uld be always
chosen for a statue that shall present a perfect, unbroken impression to
the mind. If this be true, the enjoyment must be much more complete
where not only the motion, but almost breath and thought are suspended,
and all the faculties wrought into one hushed and intense sensation. In
gazing on this exquisite conception, I feel my admiration filled to the
utmost, without that painful, aching impression, so often left by
beautiful works. It glides into my vision like a form long missed from
the gallery of beauty I am forming in my mind, and I gaze on it with an
ever new and increasing delight.

Now I come to the last and fairest of all--the divine Proserpine. Not
the form, for it is but a bust rising from a capital of acanthus leaves,
which curve around the breast and arms and turn gracefully outward, but
the face, whose modest maiden beauty can find no peer among goddesses or
mortals. So looked she on the field of Ennae--that "fairer flower," so
soon to be gathered by "gloomy Dis." A slender crown of green
wheatblades, showing alike her descent from Ceres and her virgin years,
circles her head. Truly, if Pygmalion stole his fire to warm such a form
as this, Jove should have pardoned him. Of Powers' busts it is
unnecessary for me to speak. He has lately finished a very beautiful one
of the Princess Demidoff, daughter of Jerome Bonaparte.

We will soon, I hope, have the "Eve" in America. Powers has generously
refused many advantageous offers for it, that he might finally send it
home; and his country, therefore, will possess this statue, his first
ideal work. She may well be proud of the genius and native energy of her
young artist, and she should repay them by a just and liberal
encouragement.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

AN ADVENTURE ON THE GREAT ST. BERNARD--WALKS AROUND FLORENCE.

_Nov. 9._--A few days ago I received a letter from my cousin at
Heidelberg, describing his solitary walk from Genoa over the Alps, and
through the western part of Switzerland. The news of his safe arrival
dissipated the anxiety we were beginning to feel, on account of his long
silence, while it proved that our fears concerning the danger of such a
journey were not altogether groundless. He met with a startling
adventure on the Great St. Bernard, which will be best described by an
extract from his own letter:

* * * * *

"Such were my impressions of Rome. But leaving the 'Eternal City,' I
mus