ous friends of the monarchy even accused him of a design to supplant his brother, and to obtain the place of regent of the kingdom. After the tide of revolution, however, began to sweep all be fore it, he followed the example earlier set by the Count d'Artois. He set out from Paris on the 10th of June, the same day that Louis XVI. began a similar but unfortunate journey. Monsieur was happier; and rather through the care of his servant than his own, arrived at Coblentz. Unfortunately he has penned a narrative of this journey, in which there is nothing calculated to uphold his reputation, but the opposite impression must be produced by the exclusive anxiety which, in that awful crisis, he displays for the manner in which his table was to be served. His progress thus too much corresponded to the ludicrous picture of Talleyrand -Harlequin, always afraid, and always hungry. Being soon obliged to leave Coblentz, he sought refuge at Turin; but by the progress of the French arms, and the overawing influence of the republic, he was successively compelled to leave that city, Verona, Venice, and at last even Vienna. An asylum was then afforded at Mittau, where Paul, in the height of his anti-Gallic fervour, afforded him a splendid establishment, with a guard of 200 men; and his levee was crowded by the nobility of Courland. Afterwards, the views of his enlightened protector having shifted to the other side of the political compass, Louis was ordered to leave Russia in seven days. In Prussia he found at first a somewhat dubious protection, but was at length allowed to take up his residence at Warsaw. After the peace of Tilsit, finding no longer any safety on the continent, he repaired to Britain, which afforded his only secure and permanent asylum. From this time till the restoration, he resided at Hartwell, a seat of the Marquis of Buckingham.

It is said that Louis XVIII., notwith

standing such a long series of trials, never forgot the dignity of his descent, nor lost the hope of re-ascending the throne of his ancestors. When Charles IV. bestowed upon Buonaparte the insignia of the golden fleece, he wrote to him the following letter:

“SIRE AND DEAR COUSIN, "It is with regret that I return you the insignia of the order of the Golden Fleece, which his Majesty, your father, of glorious memory, confided to me. There can exist nothing in common between me and the great criminal whom audacity and fortune have placed upon my throne, which he has had the barbarity to stain with the pure blood of a Bourbon, the Duke d'Enghien. Religion teaches me to pardon an assassin, but the tyrant of my subjects ought always to be my enemy. Providence, from inscrutable motives, may ordain that I shall end my days in exile; but neither my cotemporaries nor posterity shall ever, even to my last breath, say, that in the hour of adversity I showed myself unworthy of occupying the throne of my ancestors."

The King's hopes were, beyond all human expectation, fulfilled; and as he had endured adversity with fortitude, he used with a dignified moderation his prosperous fortune. His career as a king has been very fully before the public; and we shall add nothing on the subject to the few observations already made on occasion of recording his death as an historical event.

The French lamented at this era the death of one of their greatest painters, whom the judgment of many critics placed at the head of their school of art

Girodet Trioson. Our direct means of forming a judgment on his merits being rather imperfect, we collect the following notices from the principal French journals.

Anne Louis Girodet was son to an officer of the legion of honour, but was early left an orphan. Possessing a fortune more than sufficient for the wants of his age, he received from his tutor, M. Trioson, physician to the army, a careful education, but without any special object. He was at his course of philosophy, when, for the first time, he handled the pencil. His first attempt excited the admiration of his companions, and decided his future calling. He had already made some progress when he entered into the school of David, who, from his picture of the Hora tii, was already considered as at the head of the French school. His success in the competition of 1789, made him what is called a pensioner in the school of Rome; in consequence of which, it being expected that he should send a painted study, he sent the picture of Endymion. David, justly proud of such a first fruit of his lessons, took pleasure in relating the strange sensation which the first view of this masterpiece had produced upon the professors of the Old Academy, most of whom knew not what to think or to say of a work so different from all that they had been accustomed to execute and to teach.

During ten stormy years of the revolution, the genius of Girodet was displayed only on some fine portraits. It was not till 1802, that the apotheosis of the French heroes came from his pencil. This composition was singular, following the inspiration of the day, but full of warmth; and the drawing was marked at once by an elegance and severity without example. Then appeared successively, in 1806 and 1808, the famous pictures of a "Scene of the Deluge," and "The Burial of Atala," in which last the genius of the great painter, supported by that of the great writer, has left nothing to wish for in regard to composition, any more than execution.

But the memorable year of the glory

of Girodet was that singular decennial competition, in which the champions of painting were seen to appear, and measure their strength like two giants. On one side was David, with his picture of the Sabines; on the other Girodet, with his "Scene of the Deluge." Between such rivals victory might well remain doubtful, and yet the judges pronounced in favour of Girodet. Enemies of this splendid triumph have attempted to prove that it was bestowed by passion; but impartial history, whose hour is now come, will have to remark, that when the Commission of the Institute gave this decision, M. David had not become at all an object of animadversion to that body; while, on the contrary, his rival enjoyed so little favour, that he had not been named a member, though the opportunity had often offered. It is remarkable, that, after so great a fracas, and a competition unequalled since the times of Greece, these two pictures returned into the hands of the painters, where they remained for ten years, without any one setting any price on them beyond that of vain admiration. At length, in 1818 and 1819, they entered the king's collection, through the taste and influence of the Count di Pradel.

The other works of this great painter are the pictures of the Surrender of Vienna and the Revolt of Cairo, which appeared in 1808 and 1810. A multitude of portraits, among which may be remarked those of Chateaubriand, of the Defender of Louis XVI., studies of heads, particularly that of "the Virgin," which astonished and delighted the public in 1812; a Galatea, traced with a delicacy and purity worthy the painter of Endymion and Atala. In this last work, however, his hand was already weakened by a first attack of the malady which now places Girodet in the tomb.

In this artist, the powers of the soul had a great empire over his physical

existence. When occupied with any important work, he seemed to be rapt in mind, and the body not to enter at all into the state of his existence; he painted in the night as well, or better, than in the day; he passed weeks and months before his canvass, almost without eating or sleeping. When, having finished his work, he came out of his paintingroom, he appeared emaciated, as after a long sickness; but his mind had lost nothing of its vivacity and enthusiasm. The labours of his art did not suffice to the prodigious activity of his fiery spirit. He employed himself also in music and poetry; he had composed a poem on painting, and finished a translation of Anacreon. His character was ardent, his humour impatient of restraint and of all preference. This disposition, indeed, did not prevent him from doing full justice to rival artists, who on their side well appreciated his astonishing talent. With the public in general, his popularity was not equal to his talent. His life could not thus be exempt from many cares; and that fire of imagination, those ardours of genius, which were the means of his glory, could not but contribute to his premature death.

For sixteen years, his constitution, naturally strong, struggled against an impending principle of destruction. At length, a gangrenous affection, which twice at distant intervals had appeared in the lower extremities, made its third attack on the stomach. After six days of increasing pain, it was necessary to submit to a perilous operation, the success of which could only diminish his unheard-of suffering, and retard death by five days. When all was ready for the terrible operation, Girodet had some occasion to go into his painting-room. There the sense of his danger, and the view of the objects which surrounded him, produced on his mind a lively emotion, and in the most affecting

terms, he bid adieu to his art, to his pencils, and to the work which he was about to leave unfinished.

On the first notice of his illness, the curate of La Madeleine had gone to visit him, and it was from the hands of this worthy pastor, that a few days after he received the last sacraments of the church. Witnesses of this sad and pious ceremony declare, that religion never appeared to a dying man under forms at once more mild and more edifying.

The funeral of this great artist was crowded almost beyond example. There were present almost all the artists and pupils of the different schools, the admirers of his genius, the friends of his person; among others, Viscount Chateaubriand, Baron Humboldt, the Count de Forbin, and the members of the administration of the Museum. Garnier, an early rival of the deceased, pronounced his funeral oration, and as the company were about to separate, M. Gros, an eminent living painter, stopped them, and began an improvisatory panegyric on his colleague and friend. He retraced with peculiar feeling the first years of his youth, when "coming with Girodet out of the school of David, he had him for his first friend, his companion in the classic land of the arts, sharing his studies, his pleasures, his dangers, and both cherishing that sacred fire, of which they had brought the fruits into their common country." This address is said to have produced an extraordinary emotion.

It is to the foreign journals, also, that we are indebted for some remark

able particulars respecting a lady of singular accomplishments, the DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, who, in the last part of her life, had made Rome her adopted country. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Hervey, and she was married in the first instance to Mr Fos

ter, but in 1812 became Duchess of Devonshire. Being left again a widow, she quitted England, and established herself at Rome in 1815. She spent her life there in a continued and splendid patronage of the arts. Her apart ments were adorned with pictures of all the living painters of Rome, of whose talents a just and advantageous idea might be there formed. She edited the translation of Virgil, by Annibal Caro, and besides having it splendidly printed, employed the ablest artists of Italy in adorning it with engravings, representing the places described by the Latin poet. She gave similar editions of a translation of Delille's "Passage of St Gothard," addressed to the first Duchess of Devonshire, and of a translation of the Fifth Satire of Horace, describing his journey from Rome to Brundusium. She was projecting a magnificent edition of Dante, executed

in the same style. There was a column in Rome, of which only half was above ground, between the Capitol and the Temple of Jupiter Stator, concerning the origin of which antiquaries had greatly differed in opinion. The Duchess caused the earth to be dug from around this column, when it was discovered to be the one raised in 608 by Smaragdus the Exarch, in honour of the Emperor Phocas. This research threw considerable light upon the general topography of ancient Rome. Her apartments were the resort of all distinguished British travellers, and of all persons from every country distinguished by their rank, their knowledge, and their merit. She is also understood to have bestowed liberally both on public institutions and private charity. She died at Rome, on the 30th of March, 1824, of an inflammatory illness.