an imitation, or mere reproduction. It must the ideal. By the ideal I do not mean anythi merely fanciful, but that which is most real and the Divine idea that is the essential element of eve is. Our actual life, as we all consciously rec not properly realize God's design in our creation; true of us in this respect, is true also of all the wor by which we are surrounded. In the actual world it there is nothing perfect. A resisting and distur interferes with the free and harmonious movement various forces of nature. Now to show us what t would actually produce, if left freely and harmonious ifest themselves in their appropriate forms, this is the of Art: Only through this kind of work can it be a ister of the beautiful, and a true interpreter of the I

Should the common question of debate, as to whet more beautiful than Nature, here present itself; I wou under one view it is, but under another view it is not. conceived by genius and skillfully chiseled out of ma sidered merely as to its contour, may be more perfect a ful than any similar living form; but, when both are their entirety, the living will necessarily surpass the in because of the presence of the higher element of life artist cannot give to his marble. In the mere matter however, with reference to which the sculptor alone cise his skill, the statue should glorify nature, and if do this it is no true work of art.

In its object all art is the same. It is always what i because it seeks to give a true form, a perfect expre what has been variously designated as the idea, the sp soul, the invisible, the infinite, the divine. But as though essentially harmony in all cases, is yet present jects in varying degrees; so also may the different kinds be said to be lower or higher, according to the less o complex qualities which enter into them. Thus of the fi generally recognized as fine arts, architecture, no doubt

pies the lowest place. From the fact that it does not find its whole significance in itself, its right to be classed among the fine arts at all, has been questioned, though the aesthetic feeling which its finer and grander structures invariably awaken in the mind of man, I believe, fully entitles it to a place among them. Next to architecture comes sculpture with its cold but highly attractive beauty of form, in which every thing is fixed with such perfect precision, that, like architecture, it might not unaptly be described as frozen music. After this is to be placed painting, in which the warmth of color is added to the cold loveliness of graceful outline, so as to make it more life-like and expressive. Then comes music, which with its manifold harmonies awakens all our emotions, penetrates the deepest recesses of the heart, and sends a thrill of pleasurable sadness or of ecstatic joy through our whole being. Lastly, we have poetry, the queen of the fine arts, which, as Cousin admirably says, constructs according to its own taste, palaces and temples, . . . has the depth and brilliancy of musical notes, speaks to the mind as well as to the heart, . . . and embraces all extremes and all contrarieties in a harmony that redoubles their reciprocal effect, in which, by turns, appear and are developed, all images, all sentiments, all ideas, all the human faculties, all the inmost recesses of the soul, all the forms of things, all real and all intelligible worlds!" In poetry itself we may again distinguish gradations from the simple lyric to the touching ballad, the heroic epic, and the more complex and comprehensive drama in which the varied scenes of human life, with its trials and its troubles, its wisdom and its folly, its joys and its sorrows, are made to pass before us in orderly procession. Beyond this, art has not yet advanced, and probably never will advance, unless we reckon as belonging to its sphere the unwritten drama of actual holy living, the first act of which began in the manger of Bethlehem and ended in the crucifixion, resurrection and ascension; and the last act of which will begin with the final judgment, and end with the beatific vision and the songs of the redeemed.

But though art may never assume any new form, yet as

beauty is more fully apprehended as human in culture advance, we are compelled to conclude, must assume a higher and more perfect charact move onward toward the final consummation of al hold that in the distant past it reached its highest would be to relegate it to the lower stages of hur and make it the inferior of philosophy and scien would be contrary to our conception of beauty the ways of God. This, as well as the now genera law of evolution, requires that the higher forms s later. And with this view, the history of art is i cord. The oldest art is unquestionably architect earliest monuments in the world," says Lübke, "a mids of Memphis. They rise aloft like gigantic la history, memorials of an age which reaches back int fabulous antiquity." Then came sculpture which traced back to a far-distant and hoary past among tians, and which attained to marvellous perfection Greeks. Painting followed at a very early age, but highest development, only in the times of Michael Raphael. As for music and poetry, both these, lik fine arts, had their origin in the beginnings of huma but it is only in modern times that they have rea greatest perfection. This I presume no one will feel to deny as regards music, which, in some respects, m to be a creation almost of our own age. But it will b bly disputed that the poetry of modern times is equal, a more,that it is superior to that of the ancient Heb Greeks and Romans. Yet if it be the true mission of terpret God to man, and if truth and goodness and free essentials of the highest harmony and constituent ele beauty, then I feel persuaded that we must rank the Dante and Milton higher than that of Homer and E Macaulay is, no doubt, correct in saying, that Homer images in so clear a light, that it is impossible to be them," while "the works of Milton cannot be comprehe

enjoyed unless the mind of the reader co-operate with that of the writer;" but he is also right in saying of the thoughts of Milton, that they "resemble those celestial fruits and flowers which the Virgin Martyr of Massinger sent down from the gardens of Paradise to the earth, distinguished from the productions of other soils, not only by their superior bloom and sweetness, but by their miraculous efficacy to invigorate and to heal.” Then as regards dramatic poetry, the highest form of the art, does not the crown by universal consent belong to Shakespeare, of whom it has been said by a generally accepted authority, that "it was left for him to extend the empire of the drama over limits not yet recognised, and invest it with a splendor which the world had never seen before."

In art, indeed, as in every other respect, the world has moved onward and upward since the days of Pericles and Eschylus and Phidias. In no particular do the Christian nations of to-day stand on as low a plain as that occupied by the most enlightened nations of antiquity. Our architecture, as a whole, is superior to what theirs was. There is more to call forth true worship in our Gothic cathedrals than there was in the temples of their gods. Our sculpture and painting, if not as perfect in mere outward form, are, neverthelesss, the expression of sublimer thought. The statues of the Christ and His saints, and the paintings of scenes in His life and in theirs, are more ennobling and elevating than the statue of the Apollo Belvidere and the painting of Aphrodite by Apelles. And so the works of our poets, though their rhythm may not be always as perfect, and their diction as appropriate as that of Sophocles and Pindar, are yet filled with a higher and holier thought. Nor is it to be wondered at that such is the case, for the ancients found their deepest inspiration in nature, while we find ours in that higher spiritual world revealed unto us by the Christ. Yet not all our Art, by any means, is superior to theirs. For there is much of ours, alas, which draws its inspiration from even a lower source than the mere nature-worship of the Greeks.

But notwithstanding the progress that has been since the dawn of Christianity, it may yet seem t the tendencies of our own times are not favorable t development, inasmuch as they are predominantly s practical. To such I would say, in the language "Undoubtedly there is beauty even in this, and we heartily in that genius of modern times, which, no lo ing antique draperies, or dreaming through life w hair, goes with shorn locks and close-fitting garment may hope that it will raise from this small germ a m filling life with fresh beauty." For the true is never to the beautiful, but ever one of its best friends and

Another question, however, may here arise, which serves our attention. Why, it may be asked, should w age the further development of Art, or even desire other words, What benefit is Art to humanity?

Plato, in his ideal republic, as is well known, coul place for soft and enfeebling strains; for statues t suggest one single feeling of impurity; or for po represented any deeds of Deities unworthy of the nature. Even Homer and Hesiod, he holds, are blame because they not only tell lies but bad lies; about Uranus and Saturn which are immoral as well a and which should never be spoken of to young per indeed at all.

Speaking of the Greeks, Frederick W. Robertson, als truly and forcibly says: "There is a peculiar danger in ment of sensuous enjoyments. Coarse pleasures disgu pass for what they are; but who does not know that t danger and triumph of voluptuousness are when it appr the soul veiled under the drapery of elegance? . . . I ment, melting imagery, color, music, architecture-all even colored with the hues of religion, producing feelings religious or quasi-religious, may yet do the world's work. all attempts to impress the heart through the senses, 'to perfect through the flesh,' are fraught with that danger ber