a monument for the tomb of Goethe's granddaughter Alma. Good fortune seemed to be pouring in on him at last. He recovered his spirits and his energy, but his health was so broken that the physicians advised his going to a northern climate to regain his strength. He, therefore, took his wife to Denmark, where they spent the summer of 1846; but in the autumn they returned to Rome. Here we was visited in his studio by the Princess Albrecht of Prussia, who, on seeing his works, gladdened him by requesting him to make a design for a colossal Christ, to be compared with the designs of other foreign artists, from which collection she intended to select the one that pleased her best, and to give an order for it. Jerichau sent his sketch, and won the prize. Happier days had now arrived. Jerichau found himself stronger, and was in full employment; and his gifted wife's remarkable talents had become more universally known, for she had finished several large paintings, which, in regard to colouring and inventive powers, were likened to the best works of the old Venetian masters. One of these pictures was purchased, subsequently, by Baron Hambro, of London. The Jerichaus spent the succeeding summer again in Denmark, and returned to Rome in the autumn, when, the sculptor having finished his colossal figure of Christ, he commenced a very fine group-" Adam and Eve after the Fall." On account of this admirable work he was made a Fellow of the Royal Academy of Copenhagen. By the death of King Christian VIII., in January, 1848, Jerichau lost his best patron, and, to add to this misfortune, the revolution which broke out at Paris had a very depressing effect upon art at Rome. The interest of all classes was entirely transferred to politics; Rome became deserted, for the wealthy foreigners had left the besieged city, and the artists hastened to follow their example. Among these went Jens Adolf and Elisabeth Jerichau, with their child, whom, however, soon after their arrival in Copenhagen, they had the affliction to lose. Madame Jerichau's paintings were first exhibited in Denmark in 1848. Strange to say, they were not then sufficiently appreciated, and she was much mortified that, in her husband's native country, she should not have taken the position as an artist which, on his account, she wished to hold. But, though mortified, she was not discouraged, and as, in the course of a few weeks, she had acquired so good a knowledge of the Danish language as to be able to speak it and write it correctly, so in the course of a very few years she won her rank in Denmark as a painter of the highest merit. Jerichau was appointed the following winter a Professor at the Royal Academy of Arts. With increased means he and his wife had a comfortable home, and they were not merely received, but their society was sought, in the first circles of the capital. The period of the SchleswigHolstein war, instead of depressing the arts seemed to have thrown a halo around them, for both poetry and painting lent their aid to kindle the enthusiasm and celebrate the patriotism that were so nobly evinced during that undesired struggle. Among Madame Jerichau's paintings at this time was her "Denmark"-a determined, energetic-looking female figure, attired in the olden costume, bearing a sword and the Danish national flag, and boldly advancing through the high corn-fields. This picture has been very much admired; so also were her portrait of a child in its nurse's arms, stretching out its little hands towards a parrot; her "Icelandic Girl;" her "Peasant Girl reading the Bible;" "A Danish Peasant Child playing with a Lamb;" and her large painting-a memento of the South-of a Carnival Scene at Rome, in which a group of pretty women are, from a loggia, casting down flowers and bonbons. At the Great Exhibition in London, Jerichau's "Panther Hunter," and two colossal dogs, in the style of the antique lions, which had been ordered by Baron Hambro, were seen, and attracted observation. The following year Madame Jerichau came to England, bringing a letter of recommendation from the Queen-Dowager Caroline Amalie, and her portrait, to Queen Victoria. Her Majesty was graciously pleased to bestow her patronage on the foreign artist, some of whose paintings were taken to Buckingham Palace by the royal command, and from which her Majesty selected the picture of the "Icelandic Girl." The Carnival Scene, portraits of Etatsraad Thomsen, Hans Christian Andersen, Adolf Jerichau, &c., were placed in the Bridgewater gallery. The Times, in praising these works, remarked that one of their greatest merits was, that they drew attention even by the side of the best works of the old masters. In 1852, after her return to Denmark, Madame Jerichau finished one of her finest pictures, "Family Devotion," and about the same time her husband completed busts of Andersen and Thomsen, and a colossal statue, King David, intended to stand on the outside of the entrance to Our Lady's Church, Copenhagen. In closing this slight sketch of the lives of so gifted a couple, we may be permitted to augur for them a rich future-rich in domestic happiness, and in successful art. Of Madame Jerichau we may add, that, though devoted to a profession which demands so much time and thought, she has never neglected the duties of an affectionate, attentive wife, or a kind and careful mother. The foregoing short memoir was written in 1854, and truly did the poet foretel the increasing claims of the talented northern artists to the distinction they have so justly acquired. Madame Jerichau's paintings in the Royal Academy this year give undeniable proofs of her superior powers. In her admirable picture, "Italy" (No. 256), there are no adjuncts-nothing, as it were, to enhance the interest-no details, such as iron bars, instruments of torture, chains, noxious animals-there is but the one drooping figure-the one countenance-not glowing, not radiant, yet still stamped with the impress of mind and genius. That one speaking countenance seems to embrace the past, the present, and the future; it seems, or rather the prisoner seems, to be recalling, with a half-exulting, half-subdued smile of pride, the faded, buried splendours and majesty of the past; sorrowing for the misery and degradation of the present; almost lost in despair, and yet not despairing of the future, but gazing with a prophetic eye on the regeneration and disinterment of his country; catching through the surrounding gloom a gleam of glory, faint, but distinct as the ray of light that penetrates his dark and lonely dungeon. No one who has a soul to appreciate that great gift of God, genius, can look upon this picture with stolid indifference. However, it is not every one who is endowed with the power of admiring the abstract; many are content with the palpable-indeed, can understand nothing beyond it. Mingle-Mangle by Monkshood. but made a mingle-mangle and a hotch-potch of it-I cannot tell what.BP. LATIMER's Sermons. MAL DE MER. FROM the time the train started, and all the way to the terminus ad quem, without abatement or interval, did that vivacious Frenchman hold me in discourse if the phrase is admissible, where I was a listener only, and he had all the work. Never before had I felt so feelingly the truth of Goldsmith's remark that "a Frenchman shall talk to you, whether you understand his language or not, never troubling himself whether you have learnt French, still he keeps up the conversation, fixes his eyes full in your face, and asks a thousand questions, which he answers himself for want of a more satisfactory reply."* It was the same thing when we got on board the steam-packet at least for a while. Only an increasing swell in the Channel could check the volubility of that too eloquent tongue. Only a very sensible augmentation in the vessel's motion could avail to slacken his speed of converse. When once, however, the depressing influence had begun to tell, the effect was rapid and remarkable. One collateral result, worth mentioning, was, that whereas hitherto my compagnon de voyage had conducted his magniloquent monologue in French, regardless apparently of my power to keep up with him, he now took to broken English for expressing his uneasy sensations and ugly presentiments. He should be vaare seeck, soon; vaare soon, he assured me. I begged him not to hurry himself; there was time enough, and to spare. He repeated anon, that he felt it coming: he should be vaare seeck indeed, now! Again I intimated my freedom from any impatience for the crisis; I could wait. -A brief pause; a gurgling, inarticulate reiteration of the prediction;and then, preluded merely by one wailing cry of "Stewar-r-r-rt !"-a complete fulfilment of the prophecy, and ample justification of those pathetically enforced premonitory symptoms. Long time lay he prostrate on the deck, in a seeming state of collapse. Now and then I made an inquiry as to the progress of his complaint, or proffered what assistance I could; but the sufferer was beyond power of reply. At length might be heard suspiria de profundis from that o'erfraught heart; then an occasional interjection (not benedictory); presently he changed his position; and after a time I got ready answers and courteous thanks for all I had to say or suggest. His recovery was extremely slow, and not without certain intermissions of dismal relapse; still he did get on by degrees, and indulged in fragmentary reflections, of a green-and-yellow melancholy tint. Quantum mutatus ab illo who had talked transcendentalism and high art all the way from Londonbridge. The reaction was humiliating to witness. And Monsieur (by the way, I never learnt his name) was uneasily aware of that. It was not the pain he minded, said he; true, his sufferings were enormous, excruciating; *Citizen of the World, letter lxxviii. but all that he could bear, and not wince. What distressed and depressed him was the humiliation of the thing; this prostration of human naturethis degradation of its dignity, even to the dust. Plaints to this effect he moaned forth in monosyllables; for in more senses than one was that gallant gentleman utterly cast down. Finding the track his thoughts were taking, I essayed to console him by the reminder that his case was not exceptional. Other great men had been sea-sick in their day. Other high spirits, The observed of all observers! quite, quite down, even to his level on the deck of a Channel steamer. And I named some, who had not only undergone but recorded the experience. Ah, that comforted him. He liked to hear that. Would I name some more, as many as I could recollect ?—I did so, and the solace was manifest in its soothing power. So manifest, that I resolved to throw into the form of notes, some of this bald disjointed chat, on the chance of its operating as favourably (mutatis mutandis) on others who may happen, at this season of the year, to go down to the sea in ships, with a copy of this Magazine in their hand. Suetonius tells us that the horror a Roman emperor's father-in-law had of sea-sickness, cost him his life. Caligula forced Salanus to "cut his own throat with a razor," for not following him to sea, when that flightiest of Imperators embarked once in extra squally weather,the laggard being charged by his son-in-law with staying behind to plot, and improve the occasion by looking out for squalls on dry land; "whereas what Salanus did was only to avoid the tumbling of the sea, which always made him sick."* To his stomach, as to that of the demirep in Juvenal, Durum est conscendere navim. Tunc sentina gravis, tunc summus vertitur aer.† It is somewhat edifying to find the confessed sufferings from sea-sickness of Saint Thomas à Becket, serving to invalidate one of the quasi-miracles which point the moral and adorn the tale of his life. When Becket suddenly took flight for the Continent, Henry II., with indignant promptitude, despatched envoys to France to frustrate his devices. The same day that Becket passed to Gravelines, his Majesty's archiepiscopal, episcopal, and other ambassadors crossed from Dover to Calais. This was on the 13th of October, A.D. 1164. Dean Milman furnishes this note on the subject: "Foliot and the king's envoys crossed the same day. It is rather amusing that, though Becket crossed the same day in an open boat, and, as is incautiously betrayed by his friends, suffered much from the rough sea, the weather is described as in his case almost miraculously favourable, in the other as miraculously tempestuous. So that while Becket calmly glided over, Foliot in despair of his life threw off his cowl and cope."‡ Among the many imperative reasons which Philip II. had for not going himself to the Netherlands, and therefore sending Alva and his army instead, the Walloon historian (who wrote from D'Assonleville's papers) gives prominence, with solemn emphasis, to this one: that "his * Suetonius: Vita Calig. Cæs. § 23. Juvenalis Satira VI. Majesty was disinclined to long journeys, particularly to sea voyages, which were very painful to him."* For consider what a bilious subject his Majesty was; only less bilious than her Majesty, Mary, his wife. Philip had enough of that sort of thing when for her sake he visited these shores,† and endured what Mrs. Browning calls The swooning sickness on the dismal sea.‡ Montaigne thinks he has read in Plutarch an explanation of the "rising of the stomach in those that are at sea, that it is occasioned by fear, having found out some reason by which he proves that fear may produce such an effect." Montaigne has too much good sense to accept any such philosophy of causation, and goes on to say: "I, who am very subject to being sick, know very well that that cause concerns not me; and know it, not by argument, but by necessary experience. Without instancing what has been told me, that the same thing often happens in beasts, especially hogs, free from all apprehension of danger; and what an acquaintance of mine told me of himself, that being very subject to it, the disposition to vomit has three or four times gone off him, being very much afraid in a violent storm, as it happened to that ancient, Pejus vexabar quàm ut periculum mihi succurreret."§ Subsequently, this most egotistical of essayists, and least offensively so, tells us he can better endure a "rough agitation upon the water, whence fear is produced, than the motion of a calm. At the little jerk of oars, stealing the vessel from under us, I find, I know not how, both head and my stomach disordered."|| "He had always been afraid of the water," Montaigne's secretary writes of him, at his dictation, on leaving Venice in 1850, "and had an idea that the motion alone, of all others, upset his stomach." One dismal paragraph in Clarendon's Life begins: "The Chancellor, who knew nothing of the Sea, nor understood the Hazards thereof (being always so afflicted upon that Element with Sickness, that he considered nothing about it)." At a much later period he speaks, almost slyly, of the volunteers who went to sea with the Duke of York, as, most of them, "having endured the Unpleasantness of the Sea above a Month," beginning to think "that the War was not so necessary as They had thought it to be."++ One can conceive your mal de mer a not inefficient co-efficient in abating the enthusiasm of international hostilities. A groundswell off the Foreland might do as much to keep the peace, as an oration by Mr. Bright. my Théophile Viau's synopsis of sea-sorrows, in a letter to Desbarreaux, which tells of old Ocean's perils,-rocks, winds, sands, and solitude,-includes this pathetic touch: "Endormi, éveillé, ivre ou à jeûn, il faut chanceler et vomir." That was written on the strength of a transit from Calais to London, whither Théophile, being in bad odour at home, * See Motley's Rise of the Dutch Republic, part ii. ch. x. † He was "wretchedly, pitiably sick," on the passage, writes Mr. Froude. (Essay on Mary Tudor.) Aurora Leigh, book vi. § Seneca, Epist. 53. Montaigne's Essays, book iii. No. VI. "Of Coaches." **The Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon, vol. i. part v. Chasles, Sur quelques Victimes de Boileau. |