incubus of dejection, that weighs down his joys, removed;-let despair fly from his bosom, for happiness will there again fix her throne, and light up her altars with the incensed torches of love. Listen, then, O prince! to the inspired voice of thy lowly servant. Thou complainest, my son, that the novelty of life is over, and that from the variety of nature thou no longer canst find repose. To what cause, then, can thy misery and inquietude be properly imputed, but to that, which even in the unfading bowers of Parudise, could introduce the evil spirit of anxiety,-to the want of a lovely, elegant, and virtuous companion, whose sympathy would illuminate the darkness of thy grief; whose solicitude would lessen the burden of thy care; whose bosom would sustain thy head on a rosy pillow of bliss-and whose amiable qualities would shine like unsetting suns in the sphere of thy domestic enjoyment. Thou art unhappy and discontented, not because the excellencies that heretofore engaged thee are in themselves less excellent, but because thou hast no partner with whom thou mayest share the pleasure they be

stow.

Thy mind, my son, is suited to the sweetness of virtuous mediation, and nature has richly endowed thee with the power to discern the sublimity and beauty of her works; but when thy generous curiosity has procured thee instruction, thou wantest one angele being of congenial sympathies, to whom thou mightest impart the benefits of inquiry. Knowledge is useless unless it is diffused; yet to circulate to those who have neither capacity nor idea to comprehend it, would be as vain as to scatter seed in the Ganges,— a chimerical wildness, equal to his whose vanity and folly prompted him to encircle the head of the bear with a coronet of Lowers, and caparison the stupid ass in the gaudy trappings of the noble war-horse.

Cast, brave warrior, thine eye aloof, and behold on yonder citron tree, the turtle sits sorrowing among the fruit and flower-clad branches; she sees no charm in the smiling prospect around her, and is visibly overwhelmed in the anguish of despondence. Her beloved mate has awhile forsook her; and, in the meridian glow of life and day, thou observest how she pines in pensive sadness! The dazzling sun is to her an orb of darkness, and the lovely earth, in its vernal mantle of light, appears to her eye as if it were enrobed in the funeral habiliments of a weeping widow. Thine, my prince, is at present the desolate condition of that solitary turtle; and a tender object, equal to thyself in gentleness of disposition, in birth, and sensibility of feeling, is indispensably necessary to calm the storms of anxiety, and to pour the soothing balm of connubial sympathy into thy troubled spirit. But raise thy eyes again, O prince! to the citron tree, and tell me what thou seest?" "I behold, venerable sage, that the felicity of the dove is restored! her fugitive mate is returned! lo, Ramor, how their wings flutter in rapture! ob, how delicious must be the meeting of attached lovers, after a separation! The one seems tenderly to chide, and the other appears anxious to excuse; and, hark, they carol the concert of blissful love! Henceforth, my friend, I will not suffer any of the turtles in my regions to be destroyed; let them be sacred to nuptial attachment."

"Thou hast seen," observed the prophet, " by what means the peace of the bird was restored; and canst thou not form to thyself a similar method, whereby thy own bosom might again bask in the sun of joy?"

"Ramor," answered the prince, "my heart is lightened, and I now feel the cause that has made it a desolate desert; the purity of love, I am certain, can alone confer lasting happiness on my existence."

Go, my son," rejoined the sage, "and let thine eyes rove among the servants whom thou commandest, and thy reason shall soon exalt some charming, fair, aud innocent