Antonio Canova's career from the day on which he moulded the butter into a lion was steadily upward; and when he died, in 1822, he was not only one of the most celebrated sculptors of his time, but one of the greatest, indeed, of all time.
[THE LITTLE DOLLS' DRESSMAKER—(Continued.)]
ADAPTED FROM CHARLES DICKENS.
BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.
"How's my Jenny?" the man stammered, looking down at the tiny creature in her chair. Jenny never looked so little as when she was alone with her father. "How's my Jenny Wren, best of children?"
"Go away," said the little voice, sharp and harsh with pain and shame. "Go away to your corner." She held her hands up between them.
This father, who did nothing for his child, except to make her feel ashamed and grieved, shook from head to foot as he stood before her. His cheeks were blotched with patches of dull yellow and patches of dark red. His clothes were so torn and worn they hardly held together on him, and when he tried to put up his hand to his scanty gray hair, he made all sorts of motions with it before he could get it to his head.
How do you think it would seem to you, my happy children of good and loving parents, to look on such a man as this, miserable and shameful from head to foot, and brought to such ruin by himself, and then have to say to yourself, "It is my father"?
The children on the street laughed and hooted at him as he came staggering home to his little lame daughter. But, oh! it wasn't funny to little Jenny Wren.