ar to our hearts.

Ary Scheffer was born about the year 1795, in the town of Dordrecht, in
Holland; but, as at that period Holland belonged to the French Empire,
the child was entitled by birth to those privileges of a French citizen
which opened to him important advantages in his artistic career. French
by this accident of birth, and still more so by his education and long
residence at Paris, he yet always retained traces of his Teutonic origin
in the form of his head, in his general appearance, and in his earnest
and religious character. He always cherished a warm affection for his
native land.

Many distinguished artists have been the sons of painters or designers
of superior note. Raffaello, Albert Duerer, Alonzo Cano, Vandyck, Luca
Giordano are familiar instances. It seems as if the accumulation of two
generations of talent were necessary to produce the fine flower of
genius. The father of Ary Scheffer was an artist of considerable
ability, and promised to become an eminent painter, when he was cut off
by an early death. He left a widow, many unfinished pictures, and three
sons, yet very young. The character of the mother we infer only from her
influence on her son, from the devoted affection he bore to her, and
from the wisdom with which she guided his early education; but these
show her to have been a true woman,--brave, loving, and always loyal to
the highest. The three sons all lived to middle age, and all became
distinguished men. Ary, the eldest, very early gave unequivocal signs of
his future destiny. His countrymen still remember a large picture
painted by him at Amsterdam when only twelve years old, indicating
extraordinary talent, even at that early age. His mother did not,
however, overrate this boyish success, as stamping him a prodigy, but
regarded it only as a motive for giving him a thorough artistic
education. He went, accordingly, to Paris, and entered the _atelier_ of
Guerin, the teacher then most in vogue.

It was in the latter days of the Empire that Ary Scheffer commenced his
studies,--a period of great stagnation in Art. The whole force of the
popular mind had for many years been turned to politics and war; and if
French Art had striven to emancipate itself from slavish dependence on
the Greek, it still clung to the Roman models, which are far less
inspiring. "The autocrat David, with his correct, but soulless
compositions, was more absolute than his master, the Emperor." Only in
the Saloon