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looking round the wide and luminous circle of our great living Englishmen, to select one to whom I might fitly dedicate this work,—one who, in his life as in his genius, might illustrate the principle I have sought to convey;—elevated by the ideal which he exalts, and serenely dwelling in a glorious existence with the images born of his imagination,—in looking round for some such man, my thoughts rested upon you. Afar from our turbulent cabals—from the ignoble jealousy and the sordid strife which degrade and acerbate the ambition of Genius,—in your Roman Home, you have lived amidst all that is loveliest and least perishable in the Past, and contributed with the noblest aims, and in the purest spirit, to the mighty heirlooms of the Future. Your youth has been devoted to toil, that your manhood may be consecrated to fame;—a fame unsullied by one desire of gold. You have escaped the two worst perils that beset the Artist in our time and land — the debasing tendencies of Commerce, and the angry rivalries of Competition. You have not wrought your marble for the market—you have

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