ezed across the Atlantic, and I see by the
late American papers that they are growing familiar with his fame. When
I read a notice seven or eight years ago, of the young sculptor of
Cincinnati, whose busts exhibited so much evidence of genius, I little
dreamed I should meet him in Florence, with the experience of years of
toil added to his early enthusiasm, and every day increasing his renown.

You would like to hear of his statue of Eve, which men of taste
pronounce one of the finest works of modern times. A more perfect figure
never filled my eye. I have seen the masterpieces of Thorwaldsen,
Dannecker and Canova, and the Venus de Medici, but I have seen nothing
yet that can exceed the beauty of this glorious statue. So completely
did the first view excite my surprise and delight, and thrill every
feeling that awakes at the sight of the Beautiful, that my mind dwelt
intensely on it for days afterwards. This is the Eve of Scripture--the
Eve of Milton--mother of mankind and fairest of all her race. With the
full and majestic beauty of ripened womanhood, she wears the purity of a
world as yet unknown to sin. With the hearing of a queen, there is in
her countenance the softness and grace of a tender, loving woman;

"God-like erect, with native honor clad
In naked majesty."

She holds the fatal fruit extended in her hand, and her face expresses
the struggle between conscience, dread and desire. The serpent, whose
coiled length under the leaves and flowers entirely surrounds her, thus
forming a beautiful allegorical symbol, is watching her decision from an
ivied trunk at her side. Her form is said to be fully as perfect as the
Venus de Medici, and from its greater size, has an air of conscious and
ennobling dignity. The head is far superior in beauty, and soul speaks
from every feature of the countenance. I add a few stanzas which the
contemplation of this statue called forth. Though unworthy the subject,
they may perhaps faintly shadow the _sentiment_ which Powers has so
eloquently embodied in marble:

THE "EVE" OF POWERS.

A faultless being from the marble sprung,
She stands in beauty there!
As when the grace of Eden 'round her clung--
Fairest, where all was fair!

Pure, as when first from God's creating hand
She came, on man to shine;
So seems she now, in living stone to stand--
A mortal, yet divine!

The spark the Grecian from Olympus caught,