others will affirm concerning the beauty or ugliness of an ob ject. We do not feel quite sure that an angel would always agree with us in a matter of taste, nor that it would be his fault if he did not. And we do feel quite sure that the fallen beings below us, though certainly not destitute of sensibility, would differ from us in matters of taste in many important particulars. We hardly believe that they are susceptible to the emotions of beauty at all.

For these reasons, and many more which we have neither time nor inclination to develop in this paper, we are decidedly of the opinion that Cousin is fundamentally wrong in his theory of the judgment of beauty, and that Esthetics must be a matter of the sensibilities, and, as such, limited in its method purely to observation and generalization of facts, and in its results, to the discovery of the means and conditions of producing objects that will please by exciting the emotions of beauty.

In this view both Moffat and Ruskin practically concur. And although both of them have some discussion of the philosophical principles and the primordial question which we have stated, and with which Cousin is chiefly engrossed, yet they, neither of them, seem to have seen quite to the bottom of those questions, or to have settled them on any clearly apprehended philosophical grounds. They are right rather from instinct than from philosophy; and both of them have produced delightful books.

As an exposition of the science of Esthetics, we consider Moffat's work as far beyond anything that has yet been produced. It is within the proper compass of a text book in schools and colleges, and, as we can testify, has been used in that sphere with the highest degree of satisfaction. It is sound, clear, methodical, concise, and carries the student along with the conviction, all the while present, that he is in the hands of a safe and able guide, and that he is learning at every step what not only pleases and satisfies him as he learns it, but what will be of great service to him in manifold ways at almost every step and stage of his life. It goes as far as science has yet gone, we think, in explaining the nature of the sensibility, especially with reference to the pleasures of a gratified taste and the means of producing that kind of pleasure. It is the

philosophy of that part of man's nature which underlies and determines the conditions of success and failure in whatever is pleasing, whether in style of writing and speaking, in manners, or in the fine arts. It is not without its faults; but seldom do we find so few in a book. And we think that if the Professor could give his mind to the subject, and use his own book as a text book in the recitation-room for several years, he might give us something as far in advance of this, his first production, as this surpasses anything that has preceded it.

Of Mr. Ruskin's works it is not so easy to say what one thinks. Doubtless they will mark an era in the development of Esthetic science, and will be read and admired when perhaps Prof. Moffat's will be regarded as antiquated. Moffat's work we read for the science it contains-the knowledge it imparts. And it is the fate of all such works, that they must yield, in the course of time, to those which contain more science and impart more knowledge. The progress of science makes this a necessary condition of all merely scientific works. In point of clearness, completeness, and accuracy, it doubtless far surpasses anything that Ruskin has written or can ever write.

And yet Ruskin's works are most remarkable productions. Few books can charm a reader like these. They are valuable, rather as works of art in themselves-produced by a thoroughgoing enthusiastic artist himself, than as expounding the science of art, or for the criticism on works of art, which they contain. We read them as we listen to the singing of some one whose voice charms us, not so much for the tune she may be singing as for the charm there is in the voice itself, and inseparable from it. Few men have had such a command of language as Mr. Ruskin; few, very few, indeed, have ever presented such a series of delightful sentences and images as are to be found on his pages. And everywhere do we find the profoundest thoughts, the keenest insight, the truest taste; and everywhere conspicuous over all, the most daring and heroic truthfulness to his own convictions and feelings. One could not read Moffat's work without becoming a vastly better critic of art. But in reading Ruskin he becomes something more than a critic. If he has any capacity or susceptibility in him for it, he becomes something of an artist. He cannot fail to

warm with the inspiration and glow of productive genius. And while Moffat, as we have just said, helps us to understand and to criticize, Ruskin helps us to create.

A leading object with Mr. Ruskin has been, to prove that Turner is the truest and best landscape painter of modern times, and perhaps of all time. But to confess the truth, we have cared very little about this issue-have taken no special interest in it. We think Ruskin's theory is mainly correct. But, as already said, it is not on Turner's account, nor yet for any theory of art which Ruskin may have adopted or rejected. that his works are by us held in the highest estimation. And such, we think, will be the estimate in which they will be held hereafter. It is for the keen insight, the great truthfulness of sensibility, and the wonderful power of description and expression everywhere manifest in his works, that Ruskin will ever be a favourite author with those who choose to read books relating to the Fine Arts. In such an author, whatever may be his theory, his pages will everywhere abound and sparkle with detached thoughts and expressions of the greatest value and rarest truthfulness. Nay, to such an extent may this be carried, that though his theory as a whole may be wholly wrong, yet in each part and detail, by itself considered, it may be incapable of improvement.

We had marked in our reading a good many passages for citation, but on recurring to them we find that we can do but little towards quoting them all; and the making a selection is not easy. Let the reader take as an example a passage that has not only struck us forcibly, but which we also regard as giving a key-note to a great deal in these volumes, not to call it the key-note to the whole.

We have now, I believe, in some sort, answered most of the questions which were suggested to us during our statement of the nature of great art. What difficulties may yet occur to him [the reader] will, I think, disappear as he either re-reads the passages which suggested them, or follows out the consideration of the subject for himself:-this very simple, but very precious conclusion, being continually remembered by him as the sum of all; that greatness in art (as assuredly in all other things, but more distinctly in this than in most of them,) is not a teachable or gainable thing, but the expression of the mind of a God-made great man,-that teach, or preach, or labour as you will, everlasting difference is set between one man's capacity and another's, and that this God-given supremacy is the priceless thing always just as rare in the world at one time as another. Vol. III.,

p. 145.

Of Cousin's book, though named at the head of our article, we have said but little. His works are too well known to need notice now. We have been a student of his works for something like twenty years, and a teacher of the subjects on which he has written for about half that time, and we confess to a constantly decreasing estimate of his value as a teacher on philosophic subjects. On Prof. Moffat we have bestowed, as we designed to do, very high praise. It will be long before we shall see a book equal to his for its specific purpose, delightful to all and admirably adapted for a text book, though not always reaching to the very bottom of the questions which he raises, and perhaps all the better for general use that it does not. Of Ruskin all that we have now to say is: Buy him; read him. No description can do him justice, and no amount of re-reading ever tires or satisfies the reader.

HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND SINCE THE REFORMATION.

NO. XIII. THE CHURCH BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

"Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble!"— Macbeth.

The records of the Church for some years to come are far from satisfactory. She was wounded in the house of her professed friends by the poisoned weapons of Erastianism, and assailed fiercely from without with all the desperation which heresy and schism could exert.

But let us first turn our attention to an amusing episode in which our friend Burnet figures conspicuously. He was admitted to Holy Orders in July, 1664, and appointed minister of Salton, in Haddingtonshire, in the following January. Не continued there some four or five years, and seems to have been diligent in his pastoral duties. He had done well had he confined himself to these; but a few months after his settlement, he must needs indite a "Memorial to the Scotch Bishops," which very naturally excited the utmost indignation on their part. He gives this account of it in that veracious production,

"His Own Times: "-" I laid my foundation in the constitution of the Primitive Church, and showed how they had departed from it by neglecting their dioceses, meddling so much in secular affairs, and, above all, by their violent prosecuting of those who differed from them." Now as to the neglecting their dioceses, Lawson shows that they all did reside, except Fletcher of Argyle (who had nothing to live on, because the sainted Marquis had thoroughly plundered the revenues), and (as is proved by abundant contemporaneous testimony) were assiduous in their Episcopal duties. He further shows, that even the two Archbishops were possessed of very scanty incomes, and that the revenues of the other Sees had been grievously dilapidated for more than sixty years before. As to the charge of prosecuting with too much severity, it also was an invention of their assailants. It was made their duty, by the laws of the land, to proceed against the contumacious and refractory, especially those who had intruded into the ministry without any valid ordination; but they seem to have executed this necessary but painful office with great forbearance and leniency. Burnet was summoned before the Bishops for uttering the libel, and pleaded, very ingeniously, that it could not be a libel, for that he had set his name to it! According to his own account, the Primate was glad to let the matter drop, and he triumphs mightily; but we have other accounts more trustworthy, which put the affair in a very different light. It appears that Burnet solemnly declared to the assembled Bishops, that he had not communicated the paper to a living soul, and they were at first disposed to let him off easily. But it soon came to their knowledge that he had sent several copies to his Presbyterian friends, and that others were offered for sale in the capital. This naturally excited their indignation and disgust to a high pitch, and he was in great danger of deposition. The excellent Bishop Scougal, however, interceded so earnestly for him, on account of his youth and inex perience (being only twenty-three), that the Primate and others consented to a milder sentence. He was compelled to appear before them and ask pardon on his knees, and was then dismissed with a severe reprimand. Though his natural confidence forsook him so completely, when taxed with his false