Q.E.D.
Yes—we think we see it. Square—corner—tri—Here, Thomas—carry it off and have it set up. It's all right, we suppose. Somebody will find it out, at any rate. Let us continue by singing the following genial 'Soldier's Song,' which hath the good ring of the good old time, and which has just come to hand:
SOLDATENLIED.
The wide world is the soldier's home,
His comrades are his kin;
His palace-roof the welkin dome,
The drum his mandolin.
He gives to air
All thought of care,
And trolls his serenade
To fiery Mars,
The king of stars,
That never love betrayed.
The banner is the soldier's bride,
The love of bold and brave;
His wedding feast, the battle tide;
His marriage bed, the grave.
Where bullets sing,
Death's leaden wing,
Light as a dancing feather,
When hero falls,
To glory's halls,
Wafts life and love together.
A teacher of the truly 'genial' stamp—that is to say one who takes delight, in exercising his or her genius, and in awakening that of the pupil is, we fear, a rarity; as much even in Art, as in any other branch of education. We believe, however, that we may claim as an exception Mrs. Eliza Greatorix of this city, whom we believe to be honestly and earnestly interested in her calling as an instructor in drawing, and one who endeavors to make Art 'a living language by educating the eye through the intelligence.' The method which she pursues is that of drawing from objects, beginning with Harding's series of blocks, and thereby accustoming both eye and hand to greater accuracy than can be acquired from copying the usual plane surface pictures, which in most cases makes of the pupil a mere facsimilist. Mrs. Greatorix may be found at Studio 12, No. 204, Fifth Avenue.