the hills. The charity of the better-to-do, it is urged, should organize excursions to the country, and establish low-priced boardinghouses in rural places, where the sickly infants of the streets may be sent for recuperation and health. The sickness of the summer season being due, according to many urgent sympathizers, mainly to the confined quarters and bad air of the poor districts, the great remedy is an exodus of the sufferers.

But, unfortunately, with the best exertions of the charitable, very few of the poorer classes can get even a day's exchange of fetid gutters for grassy meadows. It is the dire necessity of the many to remain in town, during August suns as well as in January snows, and the sickness and mortality among this class can never be measurably changed by occasional episodes of fresh air. The evils which they suffer can be mitigated only by changes that reach their daily lives, by the acquisition of habits of cleanliness, and by a little knowledge in the elementary principles of hygiene. Children during the summer season perish by thousands mainly because their parents are hopelessly slothful, ignorant, and careless. Even the bad air the little ones breathe is a result of vicious indifference; gutters would not be foul if the parents of the children did not fill them with refuse, nor would the living-apartments be unwholesome if habits of cleanliness prevailed.

But bad air and close apartments are really but minor causes of summer mortality. The main reason is the idiotic blundering of the elders in the way of food. It is in these wretched haunts of the poor that the unripe fruit, the unwholesome meat, and the stale fish, find their ready consumers. It is here that brats abide after the model of Hood's "Lost Heir," and here that distracted mothers rave after the fashion set down by the poet :

". . . . To think of losing him after nussing him back from death's door,

Only the very last month, when the windfalls, hang 'em, was at twenty a penny, And the threepence he got by grottoing was spent

in plums, and sixty for a child is too many." The green apples and pears at "twenty a penny" have very much to do with the dreadful mortality that the sea-air and the rural farm are designed to remedy. The rotten or unripe fruit is not, however, the sole responsible cause. The neglect and the blundering that accompany the sickness are potent agents in the cause of death. The untimely exposure, the injudicious medicine, the ignorant treatment, all contribute to the fatal results, and make us wonder how it is that children, thus exposed on all sides to danger, ever manage to pull through to manhood and womanhood. Mismanagement is the great criminal in our summer mortality; and mismanagement is formidable in other quarters

than the poor tenement-house. There are far too many deaths among the children of the better classes-too much neglect of wise precautions; too much ignorant administering of medicine; too little heed of the laws of ventilation, cleanliness, respiration, exercise; too much indifference and indulgence in food; in brief, too much dire mismanagement in all things. Common-sense and good judgment in the rearing of children are much needed in all ranks of life: in the better class they will come, perhaps, by experience; in the lower classes they can come only by general elevation and education. There is no remedy for the evil that does not strike at the root. Our Samaritans must labor to inculcate industry, self-reliance, and self-respect-with this moral elevation will come habits of cleanliness, order, and sobriety-a general better management in all practical things, out of which shall come bloom and health to the little ones.

INNUMERABLE have been the plans submitted to the New York Rapid Transit commissioners, and if out of the confusion of projects and the clash of opinions a good design is accepted, we shall have reason to praise the acumen and judgment of the gentlemen composing the commission. The perplexities pertaining to the subject are greatly increased by the contradictory opinions of engineers and experts. Those whose professional knowledge would seem to warrant confidence in their judgment are of as many opinions as persons. It will be necessary

for the commissioners to be governed by the practical results of railroading the world over, and to turn a cautious ear to all projects, and to all arguments in opposition, that cannot find some measure of support from the testimony of actual experience. It would be well if the commissioners could run abroad for a few weeks and examine the operations of some of the roads there before deciding definitely upon any plan. This impresses us forcibly as a necessary preliminary in view of the many strange opinions uttered by engineers and others in the newspapers. One writer, for instance, asserts that an elevated track must be enabled to support cars and locomotives as heavy as those upon our ordinary surface steam-roads. Those who have traveled upon European roads are not likely to acknowledge the necessity of this, inasmuch as there the carriages and locomotives in ordinary use are much lighter than ours. Solid and substantial tracks with comparatively light-running stock would appear to an unprofessional observer sufficient reasons to account for the immense speed obtained in England with so little wear and tear-a speed that here would prove exceedingly destructive to our lighter-built roads. Most assur

edly, it would be a blunder to mount upon an elevated track the ponderous cars now in use with us. A good deal is said about stopping and starting trains, about brakes, etc. The American car is peculiarly awkward in cases where passengers must be taken up and set down expeditiously. In an English carriage there is an exit for about every six or eight passengers, and hence a car is emptied almost instantaneously. Here, on the contrary, all must enter and leave by one very small door at each end of the vehicle. It is obvious that cars on a rapid - transit road, where there are frequent stations and brief stoppages, should be so constructed as to admit of the utmost celerity of the ingress and egress of passengers. And if we are not in error, we are behind our English friends in the matter of brakes. The ease and rapidity with which a train on the London underground railway is brought to a stand is almost marvelous. The train comes dashing into the station apparently at. full speed; the inexperienced observer feels certain that it is going to rush by without stopping; but in an instant almost the train is stopped, and this with not so much jar as one feels on a New York horse-car when brought up quickly. The brakes are apparently worked by steam, and they are noiseless as well as effectual in operation. No one could see the working of the European railway-carriage without feeling its superiority over the American long box, with its colliding tides of travel struggling through narrow apertures, against busy brakemen, and over cramped platforms-its superiority, at least, for the expeditious movement necessary for rapid local transit.

Two more ancient landmarks of London are threatened. "Doctors' Commons," a gloomy and musty old building which chokes light and air out of St. Paul's Church-yard, will speedily become but the shadow of a

name.

Christ's Hospital, a much handsomer and more imposing edifice, but equally in the way of the busy folk of the "city," will also, it is probable, give way to modern and commercial necessities. Doctors' Commons is not properly one of the sights of London, inasmuch as it provides nothing worth seeing. As the seat of the terrible office, however, which so long dispensed marriage-licenses, it has had a certain interest for London lovers. Like Gretna Green, its traditions are chiefly matrimonial. But Doctors' Commons had a still graver significance a few centuries ago; for it was there that were held the sessions of the court which corresponded to the Inquisition; many a heretic and witch was formerly sentenced to the fagots there in the olden time. Within the memory of men still living, curious pun

its readers by praising any thing." His literary practices are illustrated by his treatment of "Criminal Queens: "

"In spite of the dear friendship between Lady Carbury and Mr. Alf, one of Mr. Alr's most sharp-nailed subordinates had been set upon her book, and had pulled it to pieces with almost rabid malignity. One would have thought that so slight a thing could hardly have been worthy of such protracted attention. Error after error was laid bare with merciless prolixity. No doubt the writer of the article must have had all history at his finger ends, as, in pointing out the various mistakes made, he always spoke of the historical facts which had been misquoted, misdated, or misrepresented, as being familiar in all their bearings to every school-boy of twelve years old. The writer of the criticism never suggested the idea that he himself, having been fully provided with books of reference, and having learned the art of finding in them what he wanted at a moment's notice, had, as he went on with his work, checked off the blunders without any more permanent knowledge of his own than a housekeeper has of coals when she counts so many sacks into the coal-cellar. He spoke of the parentage of one wicked, ancient lady, and the dates of the frailties of another, with an assurance intended to show that an exact knowledge of all these details abided with him always. He must have been a man of vast and varied erudition, and his name was Jones. The world knew him not, but his erudition was always there at the command of Mr. Alf -and his cruelty. The greatness of Mr. Alf consisted in this, that he always had a Mr. Jones or two ready to do his work for him. It was a great business, this of Mr. Alf's, for he had his Jones also for philology, for science, for politics, for poetry, as well as for history, and one special Jones, extraordinarily accurate and very well posted up in his references, entirely devoted to the Elizabethan drama."

All this, it strikes us, is unworthy of Mr. Trollope, and if one were foolish enough to argue against palpable satire, we might ask him what substantial fault he has to find with Mr. Alf's literary staff. Since books (and very worthless books) of history, philology, science, poetry, and politics are written, is it not desirable to have Joneses who have special qualifications for passing judgment upon them in the various departments? or should we leave it to some popular novelist to measure their merits for us? Again, conceding Mr. Trollope's fancy that the "erudition" of critics comes from facility in consulting cyclopædias and the like, is it not a service to the public to expose, even by their aid, the pretensions of books which can err in the matter of such easily accessible knowledge? That the errors are really errors is what it concerns the public to know; how they were discovered is of little consequence.

To return to our general estimate of Mr. Trollope's work, it is marvelous that, writing so much, what he writes should be so uniformly good. Nevertheless it is certain that, while he produces at the rate of two or three bulky volumes a year, we can expect no more such novels as "The Last Chronicle of Barset," "Barchester Towers," and "The Small House at Allington." We would suggest, too, that his most plausible feud would be

with the artists rather than the critics. Of course he could not know beforehand that such pictures would be interpolated into the text of "The Way we live now; " but we think we could name several previous works of his in which the engraver has dealt far harder with him than even the Evening Pulpit.

READERS of the JOURNAL are already so familiar with Christian Reid's work that it is unnecessary to dwell at any length upon its special qualities. "A Question of Honor " (New York: D. Appleton & Co.), her recently-published novel, is the most elaborate she has written since her first two, and, if it shows no decided advance upon the standard therein established, it is at least equal to them in point of literary merit. Few of our novelists have a purer ideal than Miss Reid, few rely so little on sensational incidents and melodramatic "effects," and fewer still have command of so vivid, flexible, and polished a style. Her dialogue at its best possesses the spontaneity, ease, and aptness of genuine conversation, and scarcely ever loses its naturalness of tone. Quite often she exhibits a true insight into character, and an instinct of personality which enables her to individualize distinctly her various dramatis persona. Almost the only serious deficiencies of her work are, exaggeration and a total lack of humor. Of course no sane critic demands that novelist shall neither rise above nor sink below the level of average people and every-day events; but a novel which departs widely from the very human experience which it proposes to depict, loses almost the only quality that gives it a raison d'être. Now Miss Reid's good people are a little too good, her foolish people a little too foolish, her refined people too refined, and her "chivalrous" people too chivalrous, to recall to our minds what we know of actual life. She has probably never encountered a real, orthodox villain, and she has the good sense and the good taste not to attempt to create one; so that her bad people are seldom too sinful to purchase the reader's forgiveness on easy terms. A sense of humor is more valuable to an author for its negative influence, probably, than for the positive advantages which it confers. Had Miss Reid possessed it, for instance, we are certain that "A Question of Honor" would have been different in many respects from what it is now. The very point on which its plot hinges would have been presented less nakedly, and there is no important character in the book whom its chastening hand would have left untouched. Even in matters of style its influence for the better would be felt-for one thing, it would induce Miss Reid to discard utterly the use of the word "chivalry" and its derived adjectives, and the word " knight" with its derivatives. It would require an elaborate treatise on the social differences between our own day and the middle ages to explain why the word "knightly," when used in describing a well-meaning young man, causes us to smile at him instead of to revere him; but the fact that it is so should be sufficient to eliminate it from the vocabulary of ordinary descriptive terms.

It is plain, we hope, that in speaking thus of Christian Reid's work we are applying a rather higher standard than it is customary to apply to current fiction. Compared with the average novel that claims our attention weekly, it is as unexceptionable in point of art as it is wholesome in tone and interesting in story.

THE Contemporary novel is devoted so exclusively to subjective study of character, or to delineation of the social circumstances which produce bigamy, seduction, forgery, and the other highly-civilized vices, that a tale like "Harwood" (New York: E. J. Hale & Son), with its deer-hunt, its panther-fight, its solitary and revengeful Indian, its swordduel, its mottoes and coats-of-arms, its haunted trees, and digging up of buried treasure, seems old-fashioned and out of date. Perhaps it is this very novelty of method and of inciIdent which constitutes the chief attraction of the story; but its plot is dramatically conceived, and the narrative portions at least animated and well written, and it holds the reader's attention with a firmness of grasp which it seems difficult to account for when we lay down the book and come to analyze its contents. In truth, however, "Harwood" is a good specimen of that objectively realistic species of fiction which Poe carried to such perfection in his short stories, such as "The Gold Bug;" and it is simply in masquerade when it puts on the paraphernalia of a novel. The interest is confined wholly to the narrative, the personal adventures, the unraveling of a piquant mystery; the characters are a conventional collection of lay figures, and the dialogue, love-making, and the like, could hardly be made more perversely unnatural. We do not wonder that the author found it impossible to comply with the publishers' sugges tion that his tale should be lengthened. He would have found it much easier to cut out half the included matter; and, if the cutting out were done judiciously, the story would be greatly improved in an artistic sense.

Besides the narrative proper, " Harwood" contains a half-dozen preliminary chapters, in which the author professes to relate his experiences with various editors and pub. lishers in his efforts to get the book published. These chapters were confessedly added merely to increase the bulk of the vol. ume, and the questionable taste of the performance is not disguised by their egotistic frankness and "smart" style. We advise whoever may be attracted to the book by our notice to begin with "Herbert's Journal," and this advice is given as much in the interest of the author as of the reader.

woman, who, looking back over her past, yields to a longing to "write the story of that past, so that when the evening comes, and the companions of my life have dropped away from me, and I wait alone till the time comes for me to go to them, I may not be quite alone, having them with me still in what I can remember of them." This sentence from the introductory chapter strikes the key-note of the story as to both substance and style; for the narrative is one which might really have been written for her own satisfaction by a refined and cultivated lady, whose life had been spent "far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," whose experience had scarcely transcended the bounds of the domestic affections, but who had passed beneath the chastening hand of sorrow. Skillful as it is in construction, however (and few fictitious autobiographies maintain the illusion more perfectly), the strength of the book lies in its character sketches. None of the characters are distinctly new, perhaps, though we do not at the moment recall a prototype of Mr. Leslie, the retired mathematician and student of science; but the special relations and circumstances in which they are placed are sufficient to individualize them clearly. "Tyne" (Eglantine), for example, belongs to a not unfamiliar type of heroine, yet the tenderness, the reserve, the entirely feminine stand-point from which she is here revealed to us, give her the freshness and charm of an entirely original creation. The same may be said of Miss Leslie, the narrator, of John Elphinston, the curate, and of Joe Rollekins, the coast-guardsman, who, out of somewhat conventional types, are gradually converted into persons whose complete individuality it is not at all difficult to concede. Eglantine," in short, is a good illustration of the kind of success which may always be achieved by an author who is satisfied to aim at what is clearly within her power to perform, and who respects that aim sufficiently to spare no pains in carrying it out. It is in no respect a great novel; but it is thoroughly good of its kind, and will add to the reader's stock of "harmless pleasure."

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THE quarterly reviews have now begun to indicate their (presumably weighty) opinion of" Queen Mary." The Quarterly, analytical | and mildly laudative throughout, says: "To sum up our opinion of 'Queen Mary,' we are inclined to think it the best specimen of the literary drama which has been written in our time. It is, at least, admirable in form. It is better than Mr. Browning's dramatic studies, which have no form at all. It is better than The Spanish Gipsy,' which has a hybrid form. It is better than Bothwell,' as it has more backbone, and less of the enormous volume and verbosity which, we think, would always prevent Mr. Swinburne from achieving success as a dramatist. Of the dramatic spirit, in the Shakespearean sense, the play, as we have said, has nothing; it lacks the personal interest which might recall the genius of national action, and excite the ardor of patriotism by the representation on the stage of great historic examples. It is guilty, too, of the blunder, at once historical and dramatic, of making a heroine out of Bloody Mary. Of course, it will be acted. Tib and Joan will appear in miraculously accurate costumes of

the period; Aldgate will be very 'richly decorated; we shall be delighted with the exact representation of Lambeth Palace and St. Mary's Church; and a popular actress will doubtless draw tears from sympathetic eyes when she exclaims that she has slain her Philip!' It will be acted, and then, like all plays that want the soul of action, it will disappear from the stage. But, as an intellectual exercise, as a scientific study of abstract motives, as a stimulant of those subtile ideas which the luxurious modern imagination delights to substitute for action, as a monument of ingenious and refined expression, in all these points Mr. Tennyson's drama may long continue to afford pleasure to the reader. And more than this, at a time when the tradition of the poetical drama has been forgotten on the stage, it would perhaps be idle to expect."

THE Paris correspondent of the London Daily News gives a bit of entertaining gossip about the habits and occupations of M. Thiers. "There is nothing the matter with M. Thiers," he says, beyond his seventy-eight years. His health is excellent, his spirits are elastic, and his activity is unabated. He is on foot between four and five in the morning. On getting out of bed he takes a cup of chocolate. He then runs about the garden, looking at the flowers, visits the greenhouse, and goes to see his horses. After doing this he ascends to his library, on the first floor, to work at his desk or to classify his papers. M. Thiers has several literary irons in the fire. He is still engaged on his philosophical treatise, and he is writing memoirs. A History of Modern French Art" is also said to be in course of progress."... The Athenæum observes that

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...

young poets are apt to be low-spirited, not to say disdainful of happiness and regardless of mirth." . . . Two new and important documents relating to Shakespeare have been discovered lately. One is said to show conclusively that there was no substantial foundation for the scandal concerning the poet and Mrs. Davenant, of Oxford; and the other is a quarto volume containing six plays issued during the life of Shakespeare, including the first edition of "Troilus and Cressida." Some of the best European novels are being translated into Spanish, and published under the title of "Biblioteca de Buenas Novelas." Works by Hendrick Conscience and Xavier de Maistre have been selected to begin the series. . . A rumor which will delight all true lovers of literature is to the effect that Mr. James Russell Lowell will begin to publish next autumn eight or ten volumes of English plays and poems, from Marlowe to Dryden, which he has undertaken to edit. The first volume will probably be devoted to Marlowe. . . . Dr. R. B. N. Walker, who has been ten years located at the Gaboon, and with the French expeditions, is now on his way home with the intention of publishing his twenty-five years' experiences in Equatorial Africa, during which time he has visited nearly all the colonies and countries on the West Coast. . . . The poet Seidl, author of the Austrian national hymn, "Gott erhalte unsern Kaiser," died at Vienna on the 18th of July. . . . Mr. Swinburne is said to be writing an article on Beaumont and Fletcher for the "Encyclopædia Britannica."

...

Miss Braddon is writing a new novel, entitled "Dead Men's Shoes," which will be published in various English, Irish, and Scotch journals. Translations of the novel will also appear simultaneously in France, Germany, and Russia. . . . Portugal has lost one of its few successful poets and writers by the death of the Condé da Castilho. The count, who

died at the age of seventy-five, lost his eyesight in early youth, but was nevertheless an indefatigable student, and during the half-century that intervened between his death and the occurrence of the calamity which brought on his blindness he devoted himself to the study of classical and modern poetry. Among his numerous works special attention is due to his translations from Ovid, Goethe, and Shakespeare, while his collection of original poems, entitled " Primavera," many of which treat of blindness are very highly esteemed by his countrymen. . . . A public library has recently been established at Yeddo for the use of both natives and foreigners. It is open all the year round, from 9 A. M. to 5 P. M., except on national and general holidays. Readers are allowed to make excerpts, but are not allowed to borrow books from the premises without the special permission of the Minister of Education. . . . The tireless Mrs. Oliphant begins a new novel in the August Macmillan, entitled "The Curate in Charge." . . . The new sixpenny English monthly, entitled The London Magazine, of which our London correspondent, Mr. Will Williams, is editor, will contain in its first number articles by Henry J. Byron, Charles Gibbon, Edmund Dicey (editor of the Observer), Charles H. Ross (editor of Judy), William Sawyer, Dr. N. C. Bennet, Harvey S. Leigh, Austin Dobson, Frederick Locker, Lady Duffries Hardy, William Black, and Hon. Rodney Noel-certainly a goodly array.

The Arts.

HE Inter-States Industrial Exposition

Tat Chicago is announced to open Sep

tember 10th, and the display promises to be unusually comprehensive and fine. In addition to the exposition of the industrial products of the West, it will embrace a large collection of paintings, sculptures, and other art-objects. Last year the art display, which was organized under the direction of Mr. Henry W. Derby, contained nearly six hundred works, the majority of which represented foreign names, and were selected from the best private collections in this city. The galleries for the exhibition of art-works in connection with the exposition building are six in number, and have skylights, and are in every respect admirably adapted for the purpose intended. This year the organization of the exhibition has been placed under the control of Mr. Stafford, who has made it his aim to give it more of an American character than the corresponding display had last season, and, with that object in view, he has secured the coöperation of Mr. R. E. Moore, of Union Square in this city, and Mr. William H. Beard, the animal-painter. By well-directed efforts they have already sent forward upward of four hundred works of art to Chicago. Of this number, at least three hundred and fifty have been contributed by New York owners, both artists and collectors, and a large proportion of the paintings represent American names. The arrangement of the exhibition is under the direction of Mr. Beard, and the plan is to form groups, so far as pos sible, of the works of the leading artists. Although the works of our New York artists will largely predominate in the exhibition, those of Boston, Philadelphia, and other lead.

ing Eastern cities, it is anticipated will make a fair show. The Chicago artists have been allotted one gallery for the exhibition of their own works. Among the New York artists whose contributions are to be grouped is Mr. E. Moran, the marine-painter, who sends as his tour de force a large picture entitled "The Missing Ship." It is a twilight scene, with a great, cumulous cloud hanging over the horizon-line, and rising apparently out of the billowy sea, and "the missing ship" appears sailing on her unknown course in the dim and fading distance. Mr. Moran has given considerable thought to the composition of this work, and its expression of poetical sentiment will find many admirers. Mr. Moran also sends a view in New York Bay during a rain-squall, which is very spirited in its rendering of the effect of a short, chopping sea; and lighters, sloops, and other small vessels, scudding before the gale. De Haas, as his leading composition, sends a view in the British Channel, under the ef fect of a stormy sky; and a moonlight at sea, with vessels in the foreground, and a strong effect of soft, mellow-toned light shimmering on the water. Mr. Cropsey contributes one of his large autumn scenes on Greenwood Lake, with the forests upon its banks glowing with the crimson and golden tones peculiar to the season. From Mr. McEntee's easel there is a midwinter snow-storm, with figures portrayed with more than his usual force and impressiveness; and Mr. Casilear contributes a view of Lake Brientz, Switzerland, under the effect of a silvery-toned sky, and the rugged features of the mountains on the distant shore, softened by atmospheric influence, which is introduced with marvelous subtilty and the most refined feeling. William Hart, George C. Lambdin, Frederick E. Church, James M. Hart, S. J. Guy, Albert F. Bellows, William T. Richards, A. H. Wyant, Eastman Johnson, William Magrath, J. B. Bristol, and J. G. Brown, are also well represented in the collection. The exhibition, we have every reason to believe, will be creditable to American art, and its influence upon art-culture at the West will no doubt prove salutary.

THE Committee on the Sumner Monument in Boston offered the sum of five hundred dollars for the three best models for it, but without engaging to use any of them. As a result, twenty-six models of Mr. Sumner are now on exhibition in the new post-office building of that city, and are quite interesting from their variety. The committee limited the pose to a sitting figure, and as such the subject is represented in the models. They have been made by artists from every quarter, and are of various degrees of excellence, two or three being conspicuously good above the rest. In most of these models reference is made, by the presence of colored people about the pedestal of the statue, to his connection with the slavery question. Mr. Sumner's figure and bearing when he was standing erect were very imposing, as everybody will remember, and, on this account, by restricting his posture to a sitting one, the committee have deprived the artists of their strongest advantage. Sitting, the

senator's figure in these models is, in most cases, insignificant, and, with one exception, is commonplace. A pleasant, easy form, in one instance, looks as if listening to an animated conversation. In another, considerable dramatic action is expressed in his head half turned round, as his eye glances at a manacled slave who is stretching toward him from behind. This figure is the only one in bronze color in the collection, and, while it is vicious so far as real art is concerned, has more than any of the others to raise it above the level of the portrait of an ordinary gentleman sitting for his likeness.

In the pedestals a great deal of ingenuity has been shown, the one of the model most easy and most like Mr. Sumner being particularly pleasing. We have sometimes alluded in the pages of the JOURNAL to the eminent features of the African race for art-treatment. The artist here has seized on these capabilities, and, in a procession of colored people in bass-relief around the pedestal, he has depicted a scene of almost Greek and Arcadian innocence, where the freed slaves, with their children and lambs and goats, are garlanded and dancing in happy freedom.

SOME pictures at Goupil's are worthy of attention. One by Bouguereau is the more noteworthy from the fact that it was painted several years ago, and shows in its treatment the conscientious feeling which belonged to his earlier work, when he was painting more for fame than for money. The subject represents an Italian peasant-woman seated in a reclining attitude upon the leaning trunk of a great chestnut-tree, with two naked children playing upon the mossy-carpeted earth before her. The children are caressing each other, and their action is watched with pleasure by their sweet but sad faced mother. There are few artists who are the equal of Bouguereau in the treatment of this class of subjects. His drawing is excellent, and he throws around his groups an atmosphere of delicate refinement which appeals to every heart. In the painting of the flesh there is both a tenderness of tone and a transparency which reminds one strongly of his work in the picture of "The Twins" in Mr. Belmont's collection, which was also executed eight or ten years ago. Of CompteCalix's work there is a landscape with figures. It is one of his best efforts at figure-painting, and one in which the landscape is kept thoroughly subordinate. The scene is laid in a French park, and a pretty and spirited-looking bonne is shown in the foreground holding on to the skirts of a little truant boy and applying a switch vigorously to his bare body and legs. He has been playing on the bank of the pool of water which is shown beside the group, and his ball and hat are floating away with the current. The pet dog belonging to the little truant is barking vigorously as the bonne plies her switch, and in the distance the ladies of the château are hurrying to the scene, their steps hastened, no doubt, by the lusty crying of the boy. The composition is graceful, and as a study of figures, in connection with a dark-wooded background, it presents many excellent qualities. Boutibonne, who is celebrated for his

parlor-pictures with studies of modern costumes, as well as the exquisite finish he gives to them, has a Swiss mountain-scene with a party of young ladies and gentlemen taking a ride in a great open traveling-carriage. It is what may be termed a foreground picture, as the carriage and its pretty girls and their escorts take up the whole canvas. There is the same care shown in the drawing and painting of the figures and costumes which is so attractive in Boutibonne's interiors, but the composition is too elaborate apparently to be real. Its coloring is extremely brilliant and as harmonious as a poem. The collection also embraces a Pompeian interior, with the figure of a graceful girl hiding behind the lintel of an open door as if awaiting the coming of a friend. There is a greyhound crouching at her feet, and other accessories which add to the interest of the composition. The coloring is rich, and is strongly suggestive of Cooman's work. There are works by Wyant, Ch. Jacque, J. G. Brown, Baugniet, and other eminent names, which are also worthy of attention.

THE buildings erecting for the Museum of Arts and the Museum of Natural History, one within and one upon the border of Central Park, are not likely to prove ornamental to our pleasure-ground or to satisfy cultivated taste. It is a matter of surprise as well as vexation that structures from which we have all hoped so much should prove absolute architectural failures. Like so many recent up-town public buildings, they are constructed of brick with granite trimmings -a contrast of tones peculiarly raw and unpleasing, which should have been specially avoided in view of the numerous conspicuous warnings the architects have been giving; nor is the form of either of these museum-buildings picturesque, noble, or inspiriting. They both have very much more resemblance to factories than to edifices devoted to art and culture. That an institution like the Museum of Art, the sole purpose of which is to cultivate taste and afford instruction in the arts, should deliberately house itself in a shapeless and ugly pile of discordant material, is something to be greatly wondered at, and specially so in view of the wellknown art-taste of the president of the institution.

A CRITICISM by the Neue Freie Presse on a new statue by the Italian sculptor Monteverde is as follows: "The art-critic Stendhal wrote in the year 1828: 'Can sculpture represent Napoleon as he gazes over the sea from the cliffs of St. Helena, or Lord Castlereagh at the moment of his suicide? Were that possible, Canova's successor would be found.' Stendhal intended by this remark to point out impossible material for the sculptor's art. The question has since then been answered in the most brilliant manner by the modern sculptor Monteverde. We had, at the Vienna Exhibition, an opportunity of admiring his 'Jenner.' No one had thought it possible to treat the act of vaccination artistically. Monteverde has accomplished the impossible, and fulfilled the task. His latest statue, Labor,' is another masterpiece in this direction; he has succeeded in expressing in the figure of a strong man