main point is, whether there is any thing in Nature capable and worthy of representation, which the old painters did not represent. This question can be discussed as well, perhaps, in this country, as anywhere for, on the one hand, Nature, with all her variety, has but one system, and produces all her effects by the same means; and on the other, though much of the spirit of a picture is lost in a print, yet enough usually remains to show its general character and aim enough, therefore, to enable us to apprehend a fundamental difference of plan, if it exist, though not to judge of its execution. Now, how much soever we may admire Claude's or Ruysdael's landscapes, this, at least, we must admit that they portray something very different from what we know of actual Nature. And this is not merely the superficial difference of scene and climate, but a difference of aim in the painter. Nobody expects to find in the galleries of Rome or Dresden any thing reminding him of New England. Yet we are reminded of New England, and of what might seem the most local and peculiar effects and details of its landscape, on almost every page of our author's first volume, though he treats exclusively of European scenery. The difference, therefore, arises not from any foreignness of the objects represented, but of the sentiment with which they were viewed. This may be higher or lower; it is at least radically different. "I am not speaking," he says, "of the beauty or desirableness of the system of the old masters; it may be sublime, and affecting, and ideal, and intellectual, and a great deal more; but all I am concerned with at present is, that it is not true.” "A man accustomed to the broad, wild sea-shore, with its bright breakers, and free winds, and sounding rocks, and eternal sensation of tameless power, can scarcely but be angered when Claude bids him stand still on some paltry, chipped, and chiselled quay, with porters and wheelbarrows running against him, to watch a weak, rippling, bound, and barriered water, that has not strength enough in one of its waves to upset the flower-pots on the wall, or even fling a jet of spray over the confining stone." "Nor is it only by the professed landscape painters that the great verities of the material world are betrayed. Grand as are the motives of landscape in the works of the earlier and mightier men, there is yet in them nothing approaching to a general view, nor complete rendering of natural phenomena; - not that they are to be blamed for this; for they took out of nature that which was fit for their purpose, and their mission was to do no more; but we must be cautious to distinguish that imaginative abstraction of landscape which alone we find in them, from the entire statement of truth which has been attempted by the moderns." "From the window of Titian's house at Venice, the chain of the Tyrolese Alps is seen lifted in spectral power above the tufted plain of Treviso; every dawn that reddens the towers of Murano lights also a line of pyramidal

fires along that colossal ridge; but there is, so far as I know, no evidence in any of the master's works of his ever having beheld, much less felt, the majesty of their burning." "More than this, of that which they loved and rendered, much is rendered conventionally by noble conventionalities, indeed, but such, nevertheless, as would be inexcusable if the landscape became the principal subject instead of an accompaniment." And whether this difference of aim be attributed to inability, or to intentional limitation, the reason is, we think, in either case the same; namely, that there now exists a more profound appreciation of the landscape, by itself, without any adventitious interest, than formerly. The only alternative is to suppose that what we feel in the landscape is beyond the reach of pictorial art; - that the old painters felt it also, but wisely abstained from attempting impossibilities. This opinion is a common one, and is supported by the conservative instinct which everywhere holds by what has been done, and refuses to admit the possibility of any thing better. And so far the feeling is just: we are not called upon to take possibilities for facts, or to believe that any thing can be until it is. it is to be remembered, on the other hand, that every great action, as has been said, is an impossibility until it is done: - and that if we quit our skepticism, and say positively that it is impossible for modern art to excel the ancient, we ought to show some ground for our assertion in the nature of things.

But

That there are feelings which cannot be thus expressed, all will allow; - but that what Nature does every day by means which we can imitate, though at a vast interval, cannot be represented, even at such an interval, by pictorial art— remains to be proved. If authority is to govern, we on our part might well rely on the authority of the "Oxford Graduate." He shows such a profound instinct for principles; such a subtle apprehension and such an unwearied study of detail, in the work before us, as it is utterly impossible to give any adequate idea of by quotations admissible within our limits, but which is in our opinion unapproached in the language. All we knew we find here, and a great deal more. His statements therefore have a great deal of internal evidence in their favor; it is natural to suppose that his standard is as high and his appreciation as just, in Art as in Nature.

But there are independent grounds, we think, in facts acknowledged by all, for believing that landscape by itself, that is, material nature, was less interesting and important to mankind in general, and therefore likely to be less profoundly understood and felt by artists in former times, than now.

In the works of the old painters the interest is less in the landscape itself, than in its connection with or adaptation to man. Trees, rocks, earth, and water were to them mere rubbish, of which they were to make a picture. These commonplace details were

to be elevated and idealized as being accessory to an historical subject; or even where they apparently stand by themselves, they always suppose some spectator present either in or out of the picture, since they are arranged with an evident view to striking at first sight some beholder. In the earlier landscape, the foreground is filled with animals, birds, and even insects and reptiles, which no peasant could pass without observing; later, the object of attention is more elevated, but still something extraneous to the landscape. Even Claude never omits at least the glimpse of a city or castle, nor Ruysdael his distant spire.

In tone, that is, such a gradation of light and color as shall make the picture agreeable and intelligible at first sight, our author allows that the old masters are unequalled, but this effect, according to him, they obtained at the sacrifice of more important truth. They imitated accurately the relation and positive quantity of light and color in certain parts of the landscape, but from the inferiority of the means employed to those of Nature they soon came to the end of their scale, and were obliged "to omit the truths of space in every individual part of their picture, by the thousand. But this they did not care for; it saved them trouble; they reached their grand end, imitative effect; they thrust home just at the places where the common and careless eye looks for imitation, and they attained the broadest and most faithful appearance of truth of tone which art can exhibit."

This so-called "idealizing" of landscape, whatever may be thought of it, at all events implies at least the omission, if not the falsification, of a large part of the objects and aspects of Nature. When we select, we must neglect something. Now to idealize ought to mean, to seize the idea common to a variety of details, and, sufficiently expressing it, to neglect what is mere repetition, accident, or imperfection. "The true ideal of landscape," therefore, "is the expression of the specific-not the individual, but the specific characters of every object, in their perfection." Any thing unworthy of being represented, therefore, must be something which does not, in Nature, express any idea.

Now it may be doubted, we think, whether any thing in Nature (as distinct from man) was felt by the old painters to be of itself the expression of an idea. Certain forms and effects of color and tone they admired; and they admired the landscape just so far as it could be made to conform to their preconceived notions. We are inclined to think, with our author, that the idealization of the landscape by the celebrated painters of former times, was too often a mere fanciful distortion of Nature, to suit the whim of the artist. These views are supported by the feeling now common to all lovers of Nature, that the beauty of the landscape is a pervading quality, common to all landscapes : infinitely various, indeed, in degree, yet independent of any special assignable characters. The

charm of our autumn woods and fields is totally unconnected, not only with all human interest, but also with any striking details. It is not felt only, nor most forcibly, in presence of wide or enriched prospects, of majestic mountains and waterfalls-but of some familiar scene, in which all the features are commonplace, but exalted by some happy effect of light. The scanty range of a lonely brush-pasture in an autumn afternoon -the echoing stillness of a hemlock grove in winter-a few junipers and barberrybushes, or the details of a mossy rock in the haze of spring-are sufficient for the highest enjoyment that can be derived from Nature. This enjoyment is distinct in kind from the admiration of remarkable natural objects, and their representation by the old painters; it is a veneration and love for the total spirit of Nature, and not for selected features. Our limits would not permit any satisfactory illustration or discussion of this novel and abstruse subject; we must refer those interested in the matter to our author's pages. We may remark, however, that this difference of feeling towards Nature between ancient and modern times, is not confined to Art, but is seen also in Science and Religion. The Greeks did not believe that the gods created the world, but only that they governed it; their power was a power over Nature, as something apart, and originally independent of them. And even after the Christian era, there was nothing like a science of nature. Natural Philosophy in the time of Leonardo da Vinci was either Mechanics, the art of managing the forces of Nature, or Alchemy, the art of juggling with them; Nature being looked upon as mere dead matter, or as the creation and kingdom of the devil.

"I know not," says our author, "that of the expressions of affection towards external nature to be found among Heathen writers, there are any of which the balance and leading thought cleaves not towards the sensual parts of her. Her beneficence they sought, and her power they shunned; her teaching through both, they understood never. The pleasant influences of soft winds, and ringing streamlets, and shady coverts; of the violet couch, and planetree shade, they received, perhaps, in a more noble way than we, but they found not any thing except fear, upon the bare mountain, or in the ghostly glen. The Hybla heather they loved more for its sweet hives than its purple hues. But the Christian spirit . . . finds the object of its love everywhere, in what is harsh and peaceful, as well as what is kind; nay, even in all that seems coarse and commonplace, seizing that which is good, and delighting more sometimes at finding its table spread in strange places, and in the presence of its enemies, and its honey coming out of the rock, than if all were harmonized into a less wondrous pleasure." If, then, there now exists a keener sense for Nature than formerly, it will follow that the aim of painters of landscape of the present day ought to be, and very naturally may be, higher than

that of their predecessors; and this, as already remarked, is the important point. Our author, however, goes further than this, and endeavours to show, in a detailed dissection of the landscape in Nature and in existing pictures, which occupies the principal part of his first volume, the actual superiority of the moderns. Whatever may be thought of this opinion, this part of the book will probably be the most popular, from the keen observation and appreciation of Nature which it displays. Should we undertake to quote here, it would be difficult to know when to stop, and we can only recommend every lover of the country to buy it and read for himself. The second volume contains discussions of general principles of Esthetics, which, though resting rather upon instinctive feeling than systematic knowledge, are yet in the highest degree interesting and valuable. In this volume also are many keen criticisms of particular works of art.

The American reprint is very neatly executed, and with tolerable correctness, but we hope the publishers do not intend to put us off with half the work instead of the whole. We are sorry to see no indications on the cover or title-page, that this is only the first volume.

12. De l'Esclavage et des Colonies. Par GUSTAVE DU PUYNODE, docteur en droit, avocat à la cour royale de Paris. Paris. 1847. 8vo. pp. XVI and 224.

THIS is the third work of the author on the same or a similar subject. In 1845 he published a work on labor and the laboring classes. In the first two chapters he treats of slavery. He says, Liberty for all men, and in all departments of life, is the hope of the age. The two great problems of France are-to found a new order of things in Algiers, and in the West Indies to restore the slaves to the condition of entire civil and social freedom. He will not "undertake to prove the iniquity of slavery. The time has gone by when it was necessary to demonstrate that the color of the skin, or the place of birth, ought not to determine a man's rank in society." It must be remembered he is writing at Paris. "Slavery is a crime and a blunder. The solidarity of mankind was taught fully by the Stoics, and by Christianity, but has not been understood till now. France has taken the lead in developing the doctrine, and ought to abolish slavery, for she will thereby influence other nations, and slavery is at this day the greatest obstacle in the way of civilization. It perverts the master and debases the slave; it dishonors labor, renders it unproductive, corrupts the wealthy and promotes the vices of the poor. It is only possible on condition that the slaves are degraded, and the masters tyrants." To show that slavery prevents the increase