would have sought to cover his weak points. As a work of Art, it is far superior to the renowned 'Venus de' Medici,' which stands beneath. He has given the delicate roseatic tints of flesh their most lovely expression, in contrast with the white of linen, and in the full glare of daylight; treating the whole simply, yet embodying truths of Art in a manner so faithful to Nature, that no artist has yet been found to rival him. Examine the outlines of his flesh! There is no sharpness in them. They disappear gradually in atmosphere, in soft and distinct form, half displaying and half suggesting the natural curvatures. As in looking upon the best Greek statues, we feel that the anatomy is perfect, but do not think of it. His flesh is warm and springy. So subtly are his tints managed, that the entire unity of glowing life reposes in the figure. Generous blood lies underneath that soft skin. Look also at the transparent shadows: they darken, but conceal nothing; you know they are trembling shadows, not opaque paint, as with common artists. With what consummate art has Titian husbanded his power of light in this picture! It illuminates itself; and yet there is nothing in it higher than half-light. Every tint is subdued and cool, but the whole picture is transparent and harmonious. Where he cannot rival Nature, he suggests her in so skilful a manner that we forget her scale in his Art. There is labor incalculable in this picture, but no evidences of it are obtruded upon the sight. Indeed, so natural is the whole, that its merit is often forgotten in the apparent freedom of execution.". pp. 371, 372.

Much of all this would apply with equal truth to the Danaë, now here. She is lying at full length, upon a low, sumptuous couch, partly supported upon her right elbow resting on a rich velvet cushion, heavy with golden fringe and cotton tassels, the beautiful hand falling with that expression of languid warmth, and sleepy, indolent helplessness, which the patriarch of painters delighted in representing even to the last, and which must have been copied from the living flesh and blood of a hand that he loved, or rather transferred; for though he sometimes modelled or moulded such a hand, as if he were toying with that of a beloved daughter, he never copied what he saw as if he only saw it, but rather as if he felt it; and, like Giorgione, and others of the greas Venetian school, he would not stoop to drawing, where it was possible to represent by manipulation.

Everywhere, throughout the whole picture, we have the

burning impress of power, and still nothing unchaste or unholy, nothing voluptuous or sensual, but rather a sort of doating tenderness or affectionateness, with a reverential regard for the sanctities of youthful womanhood; as if the instincts of untroubled innocence were in his thought, and every pulse, and every throb, at the age of nearly threescore and ten, were registered with awe. The sky, the golden fretwork, and heavy tumbled fringe, the half-light, everywhere to be found, even where the half-transparent drapery would be mistaken for white by the eye of a common artist; the sharp touches and sparkling brightness here and there, as in the wet roses and rich embroidery; the flesh tints of the two other figures, a Love with uplifted hands and lighted eyes, and a female attendant holding up a dish for the molten jewelry and heaps of gold, as they drop slowly, on their lingering way to earth, overflowing the couch and sinking into the drapery; the whole arrangement and composition, together with the careless and costly, though tender and compassionate, trifling; the very defects, indeed, the unfinished feet and false drawing, -are all so thoroughly characteristic of Titian, and of nobody else, when taken together, that no one well acquainted with his labors, professionally or otherwise, would ever think of questioning this picture now, in its present beautiful condition, so far superior to that of the Flora, as Page himself declares, with the dust of ages wiped off, and the brightness of the original image restored.

But we must leave our author and his work, trusting that such fine, free, spirited handling of these great subjects, painting and architecture, may be properly understood by our people. Next after Ruskin, whose influence upon almost everything that has appeared on kindred subjects, ever since the publication of his "Lamps of Architecture," "Stones of Venice," and "Lectures," may be traced, not only in the writings, but in the buildings and paintings, of the day, we are disposed to rank Mr. James Jackson Jarves, author of. these "Art-Hints."

ART. VIII.-1. A Short Historical Account of the Crimea. By W. BURCKHARDT BARKER. Hertford, England: Stephen Austin. 1855. 12mo. pp. 234.

2. The Crimea and Odessa. By Dr. CHARLES KOCH. Berlin. 1854. Translated by JOANNA B. HORNER. London: John Murray. 1855. 12mo. pp. 322.

3. A Visit to the Camp before Sevastopol. By RICHARD C. MCCORMICK, JR., of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 210.

4. The Russian Shores of the Black Sea. By LAURENCE OLIPHANT. Third edition. London and New York. 1854.

THERE are certain points on the surface of the world around which History lingers. They become battle-points and trade-centres; - they know, in time, all sorts of languages, architecture, and laws. As, between two states, the borders have always the ruins, the traditions of war, and the most piquant "minstrelsy," so on the more distinguished frontiers which separate the great races of mankind, there seems to be always such a gathering of forces, such a series of adventures, movements, nations, and men, as makes a whirling pool to draw in every large vessel that floats on the historic sea. Thus all the old-world heroes left traces of their armies on the sands of Suez. Thus the Hellespont is crowded full of history, from Jason's time down to Lord Carlisle's. And thus it is that the Crimea, as one of the frontier points between two climates, two continents, two races, two forms of civilization, -which is both Asia and Europe,-which belongs both to Tartary and to the Mediterranean, — which is fierce winter and fierce summer both, has come up from time to time, as a central point either in commerce, arms, or diplomacy, since history began.

We can but attempt an index to a few of the connec tions of the Crimea with general history, trusting that the interest now excited in that region may bring forth some studies on it more elaborate than any we have found among the publications of the day.

The earliest written allusion to the Crimea appears to

be in Homer. Dubois de Montpereux, who is good authority, undertakes to prove that the bay of Balaklava, whose high rocky shores everybody now knows, is the harbor of the Læstrygonians of the Odyssey, "by rocks uninterrupted flanked on either side." He sustains this opinion by criticism on the geography of the Odyssey, and on the manners of the early Crimeans. We do not care to follow this criticism; without doing so, we are willing to grant that it is as likely that Ulysses went to Balaklava, as that he went to Ulisippo, or Lisbon, which claims to bear his name. Indeed, there seems but little doubt that in those days the men of Balaklava ate men's flesh. And again, Homer's description of the port where Ulysses landed describes Balaklava as well as any of the most recent narratives. To show this we bring together the following descriptions by Homer Mæonides, Richard McCormick, Jr., and Laurence Oliphant. Two of these are meant for Balaklava. does not describe the same spot; if, indeed, he know which of the three is meant for the port of the Læstrygonians.

Let the reader decide if the other

1.-"We arrived at this celebrated harbor, which is entirely surrounded by a precipitous rocky cliff, of great height. This runs out at the mouth of the harbor in two promontories opposite each other,which leave an entrance so narrow that there is not the least movement within, but the most profound calm over the whole surface. The other vessels entered the port, but we came to outside."

2.-"We were snugly moored in the curious little harbor, beyond doubt one of the most remarkable in the world. The entrance from the sea cannot be seen at a cannon-shot distance. I stood on deck, busily seeking for it, as the ship appeared to be steering directly into a lofty ledge of barren rocks. One might sail by a hundred times without discovering the secluded inlet. Those masters of vessels who have never entered the harbor have to come to' outside. It would be difficult for two large ships to pass in at one time. Once in the harbor, we were completely land-locked by high and steep hills."

3.The port is completely surrounded by land. Any vessel, having once passed in through the dangerous entrance, may ride out the severest storm in safety upon its unruffled waters. And it is effectually concealed from the seaward by the projecting promontory."

Ulysses had the prudence, as he says, "to come to outside";

as other masters do, according to Mr. McCormick, in our day, when they have never entered the port before. It is to this peculiarity of the harbor, and to this caution of the great voyager, that we owe his continued existence after that time, and so the immortal poem of travel. Three men, of the advanced part of his fleet, going inland to seek inhabitants, found a young girl washing at a stream, which was probably the Chernaya. She said that her name was Artakia, and that she was daughter to Antiphates, the king of the country, to whose palace, as likely as not, at Ctenus, now Sevastopol, she led them. There she introduced them to her mother, who was as tall as a mountain, and frightened them exceedingly. She called the king in turn. Instantly "he plotted their destruction," and more than plotted it; for he caught up one of them, and thus "prepared his own supper." The other two fled. King Antiphates raised the town and pursued. His giant crew ran faster than the poor Greeks, — came up with all of them at Balaklava, — killed the men, and knocked the ships to pieces. Some of the Greeks took to the water, but the Balaklavans speared them, "as if they were fish." In short, all who had entered the port were destroyed, and it was with difficulty that Ulysses saved his ship, thanks to his having come to outside. The same precaution last winter, however, was, alas! the cause of the destruction of the magnificent Prince and one hundred and eighty men on board.

This little, unpromising glimpse of the character of the inhabitants of the Crimea, a few months after the siege of Troy, supposes, we must confess, a voyage of the great navigator in quite a different direction from that usually laid down for him. We have said that we do not choose to enter on any discussion as to M. Montpereux's hypothesis. But it is certain that the Southern Crimeans took the lives of all strangers, or were reputed to do so, in those times. For there is no doubt whatever as to the correctness of the geography of the next incident in their history, which transpired but a few years afterward. This is the visit of Orestes to his sister Iphigenia, the priestess of Diana, in the temple whose ruins still stand above Balaklava. Cape Parthenium, “the