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ble results, of which we readily concede such a parent may rationally doubt. The anxieties of domestic life, whether rich or poor, also preclude the mother from coming into that serene and high relationship to her little ones, without which no approach to spirit-culture can be effected. Skepticism is unavoidable until the doubter is in a position to try the experiment, and such position is unattainable while he doubts.

But supposing it were a fact, that the responses are not spontaneous but mere echoes of the teacher's mind, it is not a small achievement to have discovered a mode of tuition which, while it is highly agreeable to the student, succeeds so well in making him acquainted with the deepest facts of all existence. Could it not, then, still more easily open to him the superficial facts, to attain which years and years of dull laborious college life are painfully occupied? If the laws in moral consciousness can there be presented to children; assuredly the reported facts in history and language should not be suffered to be any longer a grievous burden to our young men.

The Record we estimate as a very valuable book for teachers, and therefore find it difficult to make any extract which shall do justice to the work. Nor is it needful in this case, as the book is within the reach of all. The talented Recorder informs us that

"This book makes no high pretensions. It is an address to parents, who are often heard to express their want of such principles, and such a plan, as it is even in the author's power to afford. It will perhaps be more useful than if it were a more elaborate performance; for many will take up the record of an actual school, and endeavor to understand its principles and plans, who would shrink from undertaking to master a work, professing to exhaust a subject, which has its roots and its issues in eternity; as this great subject of education certainly has." - Preface to Record of a School, 1st Edition.

A transcript of one of the quarterly cards will, however, help to some idea of the comprehensive extent of the tuition, and it offers a field worthy the diligent study of all teachers.

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We cannot avoid the conclusion, that Boston withheld her patronage from Mr. Alcott by reason of her failure to inquire into the merits of the case, and not because she had duly and fully investigated and calmly judged. None but a willing eye can appreciate. A love-insight in the observer is needful in order to understand the labors and motives of a love-inspired man. Shakspere is to be judged by the Shakspere standard, not by Homer's works. Milton must be studied in the Miltonic idea. This æsthetic law applies to the criticism of actual works. Let spiritculture be viewed from the spirit-ground, and then the spectator may freely speak. On that ground we affirm, Boston should not have permitted such a son to have wanted her home-protection and support for one moment. Should the opportunity again be afforded, we hope it will be even in a broader and deeper manner, when the idea being presented in great integrity will be better understood and more favorably received. C. L.

CANOVA.

Natura, onde legge ebbe ogni cosa,
Chi pietra, e moto in un congiunti vede,
Per un instante si riman pensosa !

Pindemonte on the Hebe of Canova.

I WELL remember when I first saw the work which called forth this graceful flattery. We saw very little sculpture here, and there was a longing for those serene creations, which correspond, both from the material used and the laws of the art, to the highest state of the mind. For the arts are no luxury, no mere ornament and stimulus to a civic and complicated existence, as the worldling and the ascetic alike delight in representing them to be, but the herbarium in which are preserved the fairest flowers of man's existence, the magic mirror by whose aid all its phases are interpreted, the circle into which the various spirits of the elements may be invoked and made to reveal the secret they elsewhere manifest only in large revolutions of time; and what philosophy, with careful steps and anx

ious ear, has long sought in vain, is oftentimes revealed at once by a flash from this torch.

With thoughts like these, not clearly understood, but firmly rooted in the mind, was read an advertisement of "some of Canova's principal works, copied by his pupils.' Canova! The name was famous. He was the pride of modern Italy, the prince of modern art, and now we were to see enough of the expressions of his thought to know how God, natúre, and man stood related in the mind of this man. He had studied these in their eternal affinities, and written the result on stone. How much we should learn of the past, how stand assured in the present, how feel the wings grow for the future!

With such feelings we entered the cold and dingy room, far better prepared surely, than the chosen people, when they saw the prophet descend from the Mount of vision, with the record of the moral law also inscribed on stone. For they were led, but we were seekers. But, alas! alas! what dread downfall from this height of expectation! The Hebe, so extolled above, was the first object that met the eye. Hebe! Was this the ever-blooming joy that graced the golden tables?

Then there were the Dancers, there the Magdalen, Gods and Goddesses, Geniuses, with torches reversed, and other bright ideals of our thought, all so graceful, so beautifully draped and so-French it seemed to us, our own street figures infinitely refined can this be all? Does not the artist, even, read any secret in his time beyond the love of approbation, the shades of sentiment, and the cultivation of the physique, not for health, but to charm the eyes of other men? We did not wish to see the old Greek majesty; what that says we knew. The coarsest plaster cast had shown us what they knew of the fulness of strength, fulness of repose, equipoise of faculties desirable for man. But was there nothing for us? No high meaning to the dark mysteries of our day, no form of peculiar beauty hid beneath its beggarly disguises?

Time has not changed this view of the works of Canova, but, after the first chill of disappointment was over, when we no longer expected to find a genius, a poet in the artist, we have learnt to value him as a man of taste, and to understand why he filled such a niche in the history of his

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time. And what we partly knew before, has now been made more clear by Missirini's life of him, which has only of late fallen in our way, though published as early as 1824.

As the book has not, we believe, been translated, a notice of leading facts in the life, and version of passages in which Canova expressed his thoughts may be acceptable to the few, who have time to spare from rooting up tares in the field of polemics or politics, and can believe there is use in looking at the flowers of this heavenly garden through the fence which forbids Yankee hands their darling privilege to touch, at least, if they may not take.

Canova, as we have said, was not a genius, he did not work from the centre, he saw not into his own time, cast no light upon the future. As a man of taste, he refined the methods of his art, reformed it from abuses, well understood its more definite objects, and as far as talent and high culture could, fulfilled them. If not himself a great artist, he was, by his words and works, an able commentator on great artists. And intermediate powers of this kind must be held in honor, like ambassadors between nations, that might otherwise remain insular and poor.

As a character, he was religious in modesty, reverence, and fidelity. Life was truly to him a matter of growth, and action only so far valuable as expressive of this fact. It is therefore a pleasure to look on the chronicle of marble, where the meaning of his days is engraved. A monotony of conception, indeed, makes this a brief study, though the names alone of his works fill eighteen pages of Missirini's book. In labor, he was more indefatigable, probably, than if he had lived a deeper life; his was all one scene of outward labor, and meditation of its means, from childhood to advanced age; he never felt the needs.common to higher natures, of leaving the mind at times fallow, that it may be prepared for a richer harvest; he never waited in powerless submission, for the uprise of the tide of soul. His works show this want of depth, and his views of art no less; but both have great merits as far as they go, his works in their execution, his views as to accurate perceptions of the range of art, and the use of

means.

It is intended to make farther use of the remarks of Canova in another way. But it will not forestall but rather

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