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N art's eternal warfare there are many champions, from the pedant who never looks at pictures to the preacher who cries out in the name of immutable beauty. In the case before us it is Mr. Charles H. Woodbury, eminent among Academicians, eloquent before amateurs, whose book, despite its sincerity and its obvious axiomatic truths, adds nothing to critical literature, and at best is but a record of unsystematic utterance. The professional teacher of painting is capable of anything—he cultivates the aphorism and startles by precept; his position demands that he awe and impress the neophyte. Talking continually, it is not surprising, since art in its primacy postulates the universal, that he should, at times, light upon statements acceptable to reflective thought; nor is it wonderful, being accustomed to the reverence of his auditors, that he should develop confidence and specious address. But he cannot, in this instance, by his dignified dismissal of the new movements, and by his discreet avoidance of combative adjectives, conceal his illiberalities and his pride in the old-fashioned school of marine painters which he certainly adorns.

It is evident that Mr. Woodbury has lectured with joy and honesty; he has conducted a class of young people into the open country and has revelled in natural beauties which he has been able to summon by the flourish of his hand, and his zeal has been transcribed into a volume. He is undoubtedly a good man for beginners, for whom he has valuable advice, especially in his ardency for nature upon which the new student's experiments must invariably be founded; but what he offers is not content for a book—rather is it material for creating enthusiasm in the class room. His discourses are wanting in any discoverable thesis—they are not profound enough to attract the mature artist.

As an example of his loose, predicatory remarks let us take his definition of painting, "A picture is a thought or a feeling ex-