There is one actor on the stage who is ever attempting to show the possibility of achieving impossibilities; he is one of the most pleasant visionaries in existence; his spirit soars aloft from every-day matters, and delights in shadowy mysteries; a matter-of-fact is a gorgon to him; he abhors the palpable, and doats upon the occult and intangible; he loves to speculate on the doings of those in the dogstar, to discuss on immortal essences, to dispute with the disbeliever on gnomes--a paradox will be the darling of his bosom for a month, and a good chimera be his bedfellow by night and theme by day for a year. He is fickle, and casts off his menial mistress at an hour's notice--his mind never weds any of the strange, fantastic idealities, which he woos for a time so passionately--deep disgust succeeds to the strongest attachment for them--he is as great a rake among the wayward "rebusses of the brain" which fall under his notice as that "wandering melodist--the bee of Hybla"--with the blossoms of spring. He has no affection for the schemes, or "vain imaginations" of other men--no one can ridicule them more smartly--he loves only "flowers of his own gathering"--he places them in his breast, and wears them there with miraculous constancy--flaunts them in the eyes of his friends--woos the applause, the admiration of every one at their charms--and the instant he discovers that another feels a budding fondness for their beauties, he dashes them from him, and abuses them for ever after, _sans_ mercy.--_Every Night Book_. * * * * * FINE ARTS. * * * * * THE WORKS OF CANOVA. (_For the Mirror_.) Canova, while living, was thought to be the first sculptor of the age, and his works are still greatly admired--for their exquisite finishing, and for their near resemblance to real life. They are certainly very attractive, and may be contemplated a considerable time with delight; but they never impose upon the beholder, and never raise in his mind any of those sublime ideas which he invariably experiences while contemplating the works of the ancients, or the modern productions of Michael Angelo Buonarotti. Canova, in fact, though he possessed the grace, the elegance, and the liveliness of the greatest masters of Italy, could never surmount a certain degree of littleness, which failure predominates in most of his works. The calm, tranquil, and dignified pathos of Leonardo di Vinci cannot be traced in Canova's countenances, which rather approach to those represented by Charles le Brun, Eustache le Seur, and other French artists. Though his men were generally deficient in dignity, the faces of his females were always pleasing, notwithstanding "The sleepy eye, that spoke the melting soul,"