occupied by the stately mansions of the governors and merchants of former days; and there is only here and there a house or a church left from which our children may possibly derive an idea, if they should wake up to the deficiencies of our time. It is much to be feared, that the shops, houses, churches, and public buildings of every kind, will grow worse and worse, with the crowding of population and the increase of riches. This will certainly be the case, unless men of wealth and taste are found, who will take an interest in the subject, and put forth strenuous efforts for reform. In Downing we have lost an early and discerning friend of this rich art, who was contributing largely, and would have done more, for its progress among us. But others are left, and we do not despair of the future, though we have so little to boast in the recent past. It is a very curious anomaly in our national character, that architecture has not flourished among us as an art; for it deals largely with those externals, showiness in which is the very besetting sin of our race and nation. Expensive as it is, its costliness can scarcely be the reason of the slight regard in which it is held; for during the last hundred years fearful sums of money have been lost upon the unmeaning or hideous edifices which everywhere offend our eyes. The want of educated taste, if not the absolute want of discernment, must be acknowledged; but we will express the hope, that erelong our public will learn that the cheapest edifices may have fair proportions, which will cost as little as the monstrous abortions that now cumber the ground. We have architects among us, both native and foreign, who are abundantly competent to correct the faults and deficiencies abounding here, and who are longing for the opportunity to exhibit their talents and acquirements in their noble profession. Let them not lose courage. Better things will come.

Would that it were possible to feel as much consoling hope on the last topic to be discussed, that we could discern any prospect that the existing generation will enjoy native productions in that finest of the fine arts, in which we are most entirely and most lamentably deficient as to culture, and even as to the natural power of discernment. If this people is ever to understand and love music, it can be only after the

lapse of some generations or centuries. What else could be expected where in some persons ignorance of an art, in others contempt for it, and in yet others conscientious scruples about the effect of it upon character, were all operating upon a people whose "bone was yet in the gristle," and who had been deterred by errors and misrepresentations from even learning what music is, and what are its legitimate effects? It may sound strangely at first, but it is an indisputable truth, that music, as an art, does not exist in this country; that is, among Americans. Who are your professors and proficients in any branch of the art? Germans and Italians. Scarcely an American knows how to blow a fife or to roll a drum. The ladies, to be sure, play the piano, but for the same reason, though by no means with the same enjoyment, that they dance the Polka. It is fashionable to know "a little something" about music; but as to playing for the natural, innate love of music, who ever heard of such a thing? Yet if everybody did it, and enjoyed it, we should still be greatly and lamentably deficient in this most fascinating of all arts, while we are unable to point to a single native author of eminence. There is something incongruous and queer in the combination of the words, an American musician! An American musical writer! We know there is such a thing. We have heard of an opera or two written by Americans, and we know one or two Americans who compose secundum artem. But when shall we have a school? When shall we have musicians who shall be as much distinguished in their profession as Longfellow, Bryant, and Prescott are among the writers, or as Allston and Crawford among the artists, of all ages? It is almost too wild for a dream. And yet there are symptoms of a change. The love of the art is increasing, together with the respect paid to it; and fashion, frivolity itself, is slowly preparing the way for a feeling which must pervade the public before the highest results will be produced. We are beginning to be discriminating in our taste, and though our range is not yet very wide, our judgment is really better than could have been supposed possible. This rather shows the adaptation of the art to human nature, than the cultivation of our nature in the art; but, at all events, it proves

susceptibility, and out of that any degree of proficiency may come. We are hopeful, even of the progress of music, among us; and if we do go into it with the ambition and efficiency with which we have pursued the other arts, we shall one day, and that perhaps no distant day, have our own Mozarts, Beethovens, and Rossinis, and enjoy their music with the same proud and luxurious feeling with which we now boast of our patriots, statesmen, painters, poets, and sculptors.

We are not ambitious of having our countrymen spend their lives upon the practice of an instrument, and acquire a certain degree of skill upon it, while they remain ignorant of everything else, as we have seen, with regret and disgust, is often the case with European professors. There is something better than skill upon the violin or piano, attained by years of toil, and by the sacrifice of every other idea and feeling. Let the practice of the art be left to those who have the original, natural inclination to it. There will one day be a sufficient supply of such native artists, if they are allowed to follow their inclinations, and are not deterred from it by the contempt of the community. It is a strange thing to say, that the public despise one of the most profound as well as most delightful studies that can exist. But it is unfortunately true. They do not know how much science, what extensive knowledge, both of men and things, and what skill in many arts, are necessary to enable a man to succeed as a composer of music. It is not with that as with some other things that can be patronized and promoted by individuals. It requires the support of the whole public, at least their appreciation and sympathy. It rarely happens that an individual can order a musical composition, and if one did, it could be only for the gratification of the public. Who is magnificent enough. to order a symphony, as he would a picture, for his own private use? This is one of the arts especially adapted to our country, where the public is everything, and the individual very little except as he constitutes a single atom of the great mass; and we live in the hope that the day will come when there will be sufficient appreciation of the divine art among us, to render it possible for men of genius to devote themselves to it with confidence and with zeal. Having witnessed

within our own time wonderful progress in things both useful and ornamental, we feel a conviction that there will still be progress in other things, in all things that are desirable and necessary to a people, especially to one so separated as we are from others. If we were immediately surrounded, as each nation of Europe is, by kindred nations advanced and advancing together, some in one branch of attainment and some in another, there would be a tolerable certainty of progress in all. As it is, we must, of necessity, find the impulse for every improvement within ourselves, and perhaps the rest of the world will have a little consideration for us on this ground, and will not laugh at us more than we can bear, because we do not quite come up to our own standard. We should despair of our progress, if we had not a mark beyond our present attainment. And here is our great discouragement in respect to the arts in which we have confessed our deficiencies. We fear that there is not a sufficient perception of our wants to stimulate improvement. Yet, as we have intimated, we will not despair. There are symptoms, faint to be sure, of future progress, and we have seen so many and so great improvements in the half-century which we count as our term of life, that we cannot find a place for the word despair in our vocabulary.

ART. VI. — History of the Reign of Philip the Second, King of Spain. By WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. Vols. I. and II. Boston: Phillips, Sampson, & Co. 1856. 8vo. pp. 618, 610.

UPON the appearance of these volumes, we were led to defer an extended notice of them, because we were told — on insufficient authority as it seems-that the remaining volumes were to be issued at a very early date. But, apprised of our error, and regretting that we became aware of it too late to retrieve it in our last number, we are unwilling to postpone any longer an expression of the pleasure with which, in common with the universal press on both sides of

the water, we hail each of that series of masterly historical works which have made the name of our countryman classical and immortal. The peculiarity of Mr. Prescott's success is, that it is clear, undisputed, cordially conceded everywhere, and has been from the first. This fact is so remarkable, that it is well worthy of being carefully considered. Like every other effect, in the moral as well as the physical world, it has an adequate cause. If we can discover that cause, we not only account for the particular result in the instance before us, but we find the path that will lead to a similar success those who may adventure in the same field of literary labor.

There are certain points in the case of Mr. Prescott's writings, strikingly distinguishing them from most of those belonging to the same class. They are, in the strictest sense of the term, historical works,-not political, not philosophical, but historical only. The pages exhibit to the mind of the reader the events they narrate and the characters they portray, and nothing else. No man, we think, could conjecture, or find any clew to, Mr. Prescott's personal and private theories of morals, religion, or government, in any part of any one of his historical works. He has not connected the topics he treats with any party or sect or school, with any fashion of thought or habits of speculation of his own, or of his country or times. Most other writers of history leave everywhere the traces of their own particular notions and prejudices, and present their facts and personages to view through the medium of their favorite views of government, or philosophy, or religion.

The only element that can preserve an historical work from decay, is pure, absolute, unmixed truth. That alone can effectually embalm it. Any varnish which the writer adds, drawn from his own fancy or his own theories, or from the prevalent speculations of his party, sect, or school, while it may render its aspect more pleasing and attractive for the time, will only hasten its dissolution, and doom it to surer oblivion. Certain histories of high celebrity in their day have lost their value, and to a great degree their interest, in consequence of having the personal prejudices and biases of their authors thrown around them, to such an extent as to destroy the confidence NO. 172.

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