and silence, for he would suffer no one to see him paint; and he had the exquisite satisfaction of beholding every successive effort grow more perfect under his hand than the last, until his glory burst from the interposing cloud of poverty, and penetrated even to the metropolis of France which he had left.

He received an invitation from the French minister Denayers to repair to Paris and to decorate the gallery of the Louvre with his pencil. Louis XIII was equally pressing in this request. He was reluctantly prevailed upon to go, for Italy had now become dear to him; it was classic ground, abounding in the finest models and the purest antique, which he regarded with a veneration little short of idolatry. His recluse habits likewise tended powerfully to confirm his reluctance to a change of residence, as he was far more avaricious of fame than of fortune, and was withal every way unqualified to dwell amidst the splendor of a royal court.

From this determination he was with great difficulty prevailed upon to recede, and he accordingly repaired to the metropolis. On his arrival he was received with every mark of attention and respect by Louis, who assigned him a pension suitable to the character of so illustrious an artist. He painted, while here, several pieces, of extraordinary merit, and amongst the rest, a Cœna Domini,

At length he began his labours in the gallery of the Louvre, and changed the whole plans and dispositions of the architect Le Mercier. This artist, stung with severe mortification, confederated with Vouet Fouquiers and a multitude of others, who envied Poussin's celebrity. They raised perpetual cabals against the intruder; slandered, misrepresented, and attempted to undermine a character against whom they did not dare to enter the lists of competition.

Poussin had no weapons of offence, or of defence, in this new mode of hostility. He was as unacquainted with the corruption and polished depravity as he was with the splendor and politeness of the court. This occupation became therefore the more intolerable, and at last inspired him with insurmountable disgust. He therefore abandoned it abruptly, under the pretext of escorting his wife to Rome.

After he had set his foot on Italian ground again, he shut himself up in his study, and had recourse to his pencil with as much philosophy as if he had never been disturbed by any solicitations to relinquish his retirement

To the most earnest royal entreaties and remonstrances to return to Paris, and to the most tempting rewards he turned an ear of impenetrable deafness. The gallery of the Louvre still remained unfinished, and his country had to lament that the intrigues of a mean and insignificant cabal, were capable of despoiling her of such an ornament.

He died in the year 1665, in the seventy-first year of his age. His character as a man was mild and amiable towards those whom he admitted to his confidence, and those were very few. This did not result from suspicion or jealousy; but from his early habits of reserve and seclusion which his avocation tended to confirm; habits that impressed on transient beholders the conviction that he was cold, inaccessible, and morose. His friends however, testify to the benevolence of his heart; they beheld behind the repulsive exterior, traits that endear and engage.

One master passion reigned with tyrannical ascendancy to which every other was made implicitly to bend; fame and not fortune was the idol he unvariably worshipped. His birth only denoted him a Frenchman; for his manners were tinged with nothing of that levity; that desire of pleasing and courtesy of deportment, so universally allowed to be the character of his nation.

His works are distinguished for a rigid adherence to antique; the countenances, the draperies, the surrounding scenery, and all the accessories are framed on those exquisite models from which he never ventured to depart. He was, in the strictest sense, a classical artist, and gave antiquity more pure and unmingled with modern manners, than any other painter of his time. He had transported himself back into the early ages so completely, that he seemed to live only in the society of the ancients.

Colouring had very little fascinations for him; once, indeed, he copied the works of Titian, and strove to improve his colouring by imitating Dominichino. This he soon abandoned, and

gave himself up with more devotion than ever to the study of the ancients.

His long acquaintance with antique statues and basso relievos, while it enabled him to transfer upon canvass their graces, gave to his pencil a character too cold and monumental. His carnations were consequently too livid. Such devotion to antiquity, which can now only be seen by us in statues, basso relievos, and paintings and such alienation from living nature, produce a style beautifully correct indeed, but destitute of that life which nature can only teach. The works are statues and not men clothed in draperies; a defect that the pencil of Poussin was peculiarly liable to commit. His industry was incessant, and his works have been enumerated at three hundred pieces, an immense number, considering that he never received assistance from any artist.

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Among the most considerable of his works may be reckoned the death of Germanicus. The spirit which is discovered in the execution of this piece, the livid and death-like visage in the countenance of the sufferer, was peculiarly suited to the pencil of this artist, whose carnations at all times partook too much of this character. Able connoisseurs have pronounced this work one of the finest of his productions. The seven sacraments of the Romish Church was a work of great labour; several years were employed in its execution; it was touched and retouched, and is now held in very high estimation

With these may be mentioned the taking of Jerusalem; the plague of the Philistines; the woman taken in adultery; the striking of the rock by Moses; the adoration of the golden calf; the vision of St. Paul-and numerous landscapes embellished with historical subjects. His Coena Domini, painted for the church of St. Germain is executed with very great spirit. Poussin had employed so much time in painting subjects taken from profane history, that when he undertook sacred topics, his pencil was not perfectly free from the reproach of blending the former with the latter. Thus in his beautiful picture denominated the finding of Moses, the god of the river Nile is introduced, which a critic seems disposed to pardon, because it denotes the identity of the