despite the most opposite moral and physical influences.

5. That permanence of type is accepted by science as the surest test of specific character.

6. That certain types have existed (the same as now) in and around the valley of the Nile, from ages anterior to 3500 B. C., and consequently long prior to any alphabetic chronicles, sacred or profane.

7. That the ancient Egyptians had already classified mankind, as known to them, into four races, previously to any date assignable to Moses.

8. That high antiquity for distinct races is amply sustained by linguistic researches, by psychological history, and by anatomical characteristics.

9. That the primeval existence of man, in widely separate portions of the globe, is proven by the discovery of his osseous and industrial remains in alluvial deposits, and in diluvial drifts; and more especially of his fossil bones, embedded in various rocky strata, along with the vestiges of extinct species of animals.

10. That prolificacy of distinct species, inter se, is now proved to be no test of a common origin.

11. That those races of men most separated in physical organization, such as the blacks and the whites, do not amalgamate perfectly, but obey the laws of hybridity; and hence,

12. There exists a genus homo, embracing many primordial types or species. These positions, it is obvious at a glance, if they can be sustained, overturn many popular theories and theological dogmas, and give an entirely new phase to the science of the natural history of man. The Mosaic account of the derivation of all men from a single pair-Adam and Eve; of the deluge and destruction of all animals and men, save Noah, and those he took into the ark; of the building of Babel, and the dispersion of nations, are brought into dispute, as well as the chronology of the Hebrew and Septuagint Scriptures. These positions have also a vital connection with the prevailing interpretations of the Bible, and scarcely less with many accepted ancient histories. They bear with peculiar emphasis on the questions which are agitated in regard to African slavery, and the general progress of civilization. They will be canvassed, therefore, with the keenest scrutiny, and not a little polemic bitterness and prejudice. The Church is openly dared to the issue, and scientific men will find much to disturb their traditional faiths.

Whether the positions are sustained,

we shall not venture to say, in this place, because the subject is one which requires an elaborate and extended notice, and which some of our contributors, we hope, fully qualified for the task, will undertake. In the mean time, however, we will remark as critics, that the volume, as a whole, does great credit to the literary and scientific attainments of the country. It is marked by unusual learning, by profound research, and by an independent spirit. But there are two defects in it at least, which ought to have been avoided. In the first place, coming from different contributors, there is a great deal of needless repetition, which a more careful editorship would have pruned; and, in the second place, the tone of Mr. Gliddon's Biblical criticisms is repulsively flippant and inflated. They sound more like the pert paragraphs of a country newspaper, than the wise elucidations of science, and aim at a wit which is entirely out of place in discussions of such a nature. As the matter of the volume is calculated to arouse many animosities, it was extremely injudicious to add to the offence, by the manner of it. No one doubts, that theological writers have fallen into many absurd mistakes and grave errors, and that they are sometimes arrogant and bigoted; but a scientific man, in exposing their errors, or in controverting their opinions, is not called upon to imitate their example. His duty is simply to declare the truth, as he has learned it, leaving the task of ridicule and banter to the smaller wits. Both editors have also mingled with their more strictly scientific researches, a variety of opinions and conjectures, not directly connected with the main subject, which it would have been better to suppress. It is a universal remark, that men are apt to speak most dogmatically on the abstrusest subjects, while they are satisfied with the plainest terms, and the most unpretending assertions, when they declare what they really know. We are sorry to see the scientific value of the volume depreciated by impertinences.

two fashionable churches, there is really nothing to record. Meanwhile the Opera House advances rapidly to completion, and the passages of Grisi and Mario are already reported taken. But as we remember to have heard the same delightful rumor a year since, and as these artists are now engaged at Covent Garden, we postpone faith and wait for sight. The daily papers have given full and, doubtless, accurate details of the Opera House. The great experiment of its success is yet to be tried. In ourselves we confess our scepticism as to the result. In New York the Opera cannot be profitably maintained as a luxury, and it remains to be proved that it can be made attractive enough to the popular taste to secure its success. Among civilized nations there is, probably, none so little musical as the American. In any company of a score of men the chance is that not one sings. It may be assumed that a glee is impossible among them. In Italy, Germany, France, Spain, in all the northern nations, and, perhaps, England, the chances are precisely the reverse. We do not regard the Ethiopian opera and the popularity of Old Folks at Home as proof of a general musical taste. At the concerts of the Philharmonic Society at least half of the audience is German, and at the Opera, if the number of those who go in obedience to fashion and from other unmusical notions, is deducted, there is not a large audience left. But we do not wish to decide too soon. The experiment of the best artists with low prices is yet to be tried. We are sure of one thing, as we have been from the beginning, that it will be a sad failure if it be attempted to base the success of the undertaking upon any sympathy or support other than musical. The structure of society in this country is really so different from that of other countries, that any such effort must fail, as it deserves to fail.

If, however, we have not heard much music during the winter, there has been a musical correspondence as bitter and fierce as the doings of musicians are so sure to be. It commenced by a notice, by Mr. Willis, Editor of the Musical World and Times, of Mr. Fry's music. That gentleman responded in defence of his music, and, in the course of the correspondence claimed a position as a composer, which Mr. Willis would by no means allow. Assertions were made to the effect that the Philharmonic Society gave no countenance to 'American productions, which drew Mr. Bristow and the Society into the correspondence. The Editor of Dwight's

Journal of Music, published in Boston, had a word to say, in the most goodhumored manner; but Messrs. Fry and Bristow, who pursued the subject with great ardor, took every thing in sad seriousness, and the latter gentleman, as we understand, resigned his connection with the Philharmonic Society. Whether Mr. Fry succeeded in establishing the point that his music is as good as any body's music, we are unable to say. It seems to us, however, that he mistook the means of doing so. If a man can compose as well as Mozart and Beethoven, let him do it. If a man can paint as Titian painted,-let him paint and not talk about his painting. If he has composed and painted, and insists that the result is as good as Titian's and Mozart's, but that, of course, we are so prejudiced in favor of the old and foreign that we will not recognize the excellence,-then, equally, it is foolish to argue the matter, for the very objection proposed, proves the want of that critical candor which can alone justly decide the question. If we like music because it is old and foreign, it is clear that we do not like it for its essential excellence. But Mr. Fry claims to compose fine music,-why, then, should he heed the opinion of those who do not determine according to the intrinsic value, but by some accidents of place and time? Why does he not go on composing, and leave his works to appeal to the discriminating and thoughtful both of this and of all ages? Burke advised Barry to prove that he was a great painter by his pencil and not by his pen. It was good advice, we think, because it was common sense.

We are glad to state that the Philharmonic was never more flourishing than it is now. It is unfortunate that their concerts were given in the Tabernacle, that most dingy and dreary of public halls. But the music performed was of the best. It was German music, most of it, it is true, but then, Gerinan music comprises so much of the best of all instrumental compositions, that it was almost unavoidable. Has Mr. Fry, and those who complain of over-much German in the selections of this Society, yet to learn that art is not, in any limited sense, national?" Raphael's Transfiguration is as much American as Italian. A devout Catholic of the western hemisphere feels its meaning and enjoys its beauty as much as the Pope. Homer celebrates events occurring before America was discovered, but he is much dearer to a thoughtful American than Joel Barlow. In the realm of art it is not possi

ble to introduce distinctions so invidious. The best of every great performance in art is human and universal. It is not what is local and temporary which makes the fame of a great artist, but it is that which the world recognizes and loves, and there is nothing more pernicious to the cause of real culture than this effort to institute a mean nationality in art. Mr. Fry may be very sure that we shall prefer Shakespeare, and Mozart, and Michel Angelo, whether they were born in Greenland or Guinea, to any American who does not do as well as they.

This reminds us of a note we meant to have made long since upon the success achieved by Mr. Joseph Duggan (brother of Professor Duggan, of our Free Academy) at the St. James' Theatre, in London, last November. His name had become known to us by the report of his successful setting of Tennyson's Oriana-a dangerous attempt-but of which a London critic says: "the grandly dramatic spirit of the words is represented by music as sugges tive in purport as it is felicitous in effect." Mr. Duggan has recently attempted a theme of greater scope, and his operatic sketch of Pieree, was produced with a success "perfectly well deserved."

We

have seen long and careful criticisms of this performance, and the sincerity of the commendation bestowed is unquestionable. We quote: "He, however, apparently labors to be the imitator of no one. There is a rich dramatic vein in all he writes, especially in his recitations which are full of truth and meaning. ** There is abundance to show that he has both fame and ability, and that he is likely to win fame in the portrayal of the melo-dramatic and the romantic-to which we fancy we perceive his yearnings chiefly tend." Another says: Throughout the whole piece Mr. Duggan's music is full of melody: even in the highest portions it is elegant and graceful, while his orchestral writing is masterly, rich, varied, and free from the noisy exaggerations of the ultra-modern school."

The other musical news from Europe, during the last four months, is not of great importance. The chief event is the production of Meyerbeer's Etoile du Nord, a comic opera, in Paris. It was a triumph in every respect. But we are curious to hear how his large and solemn phrasing will adapt itself to the buffa style. It may be interesting to our readers to know that Meyerbeer was born in Berlin, on the 5th September, 1794, and is consequently sixty years old. family was rich and of good social posi

tion. His musical taste was early developed, and he became, while yet young, the pupil of the Abbé Vogler, one of the most eminent teachers of Germany. Weber was his inseparable companion. Meyerbeer went to Venice in 1813, while Rossini's Tancredi was making the fame of that composer. It appears, according to M. Scudo, that the young German was enchanted by the brilliancy of the Italian composer, and after devoting himself to the closest study, produced at Padua, in 1818, an Italian opera, Romilda e Costanza, written confessedly in the style of Rossini. After many other attempts he brought out at La Scala, in Milan, in the year 1812, Marguerite d'Anjou, which increased his fame; and in 1826, at Venice, Il Crocciato confirmed his position as an eminent composer. Apparently not yet satisfied with his success and the extent of his fame, Meyerbeer worked privately, for five years, and although Robert le Diable was ready in 1828, it was not represented until the evening of the 21st September, 1831, and instantly elevated the composer to the highest rank among contemporary composers. It was played two hundred and fifty times with undiminished enthusiasm. On the 29th February, 1836, it was followed in popularity and success by Les Huguenots and Le Prophète, in May, 1849. In 1844 the Camp de Silescé, an opera de circonstance, was produced at Berlin, and now we have l'Etoile du Nord.

Of this opera Scudo apostrophising the composer, says: "As to the Etoile du Nord, posterity, believe it, will not rank it with your most beautiful chef d'œuvres, because in the hierarchy of the creations of human genius, the Last Judgment is below the Transfiguration." The other noticeable item is the death of Rubini. He was sixty years old, and a very rich man. Tradition is so enthusiastic about his singing, that those who have never heard him will always hear that nothing can properly compare with the effort he produced. Certainly the description of his voice and its effect give an idea of something that is not equalled by Mario, who is usually considered to be his successor. By 1820 he had made a great impression at Rome in La Gazza Ladra, and in October, 1825, appeared for the first time in Paris, the most illustrious theatre of his career, in La Cenerentola. He was immediately triumphant. Then came Bellini, who was the friend of Rubini, and in Il Pirata and La Somnambula he achieved his

most enthusiastic success. In 1831 he came and conquered London. and for the next ten years was engaged every year six months in Paris and six months in England. Then he went to St. Petersburgh. But he sang in Bellini's last opera I Puritani upon the scene of his Parisian triumphs with even more success, and in 1842, when at the height of his power and fame, he withdrew from London and Paris. It was a few years afterward that he left St. Petersburgh, and retired to his native place, Bergamo, where he died.

Those of our readers who wish to inform themselves of current musical news in detail, to become familar with musical, history, or to enjoy intelligent and admirable criticisms of contemporary musical composition and performance, cannot do better than to consult Dwight's Journal of Music, or Willis's Musical World & Times, the former published in Boston and the latter in New York. They are weekly Journals, full of desirable information conveyed in an agreeable way. They address themselves to somewhat different audiences. The Boston paper aims at high æsthetic criticism; and the New York at a popularization of the art to which both are devoted. It is pleasant to record their continued and merited

success.

FINE ARTS.

THE NATIONAL ACADEMY. "Halcibiades sat to Praxiteles, and Pericles to Phridjas," says Mr. Gandish, grandly, as an apology for his abandonment of "high art," and following the low business of portraiture; and, to our artists, who do the same, it should be a consolation that Washington sat to Stuart, and all the surviving heroes of the Revolution to Trumbull. Pope Julius sat to Raphael, and Francis First to Titian; all the wits and great men of Reynolds's day sat to him, and our great grandmothers sat to Copley. These thoughts should be enough to reconcile our painters to portraiture, and save their annual exhibitions of heads from the sneers of ignorant critics, who imagine that it is the subject which dignifies art, and not art the subject. But artists, themselves, will talk absurdly about high art, and forget Halcibiades and Phridjas. A "portrait of a gentleman" may or not be a work of high art: that depends not upon the subject but the artist. An indifferent picture is an indifferent thing to look upon, whether it be the portrait of a gentleman or the representation of an episode of his

tory. The portrait will, at least, have some likeness to nature, and the costume will possess a certain archæological value, but the historical composition may have no merit whatever. Portraiture is, in truth, the highest order of art, and the most beneficent, as it is the only legitimate kind of historical painting. The finest of our so-called historical pictures are historical absurdities and falsehoods; for, the first requisite of history is truth, either general or particular, and we have not many of the kind that possess enough of either to entitle them to preservation. The historical paintings in the present exhibition would be worth very little, a century hence, compared with some of the portraits which it contains. Two among them all are likely to be preserved; and, hundreds of years hence, when we, and the subjects, and the artists will all be forgotten, the beaming faces of Mayor Kingsland and friend Trimble will be looking out of the canvas upon our great-grandchildren, who will be quizzing the Mayor's bright blue cravat and friend Trimble's straight brown coat. The portrait of Mayor Kingsland is to be placed in the City Hall, among the civic and gubernatorial worthies, whose semblances adorn the walls of the Governor's Room. It is one of the best of Elliott's portraits; and we hope that the Mayors of a hundred years hence will fall into the hands of so capable an artist: few of our civic magistrates have hitherto been so fortunate. The portrait of Mr. Trimble has been painted for the New York Public School Society, by Mr. Hicks, and it will, of course, be preserved. It is a full length of a very tall and severelooking old gentleman, in a brown suit and a white cravat. He stands stark and stiff, with a book in his hand, in which he is not looking. As he is neither a pedagogue, an author, nor a lecturer, but a merchant, the book may possibly mislead future generations as to its meaning. The artist, doubtless, gave it to him to hold because he was at a loss what other use to put his hand to. Most awkward things hands are, in a full length. The feet are naturally enough used to support the body; but painters and sculptors are put to their trumps in disposing of two dangling arms, which always seem de trop when they are not doing something. Is it not possible for these pendulums of the human body to hang naturally in absolute repose, to correspond with the other members? In a portrait, there should be neither an arrested motion of the limbs, nor a suspended emotion in

the face. Absolute and intentional repose will alone give an absolute likeness. When a man sits for his portrait, he should not pretend to be doing any thing else. There is a notable instance of the impropriety of departing from this rule in Elliott's portrait of Bryant in this exhibition. The poet is represented with his eyes upturned and a grim smile on his face, as though he were listening to the promptings of the Muse. But that is not the way in which poets receive the divine afflatus; the eye in a fine frenzy rolling, although a bold and beautiful image of one who had the right, above all others, to describe the manner of the poet in his ecstatic moments, is not to be taken as a literal fact; the glancing from heaven to earth is an operation of the mind's visual organ, and not an ocular demonstration. There are no new comers in portraiture this year, nor any thing new from our old exhibitors. The old exhibitors are doing about as well, and the new ones not much better than they did a year ago; and all their pictures are twice-told tales. But we have no right to look for a new man every year; genius is a perennial but not an annual. We hoped to see, among the works of our artists who are abroad, something from Page, who, according to verbal reports, and letters from Rome, is doing wonders in Italy. But, our artists abroad, of

whom there are more now than ever before, have sent us hardly any thing this year, and nothing worthy of notice, excepting the Cardinal Mazarin, by E. H. May, who, we learn, is in Paris. This picture shows a very great, improvement over any of his productions which we have hitherto seen. It is evidently the result of his French studies, and has nothing in it of American feeling. The color is superficial and chalky, and the subject is a bad one, because the meaning of the artist cannot, or is not, explained without the help of a legend. But it is well drawn, and the figure of the Cardinal is well posed, and his face expressive, when we know what it should express. It has been objected to this picture, that the paintings on the wall, which the Cardinal should be gazing at, are too indistinct; but it was the aim of the artist to make the figure of Mazarin the sole object of attention, and it is not just criticism to object to his having done it. The eye rests, unavoidably, upon his figure, because there is nothing else to divert it. Among the heads exhibited this year, are two, not portraits, by a young artist, named Greene-Nos. 129,

153-which promise better than any thing from the younger brood of our artists; but we do not know what may be imitation in these lovely heads and what originality; but, being the work of a new hand, they are at least very promising, and indicate a pure taste in color and a firm hand for execution. Our exhibitions are always rich in landscape, but there is nothing new even in this department of art, which the Earl of Ellsmere good-naturedly says, in his Crystal Palace report, we ought to excel in, because our scenery is so fineas though there were not fine scenery wherever there is sun and sky: even on the ocean. We say there is nothing new, although there is one landscape which will always be new, fresh, and enchanting while there are eyes capable of receiving delight from the glorious aspects of external nature. No. 64, in the catalogue, by Church, called a Country Home "-too homely a name for such a splendid view, which contains glimpses of many homes-is the landscape we allude to. It is the great work of the year, and fully justifies the utmost that has been anticipated from this true artist. Mr. Church is not content to paint "bits of nature," he does not give us portraits of blasted trees, with indefinite perspectives of affairs in general, but broad expanses of out-door nature: woods, hills, streams, rocks, all bathed in glowing light, and with a sky which looks deeper and clearer, and more real, the longer you look into its bright depths. There are two things which afford especial satisfaction in Church's landscapes; in the first place, we see that the artist understands perfectly well what he is about-that he aims at certain effects and succeeds in producing them; we neither wish he had taken more pains, nor remain in doubt of his meaning; and then we feel that he' has sufficient respect for us, who are to look at his pictures, to do the best he can to please us. He respects us, and we respect him for it. He has not carelessly dashed off his picture, with the remark that "it will do for a pot-boiler." Forest Spring," No. 301, by W. J. Stillman, who is neither an N. A., an A., nor an H., is a marvellous piece of greenery, in which every object is represented with a degree of accuracy and beauty which we hardly imagined to be compatible with such a breadth of effect and apparent freedom of touch. It is a little clear spring of pure water, whose unruffled surface reflects objects like a mirror; and the mosses, leaves, flowers, and

"The