enmark.

Though forty years resident in Rome, rich and independent, he lived
and worked with the thought of once returning home to Denmark, there
to rest himself; unaccustomed to the great comforts of other rich
artists in Rome, he lived a bachelor's life. Was his heart, then, no
longer open to love since his first departure from Copenhagen? A
thousand beautiful Cupids in marble will tell us how warmly that heart
beat. Love belongs to life's mysteries.

We know that Thorwaldsen left a daughter in Rome, whose birth he
acknowledged; we also know that more than one female of quality would
willingly have given her hand to the great artist. The year before his
first return to Denmark he lay ill at Naples, and was nursed by an
English lady who felt the most ardent affection for him; and, from
that feeling of gratitude which was awakened in him, he immediately
consented to their union. When he had recovered and afterward returned
to Rome, this promise preyed on his mind, he felt that he was not now
formed to be a husband, acknowledged that gratitude was not love, and
that they were not suited for each other; after a long combat with
himself, he wrote and informed her of his determination. Thorwaldsen
was never married.

The following trait is as characteristic of his heart as of his whole
personality. One day, while in Rome, there came a poor countryman to
him, an artisan, who had long been ill. He came to say farewell, and
to thank him for the money that he and others of his countrymen had
subscribed together, with which he was to reach home.

"But you will not walk the whole way?" said Thorwaldsen.

"I am obliged to do so," replied the man.

"But you are still too weak to walk--you cannot bear the fatigue, nor
must you do it!" said he.

The man assured him of the necessity of doing so.

Thorwaldsen went and opened a drawer, took out a handful of _scudi_
and gave them to him, saying, "See, now you will ride the whole way!"

The man thanked him, but assured him that his gift would not be more
than sufficient to carry him to Florence.

"Well!" said Thorwaldsen, clapping him on the shoulder, as he went a
second time to the drawer and took out another handful. The man was
grateful in the highest degree, and was going. "Now you can ride the
whole way home and be comfortable on the way," said he, as he followed
the man to the door.

"I am very glad," said the man. "God bless you for it! but to ride the
whole way requi