small bark,
crowned like a youthful Bacchus with vine leaves and ivy, and singing
wild Dithirambics to his guitar, while the surrounding villagers, by
whom he was idolised, followed him in their boats with shouts of joy
and festivity.

During the cool nights which, in this hilly region, temper the sickly
heat of an Italian summer, we often wandered along the breezy shores
of our classic Benacus, or sought refreshment in its dark blue waters.
Colonna was an adept in the delightful exercise of swimming, and his
instructions soon imparted to me requisite skill and self-possession.
We plunged from the marble terraces of the villa into the delicious
element, cleaving its moonlit waves, and sporting over its wide
surface like water-gods.

The Madonna for my mother was finished in August. The artist had
selected the incident of the flight into Egypt, and the mother of
Jesus was reposing in deep shade, under the giant arms and dense
foliage of a maple tree. In the middle distance, a few ilex and
cypress trees were effectively and naturally distributed. The
background was mountain scenery; and from a lofty cliff a river was
precipitated, in a bold and picturesque fall. The waters rebounded
from the gulf below in silver spray, and flowed through a verdant
level into a tranquil and beautiful lake. The most romantic features
of the wilderness around the lake of Garda were faithfully and
beautifully introduced; and the brilliant rays of a sun approaching
the horizon, threw a flood of gold over rock, and wood, and water. The
Madonna was a young and lovely woman, giving nourishment to her
first-born son, and bending over her pleasing task with delighted
attention. The head of the Virgin was after a sketch from life, but
developed and elevated in character, and invested with a breathing
tenderness, a hallowed innocence and purity of expression, which at
once thrilled and saddened the beholder. The boy was a model of
infantine beauty; he supported himself with one little hand on his
mother's breast, which was partially veiled with red drapery, and he
had raised his cherub head and glossy curls from the sweet fount of
life, to look with bright and earnest gaze upon the glowing landscape.
The luxuriant brown hair of the Madonna was confined in a net, from
which a few locks had strayed over her brow and cheek; and her blue
mantle flowed with modest grace over her fine person, revealing,
through its light and well-distributed folds, the