in him, and constantly put his talents in requisition. The pieces of his which are still extant, show that he deserved such consideration. Connoisseurs still esteem them highly, though their merits are thrown out of view by the superior labors of more advanced art. His altar pieces, cabinet pictures and frescoes were constantly in demand. No gallery was perfect, no cathedral or convent was properly decorated, unless the hand of Lippi had left its mark there. Impressed with this sentiment, the nuns of the convent of Santa Martha di Prato, near Florence, ordered an altar piece to be painted by the still young artist. Lippi went to the convent to begin his work, but as he passed into the chapel he caught sight of the beautiful novice, Lucrezia Buti, who had been sent thither by her friends that she might eventually take the veil. That glance at her beautiful features made the favored courtier, the successful painter, for the moment the most miserable of men. He was desperately, and too probably, hopelessly in love.

But he went on with the altar piece. After a day or two however he suggested to the lady superior, that he should paint more successfully when he began on the picture of the Virgin which formed a part of the group, had he a living subject by which he might guide his hand and eye, and suggested the beautiful novice as a proper person. The abbess was pleased that any one had discovered that reli geuses were not necessarily ugly, and, considering the worthy object of the request, she at once assented. The beautiful Lucrezia was immediately installed in the artist's chair and the picture again proceeded with all possible success. But who can wonder if at the same time, this fascinating young cavalier, for whom all the beauty of Florence sighed, who loved so tenderly himself, succeeded. in imbuing her with some portion of a like affection. He told his tale of love; she smiled, and as

the artist left the convent one day, unperceived by any one the novice left with him; - the elopement was not discovered till pursuit was useless. The despondent lover had become once more the happiest of men.

The noble relations of Lucrezia however, were beyond measure incensed at the outrage. While the happy lovers wandered through Germany the relations nursed their revenge in silence; but as the stain had been inflicted on the family escutcheon, they thought to make the best of it by procuring from the Pope a dispensation, so that the artist and the novice might marry. After due solicitation the dispensation was granted, and then Lippi chose to show his independence of them and theirs by refusing to make use of it. He had, he said, conscientious scruples which forbad him from marrying Lucrezia. This insult was not to be borne. Through the rest of his life they watched for their chance of revenge, and success at length crowned their activity. By the skill of one of their agents poison was mingled with his food one day, many years after the elopement from the convent, and the man whom we have seen as an orphan, a friar, a slave, an artist, a courtier and a lover died the death of a dog in the village of Spoleto.

We have but a word more to add. Two years after, Lorenzo de' Medici, in passing through Spoleto, begged permission from the magistrates to remove the remains of the artist to the church of Santa Maria del Fiore, at Florence. They were unwilling to relinquish so honorable a deposit, and Lorenzo therefore engaged Filippino Lippi, the son of our artist and of the unfortunate Lucrezia, who equalled his father in skill and talent, to erect a monument of marble to his memory in Spoleto. Politiano wrote the inscription for this monument, which still remains; those Latin verses have handed down to the present day the praises of the unfortunate Filippo.

A few years since I was on my way to St. Louis, and took passage at Cincinnati on board the steamer Chief Justice Marshall, which was bound to New Orleans, but from which I was to disembark at the mouth of the Ohio, there to wait for some New Orleans boat going up to take me to my destination. Our travelling party consisted of three ladies — a mother and two lovely daughters deep in their teens, and a young gentleman and his bride from Louisiana, with her brother just from college. The boat was large and comfortable; a spacious

state-room offered us all the retirement of a private apartment in a dwelling.

It was a bright morning in October when we got under head-way from the landing, and bending our course down the river, left the queen city receding in the distance. The prospect from the decks as we swept round the noble curve which forms the peninsula of this great metropolis, was unequalled for beauty and variety. To the eye of the voyager, who gazes on the city and its opposite suburban shore, the river seems to flow through a valley peopled

for centuries, rather than a region but fifty years ago a desolate wilderness. Crowded population, taste, wealth, and a high degree of agriculture on the banks, all indicate the home of a long settled people, instead of the emigrant of yesterday. Astonished at what he beholds, the traveller's mind is overpowered at the contemplation of the future destiny of the land. This feeling is not only awakened by the sight of Cincinnati and its environs, with its fleets of steamers, but it is kept alive as he proceeds down the winding and romantic river. On either bank noble farms descend with their waving fields to touch the lip of the laughing wave, and at short intervals thriving villages meet his never wearying sight. Unlike the monotony of the Mississippi, the Ohio ever presents objects of interest. The voyager of taste is ever upon deck, as he is borne through the picturesque regions, and exclamations of surprise are exhausted only to be repeated and renewed again and again.

The next morning after quitting Cincinnati we reached Louisville, its levee as we approached presenting a scarcely less business like air than that of her rival city. Situated just above the "Falls," it was then the head of large boat navigation. But a deep canal has since then been constructed around the falls nearly two miles in length, by which steamers laden in New Orleans can pass through without as heretofore, being detained and transferring their freight by drays to smaller boats above the falls, and pursue their way to Cincinnati or Pittsburg. The river being now unusually high, the rocks of the rapids were nearly covered, and with skilful pilotage they might be ventured. After an hour's delay at the landing we shot out into the middle of the stream, and then set the boat's head to descend the rapids. As we approached them with the velocity of an arrow, there was not a word spoken on board save by the pilot, who stood forward, giving brief orders to the helmsman. Black rocks appeared on every side the rapids roared and foamed before us, seemingly in our very path; but onward we went with irresistible power, the vast steamer rolling to and fro like drunken. But we passed them safely, the captain having risked boat and cargo, and put in jeopardy his own life and those of all on board. But human life is of little value in the West, where there is so much of it floating about, none knowing whence or whither!

Among our passengers were two, a father and daughter, that particularly attracted my attention, from the indifference to danger which both exhibited during the perilous descent of the rapids; the elder standing with folded arms looking upon the deck,

gazing on vacancy, the younger admiring with a calm but delighted look the velocity of the boat-the curling waters around her, and the wild roar and sublime confusion of the scene through which she was borne. He was about fifty-six years of age, with a noble countenance, which care and grief had deeply lined, his hair gray and his form somewhat bent, less with years than sorrow. An air of melancholy pervaded his appearance and irresistibly interested the beholder in him. His daughter had fair hair and blue eyes, and seemed destined by nature to be happy hearted; for she spoke to him always with a sweet smile, and always smiled at seeing any scenery that pleased her. But there was a pensiveness in her look that harmonized with the sadness upon his brow. Her attentions to him, I had observed were tender, devoted, and full of anxious solicitude to draw him away from his own thoughts. At times she would succeed, and he would look up and around at the green wooded banks and smile with momentary interest, when she would appear perfectly happy, and tears would come into her eyes tears of joy.

During the course of the day I had an opportunity of rendering him a slight assistance as he descended from the deck, for which the daughter gratefully thanked me, adding, "My father is a little feeble, sir; I am in hopes this voyage will be of great service to him."

I warmly expressed the same desire, and as they immediately retired to their staterooms I saw no more of them that day. The ensuing morning I ascended the deck a few minutes after sun-rise and found them already promenading together, the father on the daughter's arm. The incident, and brief interchange of words the day before had conferred upon me the privilege of approaching and inquiring after his health.

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Better, sir, I thank you," he answered with a grateful look, "but," he added in a half tone which I could not help hearing, "it is not the body—it is the spirit that is sick."

"Oh, dear father!" said his daughter, glancing at me quickly, to see if I had overheard.

Oh, my son, my son! would to God I had buried thee in thy infancy," said Mr. Townley, for such I learned was his name; and he wrung his hands and threw himself upon a seat. His child seemed much distressed, and I was turning away lest my presence should invade secrecy that she seemed solicitous to preserve, when he said, extending his hand, "Sit down. I am told you are from the South-from Natchez." "Yes," I replied.

"I am glad to meet you. I am going there, to