tion which the beholder can now experience, even at the most happy moments, is but dim and passing, compared with the fire which must have filled the souls of the authors of those works, and should inspire all who seek to fix the highest movements of the spirit, whether it be in marble or on canvass, in music or in words.

Can any man, at this day, by studying the beauty of the antique statues, or filling his memory with the charming fables of Greece, so far penetrate, if I may use the expression, from the surface to the core, so far enter into the feelings of their authors, as to put himself in their place, and so work out again a new creation of his own, having life, and speaking to the souls of his fellow-men? Impossible! and, if it were possible, in a great measure useless, for those whom he would address could not understand him. For a Grecian statue, we must not only have a Grecian sculptor, but a Grecian public; a few men of education, taste, and feeling, might appreciate such a work, could it be made, as they do the antique; but, at best, it must fall far behind the latter. What the artist should strive to do, however, is, to address the public, not a few men of educated tastes; to awaken feelings of the sublime and beautiful as widely as possible; to elevate as large a portion of his fellow-men as he can reach, by acting upon their higher faculties.

Now, every man of brilliant imagination and feeling heart has ideals of his own, connected with the faith and sentiment of his time, and his own spiritual state. There he must seek for inspiration, or fail to reach it. It must come from the works of God, spread before him in nature, in the intercourse with his fellows, and the study of his own soul, and not from the works of men long since passed away, who had other feelings and modes. of thought than his, drawn from sources which he cannot command. It must, in short, be a part of his life.

This truth has been long since acknowledged in painting and poetry. No one would now attempt a poem on the loves of the nymphs, or the achievements of the heroes. The best poets of the age depict the beautiful and tender, which lies hid from common eyes, among the scenes of our every-day life, and reach the sublime, by appealing to that reverence for the unseen which still inhabits the breasts of all men, although so much obscured by the selfishness of the age. Why should it not be so in sculpture? Why continue to talk of the "severe" style as the highest? meaning, thereby, an imitation of a style but partially understood.

It is often said, that the age of excellence in sculpture has gone by; that our present life offers no field for the sculptor; that costume, and indoor life, and all the fashions of the time, are barriers which cannot be surmounted.

All this must be taken with great modifications; and, if it were true, it cannot better the matter to hunt after other men's thoughts. We do not, however, believe that it is true. The statement, that the dress of the day is fatal to sculpture by concealing the outward form of man, is based upon an assumption we can never admit; that is, that the perfect imitation of that form is the chief aim of the artist. No doubt some ages are more propitious than others to the development of art in general, and to that of particular forms of art, and we are not disposed to affirm that the present is a very favorable moment; but we believe it to arise from other causes than awkwardness of costume, and we are far from believing that sculp ture, or any other art, has yet attained the point of excellence to which it

may be carried by man. There are elements, and those among the highest in our nature, which have been but rarely introduced into sculpture, and have never fully exerted their influence.

When the present leading elements of civilization shall have run through a certain course in the useful arts and sciences, perhaps a period of bloom in the fine arts may return, when faith and simplicity shall again get the ascendancy, and an expression be given to a new and higher Ideal. Meanwhile there is always within the reach of genius sufficient, in the nature of life about us, to inspire the chisel or the pencil, nor is there any reason why the ungraceful costumes of the day need interfere.

Mother Eve, the statue of whom, lately modelled by our distinguished countryman Powers, seems to win the admiration of all beholders, although the first woman still forms, and always must, a part of the present. She will always be our mother, the type of womanhood, and find a home, as such, in our hearts. While avoiding all imitation of the ancients, we need not therefore lack subjects fitted in the highest degree for sculpture, nor lose sight for a moment of the difference between the romantic and picturesque creations of the fancy, so charming on canvass, and the more simple, elevated, and chastened style which belongs to the higher ef forts in sculpture. To reach the latter, it is by no means necessary to aim at the classic, in the sense in which this term has been usually applied to sculpture.

What can be more elevated and beautiful than Flaxman's figure of "Resignation," on the monument erected by Sir Francis Baring over the remains of his wife? If such subjects are few, it only shows, we think, that but few attempts of the kind ought now to be made. The artist can only properly express what is there, in his heart, pleading for expression, and the scarcity of such subjects shows that most artists, in this age, should confine themselves to lower walks of the art, in which there is much beauty and feeling remaining to be brought out. Every poet cannot write an epic, nor every sculptor carve a hero, ancient or modern. We are happy to see it stated that Mr. Crawford has already chosen several subjects for bas-reliefs, not open to the criticism here attempted, and we doubt not that his genius will readily point out to him many such.

P.

SALUTATION TO COTEMPORARIES AND SUBSCRIBERS.

IT has long been a debated point in good manners, whether a new comer should pay or receive the first visit. I prefer, in sign of good will, to take the former course. This number is sent, therefore, to many who have not subscribed for it, and to fellow-editors. If my call is returned, I promise a welcome. If the card is sent back, I shall intrude no more.

First, then, Brother Reformers! God speed! The hope of the Reign of Heaven brightens. From high and low are heard the commands of a stern, yet easy Ethics, personal and social. The profound maxims, sowed centuries ago in human hearts by the Son of God and the Son of Man, begin to bear fruit a hundred fold. "Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be the servant of all," will soon be the only test of greatness; and the New Commandment, "Love one another," the sole badge of Christians. War, and legalized murder, and the punishment of the unfortunate -neglect of the young and the ignorant, of the tempted and fallen-the

unjust apportionment of drudging toil to the many, and of large gains to the few-the ruin of bodily and mental health by excesses, and monotony of labors, by cares and indulgence-black and white slavery of all kinds and degrees the enforced selfishness of our isolated modes of production and distribution-the ambitious overreachings of religious and political demagogues-the weary and wasting collisions of nations and classes, and all social evils, are yielding beneath the influence of stronger faith in God's present inspiration and providence, and a warmer respect for man. Let us receive the baptism of a holy and hopeful humanity, with a fullness that shall purge away our personal prejudices, our self-will, and love of power. Let love tune the voices which controversy makes harsh. Let puritan rigidity, transmitted from our sires, unbend before the courteous manliness of a freer age. Let our zeal be of the sunshine, not of volcanic heat. Let us outgrow evil by living goodness; and melt opposition by confidence, which will be generous while just. The Watchwords to-day are, prayer, study, and reconciliation. Piety will make us humble though brave; philosophy will give at once patience and practical skill; and away with the spirit of dictation and excommunication, Candor is not compromise; tolerance implies no timidity. In this wide field, waving white for the harvest, there is room for all manner of reapers and gleaners. The laborers are only too few.

Next, oh! patient and persevering friends of the daily press, who, week by week and month by month, through long years, draw cool water from the spring, and spread tables of refreshment for the dusty wayfarers, will you bear with an idler, who, retired from the party questions of the hour, may seem to some of you to be dreaming of Utopia? Would that I could bring your tact and facility of expression to the advocacy of reforms, more practicable, as well as efficient, than the political measures which attract so constantly your readers' regard. The radicalism which the Present urges would grow from the root up; the revolution it wishes to hasten is peaceful as the process by which the crag becomes a rounded hill; the social reorganization it advocates is a truer union of the order and freedom already partially existing, and which all the tendencies of our age are aiding to enlarge. In every movement fitted to secure the rights of labor, and a more equitable division of profits-to disseminate more widely opportunities of culture and refinement-to advance the various classes of our communities to that level, where each and all may prove what they are in mind, energy, and character, and receive the honor due to their powers of usefulness, or aid for their infirmity-to cleanse our land from pauperism, crime, and degrading influences, and bind nations in one by reciprocal justice, the Present will be with you a faithful fellow-worker.

And lastly, oh! bright coterie of Weeklies and Monthlies! who fling wreaths and scatter flowers, and sow the earth with tales, verses, and bril liant essays, let me come among your revel with plain dress, and say some friendly words of Yea and Nay. I believe with you, that smiles are manlier than sorrow, and cheerfulness a fitter sacrifice than gloom. He truly lives in the Present, who can let in the fresh air of hope upon sick hearts, and spread blossoms of joy before the fainting eye. It is well that mirth should tune down to concert pitch, sometimes, the tense strings; that humor should blunt the keen arrows of necessity. Gladness is healthful. True! But frivolity is not. Let us go to work with a song; but let us not forget to work. Let evil never subdue courage; but let us never mock at or slight

wrongs which exist. Who, that is disinterested, can be light of heart, while the thousands around us are crushed to the dust under burdens of care, and want, and oppression. How the literature of the day everywhere is hushing its voice to solemn strains of actual life. Pour, now, the freshness of your buoyant tempers into the channels of Reform. Our land and age summons all from fiction to the romance of reality. We have poems of Manhood and Society to write in facts upon these mountains and plains, and by these mighty rivers. The Young America should be prophets of justice, heroes of peaceful industry.

And now, kind subscribers, you can judge of this periodical. Much as a performer preludes on his instrument to show its compass and to test how far it is attuned, have I rapidly touched some of the topics, from which fuller harmonies may be drawn. You are not invited, however, to hear solos on one or several strings, but rather a concert. I do but strike the key note and mark the time. There is good reason to expect the constant aid of writers, who already command the public ear. In these days of licensed puffery it might be more prudent to announce their names. But they shall introduce themselves. Friends! more than one have objected to the title of this monthly on the ground of its double meaning. They fear that the Present will be taken literally to mean a present. Certainly it would be ominous of a scanty purse to offer thus a paper as a gift. But there is small chance that any editor will be suspected of such mad generosity. As our business is to be conducted strictly upon the cash plan, and as its accounts are to be cleared every month, I must u ge the promptest payments. If now you are pleased with the proposed ob. jects and the spirit of this little monthly, let me enlist your aid to give it a wide circulation.

The Present! did we but appreciate the fact that days and moments are gifts from eternity forever renewed. In longings for blessings past, in discontent with transient imperfection, in dreams of future deliverance from ills which it is our privilege to subdue with good, shall we grieve the Angel Hours who offer us fresh fruits from the tree of life? Truly to live in the present is to enter heaven, or rather to welcome heaven to dwell in us.

W. H. C.

TO THE SUBSCRIBERS OF THE PATHFINDER.

THE editor of the Pathfinder, since the announcement that his paper would appear in a monthly form, has made an arrangement by which his interest has been transferred to Mr. Wm. H. Channing. Those persons who have already paid for the publication, will be supplied with the new series until the time of their subscription, at the rate of $2 per annum, expires; while the paper will be sent to those who have not paid, in the hope that they will be induced to make an immediate payment. The reputation of Mr. Channing for ability, and independence of mind, is a guaranty that the paper will be conduct. ed with manliness, talent, and industry. We solicit from our friends their warmest support of the enterprise.

SUBSCRIBERS TO The Health Journal and Independent MAGAZINE will please remit their subscriptions to W. H. Channing, if they desire to take the Present in place of those periodicals. Those who owe for past volumes are desired to remit what they owe to Joseph A. Whitmarsh, at Dow & Jackson's, Boston.

THE PRESENT.

VOLUME I.

OCTOBER 15, 1843.

NUMBER II.

CALL OF THE PRESENT.-No. 1.-SOCIAL REORGANIZATION.

BY THE EDITOR.

MOST men, whatever their professions, are actually atheists, as regards any conviction or feeling of Divine agency in human societies. They believe in the influence of Nature upon national destinies, because the evidence is so palpable to sense, that geological formations, the quality of soils and minerals, the breadth and depth of rivers, sand-locked or open coasts, climates, indigenous productions modify the stature, complexion, temperament of men, and give direction to their energy. The horse and camel are not more in keeping with the steppes of Tartary and the deserts of Africa, than the shifting tents of the nomad, and the long-stretching lines of weary caravans. The surface of a country, the electric effects of an atmosphere, degrees of heat and light, show their power in elasticity or sluggishness, monotonousness or versatility of mind and spirit. Mountains, half gloomed in fog, half glowing in the sun, breed superstitions, and people their shaggy sides with lurking phantoms. India's vast mytholo. gies are in harmony with the rank growth of its vegetation, the fierceness and ample size of its animals; while the marble temples of Greece glisten in the bright air, symbolizing the gay temper and quick wit of those children of genial skies and beautifully-varied landscapes. The most careless, indeed, see, that material conditions would decisively control a nation's efforts, were it not for the presence of still higher causes; the power of tradition, of neighborhood, of the past acts of humanity. And so this second fact, of the influence of ancestry and alliance with other states, is too apparent for the most superficial students of history to overlook it. The deeds of dead ages re-sow themselves in maxims, memorials, forms, institutions; virtues and crimes, which sweetened or poisoned the air of forgotten races, still bear their fruits of peace or strife. The energy of one grand nature melts in its own mould the sympathies of whole peoples; and spiritual children bear the stamp of their sire's features to the latest , generation. When will the Arab lose the impress of the half deluded, half wilful enthusiasm, of the mingled sternness and voluptuous excess of the prophet of Mecca? And still more affecting to the imagination are