you let the sun visit your painting-room, save for this warm crimson curtain, which must cast such a pleasant glow on everything here, but rather darkens the picture now.' He drew back the heavy folds, and discovered the little nook where Elisabetta had sat. It was strewed with pencils and sketches of all kinds : Malvasia picked up one of the scattered papers.

Is this beautiful Madona one of your studies, friend Andrea? Why, your first sketches are absolutely as good as your freshest paintings.'

The artist looked at it, and turned away with a discontented air. 'Oh, monsignor, it is only one of the child's drawings. Elisabetta, I think you might be better employed than this. Go to your mother, child.' 'Stay one moment, Elisabetta,' said Conte Malvasia, drawing towards him the reluctant, blushing, and almost tearful child. Did you really draw and design this?' 'Yes, monsignor,' said Elisabetta.

'Signor Andrea,' continued the conte, 'why do you not teach your daughter to be a painter like yourself? Would you not like to be a great artist, figlia mia?' added he.

Elisabetta did not speak, but her eyes lighted up, and her lips quivered with emotion. Andrea said roughly, 'No woman could ever be a painter.'

How can you say so, Andrea? Have you forgotten Lavinia Fontana, and Antonia Pinelli, and our own Properzia?'

Do not bring Madame de Rossi forward as a model for my child. Besides, Elisabetta does not wish to be a painter.'

Elisabetta went timidly up to her father, and laid her hands, still folded in intreaty, on his arm. 'Dear father, I do wish it; I long for it. Listen to it, Signor Conte: teach me to paint like you.'

The painter, jealous as he seemed of his art, was moved, and from that time he suffered his daughter to pursue her studies openly, though the aid and instruction which she received from him were very little. Andrea Sirani seemed displeased that a young girl should know almost intuitively what it had taken him long years to acquire. He did not see the difference between natural genius and talents which were almost entirely the result of cultivation. Yet Elisabetta did not trust to her genius alone, a light which has led astray many a young aspirant; nor did she think that her surprising powers rendered supererogatory the patient study which is necessary in every intellectual pursuit-most of all in art, where the tact and judgment of a philosopher, the learning of a man well-versed in literature, the eye and heart of a poet, and the magic hand of a painter, are all required by him who would attain to eminence.

Elisabetta Sirani-and we are not describing an ideal character, but one who really lived, and breathed, and worked, whose name is still honoured among the Bolognese school-Elisabetta Sirani, as her childhood passed away, devoted herself more and more to her beloved art. She perceived that her father felt an ill-concealed aversion to seeing her at her easel, and, besides, he had been so accustomed to her assistance in the minor duties of the studio, that he could not bear to see her painting on her own account, instead of attending upon him. Therefore she rose by the dawn of day, and painted and studied with unwearied perseverance, until the hour when Andrea required her presence in the studio. Then she patiently relinquished the occupation which she loved so well, and turned her attention to her father, to the domestic concerns of the house, or to the acquirement of music, a study which was her greatest delight next to the one in which her genius lay. To the world she was still the simple Elisabetta, daughter of the painter Sirani, distinguished by no outward signs from her young sisters Barbara and Anna, or from her companions among the Bolognese maidens. No one knew in what her hidden talents were, save her father-who shut his eyes upon them as much as possible-and her unfailing friend, the Conte Malvasia.

At last, when Elisabetta had reached her sixteenth

year, there came a change. A slow and painful disease stole over the unfortunate Andrea Sirani, crippling all his joints, so that day by day the exercise of his art grew more difficult, until at length it became almost impossible for him to wield the pencil. In vain did Elisabetta chafe the poor numbed hands with her soft fingers: they would work no more; and life itself seemed torn from the despairing artist, thus deprived of the power to embody his conceptions.

It is all in vain, Elisabetta,' cried Sirani one day when the brush had fallen from his crippled fingers, which could no longer guide it-it is all in vain; I shall never paint more.'

He looked at his powerless and disfigured hands, and tears rolled down the cheeks of the strong man. No wonder that the gentle Elisabetta wept too, and threw her arms around her father's neck, in vain attempts at consolation.

Do not give me hope, my child,' he answered mournfully; I know it is incurable. I am no more an artist. Holy mother of mercy! how shall I find bread for my children?'

Elisabetta's cheek flushed, her eyes sparkled, words rose to her lips; but she stopped, thinking of the pain they would give to her helpless father. At last she said timidly, Father, you know I have been your pupil these four years; in that time, I think-I hope-I have learned enough to gain something by my paintings. Will you let me try?'

Andrea shook his head. Impossible: a girl not seventeen, and I have been a painter these twenty years. But it is long since I have seen thy work, child, he added in some confusion; bring it hither.'

Elisabetta, deeply joyful that her woman's tact had thus effected what she thought would be a discovery both difficult and painful, quickly placed before her father a Madona, so beautiful, so full of genius, that the artist at once saw the concealed powers of his child. It was in vain to nourish jealousy; for, alas! there could be no rivalry between them now. He kissed Elisabetta's brow, and prayed the Virgin, whose sweet face she had depicted so well, to bless his good and talented child.

Elisabetta became a painter. When only seventeen, her first exhibited picture made her the wonder and pride of her native city. It was a religious subject, such as the gentle and pious girl loved delineating-the saints of her church, St Ignatius and St Francis Xavier. The purchaser was the Marchese Spada; and the sum Elisabetta thus gained was large enough to bring a thrill of proud delight to her heart, with the consciousness that the future was her own. Her little sisters laughed and shouted at the sight of the purse of gold; her young companion, Ginevra Cantofoli, whispered in her ear how many personal adornments of silks and jewels it would purchase; but Elisabetta went straight to her father's chamber, and laid the first fruits of her talents and industry on the bed where the suffering artist was now confined.

6

'My father,' she said in meek and blushing humility, we have gained thus much by my picture: see!' Thou sayest we, Elisabetta!' answered Sirani. Why not I? This money is all thine.'

Not so, dear father,' said the young girl: 'all I have learned in painting I owe to thee. I am only thy hand to work in thy stead, until it shall please the blessed Madona to restore thee. Therefore this shall be devoted, like all thy other earnings, good and kind father, to the general benefit of the family.'

Two large tears stole through the closed eyes of the poor artist; but he said nothing. Perhaps Elisabetta's loving deceit, aided by the natural vanity of mankind, made him actually believe that his daughter's unselfish gifts were but a due requital for his instruction in art. But he made no opposition, and her future earnings were all appropriated to the domestic wants of the family. Night and day did the young Bolognese toil at her easel. Yet it was a labour of love; for she had

that earnest devotion and enthusiasm for art which constitutes the true riches of genius, and its reward, entirely independent of worldly success. But this latter did not fail Elisabetta. A woman, young and fair even among the beautiful of Italy, she attracted the attention of the connoisseurs of her native city, who saw with surprise a young maiden of eighteen execute with facility works equal to many of the most renowned artists of the day. Her quickness of hand was extraordinary; her slight fingers seemed merely to play with the pencil, and the painting grew under them almost by magic. The number of pictures which yearly came from her easel was astonishing even now; but Elisabetta had that strongest spur of all to diligence-she was working for the daily bread of those most dear to her, and who could only trust to her for support.

Looking back through the lapse of centuries on the life of this young and gifted creature, one marvels first at the wonderful steadiness of purpose which supported her at the commencement of her arduous career; and then at the sweet womanly nature which made her still humble, unsophisticated, and undazzled by the success with which that career was crowned. The noble and talented of the land crowded to her studio; churches far and wide were adorned with her pictures; kings and queens sent her letters of compliment on her works; and yet the young artist, in her own quiet home, was ever the same simple Elisabetta-tending her decrepit father, who was sometimes for whole months confined to his bed, aiding her mother in all domestic cares and occupations, instructing her sisters, and brightening the whole house with her cheerful and blithe spirit.

According to the usual custom of the Italian painters, Andrea Sirani had formed a school of young artists, who profited by his instructions, and followed his style. Among these was the favourite companion of Elisabetta, Ginevra Cantofoli. From earliest girlhood there had been a friendly rivalry between the two-at first amicable; and then, as Elisabetta's success increased, becoming gradually more serious, though it was not apparent. Every new triumph of the daughter of Sirani gave a pang to the heart of Ginevra, until at last the wild passions of the south were all roused in her bosom, and a jealous rivalry took the place of her old love for her childish friend. Every sweet and kindly word of Elisabetta's but imbittered this feeling, which became the stronger for concealment. When, in the sincerity of her friendship, Elisabetta praised and encouraged her young rival, and at times assisted Ginevra in her pictures by the touches of her own superior hand, no feeling save of envy and dislike entered the heart of the proud and desperate Italian. Even her beautyand Ginevra was very beautiful-she counted as nothing compared with that of Elisabetta.

But all unconscious of this, the artist's daughter went on her way-her loving and quiet spirit untroubled by any of those violent passions which distracted Ginevra -pursuing her art with unwearied diligence. She rarely joined in the amusements of the ladies of Bologna; her sole recreation was her favourite science of music. Often in the delicious Italian evenings Elisabetta would take her harp, the instrument in which she excelled, and for hours together draw from it the sweetest sounds, giving up her whole soul to the passion for music and to love of art-talents not unfrequently combined.

One night she was thus occupied, when Conte Malvasia entered unobserved. He went up to the couch where Andrea Sirani, whose sufferings were a little abated, lay watching the sunset, and occasionally turning his eyes to where Elisabetta sat, bending over her harp. Her form had lost its angularity in the roundness of womanhood; her dark hair was knotted behind in thick plaits, after the fashion of the times, save that a few silken curls rested on her white throat, which the stiff and tight-fitting dress of the day could scarcely hide. The expression of her eyes and mouth was as sweet as ever, and as she sang, her whole face was lighted up with the irresistible beauty of genius.

'Look at her,' whispered the proud father to Malvasia: tell me, is not my Elisabetta the fairest maiden, as well as the greatest painter, in all Bologna ?'

The good old ecclesiastic smiled, and assented. 'She looks as happy as if she had a foreshadowing of the good news I bring,' he answered.

About the holy fathers of Certosa?' eagerly asked Sirani. What! have they determined—and for Elisabetta?' 'Yes,' laconically said the conte.

'Elisabetta-Elisabettina mia,' cried the delighted Andrea, who had long since forgotten his jealousy in fatherly love and pride, 'you are successful; the good padri of Certosa have chosen you to paint the altarpiece!'

Elisabetta darted forward with unconstrained delight, and clapped her hands, a token of pleasure which was natural to the almost childlike simplicity of her character, which no honours could change. She kissed the hands of Malvasia, and thanked him over and over again.

But, my dear child,' said the benevolent conte, 'you are only at the commencement of the journey, and you seem as joyful as if the goal were attained. Do you know what is the chosen subject of the picture? A grand and difficult one-the Baptism of our Lord. Have you any idea of the manner in which you will treat it, Elisabetta?'

'I will show you, Signor Conte.' She took a sheet of paper, laid it on her knee, and with a brush dipped in Indian ink, began to dash in the first sketch of her composition with wonderful rapidity and power.

'Will this please you, monsignor?' timidly said Elisabetta at last, holding up the design of the picture which was afterwards the pride of the monastery of Certosa, and the work on which the fame of Elisabetta Sirani chiefly rests.

Ere the father and Conte Malvasia could find words for their delight, Ginevra Cantofoli entered. There was a heavy sadness over her face, and a wild look in her eyes, which spoke of some inward trouble. Elisabetta, in her unconscious delight, threw her arms round her friend's neck, and told her of her happiness; but Ginevra recoiled as from the touch of a serpent.

Then it is you who have taken from me my heart's desire?' she said bitterly. I sought this favour; but the padri, like all the world, thought me your inferior. I suppose I shall live and die so, Elisabetta?' she added, recollecting herself, and attempting a forced smile. 'Why did you not tell me of this, Ginevra?' said Elisabetta gently.

'Because I resolved for once to think and act for myself: I have failed; now let us forget it,' answered the other.

But Ginevra did not forget it; and year after year that added to Elisabetta's fame, only buried the poison deeper in the heart of her rival.

At last, added to all other jealousies, came the one excited by love. From the city of Parma, where he had been completing his studies in art, came Battista Zani, once the pupil of Sirani, and now the betrothed of Ginevra Cantofoli. Young, enthusiastic, overflowing with genius, and all that could win a maiden's love, no wonder was it that Battista was almost idolised by the girl he had chosen to be his wife one day. And when, like all who came within the circle of her presence, he yielded to the magic influence of Elisabetta Sirani, and felt and expressed towards her a regard and reverence almost approaching to the saint-worship of his church, Ginevra's very heart was rent asunder with jealousy. Sometimes, in his simplicity and utter unconsciousness of evil, Battista talked to his betrothed of Elisabetta, of her saint-like beauty-upon which he delighted to look, with that worship of all things pure and lovely which was so deep in his artist soul-of her unworldliness, her genius; and all this was to Ginevra the most exquisite torture. Then, too, in the frank admiration and friendly interest which Elisabetta showed

of the crews, there was nothing beyond natural difficulties to overcome in collecting the facts of most importance to science. We have ample observations on meteorology and magnetism-the determination of the position of the southern magnetic pole-the direction of ocean currents-of unusual degrees of depth-the line of mean temperature, separating, as it were, the extreme Southern Ocean from that more to the north, where the temperature is the same, whatever may be the depth to which the thermometers are sunk. The departments of zoology, botany, and geology have also been enriched with new specimens, many of them likely to prove of considerable value. Obscure and doubtful points have been cleared up; new whaling grounds, and a great southern continent, have been discovered; the latter terminated by volcanic mountains, compared with which Etna and Hecla sink into insignificance.

The two ships, the Erebus and Terror, the latter under Captain Crozier, sailed in September 1839: the scientific inquiries began in the Bay of Biscay, with measures of the height of the waves and determination of the specific gravity and temperature of the sea: at a depth of 300 fathoms, the water was found to be from 10 to 15 degrees colder than at the surface. At Madeira the highest mountain was measured; and on leaving St Jago, hourly observations on the barometer were commenced, chiefly for the purpose of marking the progress of barometric depression in approaching, and reascension in receding from, the equator-a phenomenon represented as being of the greatest and most universal influence, as it is, in fact, no other than a direct measure of the moving force by which the great currents of the trade-winds are produced.' After landing on St Paul's Rocks, for the purpose of magnetic observation, the party crossed the line of no dip, or the magnetic equator; and so definitely was it marked, that the signal showing no dip was hoisted on both ships at the same instant. This line, as well as that of least intensity, extends round the earth in a direction by no means parallel to that of the terrestrial equator. At the beginning of 1840, while crossing the tropic of Capricorn, soundings were obtained at a depth of 2425 fathoms, a depression of the bed of the ocean beneath its surface very little short of the elevation of Mont Blanc above it."

6

Some interesting observations on the strength, temperature, and direction of currents were made in beating up to and leaving the Cape of Good Hope. The next rendezvous of the ships was at Prince Edward's Island, to which place Sir James Ross had volunteered to convey the supply of provisions for the sealing parties. Great difficulty was experienced in making the anchorage, in consequence of the continuance of stormy weather. A party on shore was seen. 'Mr Hickley, their leader, came on board, and he, as well as his boat's crew, looked more like Esquimaux than civilised beings, but filthier far in their dress and persons than any I had ever before seen. Their clothes were literally soaked in oil, and smelt most offensively; they wore boots of penguins' skins, with the feathers turned inwards. They told us that the weather had been so tempestuous, that, until yesterday, they had not been able to launch a boat for five weeks; they had therefore been very unsuccessful at the sea elephant fishery, and were disappointed to find that they were not to be removed to "Pig Island" for the winter, which they describe as being so overrun with these animals, that, to use their own words, “ you can hardly land for them." The party consisted in all of eleven men, one of whom had been on the island for three years. They seemed to have no wish to return to the Cape of Good Hope, and were quite contented, having plenty of food. The eggs of sea-birds in the breeding season may be collected by boat-loads, and are said to be excellent food, particularly that of the albatross, which averages above a pound in weight; and the young birds, when first taken from the nest, are described by them as being quite delicious. It is possible, however, they may have acquired the Esquimaux taste,

as well as their habits.' It is scarcely possible to imagine a more dreary mode of life than this; and yet such is the wonderful power of adaptation to circumstances of the human mind, that these men are described as contented. A few days after leaving this storm-beaten locality, the first piece of antarctic ice was seen, though so small, as scarcely to deserve the name of an iceberg, being not more than twenty feet high, and evidently fast dissolving, yet it was sufficiently solid to injure seriously any vessel that might run against it. We passed several beds of floating sea-weed, and were accompanied on our course by many of the great albatross, and the large dark petrel; and still more numerously by the speckled cape pigeon, and stormy petrel, of two or three different kinds. These birds added a degree of cheerfulness to our solitary wanderings, which contrasted strongly with the dreary and unvarying stillness of the tropical region, where not a sea-bird is to be seen, save in the vicinity of its few scattered islets, which is the more remarkable where the ocean so abounds with creatures fit for their food.' In May 1840, the expedition anchored in Christmas Harbour, Kerguelen's Island. The country is of the most barren description, yet a few additions were made to the lists of plants and animals.* Notwithstanding the continued tempestuous weather, the tidal, astronomical, and pendulum observations were carried on without a single interruption. We read that, during forty-five of the sixty-eight days the ships were in Christmas Harbour, it blew a gale of wind, and there were only three days on which neither rain nor snow fell. On one occasion the whole body of the astronomical observatory was moved nearly a foot; and had not the lower framework fortunately been sunk to a good depth below the level of the ground, it would have doubtless been blown into the sea. The gusts occur so suddenly,' continues Sir J. Ross, that I have frequently been obliged to throw myself down on the beach to prevent being carried into the water; and one of our men, whose duty it was to register the tide-gauge, was actually driven in by one of the squalls, and very nearly drowned.'

It was observed that, during snow-storms, the thermometer fell several degrees, while the temperature of the ocean remained unaltered; the consequence was, a constant succession of snow, from the freezing of the warm mists in their ascent; and in steering from Kerguelen's Island to Van Diemen's Land, a remarkable phenomenon was noticed: the temperature of the sea, which averaged 35 degrees, rose suddenly to 46 degrees, retaining the increase over a space of eighty-six miles, presenting a singular anomaly in the distribution of heat. Just before a storm, meteors in great numOn bers were seen darting about in all directions. arriving at Van Diemen's Land, the party heard of the discoveries made in the southern regions by the French and the United States Exploring Expeditions, which determined Sir J. Ross on pushing his researches in another direction, and to endeavour to reach the south magnetic pole on a parallel much to the east of that already selected, in order that the expected discoveries might be altogether of an independent character. On steering again for the south, a halt was made at the Auckland islands, for the comparison of magnetic observations with those of the Hobarton observatory. These islands promise to become of great value in connection with the southern whale fishery. They present great attractions to the botanist, and are well wooded, but the trees are stunted by the continual heavy gales; affording shelter, however, to a thick growth of ferns and flowers beneath. The vegetation is characterised by a luxuriance of these fine species, and the absence of such weeds as grasses and sedges, &c. Eighty flowering plants were found; a small number, but consisting of species more remarkable for their beauty and novelty than the Flora of any other country can show, no less than fifty-six being hitherto undescribed.'

* See account of the Kerguelen Cabbage, No. 109.