1. The first unquestionably is the climate of the country; holding a middle place between the cold and unfriendly regions of the north, and the oppressive temperature of the tropics. No perfection, we believe, in any noble arts, has, in any age of the world, been attained in climates so hot, as to destroy the European complexion; and it is perhaps equally without example, that this perfection can be reached in any very high latitude. As all the experience of the world then points to the temperate zone, as the region of high improvement in the arts of civilization, so certainly there is no country, which so truly as Greece, may be regarded as presenting the happiest mean in this temperature. With respect to the art of sculpture, the favorable influence of a genial climate is perhaps more immediate, than in the case of any of the other arts. Statues exposed to the air, in a mild climate, do not suffer; they are neither weather-beaten by tempests, nor disjointed by frost; nor spotted with smoke. The Caryatides, which, till the recent bombardments, supported the portico of the temple of Erectheus, in the Athenian Acropolis, were, with the exception of what has been done by violent and barbarous hands, as fresh and beautiful as when first erected. The joints between the tambours, in the columns of the Parthenon, remain, for aught the weather has done, as close and almost imperceptible as ever.

But the immediate effect on the preservation of works of art is but the first of the modes, in which a genial climate promotes its progress. The same quality of climate leads to an out-doors' existence, not less propitious to the advancement of Statuary. In climates exposed to great vicissitudes, to violent heats and excessive colds, man is driven from the open face of day, to take refuge beneath roofs, and within the enclosure of walls. It is true, he can carry the works of art with him to these retreats, and in the progress of luxury, if not of refinement, this is done. The most beautiful productions of the genius and taste of the sculptor are then secluded within the recesses of palaces, and concealed in halls and galleries, which none but a favored few can approach. The Laocoon group was actually found at Rome, in an interior apartment of one of the imperial palaces, in a room, without a window or a skylight, and where it was only visible by torches to courtiers. But it needs not be said, that these are not the circumstances most favorable to the

growth of the art. It is not thus, that it can first operate on the public feeling, and then by a strong reaction advance itself, under the stimulus of a diffusive popular taste. Nor were the brilliant works of the best age of Greece thus secluded from the public gaze. They were set up on lofty pedestals, in the market-place, the home of the news-loving Greek. The images of the heroes, to whom the ardent imaginations of their countrymen assigned the honors of an apotheosis, stood, as it were, lifted on rich columns of porphyry and marble, toward the heavens they had gone to inhabit. Rows of statesmen, orators, and generals surrounded the public squares and the forum; a memento to the busy throng beneath of the character of their fathers. The friezes of the peripteral temples exhibited pompous sculptured trains of the men and the exploits, which history or tradition had commemorated. The pediments of the public buildings were filled up with imposing groups; marble statues stood aloft on the corners of the roofs, -on the very pinnacle. Pausanias assures us, that in sailing from Cape Sunium toward the Piræus, a distance of near forty miles, the mariner took for his land-mark the golden point of the spear and the glittering shield of that statue of Minerva of ivory and gold, a dazzling Colossus of thirty-nine feet in height, which Phidias had placed on the very summit of the Parthenon. If the opinion of the most learned writer on the temple of Jupiter Olympius, (Quatremère de Quincy) can be trusted, that noble temple was of the hypethral construction; the court in which the god sat upon his gorgeous throne, was open at the top; and nothing but his own heavens was permitted to cover the head of the father of men and gods. Such, beneath a mild, transparent, exhilarating sky, were the museums and galleries of Greece. The citadel of Athens was the exhibition-room of Phidias. The clear, elastic air and bright sun did for his statues, in the broad face of day, what must be effected in our climates, in closed halls, by blinds, shutters, ground-glass, baise doors, linen curtains, and every bulwark we can command against frosts, mildews, and east winds. This unrestrained exposure, open inspection, and daily intimacy, if we may so express it, with the most admirable works of art, must have produced and nourished a sort of indigenous taste among the Greeks, which becomes a rare accomplishment in colder climates, acquired under circumstances, in which a small part only of the community is placed.

Then we must consider the general effect on man,-senses and mind,—of a genial climate. This is a subject, on which the plainest truth will seem like extravagant romance to those, who have not, in their own experience, compared a northern and a Neapolitan winter. Whoever has compared them, and felt the excitement of the common sun, the air, the skies,' in one of the favored regions of the Levant, will agree with us, that no other stimulus, no cordial draught, no strain of music, no cheerful conversation approaches in its effect, to the animation imparted to the frame and the feelings, by the simple agency of a fair, clear day, a soft, elastic air, and a bright sun traversing the cloudless heavens, and kindling every thing into life and joy. It is not too much to admit, that such influences must produce a somewhat different race of beings from those, who live in regions, where it is as much as skill and money can effect to keep warm in winter, and cool in summer; where, for six months of the year, hands, limbs, and muscles are rendered comparatively useless, by the quantity of flannel, fur, cloth, and leather, that must be put about them. The organization of man is not so much less exquisite, than that of a grape-vine, as that, while the quality of the wine depends not merely on the country or province, but on the very acre of ground, on which it grew, the human organization should be indifferent to climate and region. On the contrary, we believe, that the diminutive and torpid Laplander, the thick-lipped, low-browed, woolly-headed African, and the blooming child of the Caucasian race, are all of one blood,' and that subsequently operating circumstances, (and particularly climate,) acting through a long succession of ages, have produced the difference, which we now witness in appearance, character, and capacity. Now the Greeks enjoyed precisely that climate, which seems most favorable to the production of those effects, whose magnitude in a lapse of ages is so astonishing. We will not further press the consideration, how auspicious it must be to the progress of the Fine Arts. If not yet convinced, we must be, by dwelling on the opposite effects of an unfriendly climate. Does any one think it strange, that the Greenlander or the Esquinaux,-toiling in the summer for his scanty supply of rank and odious sustenance, and laying up his oil and blubber and drift wood for a dreary polar winter, which is to be almost literally slept away, without any light but that of his lamp, in a cavern covered with ice, that never melts,-has never produced a work of fine art?

Does any one think it necessary to go beyond the climate to account for his not doing it?

It is true that, in modern times, for a reason we will state, this circumstance is less decisively operative than it was in antiquity. It is, in some degree, counteracted by the highly perfected state of international communication, mentally by means of the press, and physically, by the improved state of commerce. The extraordinary facilities of communication that now exist, have done much to make the distinction of climates in modern times less important than it was formerly. Of old, refinement was local; books scarce and dear; foreign languages little known; and the human mind in one place isolated from the human mind in almost every other. Arts were invented, and after a limited prevalence, were lost; discoveries and inventions in one region required to be discovered again, and re-invented in another. While the Chaldæans and Egyptians, from their lofty towers, were observing the heavens and calculating eclipses, the Greeks and Romans gazed on them, as a disorder in the sky, and searched the entrails of bullocks, to learn what they portended. The coast of Greece, on a fair day, is in sight of that of Italy; and yet, if tradition say true, the Romans were obliged to send ten ambassadors to Athens, to learn their Jaws. Such was the state of mental intercourse. And as to physical communication, it is sufficient to say, that the navigation of the high seas was wholly unknown. In this state of things, all the natural differences of character between nations, were much more strongly marked, and permanent. With our art of printing, and our mariner's compass, these differences are not a little softened away. Knowledge and art, discoveries and refinements, like staple products and fruits, are transported from clime to clime, with astonishing rapidity. Causes of improvement may be local, but their operation is diffusive. As in our high latitudes, we can furnish our tables with the pine-apples, the oranges, and the grapes of warmer climates, so the most unpropitious region may enjoy a considerable participation in the benefit of the mental energy, developed in the most favored spot. Within reasonable limits, differences of climate and geographical position, which were anciently of moment, have become comparatively inoperative. The press has carried refinement into the depths of the Hercynian forest. The banks of the Elbe boast their galleries and museums, second only to those on the banks of the Tiber; and in the

dreariest corner of California the solitary Franciscan monk collects about him, in his cell, all the stores of European learning. But with all the powerful influence of the press, in breaking down some of the old partition walls of nations, it is plain that there is a certain portion of the immediate operation of a genial climate, on the Fine Arts, the want of which the press can do nothing to supply.

2o. Connected no doubt to a certain extent, in their origin, with the mild climate of the country, were certain institutions and traits of manners, the operation of which was highly favorable on several of the Fine Arts, and among others that of sculpture. We refer here to the national games and the character of the gymnastic exercises of the Greeks. The assembly at the games, from every part of Greece, stood in stead of almost every other kind of communication and intercourse. In consequence of their organization and popularity, every thing was calculated for the hearing of the ear, and the seeing of the eye. This of course, to use a modern phraseology,-operated as a bounty on all the arts, that are connected with ocular inspection. With respect to sculpture, the fashion of the age and country associated it in the most important manner with these Panhellenian festivals. The favorite reward of the victor was the privilege of setting up his statue in the Olympian Altis.

When a great deed has been achieved in modern times, a gold medal is bestowed in a morocco case; the freedom of the city is given in a snuff box; or a vote of thanks is passed by Congress. In Greece, when a victor at the Olympic games came home to his own town, the city gates were not thought worthy to let him in; a breach in the walls was made to admit him; pompous sacrifices and games followed; and his statues adorned the market-place. Children were not left to spell out the history of their country or the exploits of their fathers, in compends and abridgments; but wherever they turned their eyes, in the hall at home, in the streets and squares abroad, it spoke to their senses; and awed and delighted them in brass and marble, twice the source of undying fame, once to the men, whose memory was thus preserved; and again to the artist, by whose genius this was effected. It is obvious, that the art, which was thus resorted to, as the last guerdon of merit, the crowning honor of genius, courage, eloquence, and success, could not but be brought to a prompt perfection.