The third Memorial is a red porphyry Vase containing the heart of Canova. It is placed in the great hall of the Academy of Arts at Venice, beneath the magnificent picture of the Assumption of the Virgin, by Titian. The vase is ornamented with ormoulu, and bears the inscription _Cor magni Canovae_, in raised gold letters. M. Duppa describes it as "a vase fit for a drawing-room, not grand, nor lugubrious: it is surmounted with a capsule of a poppy, which is a great improvement on a skull and cross bones." Canova was not only the greatest sculptor of his own but of any age. Byron says-- Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. [Illustration: COR MAGNI CANOVAE.] He was, in great part, self-taught. In one of his early letters, he says, "I laboured for a mere pittance, but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my own resolution; and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honourable rewards--for I never thought of wealth." He wrought for four years in a small ground cell in a monastery. From his great mind originated the founding of the study of art upon the study of nature. His enthusiasm was perfectly delightful: he made it a rule never to pass a day without making some progress, or to retire to rest till he had produced some design. His brother sculptors, hackneyed in the trammels of assumed principles, for a time ridiculed his works, till, at length, in the year 1800, his merits hecame fully recognised; from which time till his death, in 1822, he stood unrivalled amidst the honours of an admiring world. [10] Childe Harold, canto 4, st. lvi. [11] Duppa--Observations on the Continent. [12] Childe Harold, canto 4, st. xxxi, xxxii. [13] Notes to Childe Harold, ibid.--See Engraving of Petrach's House at Arquà, _Mirror_, vol. xvii, p. 1. * * * * * THE PUBLIC JOURNALS. * * * * * THE HOME OF LOVE. "They sin who tell us Love can die. With Life all other Passions fly, All others are but Vanity;-- * * * * * "But Love is indestructible. Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times oppressed, It here is tried and purified, And hath in Heaven its perfect rest."--SOUTHEY. Thou movest in visions, Love!--Around thy way, E'en through this World's rough path and changeful day, For ever floats a gleam, Not from the realms of Moonlight or the Morn, But thine own Soul's illumined chambers born-- The colouring of a dream! Love, shall I read thy dream?--Oh! is it not All of some sheltering, wood-embosomed spot-- A Bower for thee and thine? Yes! lone and lonely is that Home; yet there Something of Heaven in the transparent air Makes every flower divine.