study whatever. He states that not only his pure ventriloquisms, but nearly all his lighter vocal imitations of miscellaneous sounds, were executed in the first instance on the spur of the moment, and without any premeditation. The artist must evidently possess great flexibility of larynx and tongue. Polyphony, according to our modern professor, is produced by compression of the muscles of the chest, and is an act entirely different from any species of vocal deception or modulation. There is no method, he tells us, of manufacturing true ventriloquists. Nature must have commenced the operation, by placing at the artist's disposal a certain quantity of voice adapted for the purpose, as the raw material to work upon. It is like a fine ear or voice for singing, the gift of nature. It follows, therefore, that an expert polyphonist must be as rare a personage as any other man of genius in any particular art.

66

AN ARTIST'S DIFFICULTIES. RT remains always young and new;" and therefore, although it is now some time since the colossal statue of Bavaria first saw the light on the Theresa meadow, near Munich, we nevertheless think that some account of it, of the Ruhmeshalle before which it stands, and of its creators, will not be thought uninteresting by our readers.

Ascending a flight of forty-nine steps from the Theresa meadow, one stands at the foot of the pedestal which bears the mighty figure of the Bavaria. This pedestal is thirty feet high, and four feet wide at its base, and is formed of granite; the figure measures sixty-three feet from the foot to the point of the uplifted wreath; so that the whole work, from the foot of the pedestal, is ninety-three feet high. At the back of the postament a door leads to a winding stair-case of stone, by which one ascends the interior of the figure as far as the knees, and from here light iron steps lead to the head of the statue.

To give a better idea of the immense size of this colossal statue, we need only mention that twenty-six musicians were concealed in the head of the statue at the ceremony of raising it from the ground, when they sang songs of joy and praise to celebrate the completion of the great work. The size of the forefinger is as thick as a full-grown woman's waist, and

its length three feet two inches, and the other parts of the figure in beautiful proportion. Every spectator is justly astonished at the expression of earnest gentleness and feminine dignity, which is as clearly evident in this gigantic figure as it could be in the finest piece of life-size sculpture. Bavaria seems to call out to each of her sons, "Come, strive for the wreath, the symbol of glory; make thyself worthy of a place in my Hall of Fame!"

The figure is appropriately placed in the centre of the Theresa meadow, in front of the Ruhmeshalle, (Hall of Fame,) as if to guard the approach to it, and to crown the successful aspirant. It was modeled by Schwanthaler, a sculptor of high merit and versatile and fertile genius, whose indefatigable perseverance and ardor in the preparation of the model for the Bavaria, when already suffering from severe bodily illness, led to an untimely and painful death in 1848. He had not the satisfaction of seeing his great idea nobly carried out, but was hurried away to another life in the prime of this life and of his glory.

But not only must we praise and admire the genius which could model this great work; equal praise and admiration are due to him who carried out the idea of the sculptor faithfully and untiringly. Stiglmayer was the director of the royal foundry when the idea of casting a bronze statue of the Bavaria first originated; but when disease deprived him of the power of superintending such a giant undertaking, he advised his successor and nephew, Ferdinand Miller, to prepare the figure in portions as small as possible, as being the safest and best mode. The young and energetic Miller, seeing that such an opportunity for showing his skill would probably never again present itself, and confident of the superiority of his method, determined to cast the statue in as few separate portions as possible; and when, at the death of Stiglmayer, he was promoted to the rank of inspector of the royal bronze foundry, the work was commenced with ardor and energy.

If we reflect what an immense outlay of metal, of labor, and of reputation, is risked, at the casting of any great work, we may partly imagine how intense the feelings of Ferdinand Miller must have been while the casting of the Bavaria was in progress. No words of ours could ade

quately describe the suspense he must have suffered; and it is with great pleasure that we make use of his permission to translate some portions of the diary which the skillful master kept while the casting was going on, as it is the most faithful record of the most interesting portion of

his life. He writes:

"On the 11th of September, of the year 1844, two dense pillars of smoke rising to heaven from the chimneys of the foundry, announced that a great casting was in progress. Yes! the head, the first part of the Bavaria, and my first casting operation as independent master, was to take place on that day. The metal was fluid as water; many spectators, several royal ladies, were present. With what calmness did I not usually push the plug in? on this day I was so anxious, so fearful: but it had to be done. The bronze rushes impetuously into the mold. With palpitating heart I await the joyful signs at the air-vents; but they do not appear. A misfortune impends,' thought I, shuddering within myself, and hastily request the spectators to leave the foundry; then I suddenly heard a fearful noise in the pit: Alas! the form had burst. The metal flowed through the rent; terror paralyzed my limbs; I could do nothing to save myself than to look to heaven, and exclaim, O God, do thou help!'

"That was all I was able to do; and stood mute and still to behold my misfortune. Then all at once the fire-stream cools-no more bronze flows into the mold. I see fluid metal still upon the top of the duct-a ray of hope electrifies my heart, and I ascend hastily to look into the air-vents. What a sight! What joy! Fiery eyes gazed out upon me so friendly, so gladly. What delight when I exclaimed, The casting is successful!' My curiosity burned to know how this had happened. The pressure of the metal had broken through the wall two feet thick which surrounded the mold; forty hundred weight flowed through the gap, but at last the fluid masses hardened,-and hardened at a moment when, if thirty pounds more had escaped through the rent, the whole work would have failed. Such things are usually called lucky accidents; but my feelings impelled me to bare my head and exclaim, 'God, I thank thee for all !'"

As these extracts from the diary are more characteristic of the man than the incidents of his former life would be, if we placed them before our readers, we will give another passage relating to the casting of the breast part of the figure. The furnace was heated some days previously; and, as the metal contracts in cooling, it was to be feared that at this tremendous casting, which would require three hundred and eighty hundred-weight of metal, the kernel would not give sufficiently when the contraction of the cooling metal should take place. Six Turkish thirty-pounders, thirteen smaller Turkish cannons, and some

more metal in smaller pieces, were in the furnace, and the fire burning. Thus the master writes :

"Tired and exhausted as the body was, the mind was excited in the highest degree. Sleep was not to be thought of this night; an anxious, terrible feeling alarmed me, and the stillness of the night-the ghastly light which the yellow and blue forked flames cast around the foundry-was quite calculated to raise doubts in my heart, and to contract my breast with terrible forebodings. The fire in the meantime burned brightly in the furnace, and the cannons began to bend and melt. The pieces of metal were more stubborn. In the afternoon, at three, on the 11th of October, the metal was so hot that I could begin to throw in what I had kept back. When I had thrown about twenty hundred-weight into the furnace, I remarked that the fluid metal had cooled considerably. I ordered more and more fire to be applied, but in vain. I added no more metal; I threw the best wood into the flames, as well as tin and zinc: but all was in vain! The ore which three hours before had already been fluid was there thick and cooling. Then I thought the anxiety would have crushed my heart. I sought comfort in Him who is the ruler over wind and fire. How can one not pray in such utmost need! My heart felt somewhat lightened, and my brave wife strengthened me still more with her consoling and cheering words. O, what a treasure is a sensible wife!

I was

"I did not go to the furnace for an hour, that I might be calmer; but when, in the evening at seven o'clock, the metal was no better, all my hope was gone. The labor of years, reputation, and confidence-the beautiful furnace-my whole property-all was gone. tasted the bitter cup of despair. All, all gone! That was the only idea which filled me. wearied and worn out to death. My assistants stood sadly around me, trying to read my feelings in my eyes. This recalled me; they must not see what I felt, for they must not be discouraged. How difficult it was to cheer them! I called upon them to blow the fire, to stir the metal as long as their strength would last. I felt in my despair it must melt, or all will be

lost.

"This terrible excitement had made me unable to form any clear idea; and obeying the earnest entreaties of my father and my wife, I fell asleep on my chair. But my repose was not to last long; in a quarter of an hour my faithful wife awoke me with the terrible cry, 'Husband, awake, the foundry burns!' Away was all weariness; I flew to the foundry; the rafters of the roof-frame were already in flames; but the precaution of having everything in readiness for such accidents enabled us soon to overcome the flames, and watch that they did not spread, and then I returned to the furnace. My joy can scarcely be conceived. The metal was better; a brisk wind blew the bright flames; the heat grew more and more intense, but the metal became more and more fluid."

We cannot give any more of Mr. Miller's diary, as it would fill up too much of our space; but we think we could not have

given our readers a more interesting account of the life and character of this great man than that which his own words furnish. A few words as to his early life will serve to give a more complete idea of the man. Miller was born on the day of the great battle of Leipsic, the 18th of October, 1813, in a village near Munich. When he was a boy of nine years old, his uncle, Stiglmayer, took him to live with him, as he was intended for the same profession. The painter Stadler, and the sculptor Eberhard, were his first teachers in art, and he was afterward apprenticed to the Goldsmith Maierhofer, to gain his first instruction in modeling. In his seventeenth year he attended the Academy of the Fine Arts, and during his three years' stay made more progress than most other students. He was now sent by his uncle to Paris to perfect himself in his profession, where he obtained employment with the celebrated Soyer, who was then casting the July statue. Here he remained until his return to Munich-first as assistant, then as successor, to his beloved uncle and where he is now fulfilling his mission. He is thirty-seven years of age; and therefore, according to human anticipations, he may live many years to give the world more of his works.

We must say a few words also of the Ruhmeshalle. It is often confounded with the Walhalla, which is erected near Regensburg. The Ruhmeshalle, or Hall of Fame, is destined to contain busts of the great men of all times and countries. It is designed by Leo von Klenze, and is of the horse-shoe form, supported by fortyeight Doric columns, which, with the capital, are twenty-four feet high. The whole building is sixty feet high; and seems about half the height of the Bavaria, behind which it stands. It is built of marble from the quarries near Salzburg. The building contains a large room in each wing, and the open hall in the center, the wall of which is to contain the busts of celebrated Bavarians on richly-ornamented consoles. In this hall the construction of the top is visible, in the Basilicon manner; and the corners are supported by lions, sphinxes, and pegasuses. The friezes are bas-reliefs, indicative of the merits of those whose qualities will be commemorated in this hall,—and have all been designed by Schwanthaler.

It is probable that the building, the

foundation-stone of which was laid in 1843, will be finished in four or five years. What can now be seen of it behind the scaffolding is sufficient to let us anticipate the grand effect which the whole, when concluded, will have. The purely antique style of the form of the temple, and the noble simplicity and dignity of the Doric pillars, will make the Ruhmeshalle a rival worthy the Walhalla.

[For the National Magazine.]

THE FLOWERS OF GOD.

"Consider the lilies of the field."
THE welcome flowers are blossoming,
In joyous troops reveal'd;
They lift their dewy buds and bells

In garden, mead, and field;
They lurk in every sunless path,

Where forest children tread; They dot, like stars, the sacred turf Which lies above the dead.

They sport with every playful wind

That stirs the blooming trees; And laugh on every fragrant bush,

All full of toiling bees:
From the green marge of lake and stream,
Fresh vale and mountain sod,
They look in gentle glory forth-

The pure sweet flowers of God.
They come with genial airs and skies,
In summer's golden prime,
And to the stricken world give back
Lost Eden's blissful clime:
Outshining Solomon they come,
And go full soon away;
But yet, like him, they meekly breathe
True wisdom while they stay.
"If God," they whisper, "smiles on us,
And bids us bloom and shine,
Does Hɛ not mark, O faithless man!
Each wish and want of thine?
Think, too, what joys await in heaven
The blest of human birth,
When rapture, such as woos thee now,
Can reach the bad on earth!"
Redeemer of a fallen race!

Most merciful of kings!
Thy hallow'd words have clothed with power
Those frail and beauteous things;
All taught by thee, they yearly speak
Their message of deep love,
Bidding us fix, for life and death,
Our hearts and hopes above.

JAMES GILBORNE LYONS.

SUCCESS IN CONVERSATION.-The art of conversation consists in the exercise of two fine qualities. You must originate, and you must sympathize; you must possess at the same time the habit of communicating and listening. The union is rare, but irresistible.

"1. It is possible to harmonize the accounts of the first denial, supposing us bound to harmonize; but even for this purpose we must employ a little dishonesty, for our oida rí héyes, οὐκ οἶδα αὐτόν, and οὐκ εἰμί are not the same answer; and if they are differing reports of an answer distinct from all three, or from some

two of them, why should not the reports them

selves of the fact itself be viewed in the same light? 2. The 22n of Matthew, raidioкn πάλιν of Mark, ἕτερος of Luke, are absolutely irreconcilable on any principle of common honesty, supposing the event related to be one and the same, and the accounts of it to be

strictly accurate. The 520ev eis Tò рoаúhov οι εἰς τὸν πυλῶνα of Matthew and Mark, considering that he was Oɛpuaivóuevos before, are irreconcilable with the present GTS Kai Oɛpμaivóμevoç of John. 3. The occasion of the third denial in John is wholly different from that in the other three. In them it is a recog

nition on account of the Galilæan dialect: in

John, on account of previous recognition in the garden.

"It is not my present concern to discuss the principles on which these accounts are to be

understood with reference to the actual facts

that happened. I will only remark, that John's account, standing as it does in the highest position of the four, while it distinctly asserts the occasions of the first and third denial, leaves that of the second entirely indefinite-lov

ouv aur: thereby, it seems to me, implying

that the narrator had not such accurate means of knowing what was said, or why it was said, as on the other two occasions; and thereby, also, leaving room for the occasion of the third

denial in the others to have actually happened. I should also take the discrepancies in this second denial in the three others, as leaving room to suppose that in either of them is it accurately reported, but that it really arose out of the occasion which comes third in John.

"But it seems to me that the main point to be here insisted on is, the absolute impossibility of either of these evangelists having had before him the narratives of the others."

In this conclusion, for the sake of which he has given us the synoptical table, I entirely concur; but the intervening remarks I contemplate with some surprise. Without entering upon the question of the different wordings of the denials, I shall endeavor to show, that the order of the transactions is perfectly plain, and that the narratives of the three charges and denials are perfectly harmonious without any supposition of a fourth or fifth denial, or that the occasion placed second by one historian is to be identified with that which comes third in another.

First denial. It is acknowledged to be possible to harmonize the accounts of this, though the table exhibits St. John's statement in such a way as to make it appear

very difficult. According to the first three evangelists, Peter is "sitting in the hall without" or "below," and "warming himself" πpòs rò ows, with the light falling on his face; whereas in St. John it is represented that he was "recognized by the porteress on being introduced by the other disciple." Now, it will probably strike the reader, that this is the whole of St. John's account, while he calls to mind the words: 66 Peter stood at the door without. Then went out that other disciple, which was known unto the high priest, and spake unto her that kept the door, and brought in Peter. Then saith the damsel which kept the door unto Peter," &c.

But if we turn to the Greek, we see that the "then" is no note of time, but is only ovv, marking the connection between the fact of her having been applied to to admit him, and her taking notice of him afterward, when standing with his face to the light, which the next verse asserts to have been his position at the time. "Now the slaves and subordinates had taken up their post, elorýkɛloav dè oi dovñol, having made a fire, &c., and Peter was standing with them, and warming himself iv dè

μετ ̓ αὐτῶν ὁ Π. ἑστὼς καὶ θερμαινόμενος. There is then in St. John's account not the slightest variation from that of the others, but simply the additional facts of how Peter gained admittance, who the maid was who addressed him, and the reason why her attention was drawn to him so fixedly according to St. Luke's expresSo much for the sion, ȧrevioaoa air. possibility of reconciling the accounts of the first denial. We now come to the case of impossibility.

Second denial. The other maid of Matt., the same maid in Mark, and the other man in Luke, "are absolutely irreconcilable," &c. So they are, except upon a hypothesis which not only probably would be, but obviously was, the real state of the case, namely, that the servants drew one another's attention to the stranger who was standing among them; and that the question of his connection with the accused person whose trial they were witnessing became a subject of conversation. Such a conversation must necessarily consist of different observations from different parties; and we have those parties, or some of them, in the two maids and the man who are severally introduced by the first three evangelists; while this is