Works of art are dry subjects of description, and that too just in the proportion of their exquisiteness to behold. Things made for the eye must be presented to the eye. Works of a coarse and comic nature can, indeed, be described so as to produce their effect. Here, for instance, is a railroad-station man. Such in Bavaria, dressed in their quaint little red coats, must stand with the hand to the hat as if in token of profound respect for the train while it passes. This one, when lathered and half shaved, was suddenly called by the train, and in this predicament he stands while it passes. The best new work in the exhibition was one in water colors by Professor Schwind, of Munich, setting forth the popular German myth of the seven ravens. It sold to a prince for seven thousand florins. I know better than to attempt a description. The 'Raising of Jairus' Daughter,' a picture sent on by the king of Prussia, gave the best impression I have ever had of life once departed, and now suddenly beginning again to quiver on the lip and gleam in the eye; or as Willis has it:

'And suddenly a flush Shot o'er her forehead and along her lips, And through her cheek the rallied color ran; And the still outline of her graceful form Stirred in the linen vesture;'

thus changing the sadness of the family assembled round the couch into a lustre sympathetic with that of her own reopened eyes.

These specimens have been given to show that such subjects are incapable of description. The exhibition continued from June to October, and the collection was so extensive that a shorter period would have been scarcely sufficient for the study of works exhibited. During this time the characteristic enthusiasm and jealousies of the artists were variously exemplified. The delightful hours spent in walking through these halls will be among my latest remembrances.

This whole festive period culminated with the closing days of September. The city had been unusually full all summer, but as its great birthday festival approached, the crowds thickened, until its capacity for lodging room had been transcended. All parts of Germany were represented, nor did delegates from the rest of the civilized world fail.

The question naturally arises, whether New York, Boston, or Philadelphia has a history which would appear well in such a drama! Although our history extends back over little more than one fourth of the period occupied by that of Munich, it might afford this material. The annals of public events would be found preserved with great fulness and distinctness—the archives of city and state councils and of the churches would supply the needed facts—but who could furnish the fashions, tools, and implements of each successive age from that of the Pilgrim fathers to that of the great rebellion? Who would perform the labor of research necessary to ascertain what they were? Where is the American court, supported at an expense of several millions per annum, to preserve all these in collections, or to get them up for court theatres? Who would pay for making all these for a procession of twenty thousand persons, with all the necessary horses and carriages? And surely, if we could not feel the confidence that everything was historical, all our interest in the display would be gone. I am apprehensive that we shall be obliged to leave such exhibitions to those countries which have hereditary heads, and, making a virtue of necessity, console ourselves with the thought that we have something better.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: Luther was not in Munich at that time, if indeed he ever was.]

[Footnote 9: Catherine Bora, Luther's wife.]

[Footnote 10: Vide Schiller's 'Geschichte des dreisigjaehrigen Krieges.']



THE DANISH SAILOR.

Far by the Baltic shore, Where storied Elsinore Rears its dark walls, invincible to time; Where yet Horatio walks, And with Marcellus talks, And Hamlet dreams soliloquy sublime;

Though forms of Old Romance, Mail-clad, with shield and lance, Are laid in 'fair Ophelia's' watery tomb, Still, passion rules her hour, Love, Hate, Revenge, have power, And hearts, in Elsinore, know joy and gloom.

* * * * *

Grouped round a massy gun Black sleeping in the sun, The belted gunners list to many a tale Told by grim Jarl, the tar, Old Danish dog of war, Of his young days in battle and in gale.

The medal at his breast, The single-sleeved blue vest, His thin, white hair, tossed by the Norway breeze, His knotted, horny hand, And wrinkled face, dark tanned, Tell of the times when Nelson sailed the seas.

* * * * *

Steam-winged, upon the tides A gallant vessel glides, Two royal flags float blended at her fore, Gay convoyed by a fleet, Whose answering guns repeat The joyous 'God speeds' thundered from the shore.

'Look, comrades! there she goes, Old Denmark's Royal Rose, Plucked but to wither on a foreign strand; Can Copenhagen's dames Forget their country's shames— Her sons, unblushing, clasp a British hand?

'Since that dark day of shame Which blends with Nelson's fame, When the prince of all the land led us on, I little thought to see Our noblest bend the knee To any English queen, or her son.

'What the fate of battle gave To our victor on the wave, Was as nothing to the bitter, conscious sting, That our haughty island foe Struck a sudden, traitor blow, In the blessed peace of God and the king.

'Ay, you were not yet born On that cursed April morn, When they sprang like red wolves on their prey, And our princeliest and best By our humblest lay at rest, In the heart's blood of Denmark, on that day.

'And now, their lady queen, O'er our martyrs' graves between, Stoops to cull our cherished bud for her heir, And the servile, fickle crowd Shout their shameless joy aloud, All but one old crippled tar—who was there!

'Till the memory shall fail Of that treach'rous, bloody tale, Or the grief, and the rage, and the wrong, Shall enforce atonement due, On some Danish Waterloo, To be chanted by our countrymen in song,

'I will keep my love and truth For the Denmark of my youth, Nor clasp hands with her enemies alive; Ay, I'd train this very gun On that British prince and son, Who comes here, in his arrogance, to wive.

'When I gave my good right arm, And my blood was spouting warm O'er my dying brother's face, as we lay, I played a better part, I bore a prouder heart, Than the proudest in that pageant bears to-day.

* * * * *

'—There floats the Royal Bride, On that unreturning tide;— By the blood of all the sea-kings of yore, 'Twere better for her fame, That Denmark sunk her shame Where the maelstrom might drown it in his roar!'

* * * * *

There was silence for a space, As they gazed upon his face, Dark with grief, and with passion overwrought; When out spoke a foreign tongue, That gunner-group among: 'Neow old Jarl ses the thing he hed'nt ought.

'This idee of keeping mad Half a cent'ry, is too bad; 'Tis onchristian, and poor policy beside; For they say that the young man Has the 'brass to buy the pan,' And her folks are putty sure that he'll provide.'

* * * * *

The old seaman's scornful eye Glanced mute, but stern reply, And the Yankee vowed and swore to me, the bard, That old Jarl, that very night, By the northern moon's cold light, Talked with Hamlet's father's ghost in the back yard.



AMERICAN CIVILIZATION.

There are two opposite standpoints from which American civilization will be regarded both by the present and future generations; opposite both in respect to the views they give of American society and the judgment to be formed thereon: so opposing, in fact, that they must ever give rise to conflicting opinions, which can only be reconciled in individual instances by the actual occurrence of great events, and never when dealing with generalities. These two far distant points of view are the foreign and the native. We are, more perhaps than any other nation in existence, a peculiar people. Our institutions are new and in most respects original, and cannot be judged by the experience of other nations. Our manner of life and modes of thought—all our ideas of individual and national progress, are sui generis, and our experience, both social and political, as based upon those ideas, has been similar to that of no other race which history records. Hence to the foreign historian or philosopher our inner life is a sealed book; he can neither understand the hidden springs of action which govern all the movements of our body politic, nor appreciate the motives or the aspirations of the American mind: in a word, he can never be imbued with the spirit of our intellectual and moral life, which alone can give the key-note to prophecy, the pitch and tone to true and impartial history. And he who, reasoning from the few a priori truths of human nature, or from those characteristics which the American mind possesses in common with that of the Old World, shall pretend to treat of our systems and our intellectual life, or to map out our future destiny, will be as much at fault as the historian of a thousand years ago who should attempt to portray the events of this our day and generation. The historian of American civilization must not only be among us, but of us—one who is able not only to identify his material interests with those of the great American people, but also to partake of our moral habitudes, to be actuated by the same feelings, desires, aspirations, and be governed by the same motives. By such an one alone, who is able to understand our moral life in all its phases and bearings, can a clear and truthful view be taken of the great events which are continually agitating our society, and their bearings upon our present and future civilization be correctly estimated.

It is precisely from lack of this sympathy and of appreciation of the difficulties under which we have labored, that America has suffered in the opinion of the world. For the foreign view, looking upon us not as a new people, but as the offshoot of an old and cultivated race, has conceded to us little more than a certain mechanical ingenuity in fitting together the parts of an edifice built upon a foundation already laid for us away back in the ages—a carrying out of plans already perfected for us, and requiring little of originality for their development; forgetting that oftentimes the laying of the foundation is the easiest part of the work, while the erection and embellishment of the superstructure has taxed the efforts of the loftiest genius. In so far as regards the development of the national mind, the strengthening of the originating and energetic faculties, and the capability of profound and well directed thought arising therefrom, we are, as a race, deeply indebted to our progenitors of the Old World, and we have reaped therefrom a great advantage over other nationalities in their inception. But aside from these benefits, the cultivation of the race before the settlement of our country has been rather a hamper upon our progress. For here was to be inaugurated a new civilization, upon a different basis from and entirely incompatible with that of the Old World; here was to be established an idea antagonistic to those of the preexisting world, and evolving a new and more progressive social life, which needed not only a new sphere and new material, but also entire freedom from the restraints of the old-time civilization. And it is harder to unlearn an old lesson than to learn a new. The institutions and modes of thought of the Old World are to the last degree unfavorable to the progress of such a nationality as ours. Their tendency being toward the aggrandizement of the few and the centralization of power, renders them wholly incompatible with that freedom of thought and action, that opening up of large fields of exertion as well as of the road to distinction and eminence, with all their incentives to effort, which are the very life of a majestic republic stretching over a large portion of the earth's surface, embracing such mixed nationalities, and founded upon principles of progress both in its physical and mental relations which have rendered it in very truth a new experiment among the nations. We had first to forget the divine right of kings, and the invidious distinctions of class, with all their deep-seated and time-honored prejudices, and to start forward in a different and hitherto despised path toward which the iron hand of our necessity pointed, and in which all men should be considered equal in their rights, and the position of each should depend, not upon the distance to which he could trace a proud genealogy, but upon the energy with which he should grapple with the stern realities of life, the honesty and uprightness with which he should tread its path, and the use he should make of the blessings which God and his own exertions bestowed upon him. We had to learn the great but simple lesson that

'The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the man for a' that;'

and in so doing, to accept, for a time, the position of the Pariahs of Christendom, through the imputation of degrading all things high and noble to the rank of the low and vulgar, of casting the pearls of a lofty and ennobled class before the swinish multitude, of throwing open the doors of the treasury, that creatures of low, plebeian blood might grasp the crown jewels which had for ages been kept sacred to the patrician few; in a word, we had to take upon ourselves all the odium of a despised democracy—a moral agrarianism which should make common property of all blessings and privileges, and mingle together all things, pure and impure, in one common hotch-potch of corruption and degradation. Greater heresy than all this was not then known, and the philosopher of to-day has little conception of the sacrifice required of those who would at that time accept such a position.

Another and not less important lesson which our ancestors had to learn was, that national prosperity which depends upon the learning and refinement or energy of a certain privileged class, can never be otherwise than ephemeral; that the common people—the low plebeians, whom they had been taught to consider of the least importance in the state, are in reality the strength of the land; and that in the amelioration of their condition, in the education and mental training of the masses, while at the same time placing before them the highest incentives to individual exertion, lies the only sure basis of an enduring prosperity—that the only healthful national growth is that which is made up of the individual strivings of the great mass rather than the self-interested movements of the few; and as a consequence of this truth, that the privileged minority is really the least important of the two classes in any community. In the infancy of government, when a rude and unlettered people are little able to take care of themselves, the establishment of class distinctions is undoubtedly conducive to progress, as it tends to unite the people, thereby counteracting the thousand petty jealousies and strifes and bickerings which invariably beset an infant people, and to organize and systematize all progressive effort. It is, in fact, a putting of the people to school under such wholesome restraints as shall compel them forward while guarding them against those evil influences which militate against their prosperity. But in the course of events the time comes when these restraints are no longer necessary, but rather become hampers upon the wheels of progress; and when that period arrives, all these invidious distinctions should, in a well-regulated state, gradually disappear and give place to that freedom which is essential to individual advancement as the basis of national power. Trained as our ancestors had been to consider these distinctions divinely appointed, it was no easy task for them to abrogate so aged and apparently sacred a system, and nothing but the material evidence before their eyes in the experience of their own society, convincing them that such a course was an actual necessity of their future well-being, could have induced them so to depart from the teachings of their progenitors. Nor was it less difficult to determine how far these safeguards of the olden time might safely be dispensed with, or where or how deeply the knife should be applied which, in the fallibility of human judgment, might possibly cut away some main root of their social organization. Here was required the exercise of the profoundest wisdom and the most careful discretion—wisdom unassisted by any experience in the past history of the world other than that of the utter failure of all past experiments in any way similar to their own. To us of to-day, viewed in the light of intervening experience and of the increased knowledge of human affairs, this may seem a little thing; but to them it was not so, for the path was new and untried, and they were surrounded by the thickest of darkness. Thus it will be seen that in the founding of our system there were great difficulties, which only the loftiest aims and the utmost firmness and determination in the cause of the good and the true, with the liveliest sense of the necessities and the yearnings of human nature, and the true end of all human existence, could have overcome,—difficulties which, with all the cultivation of their past, rendered their task not less arduous than that of the founders of any community recorded in history even among the rudest and most savage of peoples. And for all their energy and perseverance the world has not yet given them the credit which is their due, although the yearly developing results of their labors are gradually restoring them to their proper position in the appreciation of humanity. And the time will come when their memory will be cherished all over the earth as that of the greatest benefactors of the human kind. As the Alpine glacier year after year heaves out to its surface the bodies of those who many decades ago were buried beneath the everlasting snows, so time in its revolutions heaves up to the view of the world, one by one, the great facts of the buried past, to be carefully laid away in the graveyard of memory, with a towering monument above them to mark to all succeeding ages the spot where they have wrought in the interest of humanity.

Another evil effect of this same foreign view is to lead the world to expect of us, the descendants of an old and polished civilization, more than is warranted by the facts of our history or even by the capabilities of human nature in its present stage. And this, too, arises from a false estimate of the difficulties which have beset us on every side, and from the paucity of the world's experience, and consequent knowledge, of such experiments as our own. The march of human advancement has but just begun in this its new path; and it is but little wonder that, excited by our past successes, and stimulated to an inordinate degree as their ideas of progress have become through the new truths which our efforts have brought to light, the friends of human freedom all over the world should expect from us more astonishing developments, more rapid progress, than is compatible with the frailties and fallibilities of our humanity. Hence in the light of this morbid view our greatest successes are looked upon as somewhat below the standard which our advantages demand.

With the foreign view we, as a nation, have nothing to do. We must be content to act entirely independently of the opinions of the outside world, being only careful steadfastly to pursue the path of right, leaving to future ages to vindicate our ideas and our motives. So only can we possess that true national independence which is the foundation of all national dignity and worth, and the source of all progress. We must free ourselves from all the hampering influences of old-time dogmas and worn-out theories of social life, content to submit to the aspersions of Old-World malice, confident that time will prove the correctness of our policy. So only can we throw wide open the doors of investigation, and give free scope to those truths which will not fail to follow the earnest strivings of a great people for the purest right and the highest good.

In estimating any civilization at its true value, the law of God is obviously the highest standard. Yet in these days of divided opinion and extended scepticism, when scarcely any two hold exactly the same religious views, and when all manner of beliefs are professedly founded on Holy Writ, such a comparison would only result in as many different estimates as there are reflecting minds, and the investigation would be in no degree advanced. Even the moral sense of our own community is so divided upon the distinctions of abstract right, that the application of such a standard to our civilization would only open endless fields of useless because interested and bigoted discussions.

There are two other and more feasible methods of conducting such an investigation; the first of which is that of comparing our own civilization with that of Europe; marking the differences, and judging of them according to our knowledge of human nature and the light of past experience and analogy. Yet such a course presents the serious objection of preventing an impartial judgment through the strong temptation to self-laudation, which is in itself the blinding of reason as well as the counteraction of all aspirations for a still higher good.

The third and last method is that which takes cognizance of the most obvious and deeply felt evils connected with our own system, and reasoning from universally conceded principles of abstract right, and from the highest moral standard of our own society, to study how they may best be remedied and errors most successfully combated. From such a course of investigation truth cannot fail to be evolved, and the moral appreciation of the thinker to be heightened. For such a method presents less danger of partiality from local prejudices, religious bias, or national antipathy. And such is the method which we shall endeavor to pursue.

Judging from mankind's sense of right, of justice, and of that moral nobility which each individual's spiritual worthiness seems to demand, a pure democracy is the highest and most perfect form of government. But such a system presupposes a perfect humanity as its basis, a humanity which no portion of the earth has yet attained or is likely to attain for many ages to come. Hence the vices as well as the weaknesses of human nature render certain restraints necessary, which are more or less severe according as the nation is advanced in moral excellence and intellectual cultivation, and which must gradually disappear as the race progresses, giving place to others newer and more appropriate to the changing times and conditions of men. Under this view that progress in the science of government is alone healthy which keeps exact pace with the moral progress of the nation, and tends toward a pure democracy in exactly the degree in which the people become fitted to appreciate, to rationally enjoy, and faithfully guard the blessings of perfect liberty. Too rapid progress leads to political anarchy by stimulating, to a degree unsustained by their acquirements and natural ability, the aspirations of the ambitious and the reckless, thereby begetting and nationalizing a spirit of lawlessness which grasps continually at unmerited honors, and strives to make all other and higher considerations bend to that of individual advancement and personal vanity. The truth of this position is seen in the utter failure of all attempted democratic systems in the past, which may be traced to this too eager haste in the march of human freedom, ending invariably in the blackest of despotism, as well as from the fact in our own history that every era of unusual political corruption and reckless strife for position and power, has followed close upon the moral abrogation of some one of those safeguards which the wisdom of our fathers threw around our political system.

On the other hand, advancement which does not keep pace with the expansion of thought, the intellectual development, and consequent capacity of the people for self-government, not only offers no encouragement to effort, but actually discourages all striving, and blunts the appetites of the searchers for truth. It fossilizes the people, retards the march of intellect by its reactionary force, and rolls backward the wheels of all progress, till the nation becomes a community of dull, contented plodders, fixed in the ruts of a bygone age, suffering all its energy and life to rust away, day by day, in inaction. Such we find to be the case with those nations of the Old World which are still ruled by the effete systems of a feudal age. The governmental policy and the intellectual status of the masses mutually react upon each other, effectually neutralizing all progress, whether moral or physical.

For these reasons that nicely graduated mean between political recklessness and national old fogyism, which alone guarantees an enduring progress, is the object of search to all disinterested political reformers. For only by following such a golden mean, in which political reform shall keep even pace with intellectual and moral advancement, can physical and mental progress be made mutually to sustain each other in the onward march. Yet this mean is extremely difficult to find, for though we be guided by all the experience of the past, and earnestly and sincerely endeavor to profit by the failures as well as the successes of those who have gone before us, the paths of experiment are so infinite and the combinations of method so boundless, that the wisest may easily be led astray. Hence the failures of the republics of the past, however pure the motives and lofty the aims of their founders, may be attributed to a leaning to one side or the other of this strait and narrow way, which lies so closely concealed amid the myriad ramifications of the paths of method. The slightest divergence, if it be not corrected, like the infinitesimal divergence of two straight lines, goes on increasing to all time, till that which was at first imperceptible, becomes at last a boundless ocean of intervening space, which no human effort can bridge.

To say that we, as a nation, are following closely this golden mean, that our wisdom has enabled us to discover that which for so many ages has remained hidden from men, were simply egotistical bombast; for it were to assert that with us human nature had lost its fallibility and human judgment become unerring. Yet we may safely assert that no system exists at the present day which so clearly tends toward the attainment of such a mean, and which contains within itself so many elements of reform, as our own. For ours is a system of extreme elasticity, a sort of compensation balance, constructed with a view to the changing climate of the political world, and capable of accommodating itself to the shifting condition of men and things. And this not by forcing or leading public sentiment, but by yielding to it. Thus while it is founded upon, and in its workings evolves, so many lofty and ennobling truths, keeping constantly before the eyes of the people lessons of purity and moral dignity, acting as a check upon the visionary and a safeguard to our liberties, it nevertheless yields quietly to the requirements of the times, and changes according to the necessities of the governed, thus being far from proving a hamper upon our intellectual advancement, but, on the contrary, leaving free and unimpeded the paths of national progress. And it is one of the most distinctive features of our institutions that, while few foreign Governments admit of much change without danger of revolution, with us the most thorough reforms may be consummated and the greatest changes effected without danger of ruffling the waves of our society. For with us change is effected so gradually and in such exact consonance with the necessities of the people as to be almost imperceptible, and to afford no handle to the turbulent and designing revolutionist. The gratification of legitimate ambition is guaranteed, but our system utterly revolts against the sacrifice of the public good to the inordinate cravings of personal ambition or aggrandizement. It is in recognition of this principle of gradual change that the politician of to-day hesitates not to avow and to advocate principles which twenty years ago he deemed the height of political absurdity. It is not abstract truth that has altered, but the necessary modification of theories resulting from the altered condition and exigencies of society. Were this truth not recognized, no statesman could for many years retain his hold upon the popular appreciation, for he would at once be branded with inconsistency and incontinently thrown aside as an unsafe counsellor. Hence the hackneyed phrase, 'ahead of the times,' contains within itself a deep and important meaning, since it is but a recognition of the fact that relative right and wrong may change with the condition of society, and that theories may be beneficial in a more advanced stage, which at present would be noxious in the extreme, and that, in consequence, he is an unsafe leader who grasps at some exalted good without making sure of the preliminary steps which alone can make such blessings durable—who would, at a single leap, place the nation far ahead in the race of improvement, without first subjecting it to that trial and discipline which are absolutely necessary to fit it for a new sphere. And the extreme disfavor with which such agitators are regarded by society is an evidence of the safeguard which our institutions contain within themselves, which, by moulding the minds of the people to a proper appreciation of the blessings of limited reform and of the inevitable and necessary stages and degrees of progress, as well as of the danger of too sudden and radical change, effectually counteract the evil influence of the unmethodical and empirical reformer.

Our Government, in its form, can in no sense of the word be called a democracy, however much its workings may tend toward such a result in some far-distant future. It is founded in a recognition of the fact that however equal all men may be in their civil and political rights—however the humblest and most ignorant member of the community may be entitled to 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,' all men are not equal either in intellectual endowments or personal acquirements, and consequently in their influence upon society, or equally fitted either to govern or to choose their rulers. Our ancestors recognized the fact that the people are not, in the democratic sense of the term, fitted to govern themselves. Hence they threw around their system a network of safeguards, and adopted and firmly established restraints to counteract this principle of democratic rule, without which our infant republic would soon have fallen to pieces by the force of its own internal convulsions. And time has proven the wisdom of their course, and we shall do well if we shall reflect long and deeply before we essay to remove the least of those restraints, remembering that when once the floodgate is opened to change, the eternal tide is set in motion, and a precedent established which will prove dangerous if it be not carefully restrained within the limits of the necessities of the times.

To draw an illustration from the constitution of our body politic: we find that the people meet in their primary elections, and choose a representative to their State legislature, which representative is, theoretically, considerably advanced above his constituents in intellect, and in knowledge and experience of governmental affairs, and of the necessities of the nation; by whom, in conjunction with his colleagues—and not by the people themselves—a Senator is chosen to represent the State in the national Congress,—which Senator, in his turn, theoretically, is elevated above his constituents, not by the fortuitous circumstance of birth or of worldly possessions, but in point of intellect and acquirements, and consequent capacity to govern. Again, the people do not directly choose their President, but select certain electors, to whose superior wisdom and judgment is intrusted the task of determining who is most fitted to rule the nation for the coming presidential term. In the single instance of the representative to Congress do the people choose directly from among themselves. And this was adopted as a wise precaution that he, springing directly from their midst, owing both his present and future position to their suffrages, more closely identified with them in interest, and partaking more nearly of their modes of thought, and who from the shortness of his term might easily be displaced if he should prove recreant to his trust, thus having every inducement to correctly represent the sentiments and protect the rights of his constituents, might act as a check upon that other house, which, further removed in every respect from the people, elected more in accordance with, the aristocratic institutions of the mother country, and from this exalted and exclusive position, and long term of office, more liable to aristocratic influences, might be tempted to combine for the consolidation of power and the gratification of personal ambition, even at the expense of the liberties of the people.

Such is the theory of our form of Government; the practical working of it has altered with the times. While the form of the Constitution is still observed to the letter, the spirit is, in a great measure, abrogated. The people now choose only those representatives whose sentiments are well known and whose future course can safely be predicated—only those electors who stand pledged to cast their votes for a designated candidate. Yet even now there is nothing to prevent those representatives from pursuing a course entirely opposed to all previous professions, and the known wishes of their constituents—nothing to hinder those electors from casting their votes for some third party, or combining to place in the executive chair some unknown person whom the people have not chosen or desired; nothing, if only we except the eternal odium and political damnation of public opinion. Yet it may well be questioned if this same public opinion be not after all the safest custodian of the public interest, the most powerful restraint which could be imposed upon these representatives of the people to compel them to a strict performance of their trust.

Yet while, as we have said, a pure democracy is but another term for the highest type of civilization, the fact that our form of Government is not in any sense of the word a democracy, is no argument against our civilization, but rather in its favor. For it is but a recognition of the fact that no people on earth is yet fitted for a pure democracy as a basis of their institutions: it is an adapting of ourselves to that state of things for which we are most fitted, instead of grasping at some Utopian scheme of perfection, which the common sense of the nation tells us is beyond our present capacity. On the other hand, it is a frank acknowledgment of our own defects and frailties. As the '[Greek: gnothi seauton]' of the heathen philosophers contained within itself the germ of all individual philosophy and moral progress, so does it comprehend the whole problem of national growth and progress. It is only the rudest, most ignorant and barbarous nation that arrogates to itself perfection: it is that nation only which, conscious of no defects, sees no necessity for reform, and has no incentive thereto. The consciousness of defects, both physical and moral, is the life of all reform, and hence of all progress; while the capacity to detect error in our system implies the ability for thorough reform, and the cultivation which underlies such knowledge implies the inclination to effect it. The establishment of a pure democracy in our midst, in the present state of human advancement, were evidence of a lack of that civilization which depends upon earnest thought and a proper appreciation of the present capabilities as well as the frailties and imperfections of our humanity.

We have seen that while, in the matter of choosing our rulers and legislators, our institutions are, in their practical workings, democratic, in form they are by no means so. This cannot long remain so. An empty form is of little value, and ere many years the country will either return to the principles of the olden time—which in the present advanced state of public sentiment is not likely—or else sweep away the form and simplify the whole system. Already the question has begun to be agitated of submitting the presidential vote directly to the people without intervention of electors. But it may well be doubted whether, in the light of the political corruption of to-day, even this be not too great an advance upon the democratic principle for the moral condition of our people. For many years our country has been the victim of a demagoguism, resulting from the working of this very principle, and the question admits of serious discussion whether, instead of abrogating the form, a return to the spirit of the Constitution, while, at the same time, holding strictly amenable those to whom this important choice is intrusted, would not result in a pure and more statesmanlike administration of public affairs. For the elector, being held politically responsible for the conduct of the candidate for whom his vote was cast, and for all the evils resulting from mal-administration, would soon learn that to be faithful is not less important than to be wise, and that his political interest was identified with the well-being of the country. But it is one of the evils of our rapid progress that the past is looked upon with such disfavor as to effectually prevent a return even upon the path of error. In the pride of our civilization the simpler theories of the olden time are despised as unworthy of, if not wholly unfitted for, our present exalted intellectuality. The principle is ignored that reform may sometimes be effected by retracing the steps of years. Hence reform in this particular must either adopt the dangerous experiment of establishing the pure democratic principle, or else devise some third plan which shall charm by its novelty at the same time that it is founded upon some evident and abiding truth.

And in this connection another great evil becomes evident which is in itself a fault of our civilization, and not a defect arising from any fundamental error in our system; an evil which, although always predominant, has been more active in its workings, more injurious in its effects during the present war than ever before. It is the spirit of bitter, uncharitable, and even malicious opposition of the minority to the acts and theories of the party in power, forgetting that no great evil was ever yet effectually counteracted by opposition, which only fans the flame and makes the fire burn hotter. And while no good can be effected by such opposition, its direful effect is to divide the councils of the nation, to paralyze the executive arm in all times of great emergency, to render but half effectual every great national enterprise, to make wavering the national policy, to exasperate political parties more and more against each other, thereby dividing the people and weakening the national life and progress, preventing all concentration of effort and unanimity of purpose, and—worst of all—subjecting the country periodically to the violent shock of opposing systems, according as parties alternate in power, tossing the ship of state in the brief period of a four years' term from one wave of theory to another, and opposing one, only to be hurled back as violently as before. Can it be doubted that such a state of affairs is injurious to prosperity and either political or social advancement? Were the results of every Administration for good, there would be less danger; but radical evils cannot but result from the bitter partisanship of the party in power, and when the scale is reversed and the opposite party gains the ascendency, the new Administration has scarcely time to correct the errors of its predecessors and to establish its own theory, ere the popular tide ebbs and flows again in the opposite direction, the ins are out and the outs are in, and again the alternation begins. Certainly party divisions are the life of a republic, from their tendency to counterbalance each other, and periodically reform abuses, thus keeping the vessel in the straight course; yet when those divisions reach the point which we see in our midst to-day, when the avowal of any principle or theory by the one party, however just or beneficial it may seem, is but the signal for the uncompromising hostility and bitter denunciation of the opposition, who seek to make of it a handle to move the giant lever of political power, unmindful of the wants and the urgent necessities of the land—a hostility having for its basis the single fact that the new measures are unfortunately advocated by the opposite party—then such divisions become not only injurious to the body politic, but a foul blot upon the civilization of our day and nation. This is perhaps putting the question in a strong light; but, admitting that we have not yet reached that point, are we not swiftly drifting in that direction? Let every candid thinker put the question to himself and ponder it deeply, remembering, while looking for the ultimate result, that it was the bitter hostility of opposing factions which ruined the republics of old, and which to-day convulse many that might otherwise take rank among the most powerful and progressive nations of the earth, neutralizing their progress, and holding them constantly suspended above the gulf of anarchy and desolation.

Ask the oppositionist of to-day what he proposes or expects to accomplish by his hostility to the powers that be, and he will answer to little purpose. A vague idea is floating in his brain of some 'good time coming' for his party, yet he knows very little what or when this good time shall be, living on in the hope of some unknown event which shall reverse the political chessboard. The opposition of to-day is that of ultra conservatism to radicalism, of which the tendency of the one is toward the stationary, that of the other to the rapidly progressive. The so-called conservative, apparently blind to the result, and looking to a return of the nation to the worn-out theories of the past as the result of the efforts of his clique, is straining every nerve to paralyze the arm of the Government, and to neutralize the effect of every great achievement, doing everything in his power to exasperate the large majority who are endeavoring to sustain the country in her hour of peril, seemingly unconscious that in so doing he is not only working steadily to defeat his own purpose, but also paving the way for the destruction of his faction. For he is endeavoring to drag the country backward along the track of years—an object which, as all history proves, can never be effected with any progressive race; on the contrary, such nations have ever owed their ruin to the inevitable tendency to too rapid advancement. Again, by embittering the feelings of his opponents toward himself and his coadjutors, he is effectually preventing any future reconciliation and cooeperation of the divided factions, in which only could he hope for success, and raising up a powerful opposition which will counteract all his future efforts.

A purer civilization would look at this question of party divisions in a different light, recognizing it as an institution of Providence, whereby great good may be effected when its benefits are properly appreciated, and at the same time as a terrible engine of destruction when misused or not properly controlled. A purer civilization would recognize and candidly acknowledge every element of good in the theories of even the fiercest opponents, and heartily cooeperate in every enterprise whose tendency was to the national good, working steadily and cheerfully side by side with rivals and political opposers, and confining its own opposition strictly to those measures of which the effect is, judged by its own standard, obviously evil. The role of the true reformer is to glide quietly along with the tide of events, becoming reconciled to those measures which, though contrary to his own convictions, are nevertheless too firmly established to admit of being shaken by his most powerful efforts; and so while carefully avoiding all unnecessary antagonisms, all useless stirring up of old bitternesses, to seek so to identify himself with the current of events, and so to become part and parcel of the nation's political life and progress, as to be enabled to guide into the channel of future good the movement which at first started awry. Even where the vessel has widely diverged from the path of good, and follows that which leads to inevitable destruction, it is his part, instead of wasting his powers in useless struggles to stay her course, to continue on as part and parcel of the precious freight, seeking opportunity so to guide the erring prow that she shall be gradually diverted from the evil course toward some distant and advanced point of the forsaken track, without being violently dragged back along her wake. So reaching at last the accustomed course, the good ship will still be far advanced upon her way with all the benefits of past experience of evil to act as a warning against future digressions from the established path of progress. It will be time enough then to point out the dangers she has escaped, and to argue the absurdity of the olden theories which have so seriously interfered with her navigation. By such a course alone will he secure the respect of his opponents, and the love and admiration of those who never fail to appreciate sterling integrity of purpose, uprightness of motives, and persevering effort in the cause of the public good, which is that of the right and the true; and so only will he quiet and disarm that factious spirit which would otherwise be ever ready to start into a violent opposition at his first effort in the public cause. Nor must such a course imply time-serving or sycophancy, or the least concealment of any of the loftiest and noblest sentiments. In any matter of wrong, where the voice and the concentrated effort of the true philanthropist can avail to check the nation's career, the voice of the reformer should not fail to be raised in its most powerful tones, and all his energy exerted to form such political and social combinations as shall effect his purpose. But in those stages which are prominent in every nation's progress, when the tide of public opinion sets full and irresistibly in one direction, sweeping along all thought and energy in its course, against which it were madness to contend until the tempest shall have worn itself out by its own violence—more especially when the great questions involve a mere difference of opinion as to the results of important measures or the general tendency of the public policy—then, when opposition would only serve to arouse a factious or disputatious spirit, his part is to glide quietly along with the popular movement, acquiescing in and reconciling himself to the condition of affairs till such time as the public sentiment is ripe, and the circumstances fitting for the advocacy and the triumph of his own views; meanwhile letting no opportunity escape to guide the national mind and direct the nation's strivings to such a consummation.

By such a course only can he effect great results and make durable the establishment of his own cherished principles.



CHURCH MUSIC.

From the earliest Christian period of which we have any knowledge, music has been employed in the public worship of Christian communities. Its purposes are, to afford to the devotion of the worshippers a means of expression more subtile than even human speech, to increase that devotion, and to add additional lustre and solemnity to the outward service offered to God. Music has a wonderful power in stirring the souls of men, in (so to speak) moving the soil of the heart, that the good seed sown by prayer and instruction may find ready entrance, and a wholesome stimulus to facilitate growth. Now, it is the duty of all concerned in the ordering of public worship to see that the music employed tends to effect these ends.

In the year 1565, the composers of church music were in the habit of employing so many and well-known secular melodies, and of rearing upon them and upon their own inventions such complicated and unintelligible contrapuntal structures, that the church authorities took the matter seriously in hand, and there is no knowing what might have been the final sentence, had not Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina brought his genius to the rescue, and, in sundry compositions, especially in a six-part mass, dedicated to Pope Marcellus II., shown that science need not exclude clearness, and the possibility of hearing the words sung, and that the truly inventive artist has no need to seek his themes in inappropriate spheres.

In this day we run little risk of ship-wreck through too great an amount of science. Scarlatti and Bach would laugh at the efforts styled 'canon' and 'fugue,' by the aspiring tyros of the present age. Our difficulties arise, not from musical complexity, but from want of suitableness, adaptation, and characterization, together with the ever-increasing feud between choir and congregational singing. In some churches on the Continent of Europe, these two latter modes are happily blended, certain services or portions of services being left to the choir, and the remainder being entrusted to the entire congregation. Of course this arrangement is only practicable where there is a certain variety in the musical portion of the service. Where the singing of hymns (in the ordinary sense of the phrase) is the only musical form used in the worship, such differences would be difficult to establish, and a variety of circumstances must determine which of the two modes, or what combination of them, be selected by the congregation. Even where splendor is studiously avoided, all desire order and decency in the conduct of public worship, and such order is painfully violated where discordant sounds or unsuitable selections of music are permitted to distract attention and disturb devotion. A ragged carpet, faded fringes, or dingy window panes, would speedily find a reformer; and surely the sensitive, defenceless ear has as good a claim to exact order as the more voluntary sense of seeing. Better, indeed, no music, than such as binds the wings of the soul to earth instead of aiding them to fly heavenward.

The above remarks apply as well to choir as to congregational singing. Let us suppose now that the mere primal foundation—the mechanical execution—be respectably good; that the congregation or choir have been taught to sing in tune; that all be harmonious and properly balanced; in short, that the auditory nerves be spared any very severe shock—and what then will we ordinarily find? A few good old church melodies, almost lost amid a dreary maze of the most recent droning platitudes, or a multitude of worldly acquaintances, negro minstrelsy, ancient love ditties, bar room roundelays, passionate scenes from favorite operas, with snatches from instrumental symphonies, concertos, or what not! Music, as I have said, is even more subtile in its power of expression than speech, and the new words, which we may perhaps not even hear, can never banish from our minds the old impressions associated with the melody. The ears may even be cognizant of the holy sentiments intended to be conveyed, but the mind's eye will see Sambo, 'First upon the heel top, then upon the toe;' the love-lorn dame weeping her false lover, 'Ah, no, she never blamed him, never;' a roystering set of good fellows clinking glasses, 'We won't go home till morning;' Lucia imploring mercy from her hard-hearted brother and selfish suitor; Norma confiding her little ones to the keeping of her rival; or perhaps the full orchestra at the last 'philharmonic,' supplying the missing notes, the beginning and the end of some noble idea, now vainly struggling with the difficulties and incongruities of its new position, its maimed members mourning their incompleteness, its tortured spirit longing for the body given by the original creator.

Are we Christians then so poor that we must go begging and stealing shreds and patches from our more fortunate secular brethren? Has music deserted us to dwell solely in the camps of the gypsying world? If so, there must be some fault among ourselves, for music is a pure gift from God, the only earthly pleasure promised us in heaven. Such imputation would indeed be a libel upon the almost infinite variety in the character of music, and its power of consecration to the very loftiest ends. Ah! there we fear is the rub. The character of music! That seems to have been forgotten. If all these melodies be adapted to their original aims, can they be suited to new ones so different? Is there really in musical form, rhythm, melody, and harmony, no capacity for any real expression? Will the same tune do as well for a dance as for a prayer, for a moonlight serenade as for an imploration of Divine mercy?

Now we have no quarrel with dances; they are innocent and useful in their proper place; human love is a noble gift from the Almighty; we are not shocked by a good drinking song, provided the singers be sober; operas might be made highly instrumental in elevating the tone of modern society; and we listen reverentially to the grand creations of the masters; but, in addition to all these, we require a music adapted to signify the relations between ourselves and our Heavenly Father, a music which shall express adoration and love, praise and thanksgiving, contrition and humble confidence, which shall implore mercy and waft prayer to the very gates of the abode of omnipotence. Let such music be simple or complex, according to the thought to be rendered or the capacity of the executants, let it be for voices, for instruments, or for a blending of the two, but let it always be appropriate to the subject, and rise with the thought or emotions to be conveyed. Who can tell what would be the effect of such a church music? What a feeling of earnestness and sincerity would it not lend to services now often marred by the shallowness or meretricious glitter of their musical portions? The range is wide, the field broad; there is scope for grandeur, sublimity, power, jubilation, the brightest strains of extatic joy, mourning, pathos, and the passionate pleading of the human soul severed from its highest good; but all should be in accordance with the dignity of the personalities represented: on the one hand, the Father and Creator of all, and on the other, the weak, erring, dependent creature, made, nevertheless, in the image of his Creator, and for whom a God thought it no unworthiness to live, to suffer, and to die.

Have we any such music? Yes—a little; but that little is not always the best known nor the most frequently employed. Are there any composers now capable of writing such? Are the composers of genius, or even of talent, sufficiently earnest and devout? for here we want no shams. Each one must answer these questions in accordance with his own experience. The practical question is, What can be done toward an amelioration of the present state of affairs, not confined to this continent, but unhappily only too prevalent everywhere? Let the head of the musical department of every church service begin by weeding from his repertory all trash, whether profane or simply stupid and nonsensical. As the number of musical creations remaining will not be very large, let him retain for the present all that are not positively bad or inane; a few old song melodies have, through long usage, lost their original associations, and hence, though perhaps only imperfectly adapted to devotional purposes, are yet, on the whole, unobjectionable, and perhaps better than many modern inventions.

An idea seems prevalent that, to write words for music is an easy task, and hence the many wounds inflicted upon both music and poetry in their frequent union. When a melody is to be composed for a set of verses, the same melody to be sung to every verse, the composer naturally examines the general tone and form of the poem. These of course determine his selection of rhythmical character, of time, key, movement, etc. The melody is constructed upon the basis of the first verse. To the words embodying the most important thoughts or feelings, he gives the most important, the emphatic notes, striving to make the sound a faithful and intensifying medium whereby to convey the sense. His work is then done, as the same melody is to be repeated to every verse, and the end sought will have been attained if the poet have carefully fulfilled his part. But if he have introduced inequalities into his rhythm, or have given unimportant words the places occupied by important ones in the first verse, so that an emphatic note will fall upon an 'in,' or a 'the,' or some similar particle, the effect will be bad, and the result unsatisfactory to all concerned. Old association, or intrinsic beauty of poetry or melody may, in rare cases, render such blemishes tolerable, but the creator of a new work should strive to avoid all blemishes, and at least aim at perfection.

If to each good religious poem we possess, or may hereafter possess (be that poem psalm, hymn, sequence, litany, prayer, or form of doctrine), we could attach, or find attached, the musical form best adapted to its highest expression, what delight would we not experience in its rendering? Some such poems might, by reason of old associations, or of especial adaptation, be always sung to the same melodies, while to others might be accorded greater facilities for variety. This only by way of suggestion. The common practice of selecting melodies for verses, hap-hazard, with regard only to the 'metre,' of course destroys all possibility of any especial characterization. If the original 'marriage' have been a congenial one, a divorce, with view to a second union, rarely proves advisable. The same verses may bear another musical rendering, but the music will very rarely endure adaptation to other verses.

But we left our maestro di capella, our head of the music in any religious assemblage, weeding his repertory. A difficult task! for, to sound principles of discrimination he must add the best counsel and the widest information he can procure from every competent quarter, not narrow nor one-sided, but commensurate with the breadth, the world-wide diffusion of the subject.

We cannot hope for very speedy progress in this matter, so large a share of its advancement depending upon general, real and proper musical cultivation; but if each one interested will think the matter over seriously and intelligently, and do the little that may lie in his power, a beginning will have been made, which may in the end lead to grand, beautiful, and most precious results.



APHORISM.—NO. IX.

Our Saviour says of life: 'I have power to lay it down, and power to take it again.' We have not such power in our own hands; but our Lord holds it for us, so that our position is independent of the world, and of the power of evil, just as His was; and as in His case He did resume more than He laid down, so will be given to us by the same Almighty hand more than any creature has to surrender for the highest objects of existence.

Such doctrine, I may add, is not, in its essence, merely Christian: it has been the common sentiment of our race, that one of the highest privileges of our being is to sacrifice ourselves, in various modes and degrees, for the good of our fellow men; and those who cheerfully do this, even if it be in the actual surrender of life, are esteemed blessed, as they are also placed above others in the ranks of honorable fame, and held to be secure of the final rewards of a heavenly state.



LITERARY NOTICES.

LIFE OF WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. By GEORGE TICKNOR. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864.

There are no discordant voices on either side of the Atlantic with regard to the literary merits of William H. Prescott. Truth, dignity, research, candor, erudition, chaste and simple elegance, mark all he has ever written. His noble powers were in perfect consonance with his noble soul. His strict sense of justice shines in all its brilliancy, in his evident desire to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, of every character appearing in his conscientious pages. No current of popular prejudice, however strong, swerves him from his righteous path; no opportunity for glitter or oratorical display ever misleads him; no special pleading bewilders his readers; no 'might is right' corrupts them. His genius is pure, dramatic, and wide; his comprehension of character acute and clear; his characterization of it, chiselled and chaste; his ready comprehension of magnanimous deeds evinces his own magnanimity; his correct understanding of various creeds and motives of action proves his own wide Christianity; chivalry was known to him, because he was himself chivalrous; and we have reason to rejoice that the field in and through which his noble faculties were developed, was the vast and varied one of history. We doubt if any one ever read his works without forming a high conception of the character of their author, a conception which will be found fully realized in the excellent Life given us by George Ticknor. If no one is qualified to write the Life of a man, save one who has familiarly lived with him, who but Mr. Ticknor could have given us such a biography of Prescott? This advantage, together with the similarity of literary tastes, the common nationality in which their spheres of labor lay, their long friendship, their congeniality of spirit, with the mental qualifications brought by Mr. Ticknor to his task of love, renders his production one of inestimable value. It is indeed full of sweet, grave charm, and thoroughly reliable. In these pages we see how it was that no man ever found fault with or spoke disparagingly of Prescott—we find the reason for it in the perfect balance of his conscientious and kindly character. He was in the strictest sense of the words 'lord of himself,' mulcting himself with fines and punishments for what he regarded as his derelictions in his labors, compelling himself to pursue the tasks which he had determined to achieve. There is no more interesting record than that of his constant struggles to conquer the effects of his growing blindness, none more inspiriting than the results of his efforts. He loved and lived among his books; his last request was that his body should be placed among them ere it was given to the grave.

This delightful biography, which has been received so warmly, both at home and abroad, was originally published in an elegant quarto volume, illustrated in the highest style of art, and an edition was printed which was considered quite too large for the present times. But the edition was soon exhausted, and Messrs. Ticknor & Fields have now given us the Life in a 12mo volume, thus placing it within the means of all readers. We rejoice at this, because Prescott belongs to us all: while his life is dear to the scholar and lover of his kind, it furnishes some of the most important lessons to Young America. Such a man is a true national glory. We close our imperfect notice with a short extract from Mr. Ticknor's preface: 'But if, after all, this memoir should fail to set the author of the 'Ferdinand and Isabella' before those who had not the happiness to know him personally, as a man whose life for more than forty years was one of almost constant struggle—of an almost constant sacrifice to duty, of the present to the future—it will have failed to teach its true lesson, or to present my friend to others as he stood before the very few who knew him as he was.

"Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk."

SERMONS, Preached at Trinity Chapel, Brighton, by the late Rev. FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON, M. A., the Incumbent. Fifth Series. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. For sale by D. Appleton & Co., New York.

The sermons of Mr. Robertson are very popular in England. They are remarkable for clearness and excellence of style, and earnestness of purpose. Many noble lessons are to be drawn from them, even by those who differ with the author on sundry points of doctrine. We wish, however, for the credit of theological exactness, that he had been somewhat more careful in stating the views of his adversaries. Referring to the use of indulgences, he says: 'The Romish Church permits crime for certain considerations.' The Roman Catholic doctrine as actually held is, that an indulgence is a remission of a portion of the earthly or purgatorial punishment due to any sin, after it has been duly repented of, confessed, abandoned, and restitution made so far as possible. It can consequently never mean a pardon for sins to come, as is often ignorantly supposed, and is apparently a reminiscence of the ancient practice of canonical penances inflicted on penitents.

Just now, when the entire scientific world is being convulsed by the attempted substitution of some inflexible law for a personal God with a living will, it is not strange that some phase of the same idea should creep into even the purest theology, and that in Mr. Robertson's theory of prayer we should find traces of the rigidity characterizing 'ultra predestinarian' as well as 'development' schemes of creation.

We cannot better conclude than by quoting the following passage from the sermon on 'Selfishness,' a home thrust to nearly all of us: 'It is possible to have sublime feelings, great passions, even great sympathies with the race, and yet not to love man. To feel mightily is one thing, to live truly and charitably another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not be cast out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be going on uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rotten at the heart.'

WOMAN AND HER ERA. By ELIZA W. FARNHAM. 'Every book of knowledge known to Oosana or Vreehaspatec, is by nature implanted in the understandings of women.'—Vishnu Sarma. In 2 volumes. New York: A. J. Davis & Co., 274 Canal street.

This is a book which will excite violent criticism, and call forth opposition, as all new statements invariably do. Its author says it is twenty-two years since its truths took possession of her mind, and that they are as firmly grounded among the eternal truths for her, as are the ribbed strata of the rocks, or the hollows of the everlasting sea. Mrs. Farnham attempts to prove the superiority of woman in all, save the external world of the senses, the material structure of the work-a-day world. She regards the knowledge and acceptance of this fact as of vital importance to the order of society, the happiness of man, the development of his being, and the improvement of the human race. Her argument is not the sentimental one so often profaned in our midst. She traces the proofs of her assertions to the most profound sources, presents them in her acute analyses and philosophical arguments, and draws practical applications from them. She is sincere in her convictions, and able in her arguments; she sets up a high standard of womanly excellence for noblesse oblige, and teaches faith in God and humanity.

We have not space to follow Mrs. Farnham's argument: it would require a review rather than a cursory notice. She shows that there is an intuitive recognition of the superiority of woman in the universal sentiments of humanity, that man's love when pure assumes the superior qualities of the woman loved, that he looks to her to aid him in his aspirations for a better life than he has lived before; but woman never proposes to herself a reform from any gross or vicious habit by reason of her first lesson in love. The reverse is more apt to be the case.

In man the love of power is an infernal passion, because its root is self love; in woman, it is a divine impulse, connected only with the love of noble uses. Our author is no advocate for women's rights, there being two orders of human capacities, masculine and feminine. Man is master of the outer world: woman cannot cope with him there; her sphere is freer, deeper, higher, and of more importance to the future destinies of the race. This book will be sharply criticized by the clergy, pure and good men, but always hard on woman, although she keeps the lamp of faith trimmed and burning in the churches, believing her always a mere subordinate of man, and utter submission to him her chief virtue. The lady-killers and men of pleasure will scorn it, for it exposes many of their claims and vices, which they labor to hide with glittering veils of dazzling sophisms. Will our women read it? We think not. Mrs. Farnham treats of difficult subjects, with the freedom and innocence of an anatomist; but will our fair and shrinking students enter the dissecting room, even to learn some of the secrets of life?

We differ from Mrs. Farnham in many important particulars. We think she has made some errors fatal to the well-being of her system. But she has entered upon a new path, one in which there are indeed lions upon the way; she has advanced freely and boldly through its dangers; her aims have been generous and sincere; she has given the mature a suggestive and thoughtful book; and shall we not greet her when she returns with her hard-won trophies from the mystical land of earth's fair Psyches?

'O woman! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you! Angels are painted fair to look like you; There's in you all that we believe of heaven!'

THE HOLY AND PROFANE STATES. By THOMAS FULLER. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. For sale by D. Appleton & Co.

A book from quaint old Fuller will always find its audience ready to receive it. It is only by contrasting his works with those of his contemporaries that we can do him full justice. He was an eminent historian and divine of the Church of England, in the stormy times of Charles I. and the Commonwealth. He made his first appearance as an author in 1631, in a poem entitled 'David's hainous Sin, heartie Repentance, and heavie Punishment.' He was much beloved in his day, following faithfully as chaplain the fortunes of the royal army. As a writer, every subject is alike to him; if dull, he enlivens it; agreeable, he improves it; deep, he enlightens it; and if tough, grapples bravely with it. As he was unwilling to go all lengths with either party, he was abused by both. The storms which convulsed the Government, had only the effect of throwing him upon his own resources, and he thus produced the various works which won the admiration of his contemporaries, and through which he still receives the gratitude of posterity, keeping his memory still green in our souls. The table of contents in the present volume is very varied, the chapters are short, and treat of familiar and home-like topics.

FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use, chiefly from English Authors. By JOHN BARTLETT. Fourth edition. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864.

The compiler of this book says the favor shown to former editions has encouraged him to go on with the work and make it still more worthy. The object has been to present the general reader with such quotations as he would readily recognize as old friends. The index of authors is a wide one, placing before us at a glance many of the names treasured in our memories; the index of subjects, alphabetically arranged, covers seventy closely printed pages, and is exceedingly well ordered. We consider such books as of great value, planting pregnant thoughts in the soul, and affording rich illustrations. We cheerfully commend Mr. Bartlett's excerpts. They are well chosen, and the binding, paper, and print of the book are admirable.

ARNOLD AND ANDRE. An Historical Drama. By GEORGE CALVERT, author of 'Scenes and Thoughts in Europe,' and 'The Gentleman.' Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864.

Mr. Calvert says, 'an historical drama being the incarnation—through the most compact and brilliant literary form—of the spirit of a national epoch, the dramatic author, in adopting historic personages and events, is bound to subordinate himself with conscientious faithfulness to the actuality he attempts to reproduce. His task is, by help of imaginative power, to give to important conjunctures, and to the individuals that rule them, a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of history—not to transform, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetic rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible.' A just theory and well stated; and in 'Arnold and Andre,' our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos.

HISTORY OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. III. New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway.

Merivale's third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of Caesar, and concludes with the Imperial Administration, thus containing one of the most interesting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleopatra, Octavia, Caesarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Merivale's work.

SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF JEREMY TAYLOR. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864.

Bishop Heber says, when speaking of the three great English divines, 'Hooker is the object of our reverence. Barrow of our admiration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love.' Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of imaginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing.

He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with 'Papists,' a kindhearted man. His biographer says: 'To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profoundness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi.'

These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us.

POEMS. By FREDERICK GODDARD TUCKERMAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864.

Mr. Tuckerman has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart

'Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity.'

THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By EDWARD MEYRICK GOULBURN, D. D., Prebendary of St. Paul's, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majesty's Chaplains in Ordinary. First American, from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D.D., Rector of the Church of the Transfiguration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864.

This is, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it came very near being such a one as we could have recommended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our country. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has restricted its usefulness chiefly to the members of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for it the wide range of acceptance and power of working good to which its intrinsic excellence would then have entitled it. When will our religious writers learn that the great battle now is not among the various sections of the Christian camp, but with an outside enemy, indefatigable, learned, plausible, and every day gaining ground? Who can tell but that a careful examination of, and more accurate acquaintance with the principles and practice of divisions serving under the same great Captain, might dissipate many a prejudice, and reconcile many a difficulty? One of the first requisites is, that all learn to know and to speak the truth about one another.

THE SPIRIT OF THE FAIR. 1864. 'None but the brave deserve the Fair.' Editorial Committee: Augustus R. Macdonough, Chairman; Mrs. Charles E. Butler, Mrs. Edward Cooper, C. Astor Bristed, Chester P. Dewey, James W. Gerard, jr., William J. Hoppin, Henry Sedgwick, Frederick Sheldon, Charles K. Tuckerman. New York: John F. Trow, Publisher, 50 Greene street.

In recommending to our readers this neatly bound volume of the daily product of the great 'Metropolitan Fair,' we cannot do better than extract the little introductory notice of the publisher, who says: 'By the request of many patrons of the 'Spirit of the Fair,' the publisher purchased the stereotype plates and copyrights of the paper, for the purpose of supplying bound copies for permanent preservation. The talented ladies and gentlemen who conducted the 'Spirit of the Fair,' during its brief and brilliant career, have, by their well-directed efforts, made a volume worthy of preservation, both from its high literary excellence, and from the recollections with which it is associated. Its pages are illuminated with the writings of the most distinguished authors. Every article in the paper first saw the light of print in the 'Spirit of the Fair.' Poets, Historians, Statesmen, Novelists, and Essayists furnished contributions prepared expressly for its columns; and their efforts in behalf of the noble charity which the paper represented, should alone entitle the volume to be cherished as a most valued memento and heirloom.

'The publisher, therefore, presents this volume to the public, in the hope that it will not only gratify the reader of the present, but that it will assist to preserve the 'Spirit of the Fair' for the reader of the future.'

THE LITTLE REBEL. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864. For sale by Hurd & Houghton, New York.

A very interesting book for the little ones. It presents vivid pictures of New England life, and is fragrant and dewy with fresh breezes from the maple bush, the hillside, and the pasture lands. The style is excellent, and the matter as sprightly and entertaining as it is simply natural and morally improving.

THE POET, AND OTHER POEMS. By ACHSA W. SPRAGUE. Boston: William White & Co., 158 Washington street. For sale by A. J. Davis, New York.

'Miss Sprague was chiefly known to the world as a trance lecturer under what claimed to be spirit influence. Although speaking in the interest of a faith generally unpopular, and involved in no slight degree in crudities, extravagance, and quackery, she was herself neither fool nor fanatic. She was a true child of nature, direct and simple in her manners, and impatient of the artificiality and formal etiquette of fashionable society.' These poems are characterized by great case of style, flowing rhythm, earnestness in the cause of philanthropy, and frequently contain high moral lessons. But it is somewhat strange that the poems of trance writers and speakers, so often marked by exquisite, varied, and delicate chimes of ringing rhythm, of brilliant words, of sparkling poetic dust blown from the pages of great writers, and drifting through the world, should so seldom give us those great granite blocks of originality, which must constitute the enduring base for the new era therein announced. Is there nothing new in the world beyond the grave which they deem open to their vision? We ask this in no spirit of censure or cavil, for we have no prejudice against the school of spiritualistic literature, save where it militates against the faith in our Redeemer.

INDEX TO VOLUME VI.



A Castle in the Air. By E. Foxton, 272

AEnone; a Tale of Slave Life in Rome, 10, 149, 254, 408, 519, 610

A Glance at Prussian Politics. By Charles M. Mead, 261, 383

A Great Social Problem. By G. U., 441

American Civilization. By Lieut. Egbert Phelps, U. S. A., 102

American Slavery and Finances. By Hon. Robert J. Walker, 22

American Women. By Mrs. Virginia Sherwood, 416

An Army: Its Organization and Movements. By Lieut.-Col. C. W. Tolles, A. Q. M., 1, 223, 330, 601

A Sigh. By Virginia Vaughan, 355

A Wren's Song, 434

Aphorisms, 78, 83, 134, 222, 260, 414, 444, 609, 663

Asleep, 270

Averill's Raid. By Alfred B. Street, 326

Battle of the Wilderness. By E. A. Warriner, 207

Buckle, Draper: Church and Estate. By Edward B. Freeland, 55

Buried Alive. A Dirge. By Martha Walker Cook, 189

Causes of the Minnesota Massacre. By January Searle, 174

Church Music. By Lucia D. Pychowska, 112

Colors and their Meaning. By Mrs. M. E. G. Gage, 199

Coming Up at Shiloh, 399

'Cor Unum, Via Una.' God Bless our Native Land! 716

Creation. By Charles E. Townsend, 531

Death in Life. By Edwin R. Johnson, 516

Docs the Moon Revolve on its Axis? By Charles E. Townsend, 380

Editor's Table, 238, 478, 711

Excuse. By Kate Putnam, 415

Flower Odors, 469

Fly Leaves from the Life of a Soldier, 289, 534

Genius, By Richard Bowen, 705

James Fenimore Cooper on Secession and State Rights. By Charles K. Tuckerman, 79

Letter of Hon. R. J. Walker, in favor of the Reelection of Abraham Lincoln, Sept. 30, 1864, London, 686

Life on a Blockader. By the Author of 'The Last Cruise of the Monitor, 46

Literary Notices, 116, 232, 359, 475, 706

Locomotion. By David M. Balfour, 472

Lois Pearl Berkeley. By Margaret Vane Hastings 552

Longing. From Schlegel, 454

Look-Out Mountain. By Alfred B. Street, 65

Lunar Characteristics. By Charles E. Townsend, 381

Miracles. By Rev. Asa L. Colton, 685

Negro Troops. By Henry Everett Russell, 191

Observations of the Sun. By Charles E. Townsend, 328

One Night. By Julius Wilcox, 67

On Hearing a 'Trio.' By Mary Freeman Goldbeck, 650

Our Domestic Affairs. By George Wurts, 241

Our Great America. By January Searle, 445

Our Martyrs. By Kate Putnam, 147

Phenomena of Haze, Fogs, and Clouds. By Charles E. Townsend, 533

Proverbs. By E. B. C., 371

Recognition. By Virginia Vaughan, 88

Self-Sacrifice. Analect from Richter, 632

Shanghai: Its Streets, Shops, and People. By Henry B. Auchincloss, 633

Sketches of American Life and Scenery. By Lucia D. Pychowska, 544, 664

Some Uses of a Civil War. By Hugh Miller Thompson, 361

Sound Reflections. By E. B. C., 314

Streck-Verse. By E. B. C., 298

Tardy Truths. By H. K. Kalussowski, 209

The Antiquity of Man. A Philosophic Debate. By William Henderson, 356

The Constitutional Amendment. By Henry Everett Russell, 135

The Cross. By E. Foxton, 34

The Danish Sailor. By G. T. M., 99

The Devil's Canon in California. By Henry B. Auchincloss, 280

The English Press. By Nicholas Rowe, London, 36, 135

The Esthetics of the Root of All Evil. By George P. Upton, 677

The First Christian Emperor. By Rev. Dr. Philip Schaff, 161

The First Fanatic. By Fanny L. Glenfield, 543

The Ideal Man for Universal Imitation; or, The Sinless Perfection of Jesus. By Rev. Dr. Philip Schaff, 651

The Lesson of the Hour. By Edward Sprague Rand, 455

The North Carolina Conscript. By Isabella McFarland, 379

The Progress of Liberty in the United States. By Rev. A. D. Mayo, 481

The Resurrection Flower. By M. E. Dodge, 84

The Sacrifice. By S. J. Bates, 296

The Scientific Universal Language; Its Character and Relation to other Languages. By Edward B. Freeland, 456, 572

The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. By Prof. Andrew Ten Brook, 89

The Two Platforms. By Henry Everett Russell, 587

The Undivine Comedy. A Polish Drama. By Count Sigismund Krasinski. Translated by Martha Walker Cook, 298, 372, 497, 623

The Vision. By George B. Peck, 620

Tidings of Victory. By C. L. P., 676

Violations of Literary Property. The Federalist—Life and Character of John Jay. By Henry T. Tuckerman, 336

Who Knows? By Edwin R. Johnson, 358

Word-Stilts. By William Wirt Sikes, 439

'Ye Know Not What Ye Ask.' By Fanny L. Glenfield, 398

THE END