1. Negative Theology.

2. Neutral Theology.

3. Ambiguous and Elastic Theology.

4. Popular Theology.

It is said that if this institution is opened, classes will be formed for each of these four general divisions, and all be started at the same time. And it is presumed that all orders for ministers to suit very peculiar churches could be filled from some one of these four classes. If the order be specially particular, it is thought it could be met by some twists and turns of an elastic man under the manipulations of one of the professors, who is to have a special eye constantly on churches without a pastor, or likely soon to be. The professors are expected to make up the young men into ministers according to the theology of their respective departments, to which theology they will subscribe without any expressed or mental reserve, when they enter on the duties of their office. If, however, any church cannot be satisfied by a candidate from any one of these four classes, it is to be presumed to be a heretical church. For accepting neither a negative theology, nor a neutral theology, nor an ambiguous theology, nor a popular theology, a church could not be esteemed orthodox.

While the "Boston Review" does not intend to commit itself on this project, for or against a new theological seminary, we will suggest one advantage that will probably arise from its founding. furnish a standard of orthodoxy. The triangular and the five-pointed systems are not acceptable and successful, and the angles therein have been so sharpened and blunted and curved to suit profound and progressive men, that it is difficult for one who wants to be orthodox to tell precisely what he wants. The error, we submit, lies in the unscriptural foundations of those systems. This one proposed is patterned after the pure church, the New Jerusalem, the symbol and model of a pure religion and its faith.

“The city lieth foursquare,” — ἡ πόλις τετράγωνος κεῖται. And so the theological system for this new seminary has its four scriptural corners or points. Here bursts forth some of that new light from the Bible, of which Robinson spoke to his departing church and of which we have heard so much of late in public places.

We are to have the standard at last. A man who cannot agree to these four points, negative, neutral, ambiguous, and popular theology, is not orthodox. For this is a scriptural theology; it "lieth foursquare." Liberal and yet Scriptural, this system meets the spirit and wants of the times. But as we have said, this Review will not commit itself on the question.

The only difficulty that we foresee in the working of this plan of study, is connected with the age of the pupils. Some churches are indifferent on all points except the age of the candidate. They insist on his being young. And this is quite a consideration now when we settle men for life. To provide for this contingency we would suggest that each class have some young men in it, not over fourteen years of age.

ATTENTION has lately been called to the "Brahmin Caste of New England," described in the "Professor's Story" in the "Atlantic Monthly." The "Professor" represents the caste as made up of those who, like himself, are descended from "scholarly" ancestors, and as comprising nearly all the "great scholars" and quite all the elegant scholars of the land.

Perhaps he and his clique deserve to be called "Brahmins;" but we hope not. Newcomb's "Cyclopædia of Missions," sub voce "Brahminism," says: "The Brahmins . . exalt themselves above every other class of their countrymen. They are arrogant, subtle, avaricious, deceitful, selfish, and vicious. They make great pretensions to learning and sanctity, while they are really ignorant, and exceedingly dissolute and destitute of principle."

Similar is the testimony of all competent witnesses. We cannot deny that the Professor's clique bears some resemblance to the picture in some of its prominent points; but we hope the Brahminical character is not yet fully developed in them. However, let them be called "Brahmins," if they like it.

WE saw recently at the studio of Mr. George Howorth, 26 Kneeland Street, an exceedingly fine copy of the Madonna and Child by Raffaelle, known abroad as the "Granduca," from the fact that its present possessor, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, sets so high a value upon it that he keeps it always near him, and carries it with him in his carriage when he travels, lest some accident should happen to it. The copy is on panel, and was evidently made a good while ago. Mr. Howorth was about to transfer the picture to canvas. In Europe, that is regarded as a quite remarkable operation, and being very expensive it is seldom accomplished, and only in the case of rare pictures. The process is ingenious, and requires great care as well as mechanical skill. In the first place card-board, of considerable thickness, is pasted on the face of the picture and made to adhere firmly. The panel is then sawed across with a sharp saw, at distances of, perhaps, half an inch, great care being used not to cut quite through the

wood. The incisions thus made are intersected at right angles by a similar process, reducing the whole to blocks half an inch square at the top. These are split off with a sharp chisel. There is still a small thickness of panel remaining, which is slowly and cautiously removed with a very sharp instrument, exposing to view the adhering surface of the first coat of paint which was applied to the panel for a ground. The canvas is then applied and made to adhere firmly, and when dry the card-board is soaked and removed, and the process is complete. It is evidently too expensive a process to be often employed, and few operators are found who attempt it at all.

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Mr. Howorth has a method of his own which is perfectly successful without the smallest risk to the picture, and, at the same time, comparatively inexpensive. Not a few fine old paintings have been transferred by him, to the exceeding gratification of their owners. This is our own case; and so great has been our surprise and delight at his success, in this and sundry other operations, with pictures which had previously passed through the hands of artists in London yclept Restorers," that we have not ceased to desire for every possessor of such art-treasures an introduction to his studio. The man who saves a valuable old picture falling to decay, is, perhaps, as great a benefactor as he who produces a new one. Mr. Howorth is unquestionably a master in this line. To transfer from panel to canvas, or from old canvas to new when a painting is cracked in all directions and peeling off; to reproduce a missing hand, or an eye, or part of a mouth; to remove the spurious painting over of a "Restorer of a hundred years ago, and to restore the whole to its original freshness and brilliancy, so that it is hardly possible, by the ination, to find out what parts have been missing; parently, are accomplished by him with equal facility.

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Mr. Howorth's studio has, for years past, been to us one of the most interesting objects in Boston. We have seen more good pictures there than anywhere else, sent by their fortunate possessors from all sections of the United States, and from the capitals of the British Provinces, as well as from Beacon and Summer Streets; and we have seen, repeatedly, instances of restoration which have made their owners incredulous as to the identity of their treasures, so far surpassing all they had dared to expect. We have sighed at the remembrance of valuable paintings by the old masters, scoured and spoiled beyond the possibility of recovery, or daubed all over, by a wretched pretender, with new paint, till not a particle of the original work was visible. Such things we have seen at home and abroad, and partly from a wish to prevent their recurrence, and to rescue valuable treasures of art from destruction, we have penned this article.

BOSTON REVIEW.

VOL. I.-SEPTEMBER, 1861.-No. 5.

ARTICLE I.

GOD'S ARCHERS.

men young

A MISCELLANEOUS company of brought together by such a chapter of accidents as belongs peculiarly to an idle winter day in a New England village - were sitting about in a carpenter's shop on benches and bits of lumber whittling sticks and talking a variety of nonsense. A short, stout, dark-haired fellow sat on a higher bench than the others, and did not whittle, but grasped at both ends the wooden handle of an auger which he had taken up without seeming to know. it. He had an intelligent black eye, and a thoughtful and pensive - almost sad-expression of countenance. When he spoke, which was seldom, all listened, but his gravity was not relaxed, even when he provoked shouts of laughter from all the rest by what they considered his happy hits.

Presently there came in another young man whom they all knew. He had gone from the village Academy to College a few years before, and was then studying for the ministry at a Theological Seminary. His entrance suddenly arrested the stream of talk, and excited an interest and an evident satisfaction, which a stranger might have noticed without being able to guess the reason of it. The young men were thoughtless, and affected to be sceptical, while the student was a sincere and devout Christian. It might have been observed that the eyes of

VOL. I. - NO. V.

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the company were turned to the dark-eyed thoughtful young man with an expression of mischievous expectation. He understood, without seeming to notice it, and contrived to draw the Theologian, by a few quiet remarks, into an argument on Christianity. It was soon apparent that he was a sceptic and a champion. With an adroitness which was evidently the result of training, he pressed, point after point, the current infidel objections, till the Theologian, inexperienced and drawn too easily from his bastions by this guerilla warfare, became confused and baffled. The company applauded, the dark-eyed champion of infidelity was thoughtful and grave, while the baffled champion of the faith was silent and wept. This was confessing defeat, and the company applauded with increased vehemence but their champion did not smile. If they had watched they might have seen a sudden pang depicted on his countenance as if an adder had stung him. In a single instant, like a terrible earthquake, those silent tears had loosened all his foundations, and the fabric which he had been building up so proudly came tumbling with a crash of wild confusion about him that made his loins to shake. Yet all was comprised in a single conviction which darted like a burning ray from the face of God into his soul: "He is right, and I am wrong." All his cavils and questionings were only a spider's web now, that terrible ray from the face of God scorched them up in a moment. It set his conscience on fire, and he felt himself burning in a consuming heat, which nothing could extinguish. Day and night God's hand was heavy upon him; his moisture was turned into the drought of summer. He said with himself, that God might hear, "I will renounce my infidel notions ; I will admit that Christianity is true." It was in vain; conscience still gnawed him, like a worm, burned him like a flame. He determined to do another thing: he would go to the prayer-meeting, where his pious widowed mother had so often tried in vain to persuade him to go. He would, however, tell nobody the reason, nor should anybody know what was passing in his mind. To the prayer-meeting accordingly he went, but still in vain. God's fire was consuming him, his soul was filled with anguish. At last, when all his experiments had failed, and he could hold out no longer, he went to the Christian