EDITORIAL.-ART NOTICES. BRACKETT'S WRECK. BY CHARLES G. LELAND. WE believe that all arbitrary divisions of mankind according to their intellectual characteristics, are generally conceded to be absurdities. The political utilitarian, who sees in his fellow-beings merely the productive and nonproductive, or who balances the growers of corn and wool against the fruges consumere nati, would be at issue with the scholar, who confidently classifies them as the ignorant or the enlightened. The advocates of faith and morals would be prone to adopt a very different standard from that of the Mephistophelian cosmopolite, whose analysis of human nature simply results in the comparison of anvil to hammer, wolf to lamb, or cheater to cheated, the latter, indeed, being akin in absurdity to the unfortunate being who, struck by the hypocrisy of this world, divided its inhabitants into "the found out" and the "not found out;" or the Lynn sutor who recognised only the shoemaking and non-shoemaking units of humanity. But though such classifications can never be established for mankind at large, we must yet assert that they are absolutely true and necessary when applied to those subdivisions of actors or thinkers created by their mental tastes or necessities. In a one-sided point of view, the divisions of the utilitarian or scholar are founded in sense and justice, and no rational mind will cavil at them. And if there be a branch of intellectual effort eminently capable of such a separation, it is that of criticism, or the appreciation and judgment of excellence in literature and art. As long as Nature shall abstain from creating men entirely free from prejudice, or equal in mental abilities, so long will there exist in criticism those positive and negative divisions of judges, whose appreciation of merit is determined on the one hand, by the existence or nonexistence of faults and defects, and on the other, by the excellencies which a work presents. To this classification the reader, whose eclecticism has not been pushed to extremes, will probably assent, adding in his own mind,-" And the part of a truly wise man is to side with neither, but to strive to find the juste milieu between!" To which we reply,-"By no means: examine the system more closely, and you will be convinced that he whose judgment is influenced rather by the excellencies than the defects of a work, and who criticises that which was created expressly for admiration by the degree of admiration which it excites, is infinitely nearer the truth than the poor carper, who, incapable of the effort of appreciation, lazily catches at real or imagined blemishes, and cries, 'It is nothing!" The fault-finder sees nothing-knows nothing beyond his own limited range. His puddle is always the oceanhis sty the universe. But the admirer, the appreciator, includes him, with all his knowledge-all his philosophy -in a very small corner of his own sphere, and even admits as useful truth all of his remarks and all his observations-barring only the conclusion and application. This is the inevitable classification to which we are led, if we adopt with Quatremére de Quincy the principle of excellence in kind, as the true standard of every work of art, which is, in fact, simply a requisition that the work be judged, not according to our tastes or distastesto our fondness for the romantic, material, or spiritualbut that it be executed according to the subject, with all the perfection of which the artist is capable. But it may be asked,-"Are we then to shut our eyes to every defect, however glaring, and blindly open the path to conceited ignorance of every description, conditioning only that it bring a few pearls in its pack of trash?" By no means:-certainly not. There are two descriptions of fault (apart from understood offences against morals and religion), against which the critic is bound to declare war to the knife-to follow with the fire of ridicule and the sword of severity, and to give, as he would assuredly receive, no quarter. And these faults may all be summed up in three words:-Mannerism, and Mechanical deficiency. The latter of these may always be cured by industry; the former, when not proceeding from absolute idiocy, insanity, or incurable narrow-mindedness, by a change of style, subject, or thought. If the reader be disposed to consider these remedies as in some wise identical, we for one are in no ways inclined to differ with him. But a work of art is not to be absolutely condemnedas very many are inclined to think-even when disgraced by mechanical defects, or even by mannerism, provided always that these do not predominate. There are gross defects in the anatomy and drapery of the early Gothic masters-there are mannerism and affectation, even to the top of the measure, in the paintings of Vanderwerff and Greuze, or the sculptures of Bernini; and yet these will always find places in galleries, or admirers-and justly so, as long as Genius, in spite of the trammels with which ignorance and circumstances have loaded it, can make itself felt. But for their IMITATORS-those who, in spite of better lights, blindly persist in copying even their defects, our only cry should be-" Away with them!"-if not into outer darkness, at least back to the school, the lecture-room, and the atelier, until they are capable, in some way, of feeling God and appreciating nature. It is chiefly to modern works of art that the principle of excellence in kind should be applied in all its rigour. We know the earlier masters, we understand or feel the influences and circumstances which inspired them. History and biography have made them, with their times, clear to us. But how are we to judge of the productions of this complex and confused age, which understands all things save itself? How are we to know whether a Greek Slave is the genuine result of the naturalism of the nineteenth century, or a subject masked in imitations of the classic day? To which we reply, that we know of no better criterion than that already given. It may be objected by the ignorant and unreflecting, this is a principle easier of enunciation than of application. To which we reply that we are acquainted with no rule which will enable those unfamiliar with art to appreciate it in all its details. He who would know Homer or Dante must study them in the original, and not by means of translations or garbled extracts. He who would fully understand the romance and beauty of a Doric temple or of a Gothic cathedral, would not act unwisely in first learning, not only a little architecture, but somewhat of history and romantic literature to boot. To which some one cries,-"But must we then turn our brains to encyclopædias, before we can be permitted to admire aught in art or literature?" By no means;-admire-feel-live in the beautiful as much-as far as you can. It was chiefly to gratify this sense that such works were produced. But if you will criticise-teach-FIND FAULT-then I say, first go learn your trade. There is a certain old-fashioned style of French and English criticism-would that it were in every sense oldfashioned and extinct-which regards the employment of certain vapid words and phrases, as the Shibboleth, by which a knowledge of Art was established among the elegant initiated. This was the dialect of the Dilettanti-a sect which we are happy to say has partially died off in France, almost entirely so in Germany,-but which unfortunately still exhibits a tenacious vitality in certain other parts of the world. The following sentence, inspired by a Venus of Titian, and uttered, we presume, by one of its adepti, was recently furnished us by a friend. "Titian! Titian!!-truly TITIAN!!! The face is beautiful-the form majestic,-and the embonpoint sufficiently recherché, to satisfy the most fastidious connoisseur !" We will appeal to those familiar with the literature of the present day, and demand if this be not fairly in the vein and style of nine tenths of the criticism with which we are deluged by foreign tourists, and many others who, ignorant of the principles, and unstudied in the theory or history of Art, strive, by words and cant phrases, to impose upon others their knowledge, or rather ignorance of all thereto relating. Truth is great and must prevail, but would that this rubbish were cleared from her track! There is at present in Philadelphia a group entitled "THE WRECK," by Mr. E. A. BRACKETT of Boston, now in plaster, but shortly to be immortalized in marblea work, we venture to assert, so remarkable in its originality, that were it even bristling with defects, we should deem it worthy of comment and preservation, as a memorial of that which future ages will probably regard as a very peculiar "moment" in the history of intellectual progress-we mean the American and English art of our present century. And we have deemed the preceding remarks no inappropriate introduction to a notice of this group, as we desire to apply to it with all possible strictness, the test of excellence in kind. The Wreck represents the dead bodies of a young mother and her infant, as they may be supposed to appear immediately after the extinction of the vital sparka subject, be it borne in mind, capable of a wide range of thought-of stirring up in different minds extremely varied trains of thought-of gentle melancholy, intensely painful, or highly beautiful associations, and consequently permitting a wide range in the sphere of representation -a subject, moreover, which could not fail to interest the majority, though ever so lamely treated, and against whose first impression we should, in a certain sense, carefully guard, lest the "idea," or "motive," should obscure our appreciation and judgment. We may be permitted to remark, en passant, that the amateur in art cannot guard too strictly against the influence which an attractive idea or subject is apt to exert, when ever so wretchedly handled. We have more than once seen works of the least possible merit acquire both for themselves and their manufacturer a high reputation, simply because an attractive or popular subject formed their theme. More than one opera owes its success with the multitude quite as much to the plot and other melo-dramatic associations, as to the merit of the music; and the entire history of art is lamentably full of instances where even good critics have been blinded by prejudice, or led away by popular opinion into views which their better judgment would assuredly have condemned. That this is natural no one will deny, but it is also true, as has been remarked, that all which is natural is not in every instance equally creditable. Objects which recall touching associations, or, as Kugler remarks, suggest those ideas which we would not willingly impart to every one, will naturally interest even the strictest critic, and induce him to gaze with a lenient eye upon the worst faults of execution. The true ground upon which this rests is the abuse of the romantic principle, and it has occasionally done quite as much to retard the progress of art as the vilest mannerism. But to return to Mr. Brackett's Group. We have remarked that it embodies a subject capable of a great variety of development, a subject, indeed, which may be treated according to the tendency of the artist, in every method, and involving every characteristic from the lowest materialism to the most refined and elevating spirituality. Yet as a subject of art in itself, divested as far as possible of extraneous attribute, we are convinced that the pathetic, as far as compatible with the awful dreamlike mystery of death, should be its leading characteristic or predominant motive. And in insisting upon an absence of varied attribute and detail, the reader will understand that by pathetic we by no means imply that theatrical, sentimental quality which obtains so largely in the French school, and which has transmuted into trash numbers of otherwise excellent productions of French art. But simple as the correct and natural mode of carrying out this idea appears, we doubt whether one artist in twenty would hit upon it. We have heard a celebrated Professor of Natural Philosophy remark, that as long as a road to false theory and error remained open, though never so carefully hidden, men never failed to follow it in preference to the right way, which (unaccountably enough) is generally the very last discovered, though staring them all the while in full view. Goethe has indeed remarked on this very subject of the Pathetic in Art, that "It has been the usual fate of artists to blunder in their choice of subjects of this sort;" and Goëthe might have added, that, even when the subject is well chosen, it has been quite as usual for them to blunder (as not unfrequently happens even with very skilful operators) in the after-treatment. We have remarked that the subject of a dead mother and infant, may be treated in a spirit of the vilest materialism, which is the literal imitation of Nature in her lowest and most revolting forms. Those who have seen at Florence, in the Museo di Storia Naturale, the infamous statuettes of the Sicilian monk Zumbo, in which human ingenuity appears to have exhausted every resource "which could render death terrible and the grave loathsome," will recall the mother just dead of the plague, holding in her arms a bloated little corpse, which has already attracted the fly and tarantula. And yet these preparations of Zumbo are executed with an almost incredible degree of artistic skill, in the mere mechanical branches. This is undoubtedly the worst perversion known in Art, of this subject, though in "Fire, Fumine, and Slaughter," a sketch somewhat allied to it, may be found "A baby beat its dying mother; I had starved one, and was starving the other." A faint excuse for the statuettes of Zumbo may be found in the fact that they were intended to perpetuate, for religious purposes, the sufferings which Florence had endured during the Great Plague. A far better justification of the poem rests on the ground that it is intended to set forth, like Callot's inimitable series of engravings, "The Horrors of War." In the "Murder of the Innocents," and West's "Death on the Pale Horse," we have this subject again, elevated, it is true, to the higher region of "the romantic," whose peculiar property is that it induces the observer to continue or develope in his own mind, impressions which the work of art merely awakens, or but partially concludes; but it is almost exclusively the romantic, for the scenes of slaughter and terror by which they are in both instances surrounded, naturally awake in the mind associations widely remote from the calm and majesty of death. Viewed by themselves-each as a whole-we admit that we should regard them in an extremely different light. But as this evidently formed no part of the original design of the artists as they have pressed them upon us as accessories to another idea, we can by no means judge of them according to the ideal which such a subject by itself requires. But when a work of art lifts us, even above the highest romantic associations, into the sphere of absolute purity and goodness-when the discords inseparable from every. thing worldly are as far as possible softened down or banished-when we rise as far as we can above the objective necessities of shadow, darkness, and relief, into the pure life of light and feeling, or in default thereof, advance as far as possible into those ideas which conduce thereto, then we approach, be it in life or art, to the SPIRITUAL. This is indeed done whenever we indulge in the better emotions of our nature; and what emotion, would we ask, is better, purer, or holier than the love of a mother for her child? So generally understood, is this,--so deeply is it impressed by instinct and every imaginable association, that there is no question, in beholding this subject, as to its existence. As truly as the mother lived, even so truly do we know that her last effort and thought was for her infant. Mr. Brackett's subject is ensnaring and fascinating-it is highly spiritual. Divested of all unnecessary attribute, our attention is directed simply to the mother and child. But the entire history of religious art abounds in proofs that the highest possible degree of spiritualism may be found united with defects of so grave a nature as to mar its excellence and even defeat its aim. The question therefore now is,-"Granting the spiritual beauty of the conception, is it in any degree amenable to the charges of mechanical deficiency, or mannerism?" As regards the anatomy of the figures, in which we include the position and expression which bodies may assume subsequent to death, we believe the work to be faultless. Mr. Brackett is himself an excellent anatomist, having, as we are informed, carried his studies in this branch to a degree seldom attained by American artists at the present day. We have further learned that the principal anatomists and medical men in Boston have more than admired it as a singular specimen of accuracy in this particular-they have recommended it as a study. A writer in the Boston Medical Journal, in a long article, in which this group is treated solely in a physical point of view, advises his readers to pay attention to it, as a work capable of imparting, in this particular, valuable information. MECHANICAL DEFECTS may be in painting almost infinite in their number. But in sculpture we are inclined to think that they may all be reduced to infringements of the laws of anatomy, that is, when the human body alone, devoid of all attribute, forms the subject. But even when attributes are concerned, our theory still holds good. A different wound would undoubtedly have been the occasion of different attitudes, both in the Laocoon and the Dying Gladiator; but is it not within the province of the anatomist to decide the position which the irritation of certain nerves would induce? MANNERISM is a charge not only graver in its nature, but also more uncertain of application. We have generally considered that artist as a mannerist who blindly follows a certain style or school, or is slavishly influenced by the opinions of others. Goethe has well said, that the man who copies even nature without thoroughness, endea vouring to give only the striking and brilliant, will soon pass into mannerism-a remark so much more applicable to the American and English paintings of the present day than the German, that we cannot too strongly insist upon its publicity. We cannot by any means condemn those minds who, incapable of forming an original style, have bent all their energies to acquire the style of some great master. Of such was BERNARDO LUINI, whose paintings are not unfrequently confounded with those of his master, Leonardo da Vinci, and JORIS VAN VLIET, a successful imitator of Rembrandt. But we have still always been inclined to believe with Saint Meurice, that it is generally easier to make a good original than a bad copy, out of minds which show extraordinary talent even in imitating. It may be groundless theory-it may be a vain misleading, but judging from our knowledge of the past and present state of American art, we are strongly inclined to surmise that in the elevated naturalism of this work, which is of a much higher grade than the average type of the English school, we see the presentiment of a coming school of American art, which shall be something new, glorious, and beautiful. We confess that we were at one time slightly fearful that if in these eclectic times it were possible for any one type to predominate, it would be that of a literal reproduction of nature-in a beautiful form it might be as in the Greek Slave, but wanting both in the truly romantic and spiritual. But we are now firmly convinced that the excess of the practical in our country has met with its necessary consequence, and a reaction has of late years manifested itself in art and literature (more particularly the latter), which only within a comparatively recent period has begun to assume form and stability. The present tendency of literature in our country is decidedly more towards the ideal than in England, and if we judge by the general sense of the people, in spite of an array of great and powerful names, we might add, than in France. There is, in fact, no reason why a new school of art should not (we speak with every possible allowance and qualification) spring up and flourish among us. After such an admission, with such a reference to the group in question, the reader will not be surprised if we assert that we consider this work as remarkably free from mannerism of any description whatever. And we ground our opinion, not upon a vague impression of originality or force, but from the evident manifestation therein of two elements, either of which would be sufficient to redeem any work whatever from such a charge. The first of these is the evident confidence of the artist in every effect which he produces. Those who have carefully compared the best landscapes of the Munich school with similar French and English productions, must have noticed the great reliance which the latter place, in fortunate self-suggesting accidents. This is particularly manifested in their treatment of clouds or light, and in atmo spheric effects generally. But the German artist never wins his game by scratching. In his most mysterious shades, his dimmest clouds, his most impalpable halos and reflexes, we can always feel that everything existed legibly in the mind of the painter before he transferred it to canvass. He never hurls his sponge at the picture, that it may create for him an idea. And taken in detail, this work of Brackett's presents in every part (we refer more particularly to the figure of the mother) an incredible assemblage of bold and beautiful lines, every one of which was the effect of deliberate study. The other element to which we refer is, indeed, of a more vague description, but not less real and palpable to the true critic. We refer to the principle of progressiveness, which is the unfailing indication of every mind, which to subjective and ideal tendencies joins the faculty of labour, and a full appreciation of the importance of the real or material. There are certain artists who form for themselves an ideal-perhaps the literal imitation of nature. They work on until the crowd cry "Natural as life!" or perhaps until birds peck at their fruit, and then retire, satisfied with having fulfilled their mission. But we find in this work indications of a different nature. Mr. Brackett's genius is, we conceive, of that order whose every work fulfils a promise of further development, given in the past, and renewed for the future. Were the group of the Wreck far inferior to what it now is-inferior in point of subject-inferior even in mechanical detail, we should still prize it as indicating, like the productions of the early Eginetic school of sculpture, a certain subjective power infinitely more pleasing to the true critic than the elaborate works of a Bernini, which exhibit indeed the perfection of materialism, but where soul is wanting. That which yet remains to be noticed, and upon which the critic may well remark we have not as yet touched, is the degree to which this work, apart from association and material excellence, appeals to our abstract sense of the beautiful, or aesthetic perception. Many an artist, even when his mind is of a highly subjective order, imagines that when to an intensely interesting subject he has joined the perfection of mechanical detail, he has attained to the ideal the elevated and spiritual. He fancies that he has done for his work what a happy idea or subject has done for him. But neither the beautiful in association nor the perfect in mechanical detail, or even the two combined, form that higher absolute beauty, which can only be appreciated by our intuitive perception of the beautiful in itself; the highest exponent of which in sculpture is grace. To say that Mr. Brackett or any other artist has attained in his works the acme of grace were an absurdity. To say even that the artist himself is incapable of improving upon it in this respect, were to contradict our statement of the existence in him (or it) of the element of progressiveness; but to deny that grace exists in it were also to contradict our previous assertion of the number of lines of beauty in which it abounds. To admit that an artist has produced something "natural as life," or even in a somewhat higher sense, faultless, is to admit that he has created a work of art in a full sense. It is excellent in kind. To assert that he has produced a work which, in addition to this, awakes within us our sense of the beautiful, though never so faintly, is to admit the existence of something great and good, well worthy of preservation and regard. But we by no means blame those who, in addition to these allsufficient requisites, demand (unreasonably, it may be) a greater degree of grace, for it is merely an indication of the refinement of their æsthetic sense. The very indication of the existence of the progressive element in a work of art, is not unfrequently of itself sufficient to stimulate our demand for grace. The consciousness of the power of the artist impels us to crave for more. Whence it comes that we are often better satisfied with an actually inferior production. We admit that Mr. Brackett has in this work come fully up to the test originally proposed. More than this, he has to a degree superadded grace. Yet we honestly wish that he had given us more of this latter quality; what there is, is barely commensurate to the extraordinary beauty of the idea, and the remarkable excellence of its mechanical execution. We think that we can partly indicate the cause of this apparent deficiency, and to a degree palliate it. We have, it will be remembered, spoken of the lines of beauty as chiefly abounding in the figure of the mother. To those unfamiliar with anatomy, or the peculiar appearance of corpses, there is much in the infant which appears unnatural, and consequently jars upon their sense of the fit and beautiful. We may pardon the arm of the mother's being clasped about her child, but that the child should to a certain degree reciprocate the position by clasping the arm of the mother, appears as if the artist had striven to give to death some of that grace which belongs solely to life. Nor does it help to tell us that life is but recently extinct. The idea of the work in all its beauty demands that we be impressed by the solemn mystery of death alone. And yet to those familiar with such subjects, there is, literally, nothing incorrect in either of these attitudes. An infant, we are told, never appears so dead as a grown person, and it is even possible that a correction of this, which to many appears an error, would in reality vitiate its truth as a representation. It is an objection which disappears on an afterthought, and compels us to admit the existence of, if not more grace and beauty, at least a greater fidelity to nature than we had at first surmised. But in art there should be no afterthoughts. The world at large knows very little of the true position of dead infants. A work of art may have-must have many points which can be appreciated only by the learned, but there should at the same time be in it as little as possible to perplex or repel the uninitiated. The artist should endeavour as far as possible to reconcile that which is positively true in art, with the average sense of the beautiful, as entertained by the world at large. He should never truckle to the latter-never, as he bears a conscience, sacrifice the former. As we proceed in a knowledge of art, much that once jarred our sensibilities disappears in an appreciation of the true; but how much better is it, when with nothing at the outset to unlearn, we simply keep onward in admiration. This is one of the great difficulties in art-one which many great souls have despised, but which we would in no wise condemn; nature throws no obstacle before any mind to an appreciation of her beauties, though a refined taste ever detects therein somewhat more than the careless and unthinking remark. Many an artist has died unknownmany a glorious work fallen still-born from the press from this neglect to combine that which the multitude can appreciate with the requisitions of high art. And yet this is a thing which every mind can compass, for myriads have done it-if not in one branch at least in another. Let the artist remember that his every work-like the Bible-should, figuratively, "be a stream in which the lamb can wade and the leviathan swim." We have already asserted that all which is natural is not equally creditable, and we may with reference to certain points in the group also remark, that all which is natural is not on that account graceful. But we have also insisted-and some of the most celebrated paintings in existence bear us out-that great defects may exist in very great works, when they—the defects-do not predominate to that degree which jars upon our feelings and compel us to forget in them its higher merits. The deficiency as to grace in this production is not of that grave nature which would seriously interfere, in the mind of any one, with the enjoyment of its greater beauties. Still it must be borne in mind by both artist and observer, that the slightest deficiency of grace in a work, which from its very subject and style is eminently spiritual, is a defect of far greater importance than it would have been in a more romantic or material production. Be it remembered that in speaking of the qualifications requisite to constitute a work of Art, we have employed the term without any adjective whatever. But when we speak of Spiritual Art, we of course include that which forms it, the principal element of which, in an objective sense, is the abstractly beautiful. It is a common error, that of considering the Beautiful and Artistic as synonymous terms. The former is by no means an essential element in Romantic or Material productions, either of which may embody the Beautiful or its opposite, in greater or lesser proportions, to give relief and character to the opposing force. The spirit of Rembrandt's paintings, or Rabelais' writings, is not as a whole towards the Beautiful, though both are highly Artistic. Nor in the Hells of Jerome Bosch and Breughel, of Orcagna and Quevedo, or even Dante, is this the prevailing element. Our perception of it can only be touched by the most evident manifestations of order, harmony, and symmetry. It shuns all discord, all shadow, all relief. Nor should it ever be regarded as the characteristic which should as far as possible predominate in all art whatever. It is too good to govern a world by far too Manichaean for it. As long as pain and suffering, sin and sorrow exist, so long will shadows and discords retain their sway. As long as the grotesque, the fantastic, or the irregular, in any form whatever, find an appreciator, so long will there be no permanency for the purely harmonious. We can well imagine that at this point, a transcendental perfectionist would object to our assertion, grounding his views upon the absolute sympathy and blended nature of the good and the true-and not only the perfectionist, but many who follow (at a distance it may be) far humbler creeds and philosophies. They will argue, that as it is our duty in this world and in LIFE to follow the dictates of a perfectly pure, unmixed Morality, so in ART we should carefully eliminate all that partakes of the wild, the dark, the painful, or perhaps even the humorous. Granting cheerfully the first position, we still by no means admit the second. The Good and Beautiful are indeed identical-but only in their primitive archetype-the Infinite, which lies far beyond the din, and roar, and action, of the objective and created. In this world they are only second cousinsoften entirely estranged. A Doric temple, is we take it the purest exponent of the Beautiful in Architecture, yet is in itself neither moral nor immoral-in an ethical sense, neither good nor bad. Only the most intensely refined minds experience (or fancy perhaps that they experience) in beholding it, emotions of this nature. The very great majority of mankind would never be restrained in this world from committing a bad action, by the presence and influence of a beautiful object. The more intellectual would, we fear, find in the clashing incongruity a stimulant and incentive. But though the Good and the Beautiful are in this world no more identical than chalk and cheese (a very respectable number of philosophers to the contrary notwithstanding), we by no means assert that the slightest antagonism exists between them, or that the one may not, or should not be subordinated to the other. And not only subordinated, but in works of a spiritual nature-as in this of Brackett's, where we are by the subject lifted above the ordinary irregularities and oppositions of life, they should be as far as possible assimilated and raised to their original primitive identity. Spiritualism has been too much neglected by our artists. Those who have striven to embody it in one or the other form have not unfrequently disgraced their efforts by mannerism, and theatrical affectation. It demands, infinitely more than any other branch, the single effort of an intensely cultivated and thoughtful mind. If the artist do not possess this, let him become great in some other branch and think none the less of himself; for all works of Art general introduction of the study into common schools. The work seems to be well executed. The object is one on which we cannot speak too strongly. We are professedly a nation of utilitarians; and yet no nation more strangely overlooks, in its system of popular education, branches of study of direct practical advantage. Drawing, as a part of elementary education, is of much more praetical use than geography or history. Yet, until very lately, it has been counted as one of the higher accomplishments, the acquisition of which should be reserved to the few, and be made as expensive as possible. We hope Mr. Minifie, and all others who are labouring to facilitate the acquisition of the art by making it cheap, will have all the success that their effort deserves. MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DR. CHALMERS. By the Rev. William Hanna. Harpers. Dr. Hanna has had a difficult task, to prepare such a life of Dr. Chalmers as would give general satisfaction. In the volume now presented, he has met this difficulty in the only way practicable, viz., by making Chalmers to a great extent his own biographer. Happily, there were abundant materials for this in the great mass of letters, diaries, &c., left in manuscript by the author. The work will be completed in three volumes. THE ANNUAL OF SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERY. By David A. Wells, and George Bliss. Boston: Gould, Kendall, & Lincoln. We approve most heartily of this work, both as to its plan, and the manner in which it is executed. It is exactly what it professes to be, and we cannot better say what that is than in the words of the authors. It is," say they, "a year-book of facts in science and art, exhibiting the most important discoveries and improvements in mechanics, useful arts, natural philosophy, chemistry, astronomy, meteorology, zoology, botany, mineralogy, geology, geography, antiquities, etc., together with a list of recent scientific publications, a classified list of patents, obituaries of eminent scientific men, an index of important papers in scientific journals, reports, etc. The Annual of Scientific Discovery is designed for all those who desire to keep pace with the advancement of science and art. The great and daily increasing number of discoveries in the different departments of science is such, and the announcement of them is scattered through such a multitude of secular and scientific publications, that it is very difficult for any one to obtain a satisfactory survey of them, even had he access to all these publications. But the scientific journals, especially those of Europe, besides are equal in point of dignity, to the critic who judges by being many of them in foreign languages, have a very the test of excellence in kind. With this we conclude, trusting that all who may become familiar with "The Wreck," either in its present or its future condition, will see no reason to dissent from the high opinion we have expressed of its merits, or lay undue stress upon its few and comparatively trifling defects. BOOK NOTICES. MINIFIE'S GEOMETRICAL DRAWING. W. Minifie & Co., Baltimore. This is an abridgment of Mr. Minific's larger work on geometrical drawing. The author has been in. duced to make the abridgment with a view to a more limited circulation in this country, and are therefore accessible to but very few. It is evident, then, that an annual publication, giving a complete and condensed view of the progress of discovery in every branch of science and art, being, in fact, the spirit of the scientific journals of the year, systematically arranged, so as to present at one view all the new discoveries, useful inventions, and improved processes of the past year, must be a most acceptable volume to every one, and greatly facilitate the diffusion of useful knowledge. As this work will be issued annually, the reading public may easily and promptly possess themselves of the most important facts discovered or announced in these departments, from year to year." For sale by Daniels & Smith. HUMBOLDT'S COSMOS. Harpers; 2 vols. 12mo., with a portrait. No man living, probably, is better qualified than the author of this work to sketch a physical description of the universe. This venerable octogenarian has been a distinguished light in science for sixty years, his first scientific essay having been published in 1790. Since that time he has been constantly adding to the stock of human knowledge by original researches, and has made himself at the same time master of the acquisitions of others in the various walks of scientific discovery. He himself states, that the idea of a physical description of the universe was present to his mind early in life. It was a work which he felt he must accomplish, and he has devoted a lifetime to the accumulation of materials. It |