NATURE THE SCHOOL OF ART.* THE THE first quality with which the observer must be struck, is the infinite variety of form which pervades creation. On attempting to reason concerning it, he perceives its dependence upon the functions of each object, and what the component parts of each object are ordained to fulfill; hence he will at once recognize the fact, that form is in every case, if not dependent on, at least coincident with, structural fitness. When the complex flower is submitted to the test of a scientific botanical examination, no particles are found to be adventitious, all are concerned in fulfilling the appointed functions of vegetable physiology. As those functions vary with the growth of the plant, so in every case does its form-changing from tender bud to blooming flower, and from blooming flower to reproductive seed-pod, as each successive change of purpose progresses. Infinite variety and unerring fitness thus appear to govern all form in nature. While the former of these properties demonstrates her infinite power of complexity, the latter restrains the former, and binds all in beautiful simplicity. In every case ornament appears the offspring of necessity alone, and wherever structural necessity permits, the simplest lines in every case consistent with the variety of uses of the object are adapted. Thus, the principal forest trees, which spring erect and hardy from the ground, in their normal state, uninfluenced by special conditions of light or heat, shoot straight aloft, with boughs equally balanced on all sides, growing so symmetrically, that a regular cone or oviform would, in most instances, precisely define their outline; and thus the climbing plants, from their first appearance, creep along the ground in weak and wayward lines, until they reach something stronger and more erect than themselves; to this they cling, and from it hang either vertically or in the most graceful festoons; to each its character of form as of purpose-to each the simplest line consistent with its appointed function and propriety of expression. While a consideration of the quantity of fitness binds us to simplicity, that of From an admirable lecture by M. Digby Wyatt, Esq., "On the Principles which should determine Form in the Decorative Arts," delivered at the Society of Arts, London. variety, as if in counterbalance, conducts us to a just recognition of the value of contrast throughout the works of creation. Simplicity becomes appreciable only when opposed to complexity, while complexity itself will, on analysis, be found to consist only of the combination of parts, individually, of extreme simplicity. Mr. Owen Jones will, doubtless, have much to tell us respecting the beautiful laws of the simultaneous contrast of colors; so we may for the present content ourself with noticing the parallel effects produced in obedience to the laws of "simultaneous contrast of form." The researches of Mr. Penrose have lately developed many of these most interesting phenomena; and have not only demonstrated the fact of the scientific acquaintance of the Greeks with their peculiarities, but have shown how essential an attempt to apply such knowledge has been to the production of those exquisite monuments which, from the first moment of their creation to the present time, have maintained a position of unquestionable supremacy over every other work which human art has yet produced. The general result of Mr. Penrose's investigations tends to the assumption that no two lines can come in contrast with one another, either in nature or in art, without the direction of the one acting, either attractively or repulsively, upon the other, and tending to diminish or exaggerate the mutual divergence of both lines, i. e., to increase or lessen to the eye the angle at which they meet. Thus, if to a perfectly horizontal line another be drawn, meeting it at an angle of six degrees (about half the angle at which the inclined sides of the best Greek pediments leave the surface of the cornice), it will be difficult to convince the eye, as it traces the direction of each line, that the angle has not been materially increased by an apparent deflection of the base line, and an apparent elevation of that with which it actually forms an angle of six degrees only. In order to remedy this apparent distortion in their monuments, the Greeks have given entasis, or swelling, to their columns, inclination of the axes of their pillars toward a central line, a tendency outward to their antæ, and exquisite convex curves to the horizontal lines of their cornices and stylobates, which would otherwise have appeared bent and crooked. Nature, in working out her harmonies of contrast, abounds with similar optical corrections. The infinitely gentle convexity of her water sky line is precisely corrected into perfect apparent horizontality by contrast with any line at right angles to a tangent to its curve. It is by attention to the optical effects produced by the impact of lines upon one another in nature, that the artist can alone store his mind with the most graceful varieties of delicate contrast. Thus it is alone that he can appreciate the extreme beauty of her constant, minute, and generally inappreciable divergence from the precise mathematical figures, in approximation to which simplicity demands, as we have already shown, that her leading forms should be modeled. TOO MUCH BRAIN WORK. LAMAN BLANCHARD-KIRKE WHITE. PERHA ERHAPS among the modern victims of overwork Samuel Laman Blanchard merits special notice. Like Byron, Laman Blanchard had a predisposition to cerebral disorder. At an early age he experienced a paroxysm of suicidal excitement; in the earlier part of his life he abstained wholly from animal foodan undoubted mark of eccentricity to the eye of the physician, whatever vegetarians may say or think; and it was during an acute attack of cerebral irritation that he perished. It was ushered in, however, with the usual warnings. When eking out his income by "a constant waste of intellect and strength," his wife was seized with paralysis, and became subject to fits. His vivacity now failed him, and he became subject to deep depression of spirits. "His friends, on calling suddenly at his house, have found him giving way to tears and vehement grief, without apparent cause. In mixed society he would strive to rally; sometimes with success-sometimes utterly in vain. He has been obliged to quit the room to give way to emotions which seemed to arise spontaneously, unexcited by what passed around him, except as it jarred, undetected by others, upon the irritable chords within. In short, the nerves, so long overtasked, were giving way. In the long and gallant struggle with circumstances, the work of toil told when the hour of grief came." Amid all this, his constant thought was of fresh literary enterprises; a "limèd soul" he was, yet not struggling to be free. So VOL. II, No. 2.—0 long had he toiled that the image of toil literally dogged him. He chalked out schemes more numerous, and even more ambitious, than any in which he had before indulged. Among the rest he meditated "a work upon the boyhood and youth of eminent men," (we quote his biographer,) "on which he wrote to consult me, and for which I ransacked my memory to supply him with anecdotes and illustrations. He passed whole days-even weekswithout stirring abroad, writing and grieving as it were together." In this short sketch, how clearly the psychiatric practitioner recognizes the premonitory symptoms of cerebral congestion-how deeply he grieves that no warning voice was raised, no helping hand stretched forth to snatch him from the abyss, upon the verge of which he evidently stood. The rest followed quickly. Intolerance of light—an attack of hemiplegia-imperfection of vision-spectral illusions terrible forebodings of some undefined calamity-violent delirium-suicidal impulse-and then the act itself. We once more quote his biographerbecause some apology is due to our readers for this harrowing history-for the moral. "Thus, at the early age of fortyone, broken in mind and body, perished this industrious, versatile, and distinguished man of letters. And if excuse be needful for dwelling so long upon details of a painful nature, it may be found in the deep interest which science takes in the pathology of such sufferers, and in the warnings they may suggest to the laborers of the brain when the first ominous symptoms of over-toil come on, and while yet repose is not prescribed too late." Laman Blanchard was the biographer of a kindred sufferer-L. E. L. Her history, also, is not without an emphatic warning; but we forbear to dwell longer upon this painful subject. There is one other result of mental labor which, however, deserves notice-namely, that in which the horrors of confirmed hypochondriasis afflict the toiler. This shows itself, not merely in the common form of weak fancies as to the bodily health, or in unaccountable gloom, but also in a less understood form, in which the judgment. is weakened, and the individual gets committed to some intellectual folly in science and literature, religion or politics. The man is not actually insane, or, if insane, 66 there is method in his madness; but his all. the fate of Southey to suffer at the close of his career from the same causes which arrested the course of the two brother poets whose sufferings he related, namely, Chatterton and Kirke White. Chatterton was an illustration of the indigent littérateur perishing by his own hand; White of the student ambitious for academical honors, perishing at the moment of victory. While still an articled clerk at the age of eighteen, we are informed by his biographer that, after the ordinary duties of the day, he "allowed himself no time for relaxation, little for his meals, and scarcely any for sleep. He would read till one, two, three o'clock in the morning; then throw himself on the bed, and rise again to his work at five, at the call of a larum, which he had fixed to a Dutch clock in his chamber. Many nights he never lay down at It was in vain that his mother used every possible means to dissuade him from this destructive application." His health soon sunk under these habits; and his constitution experienced a shock which it never recovered. During his first term at Cambridge he had to try for a university scholarship, as well as to pass the general examination. "Once more he exerted himself [for the latter] beyond what his shattered health would bear, and he went to his tutor, Mr. Catton, with tears in his eyes, and told him that he could not go into the hall to be examined. Mr. Catton, however, thought his success here of so much importance, that he exhorted him with all possible carnestness to hold out the six days of the examination. Strong medicines were given him to enable him to support it; and he was pronounced the The first man of his year. But life was the price which he was to pay for such honors as this; and Henry is not the first young man to whom such honors have proved fatal. He said to his intimate friend, almost the last time he saw him, that were he to paint a picture of Fame crowning a distinguished under-graduate after the senate-house examination, he would represent her as concealing a death's head under a mask of beauty." In his letters, Kirke White gives sad glimpses of the state of his mind while at Cambridge. He was overwhelmed, previously to his examination, with melancholy. "I wandered up and down," he writes at the close of 1805, “from one man's room to another, and from one col Perhaps the overworked student is as familiar an instance of the fearful results which follow on excessive mental culture, as the overworked literary man. universities and colleges afford numerous examples, and it is somewhat difficult to select one from the number. It is of importance to remember that the glaring instances (such as that of Henry Kirke White) are not the most instructive or the most frequent. For one victim who sinks down in the heat of the battle, amid the sympathies of an admiring public, two or three are doomed to a life of dull mediocrity or intellectual imbecility. violent effort may not have induced insanity, or any obvious disease of the intellect, yet, from the time that it was accomplished the student ceases to labor as was his wont, and the early promise of talent and usefulness is effectually defeated. It was The lege to another, imploring society, a little 66 | THE CHRISTIAN BANKRUPT. costial, so that the merchant who UR corrupt world often defiles even the professes Christianity is sometimes disposed to think that trade cannot be carried on in connection with religious principles. On this account the laws of the State are adopted, instead of those of the Bible; and if any man, by his want of skill, or by the vicissitudes connected with merchandise, becomes unable to meet his engagements, it is too often enough to satisfy him, that the law has made provisions for his release from permanent inconvenience. The true Christian, if we mistake not, will always distinguish between the law of man and that of God, and in the event of insolvency or bankruptcy, will esteem it not merely a duty, but a high source of happiness, if the providence of God will ever enable him to pay his creditors the last farthing of that which he owes. Such were the feelings and conduct of my venerable friend of thirty years ago, W whose name and memory are still fragrant with all who knew him, and whose example is a precious legacy to Christian merchants. The piety of my friend was early, and so became eminent. While he was yet comparatively young, he was surrounded by the cares of a numerous family, and the anxieties of a large business connection. For a long series of years all was prosperous-his income was good, his reputation high, and his domestic and Church connections were happy. Like Job, under the influence of security which ought never to have been cherished, he might perhaps have been ready to say, "I shall die in my nest." But when he had reached the age of nearly threescore years, reverses came. Merchant after merchant failed largely in his debt, the prices of many articles in his possession suddenly fell, and he found that Christian integrity claimed that his creditors should become acquainted with the condition of his affairs. I was present when he first stated the facts to his own family. They were assembled for evening worship; the Bible and psalm-book were placed on the table as usual, and the whole household, including five adult sons, were around him. The first appearance of the father, as he walked from the office adjoining his house to the parlor, indicated |