marble - disguises all, observe; falsehoods all - who are they who like these things? who defend them? who do them? I have never spoken to any one who did like them, though to many who thought them matters of no consequence."

The above may serve as sufficient specimens of the general views, but the reader of the "Modern Painters" will readily conceive (though the "Lamps" are much less rich in such) how many admirable bits of special criticism, and how many pictures by the wayside, are scattered through the pages. As this:

"There is no subject of street ornament so wisely chosen as a fountain, where it is a fountain of use; for it is just there that perhaps the happiest pause takes place in the labor of the day, when the pitcher is rested on the edge of it, and the breath of the bearer is drawn deeply, and the hair swept from the forehead, and the uprightness of the form declined against the marble ledge, and the sound of the kind word or light laugh mixes with the trickle of the falling water, heard shriller and shriller as the pitcher fills."

To select, further, some of the most directly practical of his views, we may mention that he attacks all machine-carving, imitation of a material different from that actually made use of, and in general all work pretending to be what it is not. The reason assigned is that it is a violation of truth, in pretending to more labor or expense than has really been given to it.

These questions are wide ones, and, practically speaking, certainly his doctrine is on the safe side. Abuses of this kind have reached a most glaring pitch; have got, indeed, to be almost equivalent to ornamental architecture. But the ground on which they are to be opposed, Mr. Ruskin does not make very clear. As to the mere moral question; Art, as we have said, has nothing to do with Morals. As to the mere quantity of labor or expense, this also is a matter of indifference. Indeed, has he not himself taught us, (Modern Painters, Vol. I., ch. 2,) that, other things being equal, rapidity, slightness, and apparent inadequacy of the means to the effect, are preferable? The truth is, the value of a work of art consists in its being the expression of human feeling and thought; but in machine-work the execution is out of all proportion to the thought, hence the diminished value.

As to imitations, the ground of objection is that the material is not fit for the work; not merely apparently inadequate, (this it may not be,) but really so. If the inadequacy is only apparent, it becomes a source of pleasure; as, for instance, in the slender shafts and slight vaulting of Gothic architecture, which is delightful when, either by science or by tradition, we are assured of its strength, but otherwise would be offensive.

The omission of ornament where it is not to be seen, the counterfeit splendor of the freestone front and the beggarly nakedness of the rear, is such a gross, and at the same time so common an offence against correct taste, that we should be glad, if our space permitted, to copy some of our author's remarks on this point. He very judiciously allows the discontinuance of ornament where it could by no possibility be seen; but will have this done openly, and only in clear cases. It is destructive to Art to have it degraded to mere appearance: on the other hand, the desert flower that blooms unseen is no rule to Art, which is elevated above the accidentalness and waste of Nature.

The "Lamp of Beauty" might have been expected to shed some light on the question somewhat vexed among the readers of the "Modern Painters," whether or not Mr. Ruskin intended to hold up the imitation of Nature as the standard of Art: For ourselves, our opinion was very clear that he had no such thought, and we were much surprised to read here, (p. 58,) that "whatever in architecture is fair and beautiful is imitated from natural forms," and (p. 86) "forms which are not taken from natural objects must be ugly." Now, whatever opinions have been entertained in this respect as to Painting and Sculpture, such assertions as to Architecture are to us, at least, both new and strange, since this alone of the plastic arts has no prototype in Nature. In decoration, no doubt, much is suggested by natural objects, but even here imitation is generally avoided, except in barbarous or debased styles. We still prefer to hold this as a slip of the pen or the fancy, and remember rather his former statement, (Modern Painters, I., 24,) that "ideas of truth are the foundation, and ideas of imitation the destruction of all art." If the beautiful be the imitated, then whatever is imitated must be beautiful.

Neither is Mr. Ruskin more happy in his definition of the Picturesque as distinguished from the Beautiful. He calls it (p. 156) Parasitical Sublimity. But, to make use of his own question on occasion of another definition, we should be "curious to trace the steps of any reasoning which, on such a theory, should account for the picturesqueness of an ass colt as opposed to a horse foal," or, indeed, should account for it at all. Picturesqueness we take to be simply the fitness of any thing to form part of a picture, implying only the requisite harmony or contrast with other objects, and not any beauty of the thing itself out of the combination.

Lest our strictures, from their number, should seem to outweigh our really thankful commendation of the work in general, we pass over some other matters that appear to us open to criticism. Much partisan praise and blame in matter architectural; bigoted attacks on the Roman Church; crotchety talk against railroads, (even wishes that the men employed on them had been set to building "beautiful houses and churches" instead); much conservatism - run-mad, of all kinds, we omit.

The pervading feeling of the whole work as to the prospects of Architecture, (and it would sometimes seem as to all other prospects) is despair; an unwise feeling, which human nature will sometimes yield to, but which no considerate man will put into print, since there is never any ground for it.

If there is no chance for our ever having a good architecture, we may rest assured there is some reason, could we but find it, why it is best so. In reply to all complaints of the "utilitarianism of our age," of the "want of taste in the people," &c., &c., we say, that first of all, such complaints are presumably in the wrong. All criticism of general and decided tendencies, of whole nations, will be found in all experience to have been fallacious; right, perhaps, in what it saw, erring from not seeing the compensation that kept the account square. Right in this case, for instance, in seeing the degeneracy of Architecture, as a fact, but wrong from not seeing what this fact proves. For looking at things in the large, the features we discern are necessary ones, and carved by the finger of Fate. Perhaps in the fulness of time it will be discerned that this building of railroads and mills was the thing most wanted in the building line just at present, and that the ends attained by the noble architecture of antiquity are now attained in some other way. If we look at Mr. Ruskin's requisites we shall see that the feeling by which he demands the artist shall be possessed is nothing more or less than Religion. His demand, then, is that we shall be religious, and moreover, that we shall express our religion in the form of religious architecture. But we have better ways of expressing it. In the days of the grand architecture it was the best way or one of the best ways; it is not so now.

To enlarge upon this topic, however, would lead us too far. But thus much we may confidently assert, that granting that Architecture, as a Fine Art, holds at present a subordinate position, it is the part of no friend to Art to waste his strength in the hope of helping it up. For Art swims only with the current, and when the days of criticism come, and the educated and cultivated have possession of it, it is already dead and gone. Like Bentham, it bequeathes its body to the doctors. Our part clearly is to take what is given us with thankfulness and peace, and not be anxious to tinker at the order of the universe. If there be any thing more foolish than mourning over what is dead, it is the attempt to revive it.

The present edition seems to be a faithful reprint of the English; the plates are facsimiles, with no appreciable difference in the execution. The mosaic copied on the cover (note 14) is omitted, and its place supplied by a Gothic window. Excepting this, we prefer the American edition, from its more convenient size and price, to the English.

ART. VIII. - SHORT REVIEWS AND NOTICES.

1.- Memoirs of Rev. Joseph Buckminster, D. D., and of his Son, Rev. Joseph Stearns Buckminster. By ELIZA BUCKMINSTER LEE. Boston. 1849. 12mo. pp. XII. and 486.

It has been with feelings of no ordinary interest and delight that we have lingered about this charming work, - a graceful monument builded by genuine affection to the cherished memory of a father and a brother. It was well for the ancients to rear over the mortal remains of those they had loved and lost, the magnificent mausoleum, and by sculptured stone and marble beauty to express their sorrow and love for the departed; it was fitting for them thus to mourn for what they regarded as the cheerless repose of unwilling exiles from the face of Earth; the fixed, dead, unproductive stone, inexorable as the Fates, seemed in unison with the voice that sounded in their unconsoled hearts from the life beyond the grave. But a deeper insight into the meaning of Life, and a more joyous trust in our own immortal destiny and a Father's care, render unsuitable for us what was appropriate to the younger days of the world; the existence which has been dignified by usefulness and holiness and all sweet affections, closes not at all for others, more than for itself, when the fleshly garment, through which it expressed its activity to the eye, is laid beneath the sod. Some congenial heart, gathering with pious care and appreciating delicacy the scattered memorials of word and deed, which, all along its daily path, have been shed from the inner life of the beloved one, and preserving them in a simple memorial-urn, preserves for us the refreshing fragrance of those well-spent days. They, the seemingly departed, are still here, giving words of cheer and strength to those whose feet are yet soiled with the dust of every-day duties.

We cordially thank the authoress who, with so much delicacy, taste, and acute perception of beauty in sentiment, has placed before us the united lives of father and son. The whole book breathes of home; the domestic affections, and interests, anxieties, cares, and enjoyments are sketched with finest touches; we feel welcomed to the midst of them; we sit in "the little parlor"; mark the father's anxiety for the best welfare of his children; and, in the hearty purity and piety which have made the name of Joseph Stevens Buckminster sacred to so large a circle, we see the effect of that early religious environment. Naturally gifted with religious tendencies, the heart of the young boy was still furthered by that blessing in disguise which is usually spoken of as unmitigated evil - the removal of a lovely and pious mother by death. Her gentle care, ker unwearied patience, may be missed in the supply of physical wants, the indulgence of innocent, childish whims; but such a mother is buried from such a son to rise an angel in his heart of hearts; her continual presence there stimulates to exertion, strengthens in temptation, whispers peace in the little sorrows which come to all children, awakens in the young soul ideas of spiritual communion, and helps to make a home-reality of that Eternal Life which is to-day and here, and will be for ever.

To the influence of these associations in the home of his childhood, garnered there for his manhood's use, we should attribute much of that power which his beautiful life has had in the community. We look in vain in the volumes of his sermons for any thing to confirm the high estimation in which his preaching was held; we feel that the man was far greater than all his written words, and that the Truth and Beauty and Love, with which his great heart was overflowing, found their utterance so completely, so effectually, in countenance, gesture, tone, and the whole demeanour, that the words in which these realities were embodied were of secondary importance, - proving how much more men are affected by real character than by fine actions or eloquent words.

The book is preeminently of New England. The letters from the father, and various little incidents scattered throughout, speak