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‫پرامن اور ایرانی و بردی ہے کا‬
THE
PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY
ETC. ETC.
‫به کار با ایران تی وی پر کی‬
THE
ETC. ETC.
LONDON
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO.
NEW-STREET SQUARE .
THE :
AS MANIFESTED IN NATURE, ART, AND HUMAN CHARACTER .
WITH A CLASSIFICATION OF DEFORMITIES .
AN ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS .
AND
THOUGHTS ON GRECIAN AND GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.
BY
MARY ANNE SCHIMMELPENNINCK

Author of ' Select Memoirs of Port Royal' and other Works.
EDITED BY HER RELATION
CHRISTIANA C. HANKIN.
“ Unto us there is one only Guide of all agents natural, and He both the
Creator and Worker of all in all, alone to be blessed, adored , and honoured
by all for ever ." HOOKER .
LONDON
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, LONGMANS, & ROBERTS.
1859
The right of translation is reserved .

“ The admiration of what is grand , awful, and solemn, - the love
of what is soft, elegant, and graceful, - the pleasure of what is new,
brilliant, and surprising, - are indigenous in human nature : hence
the three classes of beautiful expression which have found appropriate
utterance, by means of each of the fine arts, in every civilised age. ”
In compliance with current
copyright law , the University
of Minnesota Bindery
produced this facsimile on
permanent-durable paper to
replace the irreparably
deteriorated original volume
owned by the University of
Minnesota Library. 2006
into
PREFACE .
The Author of this volume gives the follow

ing account of the circumstances under which
her attention was first directed to the inves
tigation it contains.
It happened that being, as a child, resident
with a near relative, whose health required
great stillness, she was plentifully supplied,
for her amusement, with books of prints of a
superior class ; among them were many works
of architectural antiquities, ancient statues
and costumes, and likewise the French edition
Surray
of Lavater, which is remarkable for the phy

siognomic correctness of its outlines. “ The
books with which children are acquainted,
being but few , seldom fail to inspire them with
a lively interest.” Lavater was of all these
43
A 4
OCT
6
1043635
vi PREFACE .
the chief favourite, and the school-room of the

little girl soon exhibited a large collection of
profiles of the most frequent visitors to the
family, a large proportion of whom , at that
time, were persons of literary and scientific
celebrity. She delighted to travesty these
profiles with every variety of costume, and to
puzzle the originals with their own likenesses .
The different effects of the various costumes
were very apparent. It could not fail to strike
even a child, that while some completely dis
guised the individual or produced a burlesque
incongruity of appearance, others gave a new
and bold relief to the expression, and, as with
2
the touch of Ithuriel's spear, bade the true

character start up to light. The question
naturally occurred, whence could arise con
gruity or incongruity of expression between
the dress and the countenance : ; and the un
answered question soon extended itself to
other objects. When copying animals from
Buffon , or drawing from memory any object
which had struck her fancy, she would often
ask herself “ What can this lion, this oak tree,
PREFACE . vii
this Roman soldier, this Cheddar cliff have

in common with each other, yet they all pro
duce on the mind the same impression of
power ? Or again, this wild antelope, this
Grecian figure, this campanula, all affect me
with an impression of gracefulness, yet what
is there alike in the animal, the lady, and the
flower ? ”. The endeavour to discover a satis
factory solution to this problem occasionally
occupied her mind from the age of nine years
to that of twenty. It was not pursued long
without suggesting another observation .
The expressions which pleased her in the
various objects that struck her as beautiful
soon ranged themselves under two classes ;
those, namely, which were found alike in the
animate and inanimate creation, and those
which belonged exclusively to man , as an
1
intellectual and moral agent. While strength

may equally characterise the statue of Her
.cules, Alpine scenery, the figure of a lion , or
the giant limbs of an oak tree, the expression
which marks wit, judgment, sensibility ,genius,
can be conveyed only by means of a me
viii PREFACE .
chanism peculiar to man . It was manifest,

therefore, that there exist a universal phy
siognomy, the laws of which obtain equally
in the whole domain of created nature, and
a human physiognomy governed by its own
laws, and affording far more vivid sources
of interest and gratification both to the taste
and to the heart.
Occupied with these thoughts, the Author
occasionally entertained herself with making
observations on the subject of pleasing ex
pression in general, and of beautiful human
expression in particular. When she was about
twenty, she endeavoured to arrange her scat
tered pencil notes into a regular system, and
to illustrate them by sketches of examples
which had come under her notice. At this
time, however, she proceeded but a little
way in the execution of her scheme ; and
circumstances soon arose, which forcibly di
rected her attention to subjects of more serious
moment.
Some years after her marriage, her husband,
who possessed a cultivated taste for paintings,
PREFACE. ix
accidentally met with the unfinished MS .

Believing the main principles of the system
there sketched out to be true, and that they
might be useful in application to the produc
tions of art, he requested her to rewrite the
whole, and recommended her to be content
with illustrations which, though falling short
of her wishes, might be sufficient to render
her theory clearly intelligible.
The foregoing details appeared in an in
troduction to the work alluded to, which
was published in the year 1815, under the
66
title of " A Theory of Beauty and Deformity,”
but as it then stood, it soon ceased to be
an adequate representation of the Author's
views. Her mind rapidly opened to the over
whelming importance of truths which bear
immediately upon the moral and spiritual
relations of man ; and the intellectual results
of her early search after the true principles of
beauty became important in her estimation
chiefly, if not entirely, from the collateral
light they seemed to throw on interests affect
ing man as a moral and spiritual being. It
X PREFACE.
was her wish, accordingly, as the symbolical

meaning of beauty, in all the varieties of its
manifestation, burst upon her mind, to with
draw from the Public that work which con
tained only an intellectual system , and to
substitute for it one which , while setting
forth the same principles, should trace them
through their manifold forms fraught with
blessing and instruction , up to that eternal
source in the Divine mind, from which she
saw them to be the direct emanation .
The materials for such a work were care
fully prepared by her during the last years
of her life; but, through the weakness of ad
vancing age, she was unable fully to execute
her design. She left it, however, in solemn
charge to two of her friends, to see that at no
distant period after her death, these materials
should be arranged and given to the world .
Nothing has been added to the Author's own
MS., but some of the results of her earlier
investigations on the same subject are placed
before the reader in an introduction to the
present work .
xi
PREFACE .
We shall conclude this Preface with the

Author's own words on her death -bed, con
cerning the responsibility under which she
felt herself to lie with regard to this under
taking. “ I wish,” she said, “ to discharge
my trust as an author, in its full extent, to
Him who gave it. And I believe that trust
to have been to aid in the interpretation
of the symbolic teaching of God in His vis
ible creation , and to show to others what
He has taught me of the manner in which
we may make everything around us instinct,
as it were, with the anointing of that Spirit
which has been bestowed upon ourselves; how
we may imprint on our own domain of taste
and domestic scenery, those very same cha
racters of beautiful moral expression which
God has written on the face of nature."
1
Clifton , Way, 1859.

CONTENTS
THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.

!
INTRODUCTION.
Page
Of Beauty and the Standard of Beauty 1
Of the Influence of Association 8
PART I.
OF BEAUTY .
CHAPTER I.
Germinal Principles of the Beautiful, the Non -beautiful, and the
Deformed 17
CHAP. II.
Two Classes of Beauty : Perfect or Direct ; Imperfect or Re
flex - 21
CHAP. III.
Direct Beauty : the Sublime (Active and Passive ) ; the Beauti.
25
ful (Proper) ; the Vivid or Sprightly
CHAP . IV.
Reflex Beauty, or Order 36
CHAP. V.
51
Comparative Value of the various Styles of Beauty
xiv CONTENTS.
CHAP. VI.
Page
Adjunctive Modes under which the various Styles which belong
to Direct and Indirect Beauty are susceptible of Manifesta
tion 56
CHAP. VIL
Gradations of the Phases of Beauty.- Natural Phase. The
Wild . — The Picturesque.-- The Pastoral 64
CHAP . VIII.
Gradations of the Cultivated Phase of Beauty . - The Neat.— .The
Refined . — The Splendid.
The Neat 68
CHAP. IX .
Gradations of the Cultivated Phase of Beauty - continued.
The Refined • 71
CHAP. X.
C
Gradations of the Cultivated Phase of Beauty ,-- concluded.
The Splendid 93
CHAP. XI.
Suggestions for the Selection and Application of the two great
Phases of Beauty 98
PART II.
0
OF DEFORMITY .
CHAPTER I.
General Conditions of Deformity . - Preparation of Heart for the
Contemplation of Deformity . — Deformitics either self- contra
dictory or Travesties of the Styles of Beauty 123
CONTENTS. XV
CHAP . II.
Page
Travesties of the Active Sublime 146
CHAP. III.
Travesties of the Passive Sublime • 151
CHAP . IV .
Travesties of the Beautiful - 156
1
CHAP. V.
Travesties of the Vivid 161
CHAP. VI.
Moral Use of the Artistic Representation of Deformities - 164
CHAP . VII.
General Recapitulation · 173
PART III.
OF THE MATERIAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE

GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
CHAPTER I.
Objects ofthe Material World, Animate and Inanimate. - Laws
of Expression common to both. -Laws peculiar to Intelli
gent Animate Nature - 180
CHAP. II.
Inherent Laws by which Moral Expression in Inanimate Objects
is conveyed to the Mind through the Medium of the Senses.
Sense of Vision :- Form , Movement and Colour 195
a
xvi CONTENTS .
CHAP . III.
Page
Inherent Laws, continued . Hearing. Quality of Tone.
-
Pitch. — Mode of Succession . — Style in Composition. - Con

-
struction of Language 212
CHAP. IV .
Inherent Laws, continued. - Touch.-- Superficial Surface .
Texture . - Mass of Substance 227
CHAP . V.
Inherent Laws, concluded .-- Taste and Smell - 0
232
PART IV .
OF THE USES OF BEAUTY AND OF THE MORAL

MANIFESTATION OF ITS GERMINAL PRINCIPLES.
CHAPTER I.
Typical Use of Beauty. - Practical Results - 237
CHAP. II.
Manifestation of the Germinal Principles of Beauty in different
Phases of the Church of Christ 246
CHAP. III.
Manifestations of the Germinal Principles of Beauty in Human
Character.-Active and Passive Sublime in Christian Cha
racter . - Christian Heroes 250
CHAP . IV .
The Beautiful of the Kingdom of God ; or, the Merciful - 256
CHAP . V.
The Blessed Glad of Heart.-Ascription of Glory to God - 262
CONTENTS. xvii
ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS.

Page
INTRODUCTION 281
CHAPTER I.
Of the Temperaments - 294
CHAP. II.
Of the Active Temperaments 298
The Sanguine ib .
The Choleric - 302
CHAP. III.
Of the Passive Temperaments - • 306
The Melancholic ib .
The Phlegmatic 311
CHAP. IV .
The different Temperaments compared and contrasted • 314
CHAP. V.
Of the rendering of Temperaments in Portrait Painting - 321
CHAP. VI.
The same Principles applied to Historic Painting, Sculpture,
and Social Manners 335
CHAP . VII.
On the Combinations of the Temperaments 346
CHAP . VIII.
Examples of the Sanguine Temperament in its different Combi
nations 354
xviii CONTENTS.
CHAP. IX.
Page
Examples of the Choleric Temperament in its different Com
binations 361
CHAP. X.
Examples of the Melancholic Temperament in its different
Combinations 369
CHAP. XI.
Examples of the Phlegmatic Temperament in its different Com
binations 376
THOUGHTS ON ARCHITECTURE .
Introductory Remarks - 381
Grecian and Gothic Architecture compared - 386
LIST OF PLATES.
(ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS. )
The “ Choleric ” and “ Sanguine ” to face chap. ii. p. 298 .

>
The “ Melancholic ” and “ Phlegmatic ” to face chap. iii. p. 306.
The 6 Sanguine with Phlegmatic and touch of Melancholic and
Choleric,” and the “ Sanguine with touch of Phlegmatic ” to face
chap. viii. p. 354.
The “ Choleric- Sanguine-Phlegmatic,” and “ Choleric-Sanguine ” to
face chap. ix . p. 361 .
The “ Melancholic -Choleric- Sanguine and “ Melancholic -San
guine ” to face chap. X. p. 369.
The “ Phlegmatic -Sanguine and 65 Phlegmatic-Sanguine-Melan
cholic " to face chap. xi. p. 376.
THE
PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
INTRODUCTION.
OF BEAUTY AND THE STANDARD OF BEAUTY .
“ WHAT,” it may be asked, “ is Beauty ? ” One de

finition would be, “ That which gives pleasure to the
mind in objects of sense .”
The question will next arise,, “ What is that quality
common to all beautiful objects, which causes them
to give pleasure to the mind through the medium of
the senses? ”
Were we to put this question to different indi
viduals, we should probably receive as many different
answers ; and were the inquiry extended still further
to remote nations, or to distant periods of time,
opinions would be proportionally far asunder.
Answers so different at first appear difficult to
reconcile. To each one separately, the mind gives
its assent. Yet while the one seems true, the next
appears no less so. We feel ourselves susceptible
*
B
2 INTRODUCTION.
of being pleased alternately with oriental luxury,

feudal magnificence, and Parisian gaiety. But when
we analyse the constituent parts of these things,
each of which we have separately pronounced to
be beautiful, we are surprised to find them not
only entirely distinct, but in many instances totally
opposed.
Hence, in part, has arisen in certain quarters, a
doubt whether there be or be not any fixed standard of
Beauty,—and some persons have been led to conclude
that if there be any such standard in a given age or
country, it is a relative one, whose precarious ex
istence depends on prejudice or accident. But the
same observations open to us a different conclusion ,
and one at least equally entitled to consideration ,
viz., that the standard of Beauty, though real and
permanent, contains in itself more than one character
of beauty, and is capable of progressive development.
The error of previous investigations will then appear
to have been, that some one species of beauty has
been taken for the whole of Beauty itself.
We have given as the definition of Beauty, that it
is that which gives pleasure to the mind in objects of
sense ; but it is obvious that nothing but mind can
give pleasure to the mind. If beauty therefore give
pleasure to the mind, it must be because it expresses
some quality which belongs to the mind. But it is
requisite that beautiful objects should not only express
INTRODUCTION. 3
a mental quality, but that the mental quality expressed

a
should be such as to call forth agreeable emotions.

Deformity is, in like manner, the expression of
mental or moral qualities in objects of sense ; but in
Deformity, they are such as to excite painful or
hateful emotions.
If we would find the basis for a perfect classifica
tion of all the moral and mental affections of which
the created intelligence is capable, we must seek it
by an analysis of those necessary conceptions of the
Divine nature, from which all our notions of beauty
and excellence are derived.
And it will also appear, that all the varied forms
of beauty agree in this, that they suggest to the mind
of man , and that without any process of conscious
reflection, some one of the essential properties which
belong to the Divine Being ; and further, that such
objects call forth emotions in the beholder, cor
respondent to the particular character of that Divine
perfection which is thus presented to the mental
vision .
The several classes of these emotions are gradually
awakened in the mind of the individual, and succes
sively developed in the history of nations.
!
First in man's history as a civilised being, and first
in the history of each individual of his race, we find
a recognition of an active and of a passive principle of
external power. The human being first exerts its
B 2
4 INTRODUCTION.
faculties upon what is not only external to, but

greater than, itself,—the pleasure of the perception A
consists in the sense of a stability it cannot measure,

and of an energy it cannot comprehend. Indefinite
ness, incomprehensibility, are the first qualities which
are perceived in outward objects, —and we may be
ka
sure that the impressions of power, of something en
compassing it all round, which acts upon it, and
upon which it cannot act, are those which first reach
the infant, with the pleasing sensations of rest and
do
support, as well as those of wonder and awe.
The Sublime is the name we give to an impression
ex
of power beyond our control, and of which the cause
transcends our conceptions. 24
th
The Sublime is constantly receding before accu
rate knowledge and an enlarged experience. The
savage, untaught to look through the long chain of T
second causes which so often hide the face of God te
from civilised nations, sees the Sublime in all the

changes of nature. He hears the voice of the SU
Almighty in the roar of the winter's torrent, trembles st
at His anger in the rolling thunder, and shrinks be

neath His eye in the forked lightning. Thus is man
first attracted by impressions which rouse his hitherto
dormant faculties from the alternate apathy and sense
of corporeal wants incident to the earlier stages of P
his existence ; and in this attraction he is uncon
sciously arrested by the reflection of one of those SE
INTRODUCTION. 5
Divine perfections which are the basis of all our

conceptions of the Divine Being, and which it is the
perfection of created nature to apprehend through
His works, and to delight in .
But the infant is gradually awakening to the
knowledge that sympathy, as well as strength, has
its use and charm . He now understands the loving
pressure of the encircling arm , with as much satis
faction as he at first felt in the security of its en
closure.
A new class of impressions is now received from
.
external objects, suggestive of love; condescension

and tenderness ; and the mind, expanded to receive
the expression of another Divine perfection , has
unconsciously formed a new standard of Beauty.
The former standard implied the greatest stretch and
tension of feeling ; this springs from the state of
gentle relaxation and reaction which immediately
succeeds. The style of beauty founded upon the
standard thus obtained, is what is popularly termed
Beautiful, in the ordinary use of that word. We
shall find it designated in the following pages as the
“ Beautiful proper ."
The being which has been thus aroused by im
pressions of power, soothed and nurtured by those of
goodness, is now ready for action, ready also for fresh
stimulants to its own perceptive powers ; it enjoys
quick movement, a rapid succession of objects, and
B 3
6 INTRODUCTION.
startling contrasts. The babe begins to enter into

the efforts to entertain and amuse its senses with a
variety of sounds and objects. The mind is once
again unconsciously affected by the reflection of one
of those mysterious attributes of Deity to which its
own nature is as mysteriously responsive. Another
standard of Beauty arises upon it, which closes the
>
wondrous procession,- for what can go beyond this

last exhibition of love and power united in the effect
of creative communicated Life ? The style founded
on this standard of Beauty is appropriately called in
the following pages the “ Vivid or Sprightly ; ” - it
pleases by succession, brilliancy and contrast, and is
suggestive of repeated acts, whether of beneficent
causation , or of spontaneous fertility. It will appear
on attentive examination, that no beautiful object,
or, according to our definition of beauty, no object
of sense causing direct pleasure to the mind, exists
or can be conceived of, which does not fall under one
or other of these standards of Beauty.
We are susceptible, however, of another kind of
pleasure from the works of God, and one proceeding
from a totally distinct source, and belonging to a
different part of our nature.
The mind is capable of deriving a certain pleasure
from the appreciation of relations among different
parts of the same object or among different objects.
These relations are in fact adaptations of means to
INTRODUCTION. 7
ends, and are an exhibition of wisdom and intelligence

in the Divine Being — perfections, which from their
very nature can be apprehended by the human mind
only in their results. The sense of power, love,
and creative energy may be conveyed to the mind
under symbols, and become the objects of simple
perception ; but wisdom can be perceived only in
wise action, and can never become apparent with
out an act of reflection. Hence when the ma
terial qualities of an object convey the perception of
certain properties of mind, we may call the beauty
which pleases us “ Directbeauty ; ” when, on the con
trary, we perceive by comparing the purpose with
the plan of an object that the one is adapted to the
other and our pleasure is derived from the corre
spondence of an act of our own mind with an act of
the Supreme mind—the beauty may be called “ In
direct or Reflex. " Thus the beauty which man per
ceives in the organic works of God is of this kind
it is not addressed in the first place to his emotions,
but to his understanding.
The same object may exhibit both classes of
beauty. Thus the organic or indirect beauty of a
rose is quite distinct from its direct beauty : it
possesses both ; but the pleasure of the “ Beautiful ”
is felt at once in the sweetly smelling odours, the
tenderly shaded colouring, the soft texture and grace
ful contour , while the mind derives aa kind of secon
B4
8 INTRODUCTION.
dary or indirect satisfaction from the symmetrical

arrangement of the leaves, the proportion of the
upper foliage to the lower, and the correspondence of
>
one side of the plant to the other — and yet again

may open by increase of knowledge to a sense of
hidden relations and adaptations in the physical con
ditions of the plant, which will greatly deepen and
enhance the pleasure that belongs to the apprehen
sion of design. In reference to this source of pleasure
from nature, an acute observer has remarked -
“ As to our trees, I have not skill enough
to describe the mystery and enchantment which
modern sciences, whether of light, or chemistry, or
of vital growth, have filled them with for me. Their 1
leaves, as they rustle, seem to murmur of the half i

told secrets of all creation ." 1
d
OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION ON THE PERCEPTION 1
OF BEAUTY.
The power of an object to call up agreeable ideas

in the mind which beholds it, is that which consti
tutes it a beautiful object. It can do this only by d
virtue of certain laws of the human mind, which de d
termine what ideas shall be called up in connection t
with any particular impression on the senses. What ji
are these laws ? Why is one set or class of ideas
and correspondent emotions called up, rather than T
another ? How was the association originally formed ,

INTRODUCTION. 9
and on what does it depend ? If the associations

which lie at the root of the sense of Beauty are all
arbitrary and accidental, depending upon time, place,
and circumstance for their character, then can we
find nothing in any facts which belong to the per
ceptions of Beauty, whereon to found a permanent
and universal language ; then could it not be truly
said, even of the heavenly bodies, that “there is no
speech nor language where their voice is not heard.”
But it is sufficiently obvious that some objects
have a power inherent in themselves to excite
one class of emotions, but are powerless to produce
any other. The granite rock of ages, the volcanic
mountain, the storm -lashed sea, may justly be termed
inherently sublime ; because they necessarily and in
their very nature call up ideas of awe, and every in
dividual who has ever existed, or whoever shall exist,
will pronounce alike concerning them. There are ,
however, associations which depend on a totally dif
ferent set of laws. A well -known anecdote will il
lustrate this distinction. The philosopher of Geneva,
during his earliest and his happiest years, was one
day walking with a beloved friend. It was summer ;
the evening was calm and delightful. The sun was
just setting behind the noble tower of the church ,
its broad beams spread their attempered fires in one
vast sheet over the clear expanse of the lake, and the
painted skiffs that glanced over the transparent water
10 INTRODUCTION.
were tipped with vivid light. The two sat on a soft

mossy bank , and enjoyed the lovely prospect. At
their feet was a bright tuft of speedwell. Rousseau's
friend pointed out to him the little pretty flower, the
Veronica Chamædrys, as bearing the same expression
of cheerfulness and innocency as the scene before
them . No more was said . Thirty years elapsed.
Care-worn, persecuted, and disappointed ; known to
fame, but not to peace, Rousseau again revisited
Geneva. It happened that he one evening passed
by the very same spot. The scene was just the
same. The sun shone as brightly as before, the
birds sang as cheerfully, and rose as merrily on the
soft summer air, and the glittering boats skimmed
the still surface of the lake as rapidly. But the
house where he had spent so many happy hours was
levelled to the ground. His kind friend had long
slept in the grave. The generation of villagers who
had partaken the bounty of the same beneficent
hand, were passed away, and none remained to point
out the green sod where that benefactor lay. He
walked on pensively. The same bank , tufted with
the same knot of bright- eyed speedwell, caught his
eye. He turned away, and wept bitterly.
The inherent association was thus exchanged for a
casual one, in the mind of the philosopher. Parti
cular circumstances in his own life were recalled by
the scene, with a vividness which for the time
INTRODUCTION. 11
rendered him completely inaccessible to those ideas

of gaiety and life, which the objects before him were
naturally fitted to suggest.
Under the head of inherent association may be
:
included all the ideas and feelings with which the
face of external nature is calculated to affect alike all
mankind.
The bright animating cheerfulness of 2a fine frosty
day, the first soft breath of spring, the contemplative
peaceful hour of a summer's evening, will excite the
same genus of sensation in every individual, unless
! some more vivid casual association accidentally divert
it from its course .
Under the same class of association may be ranged,
upon similar grounds, the expression of the human
countenance .
The physiognomic expressions of strength and
weakness, activity and indolence, and the pathogno
mic ones of anger, love, joy, and grief, are perfectly
intelligible to all, and produce the same class of im
pressions upon every beholder.
And if the more delicate expressions of intellect,
judgment, and imagination, be not so fully under
stood by persons of unexercised physiognomic tact,
yet this want of perception arises not from the signs
being themselves matter of arbitrary convention, but
because, although the signs of expression are radical
and inherent, they have not yet been studied, and
12 INTRODUCTION.
can therefore not be appreciated by every indi

vidual.
In all the stronger passions of the human heart,
the pathognomic expression is universally and readily
intelligible. And in general, all that is addressed to
what may be termed the ground and radical feelings
of human nature, speaks by means of universal or
inherent association .
The association which transformed the face of the
landscape, as related in the above anecdote, was not
only casual and partial, as opposed to inherent and
universal, but was strictly individual.. Such associa
tions come home more closely perhaps to the heart
than any other, but they can never form the basis of
any work of art, because they are powerless as means
of communicating ideas or emotions from man to
man.
Under the head of partial association may be

ranged national associations.
"
The English “ Rule Britannia” would in vain
endeavour to animate an American soldiery, and the
“Ranz des Vaches” draws no tears excepting from
the Swiss. To this class belong the historic associa
tions of the White and Red Roses of England, and
the Tree of Liberty in France ; the classical ones of
the Olive and the Owl, symbols of Peace and Wis
dom ; the Laurel and the Bay, of Victory and Ge
nius, - all those associations, in short, which have
INTRODUCTION. 13
been formed by circumstances affecting not an indi .

vidual only, but a number of persons.
The power of objects, whether of nature or of
art, to please or displease the mind, or rather to con
vey ideas to the mind, depends, as we have seen, on
the character of the associations which belong to
them : according to the sphere of those associations
will be the sphere of their influence. From this we
derive some interesting observations as to works of
taste .
All those works of taste which are immortal are
founded upon universal associations — they come
equally home to every heart, under all circumstances
of situation or education : on such associations Ra
phael painted, and Homer sang. They belong to no
one age or country , but to all.
Partial associations give zest and popularity to
works of taste, which chiefly turn on the manners,
or fashions, or parties of the period or nation in
which they are composed .
Inherent associations are the foundation of those
notions of beauty in which all men agree, and casual
associations account for those in which men differ.
Perhaps the heart is never touched in the highest
degree by any work of art which is addressed ex
clusively to either class of associations. We require
for a language which is to reach our whole being,
the recognition both of that wherein we agree and
14 INTRODUCTION.
of that wherein we are distinguished from others. By

the first we are constituted human beings, by the
last we are stamped with our own individual identity
and personality. We find in this distinction the
cause of the undoubted fact, that works which be
come standard, and are the admiration of centuries,
are not often those which quickly obtain circulation.
The effect of inherent association is continuous, but
not vivid ; universal, but not rapid ; while, on the
other hand, works addressed to the feelings of the
moment and the fashions of a day, though they may
possess equal merit of execution, can, it is obvious,
retain their popularity no longer than the associa
tions on which they were founded retain their in
fluence.
Most instances of false taste originate in the mis
use of the several classes of associations ; especially
in the misapplication of casual associations, or the
introduction of individual associations (which have,
as we have seen, no proper place in works of taste ).
Casual associations are in aa false position when op
posed to some inherent association, as in monuments
suggestive of worldly sentiments in a building in
tended for the worship of the Eternal.
Individual associations are the fruitful cause of
false judgments and false estimates in works of art.
It is on this principle that, in every place where good
taste has flourished, a collision of various and oppo
INTRODUCTION . 15
site tastes has led to the correction of false principles

of judgment, and to the recognition of some true
standard of beauty. It was thus among the states
of Greece, in Rome, in ancient Alexandria, and, in
a lesser degree, it is thus in the capital, as distin
guished from the provinces, in every nation.
Every province, every town, every individual pog
sesses some peculiarity of interest or of incident,
which forms casual and tends to false and peculiar
associations.
As it is the class of inherent associations which
alone depends on universal laws, so does it only pro
perly belong to the scope of a work on the Prin
ciples of Beauty. It is obvious that Beauty, con
sidered as a symbolic language, must be traced
up to its source in the laws of inherent association .
From this point of view , inherent association be
comes to us the basis of a system of correspondences
between the external world and man's moral nature.
Such a system, divinely planned for man's instruc
tion and delight, the Author of this work believed to
be discoverable, and its fundamental principles form
the chief subject of her inquiries.
Her original plan embraced, however, a farther
investigation ; viz. into the sources of moral and in
tellectual expression peculiar to man *, showing the
>
* Vide Preface, p. iii.

16 INTRODUCTION.
application of this system to all the varieties of

national and individual character.
With this subject, that of Temperaments is closely
connected, and the Author found herself obliged to
postpone the consideration of the laws of human
physiognomy until she had been able fully to define
the modifications which arise, in their application,
from this source . Her work on Temperaments
never extended beyond the sketch which appears
in this volume. But her mind, in the latter years
of her life, was comparatively little occupied with
the merely scientific exposition of those observations
concerning human character which would properly
have found their place in a work on Physiognomy.
Her strength , indeed, did not allow such an under
taking. Yet the several standards of Beauty applied
in the first part of this work exclusively to in
animate nature, seem irresistibly to have suggested
to her, before its close, those various types of human
character which remarkably fall under the same
classification, and are equally with natural objects
revelations of the Divine character from which they
emanate .
PART I.
OF BEAUTY.
CHAPTER I.
GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF THE BEAUTIFUL, THE NON

BEAUTIFUL, AND THE DEFORMED .
I.
As there is but one good, and that good is GOD ;

so is there but one Beautiful, and that Beauty is the
picture of the moral character of God, reflected from
His works to the heart of man.
II .
Good may be defined to be the moral character of

GOD . Beauty to be the pictorial manifestation of
that character in His works, which are His actions ;
: as in His revelation, which is His speech.
III .
And thus as in man, who is created in the image of

GOD, each individual possesses an internal, vital,
C
:
18 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
self-acting principle, an outward voice of speech

springing from the abundance of the central heart as
its utterance, and an outward physiognomy of beauty ;
as every man has an energy emanating from within,
whose actings bear upon objects without, and thus
afford the external manifestations of the internal
ruling spirit : so has God, who is eminently THE
LIFE, all these three attributes ; Good or Love un
clouded, for His principle or life ; Truth or Light,
His garment, for His revelation ; and Beauty, the
glorious manifestation of that Love and Truth com
bined, in the works of His natural creation,
IV.
And therefore, no doubt, it is, that the word of

revelation itself pronounces, that the “ heavens de
clare the glory of God, " that “ the firmament
sheweth His handy -work,” that “ the earth is full of
His riches ; ” and that every part of His glorious crea
tion, both visible and invisible, in the heavens above,
in the earth beneath, and in the waters under the
earth , all are spoken of as praising God ; that is,
as manifesting His glorious perfections and attributes
to His creature, man.
V.
Beauty, then, consisting in the reflection of the

Divine character from His external works, it follows
THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY. 19
that he alone has a genuine eye for Beauty, who

truly beholds that Divine character in the material
world ; who feels the heart and mind of the Author
in His works ; whose heart is prepared to enter into
communion, through these visible manifestations, with
that invisible principle of Love and Truth.
VI.
Now as this needs a preparation of heart from

above, so the book of Psalms terminates its noble con
cluding anthem of praise with the solemn behest,
“ Let everything that hath BREATH praise the Lord ; "
--for they only who have the breath of The Spirit can
effectually praise Him. Let not our souls, O Lord,
be ofthe number of the dead ; for the living, the living,
they alone shall praise Thee !
VII.
Beauty is distinguished from the Non -beautiful, in

that it conveys the reflection of the Divine character
from the works of God to the feelings of the human
heart ; whereas the Non - beautiful either does not
present that moral image to the heart with equal
definiteness, or else presents no such image.
VIII .
Beauty is distinguished from Deformity, in that

Deformity, while it does present an actual and deter
C2
20 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY .
minate moral expression, yet presents not that of the

Divine perfection ; but that of the worldly, the
fleshly, or the diabolical image of the human heart
as corrupted by the fall.
IX .
Now the merely Non -beautiful, being destitute of

any pictorial expression , comes not within the scope
of an inquiry into the sources and modes of expres
sion of Beauty and Deformity.
X.
But Deformity, being based upon the actual though

perverted expression of moral character, however
travestied or fallen , does come, if not primarily, yet
by inversion, within the scope of the inquiry of these
pages.
THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY . 21
CHAP . II.
TWO CLASSES OF BEAUTY : PERFECT OR DIRECT ; IMPER

FECT OR REFLEX .
I.
As Beauty consists in the reflection of the Divine

character to the heart of man from the material
creation, so we may expect to find as many distinct
styles of Beauty, as there are distinct species of per
fection in God , susceptible of external manifestation
through the medium of material expression.
II.
But God is infinite, and His creation finite. In

His spiritual creation, none even among His brightest
saints can worthily reflect a part, and still less can
any reflect the whole, of His august image. But
yet every true child in that vast family called after
Him, in heaven and earth , exhibits some one feature
which renders his high paternity discernible, and
dimly yet really reflects some portion of His glory.
So it is in the material world , wherein there is no
work of His bountiful and sovereign hand which
C3
does not exhibit the impress of His stamp-royal.

Yet to the prerogative is also affixed the limit cir
cumscribing it, a circumvallation which severs the
finite from the infinite, the creature from the Creator.
And thus, whilst every material substance is suscep
tible of showing forth some portion of the Divine
glory, there is yet not one of which it may not be
declared, that it bears but a fragmentary portion,
dimly reflected, of the transcript image of its sove
reign Creator's ineffable moral portraiture.
INI .
And the various classes of Beauty are resolvable

into the various classes of the Divine characteristics,
which are susceptible of being manifested under
material conditions.
IV.
Now these may , again, be resolved into two grand

or primary classes.
v.
The first will in these pages be termed the Class of

Perfect or Direct Beauty.
VI.
Beauties which belong to this class are addressed

to the heart and affections. They eminently call
forth emotions of pleasure and delight.
VII .
The second class may be termed that of Imperfect

or Reflex Beauty. It consists in those expressions of
the Divine attributes in material objects which are
principally addressed to the judgment and sense of
fitness, and are only indirectly, through the medium
of intelligence, addressed to the sentiments. It emi
nently calls forth the calm and pleasurable sentiment
of satisfaction .
VIII .
It might almost be said, that the Perfect styles are

the exhibition of the Divine heart or moral character,
which immediately find- a response in the heart of
man . The Imperfect are an exhibition of the Divine
intelligence or wisdom, in the adaptation of means
to carry out some blessed end, and are addressed to
the heart of man, but through the media of con
science andjudgment.
IX .
The sea, the starry heavens, the glancing of

diamond lights on a sportive stream, a glorious sun
set or calm moonlight, are examples of the first class,
or that of Direct Beauty.
X.
As specimens of the second or Indirect species of

:
Beauty, let us recall the exquisite beauty of cor
C4
respondence between the fanged roots, the gnarled

limbs, the rugged bark, and rough foliage of the oak ;
the beautiful adaptation of the slim and lofty stem of
the palm to its graceful head ; and the two exactly
corresponding sides in a human figure, or in a
pyramid, or obelisk .
CHAP. III.
DIRECT BEAUTY : THE SUBLIME (ACTIVE AND PASSIVE) ;

THE BEAUTIFUL ( PROPER ); THE VIVID OR SPRIGHTLY .
I.
Now the first style of Direct Beauty may be de

nominated the Sublime. It manifests the sove
reign power, the supreme majesty, the illimitable
vastness, the inscrutable mystery, of the great
Creator, the Almighty Father of spirits, the Artificer
of that wide universe, every part of which is stamped
with His imperial signature.
II .
The Sublime style, like the illimitable energy and

repose of Him whom it dimly represents, exhibits
two principles, manifesting themselves under two
distinct, yet often closely connected, aspects.
III.
The first or Active Sublime has, for its germinal

principle, sovereign energising vitality and resistless
force .
26 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY,
IV
The second or Passive Sublime has, for its

germinal principle, eternal and impregnable per
manence, endurance, and immutability,
v.
Ideas of unlimited power , vastness , permanence ,

and inscrutability are equally attached to both, as
also ideas of eternity , truth, and boundless space.
But with the former we associate the ideas of active
force and energy , whilst with the latter we associate
those of fortitude and passive strength of resistance.
VI .
To the former belong the volcano, the earth

quake, the whirlwind, and the thunder -storm . To
the latter, the expanse of the tranquil ocean, the
vast, silent, and illimitable heavens, the glorious but
solemn sunset.
VII .
Both classes alike. speak of God, the omnipotent

Creator, the eternal living Soul and Fountain of life ;
but the one tells of Him as the resistless Sovereign ;
the other as the benign, eternal Upholder of all
things.
VIII .
Both speak of GOD : the one, as the central energy ;

the other, as the central rest.
One, as immortal resistless vitality and power ;
the other, as eternal immutability, faithfulness, and
truth .
IX.
Both equally tell of the supreme majesty of the

Father of spirits, the God of hosts, the King of
kings, and Lord of lords.
X.
The second style of Direct Beauty may be termed

the Beautiful or lovely ; as the former, the Sublime,
might be termed the Grand, solemn, or magnificent.
XI.
The germinal principle of the Beautiful, is love.

It exhibits the Divine character in compassion , in
mercy, in forbearance, in close sympathy, in healing
tenderness.
XII.
As the soft and silent moonlight, after the glories

of a mid -day sun ; or as the cool dew descending in
stillness from heaven, to refresh the arid and parched
earth ; so this style of Beauty especially manifests
GOD as the compassionate restorer, reviver, and
healer; as the high and lofty One that inhabiteth
28 THE . PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY .
eternity, descending to bave mercy on him of a

broken spirit and a contrite heart ; neither bruising
the broken reed, nor quenching the smoking flax,
but nourishing and cherishing the children of men,
as the Saviour of His people ; loving them as the
members of His body, and of His flesh .
XII.
Thus the pensile willow bends over the head it

would screen from the scorching sun, or from the piti
less brunt of the storm ; the sinuous path accommodates
itself to the musings of the wayfarer ; and the silent
stream , instead of rushing on in one undeviating
headlong course, leaves its own native alpine
heights, to wander unobserved through many a
lowly hidden dell, and turns as it were aside, to
refresh with its cool healing waters, and sweet
musical flow , not only the giant oak , and wide
spreading cedar, but also the lowly grass, the pure
lily, and the concealed but fragrant violet.
XIV.
The third style of Direct Beauty is again totally

distinct from the two preceding ones. As the first
typifies the majesty and grandeur of the Divine
Being, and the second shows forth His tender
lovingness, so does the third especially manifest His
renovating vitality, His rich and endless succession
:
of gifts and fertility. This style is the Vivid or

sprightly. It exhibits the Divine bounty in re
plenishing and recreating with ceaseless variety, and
in stimulating by an endless succession of exhilarating
change.
XV .
Exuberant life, activity, joyousness, and gaiety,

with inexhaustible succession , are its germinal prin
ciples.
XVI.
To this style of Beauty belong the sportive flashes

of variegated light on the rippling surface of the
sunny brook ; the sprays brilliant in sparkling frost ;
the gladness of sportive animals ; the vivid glancing
of bright insects, gay butterflies, and sparkling
jewels.
XVII .
This style, in short, typifies the infinite variety of

little gifts and stimuli, each in its season yielding its
brightness, and gladdening with playful sparklings
the habitual routine of daily life ; showing forth by
the physical, the yet more abundant supply of
spiritual gifts, which day by day delight and renew
the inner man ; it bestows the Father's smile of
welcome and blessing on each day and hour, as its
duties, and trials, and discipline arise.
XVIII .
Such are the three Direct Styles of Beauty, which

may be considered as dimly shadowing forth the at
tributes of the Triune Jehovah : GOD, as Sovereign
and Father ; GOD, as Saviour, healer, and redeemer ;
GOD, as Comforter, and replenisher with exuberant
gifts and endowments.
XIX .
If we ask why it has pleased God to appoint ma

terial creation thus dimly to shadow forth His Tri
une perfections, we may perhaps be allowed to con
jecture that it was not only given as a training
preparatory to the more distinct revelation by His
word, but that as man himself possesses a triune
existence after the image of God, he was intended,
when renewed, to apply the key by which to un
lock the portraiture of his Lord in the visible crea
tion, and also by contemplating that image to
become transformed into its likeness.
XX.
And thus, whilst the revealed written word of

God unfolds His character, declares His will, and
lays down His precepts ; whilst it pronounces their
sanctions, and promulgates the high destiny to which
His creature man is invited ; the wide-spread volume
of His works, the universal face of nature, is another
manifestation of the same character ; a corrobora

tion of the truth therein revealed to the spiritual,
through the medium of the natural, senses. And
hence, under the light of Revelation, the universal
face of nature becomes one vast moral mirror, in
which the finger of the Spirit not only points out to
man the attributes of the Divine , image, but like
wise holds it up to him as that in which he may
contemplate the capacities of his own moral being.
XXI .
Nor is the succession of these various styles of

Beauty, in the volume of nature, wholly dissimilar to
the various phases wrought by the love and wisdom
of the same Almighty Author in the experience of
perhaps every human heart.
XXII.
For man in his earliest stage essentially dwells

alone. He finds himself an isolated being, placed in
one vast, illimitable, and inscrutable solitude. Not
only the untutored savage, who, wandering in his
lonely forest, hearkens with terror to the voice of
God in the mountain torrent, or trembles before His
anger in the roar of the avalanche or the glare of
the thunder- flash ; but every child of man, whether
in the uninhabited wilds of Africa or among the
countless multitudes of the thronged city, may be said
!
32 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY :
truly to dwell in desolate solitude, who, surrounded by

impenetrable mystery, and to himself an impenetra
ble mystery, neither knows whence he comes nor
whither he is bound. Man wanders in solitude till the
eye of his spirit sees Him who is to the eye of sense
invisible, until his heart recognises the bond between
himself and God, and he becomes united to society
by being bound through Him to his fellow -men. In
solitude he must remain till he sees his true relation,
not only to his Creator and to men, but also to the
natural world around, until a light is shed on his
final destiny, as well as on the path leading to it,
and a voice has said in power , “ Peace, be still,”
to the conflicting elements in his own heart, a peace
which will be as a light to his feet, and a lamp to his
appointed path, in threading the otherwise inextrica
ble maze of human life.
XXIII .
Man, whilst dwelling in severed loneliness, has a

heart oppressed with a sense of vast and indomitable
power, which he contrasts with his own littleness,
and is crushed by the comparison. The invisible is
essentially to him an unknown GOD ;-he can there
fore have no testimony that he pleases Him, still
less can he walk before Him. He quails before the
inscrutable Supreme. His God is aa resistless energy ,
a consuming fire. He dwells in awe.
XXIV .
But the Spirit of God breathes around, and leaves

no heart of man wholly unvisited, and man under
the teaching of the Spirit gradually discerns order
and wisdom amidst the chaos, benignity amidst the
power. He views the tranquil ocean , the stated and
salutary recurrence of seasons, the revolutions of the
starry heavens, of the sun and moon, the alternations
of day and night, labour and rest, and amidst the
power he recognises the beneficence, the permanence ,
the wisdom of its wielder. He not only begins to
feel that God is, but to awaken to a hope that He
may be a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him.
He seems to hear a voice pleading within Him ,
Seek thou My face ; - and the very inmost depths of
his heart seem ready to answer, — Thy face, Lord,
will I seek. Veneration and reverence and perma
nence of trust succeed to fearful awe.
XXV .
But as the holiness and love as well as the power

of GOD are unfolded to the human spirit, the heart
is prepared to respond to the tidings of that greatest
of all the gifts of God, which truly unites both
mercy and truth in love and power. Man now finds
peace in believing. He sees in God a loving and
merciful Saviour, a shepherd who will not permit
D
him to want, who maketh bim to lie down in green

pastures, who leadeth him beside still waters, who re
storeth his soul, who čarrieth His lambs in His bosom.
He learns of a truth, that to acquaint himself with
God is to be at peace. The affectionate love for his
Saviour is united to veneration. There is to him a
new heaven, and a new earth. All on earth is beau
tiful and sweet, for all henceforth speaks of heavenly
love. He has a pure fountain of love and peace with
GOD within, which overflows in sympathy with all
men, and all creation around. Sweeter is the view
of Him than honey and the honeycomb. He has
learned that God is love, and his heart rests in that
love.
XXVI.
But love is a living active flame. Who can love

God and not wish to go forth and serve Him ?
Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ? Then the
outward word of God is searched , the providences of
GOD are pondered, His inward word is listened to,
for the answer . There is spread before each man
that peculiar path of daily life which our Lord has
appointed for him, and in which He will meet him,
and walk with him , and bless him. Then does man's
heart open to impressions of life and gladness, and
to all the little renovating joys which the Lord
1
has appointed to refresh, as with soft, bright, and

sunny showers, the dusty well-trod road, and to
enable him to walk with renewed alacrity in it. O 0

how sweet, to those who see the mighty Giver in
each little gift, are the glad influences of light, and
life, and purity, and gaiety, the sparkling up of the
living water from the deep Rock, hour by hour ; the
glancing of sportive light from the Sun of Righteous
ness on the minute but blessed detail of loving
Christian domestic life, and the hallowed pleasant
nesses and poetry of its habitual duties.
1) 2
CHAP . IV .
REFLEX BEAUTY, OR ORDER .
I.
We will now speak of Indirect or Reflex Beauty.

II .
It is distinguished from Direct Beauty in that the

pleasure imparted by it is not a vivid emotion affect
ing the feelings by an immediate perception, but is
rather aa reflex tranquil sentiment of satisfaction .
III .
The first class of Beauty, or Direct Beauty ,

excites the emotions ; the second satisfies, if we may
80 say , the conscience of good taste .
IV .
It is addressed, not so much to our delight in what

is beautiful, as to the sense that where fitness is lack
ing, there is a want of that foundation without which
no beauty can subsist. Its presence may not impart
positive pleasure, just as correctness in grammar
could not alone constitute a beautiful work ; yet a

flaw in grammatical accuracy , like a false note in a
fine piece of music, would mar the effect of the whole.
So fitness, though not in itself beauty of the first
order, is that without which there can exist no beauty,
and therefore, the perception of it does bestow plea
sure, though in an inferior degree.
v.
The class of Reflex Beauty we term Order .
VI.
It shows forth the Providence of GOD, and His

unity of design , in the adaptation and selection of
means to an end, those means in their united action
helping and mutually subserving each other.
VII .
To those who rest in its contemplation it especially

shows forth His wisdom and His goodness ; for the
longer it is dwelt on, the more the satisfaction and
tranquil conscience of approval it inspires.
VIII .
The indirect class of Beauty we have spoken of as

exhibiting order, may be also designated as organised,
and is, in its germinal principle, an adaptation of
means to an obvious end .
D3
IX .
It includes Symmetry, Proportion, and Corre

spondence.
X.
Symmetry consists in similarity of measure and

form in the corresponding parts of the same object.
As the right and left sides of the body, or the
limbs of a human being : or , in works of art, the
two wings of aa Grecian building, or the equal size of
all the columns in the same colonnade.
XI.
Proportion consists in the relative correspondence

of measure in contradistinction to symmetry , which
consists in similarity of measure . So that the rule of
proportion applies to parts alike in form , but vary
ing in dimension, according to a correctly graduated
scale. As for example, the pipes of an organ or the
strings of a harp, from the deepest double bass to the
high counter alto ; or the limbs of a tree which dimi
nish from the base of their giant contorted arms,
widely extending their expanse of shadow , to the
flexile delicate twigs which play upon the crown at
their summits.
XII .
Correspondence is distinguished from symmetry by

not possessing the same measure ; it differs from pro
portion by not exhibiting similarity of form . But it
is connected with them both , in that like them it
establishes aa certain relation among the various parts

with which it is associated, conspiring to the same
end in the same structure .
XnI.
Thus the bellows, the wind -chest, the pipes and

the keys of an organ , though neither formed to the
same measure nor modelled after the same form , yet
all correspond with one another, inasmuch as they
all conspire to the same end in the same structure.
And they are, moreover, all constructed on such a
scale, that the bellows shall exactly correspond with
the capacity of the wind -chest, and that again with
the number of stops and pipes to be inflated in that
particular organ . Nor would any one part con
structed for a chamber organ be available for that
of the concert room or the cathedral.
XIV.
Again, the teeth do not resemble the tongue, the

hoofs, or the claws of an animal either in size or
form ; but they are constructed in exact corre
spondence with each other ; so that a particular
system of teeth always involves a corresponding con
struction of claws or hoofs; and so indispensable is
1 the correspondence between different parts of the
same animal, that it has often been said of Baron
Cuvier and of other naturalists that the examination of
D4
any one perfeet bone would go far towards enabling

them to reconstruct a model of the whole animal
frame of which it formed a part.
XV.
Now it bas often been erroneously supposed that

symmetry , proportion, and correspondence are neces
sarily integral parts of every beautiful object ; but
they are, in truth, only so when used in the class of
Beauty we have called Reflex, and there only when
the manifestation of Order is obviously required to
the attainment, in perfect completeness, of a certain
end .
XVI.
That this is, in truth, the fact appears from the

consideration that very many of the highest styles of
Direct Beauty do not admit these conditions, and
that, unless in fulfilment of a design of Order, they
are felt to be absolute disfigurements.
Thus the wild rose or hawthorn are not improved
by being shorn into an even - lined quickset hedge,
nor are trees embellished by being trimmed into
artificial figures or regular geometrical shapes.
XVII .
That which constitutes Beauty is the expression

of the Divine perfections, — of the attributes and
moral character of the ever -blessed GOD.
41
XVIII .
In those cases, therefore, in which an organic

design is obvious, then and then only is it beautiful
to see the orderly and providential arrangements
of various parts contributing to its execution ; for
then only do we behold in them His providence, His
wisdom, His order. And the reason why this class
of Beauty does not produce the lively pleasure of the
First class probably is, that it requires a more con
tinuous and steadfast observation, and inferences drawn
from experience, before it sinks down through the
mind and reaches the heart.. Hence it produces a
tranquil sentiment instead of exciting a vivid feeling;
for what is sentiment but a feeling habitually asso
ciated with an idea ?
XIX ,
And that the pleasure of this style does arise from

the manifestation of the Divine character of wisdom
and order exerted for beneficial ends, will be obvious
if we return more closely to the consideration of
Symmetry, Proportion, and Correspondence.
XX .
Thus with respect to Symmetry, which , in the

restricted sense in which it is here used, applies
when the object is twofold and uniform , as the two
sides of the same face.
2
XXI.
It is obvious that each half is in precisely the same

circumstances, and has to contribute precisely in the
same degree and manner to one and the same action
as its fellow half, and that it has been similarly con
structed for that very purpose. If then the forma
tion of the one part be perfectly adapted to its end,
it is apparent that the other half, which is to bear an
exactly similar part in achieving that end, must
itself be precisely similar ; for if one be perfect, no
other can surpass it. Perfection 'can admit neither
of inferior nor of superior degrees. They must then
in the very necessity of their condition be formed
alike, or else one must be faulty.
XXII .
And this similarity pleases because it marks the

consistency, and truth , and perfection of that Creator
who, under the very same circumstances, always acts
in the very same way, because it is, in fact, the
perfect way .
XXIII.
In the same manner does a graduated Proportion,

augmenting from its point of commencement to its
full volume and then diminishing to its close, like
wise impart pleasure, because it marks unity of design,
and that progressive development, which is aa condi
tion of the sustained exercise of power and vitality

subservient to order. It pleases by the fixity of in
tention manifested from its origin to its final close,
when, sinking into quiescence, it exhibits the rest
and seal of a perfectly achieved work, — the com
-
pleted execution of a regular design evolved from

its incipient germ and maintained through each step
of development, to its prepared and satisfying ter
mination .
XXIV.
The same species of pleasure is produced by Cor

respondence, or the relation of various differing parts
in forming one organised whole.
XXV.
The root, the trunk, the branches, the foliage, the

blossom , and the fruit of a tree, are all dissimilar.
Yet though not alike, they all bear an obvious re
lation or correspondence. And that correspondence
renders a powerful testimony to the unity of plan
and wisdom manifested in the achievement of the end
proposed by the Almighty Creator.
XXVI .
For although the source whence we derive the

pleasing sentiments arising from Symmetry, Propor
tion, and Correspondence, may perhaps not become
apparent to the mind without some consideration as

a distinct object of thought, yet the deep underlying
sense which they awaken , of the wisdom, and pro
vidence, and permanence of God's laws, does really,
though perhaps almost unconsciously, affect the heart
springs, with a feeling of affiance, peace, and security.
XXVII .
He who is subjected to their unobserved influence

may be compared to a traveller, who having long
wandered about by night on some cold bleak com
mon, unable to shelter himself from the pitiless
storm , suddenly arrives at his friend's house, and
there, besides being greeted with a kindly welcome,
finds himself in a comfortable sheltered apartment,
with the thick curtains closely drawn, the easy chair
set, the bright candles lighted, the cheerful fire
blazing, the hearth well swept, and the tea urn
sending forth its piping column of steam ; each is,
indeed, a very little thing, yet all in their combined
relation attest to the traveller's heart, before one
word can reach his ear, that he is welcome, that he
is dear to the master of the house, and that that
master's heart and watchful thoughts and actings,
have long beforehand been exercised in providing for
his reception, as that of a cherished friend. Now
the cause of the sense of comfort, peace, and gladness
thus produced would perhaps scarcely be apparent,
without consideration, to him whose heart yet most

warmly experienced its influence. For the effect
itself would not consist in any one decisive, over
whelming, palpable benefit, but would form the
result of the combination and just adaptation of many
things, each of them separately so small as to be
almost imperceptible, and so common, as singly not
to attract even a momentary attention . And who
does not feel his heart respond with its deepest
glow to that thoughtful and watchful love, whose
combined workings are rich in effective blessings, even
whilst the various items of which those blessings are
compounded are separately so minute as to elude
distinct observation , almost as if purposely, and to
bless, whilst avoiding the obtrusion of any visible
claim to our gratitude ?
XXVIII.
And here let one observation be added , of which

I deeply feel the truth. How much of the peaceful
and refreshing influence produced by the contempla
tion of natural scenery might, if examined, be re
solved into sentiments — never perhaps brought into
the region of distinct thought — arising from the
heart's perception of the exuberant bounty and ten
derness of GOD, and from the heart- cheering and
heart- sustaining but uninterpreted feeling of His
continuous and unslumbering love.
46 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY ,
XXIX .
There is also one other abundant source of the

pleasurable sentiment imparted to the mind by the
class of Beauty we have styled Order.
XXX.
The combination and mutual dependence of the

various parts in God's organised works not only
exbibit His wisdom, but may be said to typify
brotherly love and mutual assistance amongst
creatures linked together in one social body, as in a
family, a household, a community, a friendship.
The arrangements of the natural world thus illustrate
the Divine mind with regard to those of the moral
world , and give a pattern and a sanction to unions
formed alike by God, whether in relationships and
connections , affording augmentation of strength by
increase of volume in one and the same stock , or
in friendsbips, and unions of choice, springing up
from mutual wants and affinities, and imparting ad
ditional fertility by means of new grafts of mind and
thought, and feeling.
XXXI.
For unions of relationship impart strength ; unions

of choice, fruitfulness.
.
XXXII .
Thus do the right and left arm help each other as

equal brethren . The directing head and executing

hand give us pleasure, as manifesting and sanctioning
the relative position of father and children, elders
and younger, rulers and subjects; and thus the con
stituent parts of Indirect Beauty give us pleasure
because they present in physical nature an institu
tion corresponding with God's moral appointments.
XXXIII .
They are, in truth, a sacramental type of great

primæval facts and principles lying at the very foun
dation of the whole social edifice.
XXXIV.
And that this is the one true source of their beau

ty, and of the pleasure they bestow , will at once
appear by observing that under other conditions they
are neither beautiful, nor afford pleasure.
XXXV.
Thus a horse cannot be beautiful without two cor

responding fore legs and two corresponding hind legs,
because they bear a mutual part in action, and are
indispensable to each other. A horse born with only
one of each, would be an incomplete, because useless
monster . But two answering alleys in a parterre,
as they do not help each other, mark not unity of
intention but poverty of ideas. So tautology in
writing does not infuse added vigour, but manifests

only penury of thought and destitution of expression.
XXXVI.
And we shall universally find, in every case in

which Symmetry, Proportion, and Correspondence do
not mark both the unity of one organised design,
and the brotherly co- operation of distinct yet united
parts, that they cease to be beautiful, and lapse into
a weariful monotony and jejune formality. The op
pressed mind and active imagination turn from the
soulless corpse, and, burying the dead out of sight,
seek vitality in some living exemplification of the
same principle exhibited in a new form .
XXXVII,
Boundless novelty of application with immutable

permanence of principle is the glory of creative
power. In nature we have, as an exemplification of
this , the principle of gravitation, which coerces at
once the solar system in its evolutions, and the apple
in its fall : in works of art, Gothic architecture,
which symbolises Christian principle in every variety
of form , from the foundation of the pillar in the im
moveable socket, 178, ěděn , to the orb or boss in which
its triune and opposing springers meet and are united
in one ; or from its buttress, deep - rooted in the earth ,
to the lofty and floreated pinnacle which crowns its
summit, and, rich in sunbeams, points up to heaven .
XXXVIII .
The principle of variety in unity, is in Beauty that

which active good works, on the deep foundation of
Christian faith, are in religion. In both it enables
the human heart and mind to enjoy, at one and the
same time, the apparently incompatible pleasures of
love of activity and love of rest; love of activity
in multiplied applications, and love of rest in per
manence of principle.
XXXIX.
Thus has it pleased God to show forth the glory

of His Divine character, even to the extreme rami
fication of His material creation ; - and to exhibit it
to the heart in works of Beauty, as He exhibits it to
the mind and conscience in works of utility.
XL .
It is observable that, in a Perfect Intelligence, the

subservience of means to ends supposes direction,
but not curb or limitation. But in man , where the
nature is fallen and imperfect, the intelligence and
the spirit differ from the native impulse, and hence
the directing spirit or intelligence assumes the cha
racter of conscience, and of a restricting curb.
XLI .
Both classes of Beauty, when unlocked by the key

of revelation, not only unfold much of the mind of
E
1
GOD, but become very helpful in throwing light

upon that renovated character in which restored
man is to be formed in His likeness ; and this is, no
doubt, the root of the constant use of material ob
jects in Holy Scripture, as types, symbols, and
illustrations.
XLII .
For Scripture puts into man's hand the key to the

sacramental use of nature . It unfolds the invisible
truth reflected by the beam of the Sun of Righteous
ness from the outward visible sign. Blest is he
who, beholding the sign, has an understanding heart
to discern the thing signified.
XLIII .
But not the outward world alone upholds to man,

as in aa mirror, the reflection of the glories of GOD,
but his own body also exhibits to him , a constant
memento of the subservience which should subsist be
tween Christ the Head, and His body, the Church ;
of the brotherly help which should mutually be
rendered by different members of a body politic,
whether the Church, or a householdl ; and of the sym
pathy of the whole, with the joy or suffering of each
individual part.
CHAP . V.
COMPARATIVE VALUE OF THE VARIOUS STYLES OF

BEAUTY.
I.
WE have now enumerated the various styles of

Beauty, and have designated the germinal principles
of each .
II .
Perhaps the question may arise — But of these

-
various styles, which , in truth, possesses the most

Beauty ? Which is best ? Which is worst ?
III .
It can only be replied with truth , -- Neither is

best, and neither is worst.
1
IV .
For all show forth some characteristic of the ever

blessed God ; all manifest some moral character to
be reflected from those who bear His living image.
E 2
v.
Now everything in God is absolutely perfect.

VI .
There is in Him neither first nor last, greater nor

less. He is that complete circle of perfection from
the centre of which every ray is equal.
VII .
No one radius in the circle can be increased or

diminished without destruction to the perfection of
the whole figure.
VIII .
Each style of Beauty being then the representa

tion of some moral attribute in the Divine character,
is therefore complete and perfect in itself. Nothing
can be added, nothing can be taken away..
IX .
Nor can excellence be compared in things which,

issuing from the same source , are yet wholly dissi
milar in their form and office ; thus the bark, and the
foliage, and the blossoms of a tree cannot be compared ,
though all be equally the offspring from one and the
same root.
X.
The various radii of a circle, though springing

from one and the same centre, yet occupy in many
instances opposing sides of that circle, and this, al
though they in truth all converge until they actually
meet, and unite in one and the same point of junc
tion and departure.
XI.
So is it with the various styles of Beauty.

To man, placed in the circumferent circle of the
material world , they are seen as always occupying
distinct and frequently opposing positions.
XII .
For it is not given to the creature, however excel

lent, to reflect more than one small fragment of the
Creator's perfections.
XIII .
To man's eye, then , these may often appear in

compatible, as they really are incompatible in relation
to his own limited heart and mind.
For how can that which is filled by a drop, receive
and contain the whole expanse of the ocean ?
XIV.
But whilst incapable of more than a fragmentary

transcription either on the works of creation or on
E 3
the little tablet of the human heart, yet, as in truth

all the various species of Beauty emanated originally
from Him who is the source of life and of every good
and perfect gift, so in their ceaseless undeviating flow
do they unite, forming one perfect and harmonious
whole in the mind of the great and Almighty Father,
the Omnipotent and Universal Sovereign, the Healer
and Refresher of all His creatures.
XV .
And, as material things can each receive or reflect

only a part of Beauty , and as the power of expression
in each is limited to its own part, so in the finite
creature man, is each individual fitted more parti
cularly to discern and appreciate some one particular
beauty.
XVI .
And each man will prefer some one style above

others; not because really in itself more excellent, but
because he is individually so constituted, as to find that
one the most adapted to his own heart and taste .
XVII .
Thus, as the bounding gazelle has not the choice

of exhibiting the stately tread of the ponderous
elephant; nor the lion that of assuming the gentle
ness of the dove ; so neither can the man whose soul
has been thrilled by the death -fires of Teshoo Lom

boo * bear with the impertinent prettiness of a
Moresque building. Nor can he who comes fresh
from the spirit -stirring gaiety of the one, endure the
overpowering and awful gloom of the other.
XVIII .
The consideration , then , of the various styles of

Beauty has shown that they render the same testi
mony as every other knowledge.
And taste and science both alike proclaim how
infinite is God, how circumscribed is man .
XIX.
How does every good and perfect giſt come from

above ; and how small, how very small, a portion of
each, whether in spiritual truth , in scientific know
ledge, or in perceptions of beauty, can any one of
>
the sons of men receive in the narrow limits of his

spirit, his heart, or his mind.
XX.
GOD opens His bounteous hand, but how soon

are His petty creatures more than replenished with
good.
* See account of Funeral Rites in the capital of the Great Lama.
-Turner's Embassy to Thibet.
E 4
CHAP. VI.
ADJUNCTIVE MODES UNDER WHICH THE VARIOUS STYLES

WHICH BELONG TO DIRECT AND INDIRECT BEAUTY ARE
SUSCEPTIBLE OF MANIFESTATION .
I.
We are not aware that the material world exhibits

any other classes of moral expression than those
which have been considered.
II.
The two classes of Direct and Indirect Beauty

possess each a permanent and immutable foundation
in the nature and constitution of things, and include
what may properly be called the Substantive Styles.
III .
In a word , they are the eternal and unchangeable

appointment and utterance of Him who alone is
eternal and self-subsistent without variableness or
shadow of turning.
IV .
Nor can any species of Beauty, not included in this

original utterance, be devised or instituted by the
ingenuity of man ; for it belongs essentially and ex

clusively to God to create.
V.
Man can only arrange the stores his Father has so

richly bestowed upon him ; and hence those styles of
Beauty which the Creator has instituted no power of
the creature can either abrogate or multiply.
VI .
Like the ocean , the earth , the forests, the animals

of the visible world, or the moral or mathematical
truths of the invisible, they remain open to the uses
of man, they are subject to his cultivation, they
present to his industry mental and corporeal fields for
that labour to which he is appointed, and, by their
capability of varied adaptations, they furnish multi
plied uses , to which he is invited .
VII.
But his relation to them is that of labour, not that

of creation. It is eliciting, discovering, not originat
ing ; it is adapting, combining, not forming.
VIII .
This is expressed by the Hebrew word xa bara,

to create , in contradistinction to any asah , to make
or manufacture out of material already created.
IX.
Man can, in like manner, add no new truth, nor

abolish any old one ; though he may discover the one
or forget the other.
X.
Truth, like light, is at once the most ancient, the

most joyous, and the brightest of all things. Light
is the garment of the Eternal, who is Truth.
XI.
Yet, though man is essentially a creature, and

not a creator, he is a creature formed both in the
image and in the likeness of God. He exhibits not
only the triune life, the inseparable and yet distinct
united lives of body, soul, and spirit, within which
(in the case of the renewed man ) the Shekinah
dwells, as of old in the sanctuary of the consecrated
temple ; but originally created so as through Christ
to be susceptible of aa re -creation in the moral image
of God, he is endowed with energy, love, and activity,
and, as God's vicegerent upon earth, he possesses
the power of so fashioning matter as to express the
thoughts of an intelligent being.
XI.
For, though man cannot intrench on the Divine

prerogative to create, he is distinguished from all
1
other creatures by the power of freshly combining

old materials to new ends with inexhaustible variety
of invention .
XIII .
Thus when naturalists have defined man as a

tool-using animal, one who elicits new products from
old materials, and new uses for the good which GOD
has bestowed upon him, they have emphatically de
>
fined both the limit and the prerogative of man .

For what are the wonders of the printing -press,
the steam -engine, those of electricity and the voltaic
battery, but fresh combinations, or new discoveries
elicited from the stores which God has been pleased
to create for the blessing of man ?
XIV .
Now the same condition which applies to the prin

ciples of mechanics, mathematics, or natural philo
sophy, in respect of the useful arts, likewise obtains
respecting the principles of Beauty, and their laws
of manifestation in the productions of the fine arts.
XV.
And, whilst man can add no one style of Beauty

to those instituted by God, he yet has had them
bestowed upon him for the exercise of his knowing
faculties, his imagination, and his moral sentiments ;
and, by various applications of labour, he can elicit
new results, produce varieties of new embellishments,

and subject each style to various phases of modifi
cation .
XVI.
We have spoken of the styles of Beauty, as they

were instituted by God in the kingdom of Nature,
under the name of “ Substantive Styles.”
XVII.
We will now make a few observations on what

we may term the adjunct modes or phases, under
which the substantive styles of Beauty may be re
produced in the works of man ; from which it will
appear what varieties of impress his labours may,
at his pleasure, impart to them, and what modifica
tions they may receive from his hand.
XVIII .
And first, the adjunctive phases of Beauty may

>
be broadly classed under two heads: the “ Natural”
phase, which represents the unaltered works of God
always predominating over the traces of man ;; and the
“ Cultured or Artistic ” phase, in which the material
world is fashioned by man’s intelligence to subserve
the purposes of his social life.
XIX.
The one phase has freedom for its basis ; the

other, comfort and social accommodation. The one
has for its field of enjoyment the works of GOD, His
providence, and one's self; the other, that of the social
tastes and affections and the pleasures arising from
the various relations of men to each other, and that
of intellectual advancement.
XX.
Wildness, liberty, exuberance, fertility, untutored

negligence of art, and freedom from all trammels,
are, in various degrees of modification, inseparable
characteristics of the first.
XXI.
Neatness, order, regularity, fitness, perceptible

rule, arrangement and design, are likewise, in various
degrees, indispensable characteristics of the second.
XXII .
Thus, in a picture, the tranquil expanse of ocean ,

an oak tree, the sun setting in lurid clouds over the
vast and desolate expanse of Bodmin Moor or the
passes of the Alps, belong to the Natural phase of
the Sublime.
XXIII .
A magnificent royal funeral by torchlight, a coro

nation in Westminster Abbey, a long military array,
belong to the Cultivated phase of the Sublime.
XXIV .
The clear and still Bay of Naples, girdled with

the beautiful woods and hills, and distant mountains
of Italy, or a clear glassy lake surrounded by willows
reflected on its surface, would be represented in the
Natural Beautiful.
XXV .
Much of Mozart's music, the Façade of the Par

thenon , the interior of the Crystal Palace, belong to
the Cultivated phase of the Beautiful.
XXVI.
In a landscape, bright flowers and cattle enliven

ing the meadows, and many effects of light, would
present the Natural phase of the Vivid.
XXVII .
The ornamented ball -room , the Crystal Palace

fountain, the gay golden saloon of the Alhambra,
the Koh - i-noor diamond, belong to the Cultivated
phase of the same style.
XXVIII .
Now, it will be observed that in each set of these

examples there is no change in the style of Beauty.
The change is only in the phase, under which the
same style appears.
XXIX .
These adjunct modes possess po independent ex

istence, but, like the major and minor modes in
music, are merely temperaments, by which each sub
stantive style may be varied, so that whilst the same
subject finds its utterance, that utterance is addressed
to aa different set of intelligences and habits.
XXX.
And hence, when man adopts the principles of

Beauty in the fine arts, in proportion as the natural
phase is adopted, in that proportion the unaltered
work of GOD will appear in its native state ; the part
of civilised man being kept wholly subordinate, and
not only coalescing, but almost merging in the
other.
XXXI .
When, on the other hand , the cultivated phase is

adopted, the works of God are used in subservience
to the display of the signature of man .
64
THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY .
CHAP. VII.
GRADATIONS OF THE PBASES OF BEAUTY . NATURAL

PHASE -
THE WILD . THE PICTURESQUE . -
THE PAS
TORAL .
I.
Both the Natural or Divine, and the Cultivated or

Human phase, may be adopted in various degrees of
intensity, and each phase is susceptible of modifi
cation of character, according to the degree in which
indications of art are repudiated or assumed .
II .
In the Natural phase, the most intense gradation is

that which we may term the “ Wild.” In this grada
tion, the scene of a picture or of a landscape appears
to be wholly unmodified by man ; or if any traces of
man break its solitude, they belong to his isolated or
savage, not to his social state.
I.
Such would be the view of a solitary anchorite.

His hermitage scooped out from beneath the over
hanging rock, in some mountain pass ; yet itself at a

dizzy height above the foaming torrent, whose hoarse
and sullen roar alone reveals its passage into the
depths below.
IV.
Such as viewed from a deep cavern , in a dark

rock - bound coast, whose mouth opens to the wild and
stormy sea, would be the scene of a ledge rough with
limpets and sea-weed, and the remains of a wrecked
boat, with the lifeless body of a hapless mariner.
Such are many views by Salvator Rosa .
V.
Solitariness, amounting almost to a sense of isola

tion, is an indispensable ingredient of the Wild.
VI.
The next gradation of the Natural phase is “ The

Picturesque.” In this gradation, traces of the occu
pations of men in a low state of civilisation, whose
bond amongst themselves isolates them from social
tastes, mingle with the landscape, are subordinate to
it, and form , as it were, but a part of the picture.
VII .
Such, for example, is a scene on the borders of a

forest or moorland chase, or in some deep sequestered
F
dell, where the blue circling smoke reveals a company

of gipsies, swarthy and cowering round their fire,
their tents negligently spread, their cattle scattered
around, and their children half hid and half revealed
in the chequered light which plays through the trees
above. Such a picture might be very picturesque,
but its being so depends entirely on merging the
figures into a part of the landscape. It is striking as
a picture, and only so. For if, in the actual inter
course of life, the gipsies with their unkempt hair and
party-coloured raggedness were introduced into our
parlours and drawing -rooms, and were their raw
boned ponies and rough donkeys turned into our
lawns, they would be anything but beautiful. And
this because there can be no beauty subversive of
moral beauty, and there can be no moral beauty in
the works of civilised and social man without the
perception of principle, and of design, order and
fitness in carrying out that principle.
VIII.
The third and last gradation of the Natural phase

"
is “ The Pastoral. ” In this mode, while human beings
are still in an early state of social civilisation, subor
dinate to surrounding nature, the landscape has lost
the solitariness of the Wild , or the untutored free
>
dom of the Picturesque, and both landscape and

figures mark rural tastes and habits.
IX.
Such are many beautiful Dutch views of rural

homesteads, boors, cattle, and country life.
X.
These are the principal gradations of the Natural

phase.
F ?
CHAP . VIII.
GRADATIONS OF TIE CULTIVATED PHASE OF BEAUTY.
THE NEAT. THE REFINED . .

THE SPLENDID .
THE NEAT.
I.
It must be observed that the Cultivated phase of

Beauty is nearly related to the class of Indirect
Beauty ; both imply design, and exhibit order, fit
ness, and adaptation.
II.
Its first grade, or the “ Neat," has for its end the
beauty of utility ; it is eminently distinguished for
fitness and exactness of suitabilities to circumstances,
position and means, and is especially characterised
by the exquisiteness of cleanliness and cheerful
ness. It is bountiful but not lavish , thrifty but not
parsimonious, for it is alien alike from being cramped
by want or encumbered by abundance. Its ends are
exactly fitted to its resources. Its exact cleanliness
is the perpetual readiness for every call, its cheerful
ness the unencumbered mind of those who are before

hand with their avocation. The Neat possesses that
adaptation to uses and readiness for use which is the
beauty of the religious, the wise, the good.
III .
The Neat has the perfection which consists in ap

parent fitness to ends. The word suitability is often
in the mouth of those who possess it, and is their crite
rion for dress, house, furniture, equipage, manners,
tastes, and habits ; for with them these form but
one continuously organised whole, of which all the
parts are consistent, and exactly fitted to each
other.
IV .
This gradation of the Cultivated phase is found

amongst those highly educated members of the
Society of Friends, who still continue single-eyed
and of devoted and consecrated hearts. It is emi
nently the elegance of the aged and sober-minded,
and the religious.
V.
Both the Cultivated phase in general, and this gra

dation of it in particular, are wholly unsusceptible
of the Picturesque, which indeed is in most respects
opposed to it.
F 3
VI.
But as the Natural phase and its gradations are

beautiful in a picture, but often far otherwise in the
daily intercourse of life, so the Cultivated phase,
while it imparts pleasure to the mind and heart and
conscience in the changing scenery of domestic life,
is unfit for contemplation in the fixity of pictorial
representation.
VII .
And perhaps few mistakes are more common

or more fatal in objects of tasteful expression than
the notion that no beauty in visible objects can exist
but pictorial beauty . We forget that in a picture
form and colouring are fixed, but in actual life they
are ever varying and blending Now this distinction
alone, arising from the unvaried fixity of the one and
the continual living variety of the other, bestows on
the one a rich source of expression which to the
other is wholly wanting. This, however, will be
more fully entered into in another part of this work.
Pictorial beauty includes the charm of form and
colour, but it excludes that of vitality and grace of
motion .
CHAP. IX.
GRADATIONS OF THE CULTIVATED PHASE OF BEAUTY,

CONTINUED .
THE REFINED.
1.
The second grade of the Cultivated phase of Beauty

is 6 The Refined .”
II .
This is the phase of cultured intelligence, delicate

feelings, and discriminating taste. It imparts, when
applied to domestic scenery, not merely the impress
of comfort, but the distinctive signature of individual
character and mind.
III .
It affixes to every surrounding appliance a mental

stamp. That which is not only suitable to its use,
but which renders it more especially appropriate to
the very individuals to whom those uses are conse
crated.
F 4
IV.
The Neat would exhibit furniture of excellent

materials without one blemish or flaw , perfectly well
made and well fitted. The Refined would probably ,
over and above this, select pointed architecture for his
chapel, bis library, or his organ. He would assign
light colours and cheerful accessories to his social
apartments, and choose a meditative prospect or
more cumbrous furniture for the repose of his study
or book-room.
V.
The two phases of the Natural and the Artistic are

both valuable, and indeed indispensably necessary , in
the just application of each class of Beauty to that
scenery of domestic life to which we owe so large a
portion of our daily pleasantnesses.
VI .
For man as a creature can find happiness only in

obedience to the law of his creation, - that grand
two -fold law of loving God above all things, and his
neighbour as himself. Nor can any man be said to
carry out that law of wisdom and of happiness, but
in so much as he in truth “ dwells with God by re
9
collection, and with man by cheerfulness.”
VII .
From this double fountain springs the two -fold

taste for the Natural and the Artistic phase.
For the Natural, which rests, strengthens, and
refreshes man's heart by commune, through His unal.
tered works, with God.
For the Cultivated, which gives expansion to that
heart through the cheerful activities, mental inge
nuities, and loving reciprocations of thought ; and
through the interchange of feeling and of social com
merce with his fellow -men .
VIII .
Now the renovating and cheering influence of the

home scenery of daily life chiefly perhaps depends
on the judicious alternation of these two principles,
viz. that of divine repose, with that of animated
social activity .
IX .
Their proportions are then only well-tempered

when the refreshment, the repose , the renovation of
life from above and within , is not merely commensu
rate with, but rather surpasses, the claims for expen
diture and exhaustion from activities without. The
human tank will soon run dry unless it be daily
replenished from the Divine parent ocean.
X.
In that early grade of the Cultivated phase which

we have termed the Neat, we find the expression of
the comforts of physical and moral life opposed alike
to the destitution of penury, and to the superfluity
characterising an overflow of luxury.
XI.
The Refined or next grade goes beyond this ; it

not simply implies an expression of comfort, but it
demands those additional appliances which supply
the intellectual and spiritual requisitions of the heart
and mind of the owner, and which are absolutely in
dispensable to the development of those peculiar
and complex multiplicities of individual character,
necessarily consequent on an advanced stage of
civilisation .
XII .
In domestic scenery it thus additionally implies

that each room in the house, and every walk in the
domain, should not only bear the general impress of
the owner's mind , but should spontaneously awaken
that class of feelings to which its peculiar uses are
destined .
XIII .
And not only should every apartment bear its own

appropriate signature, but each should, moreover, bear
the distinctive impress, that it constitutes a part of a

private dwelling-house.
XIV .
For no part of a private family mansion should

resemble a public edifice ; nor should a domestic
residence, however ample, be mistaken for a palace.
XV.
The book - room of a wealthy individual's house

should not assume the semblance of a miniature
Bodleian library .
The picture-gallery should not emulate the Louvre ;
nor should the literary and scientific collections be
marked with the character of a public museum.
Each has its distinct characteristics, and these cha
racteristics should obtain in every part.
XVI.
Public museums, libraries, or galleries of art, are

established for the wide dissemination of the princi
ples of science, literature, and art, over the vast sur
face of civil society. They are addressed to the un
selected mass of mankind, including every variety of
taste, pursuit and character. Their object is simply
extent and variety of knowledge. The fulfilment of
this constitutes their value, and the manifestation of
it their beauty .
XVII .
The palace of the nobleman or dignitary should

also contain its treasures of literature, science, and
art ; perhaps the accumulation and golden spoil
of centuries. For it likewise is a central point
to numbers, but then those numbers are the selected,
not the indiscriminate mass of mankind. And the
founder is one of those keystones in the arch of
human society, to whom it belongs not merely to
dispense information, but to pervade the sphere of
wbich they are the centre with pure and elevated as
pirations, with chastened and discriminating tastes,
and with high and holy purposes. The objects of
such collections are spiritual and moral, as well as
intellectual.
And whilst the public collection is to inform the
head, the collection of the noble should likewise
elevate and ennoble the character.
XVIII .
The private mansion is differently destined. It is

the residence of aa cultivated owner and his family,
welcoming the circle of friends and relations which
circumstances, and accordance of diverse yet coales
cing tastes, have linked together in the union of a
friendly bond. Its collections should then be per
vaded by these characteristics. They should be
abundantly ample to meet the mental tastes and

provide for the mental wants of that circle, but they
should both bear its peculiar character, and receive
from those wants their limitation. They should
yet surpass the high tone of the preceding, much
as the exact culture of the private garden should
surpass that of the park or open field. Every
worthless weed, every noxious or lacerating plant
should be carefully excluded ; nor should any one
object be admitted which is .unsuited to the high
and holy and delicate spirit of a devoted private
life. Its objects are not only knowledge, as in
the case of the public collection, high tone, like
the aristocratic palace, but also the selection and
marked character which add to the other two the
union of sympathy and unity of mind characterising
a family.
XIX.
No domestic residence can be well appointed

which exhibits in any of its habitually occupied
apartments a marked unsuitability to any of the
multiplied wants and circumstances necessarily con
nected with a dwelling-house.
1 XX.
Now a dwelling -house is the abode where serious

business is transacted, where loving ties and relations
are knit and cherished, where thoughtful studies are
pursued , and where healthful sports recreate. There

bright and earnest hopes bud forth, and are cherished
in deep and sacred vividness. And there will bitter
anguish school, with her long and sharp but salutary
discipline, the untamed heart. Through its doors
the bridal party will enter full of hope ; from the
same portals will the funeral train depart. Here
rosy childhood , with its blue eyes and silken locks,
will sport in mirthful glee ; and here, too, bowing
age will sink to sleep in its parent dust, and soar to
its native heaven.
XXI.
It follows, then, that the scenery of a dwelling

house, contemplating so great a variety of destina
tions, should be so constituted as to avoid the dis
turbance of any rough jar of feeling, under any of
these opposed and conflicting circumstances, and thus
be adapted to afford in all a silent but not unfelt
sympathy,
XXII
Whilst the expression of peace, unity, chastened

cheerfulness, purity, and intellectuality, should
obtain in very different proportions, according to the
destination of the various apartments, yet a unity
of character should in these respects pervade the
whole. And no one expression should be allowed
to destroy the subdued tone of the rest, or to be
60 forcibly or visibly obtrusive, as to make any of
79
its apartments wholly and harshly discordant from the

circumstances they may have to witness.
XXIII.
1
The practical beauty of a domestic dwelling de
pends on its exhibiting a high and delicate standard
of individual character clearly but temperately per
vading it - everywhere recognisable, but never ex
pressed with such force either of colour, of ornament,
of brilliance, or of gloom, as could under any cir
cumstances render it offensively unsuitable.
XXIV.
The aspect of the well-arranged house should be

a transcript of that of the Christianised heart. It
should betoken that chastened, peaceful cheerful
ness, to which evil tidings should bring no disrup
tively discordant shock , and that glad yet serene
seriousness, which, under the severest pressure,
would not repel sympathy, nor shut itself up in the
despair of those who have no hope,
XXV.
And as nothing valuable can be done or enjoyed

to purpose but in the double love of God and man ,
so should every part of a house manifest, in various
proportions, the recognition of both, as the stable
groundwork on which every other beauty is but the
wrought adornment. And as both these principles
unite in all happy human feeling and action, so that

which tends by its associations to excite those feel
ings constitutes the sweetness and renovating sun
shine of domestic scenery.
XXVI.
It may be observed , with aa practical view to carry

out these suggestions, that distinctive character is
given to an apartment by means of the tone and
disposition of lights, whether natural or artificial;
by variety and harmony of colouring ; by decorative
dressings, such as pictures, china, pier-glasses ; by
the fashion of ordinary furniture, as chairs and
tables ; and by appliances for occupation, as books,
cabinets, and writing materials.
XXVII.
Again, no room is well-appointed in which the

entrances and seats are not so disposed as to present
from each principal position a well-arranged picture.
The eye and mind should be attracted by one prin
cipal object as their point of view, to which the
others are subordinate, and not be left to wander
round and round, uncertain where to fix themselves.
XXVIII .
The whole should contribute to one united effect.

The colouring and dressing of the walls should afford
!
to the figures a mellow and harmonising but unobtru

sive background ; the furniture should constitute a
blending middle tone, between the wall and the oc
cupants of the room ; enhancing a little in brilliance
and in ornament, so as to detach itself from the
background, without yet losing its subserviency to
the living occupants, upon whom the brightest lights
and colours — the emphasis - should always centre.
XXIX .
The colouring, adornments, and furnishing of a

room should heighten , mellow, enrich, and harmonise
effect, without disturbing repose. Its colouring
should be pitched at a tone of subdued half-tints ,
richness , or brightness, suitable to the degree of
seriousness or brilliance which the destination of
the room is likely, when applied to its uses, to pre
sent. As the interest should be made to centre in its
living figures, too stimulating an obtrusiveness or
2
too sombre a contrast should equally be avoided .

XXX ,
Hence, in rooms where persons often sit alone,

as in studies and libraries, the colouring should,
though cheerful, be subdued and quiet, and the dress
ings such as may be gently suggestive of sweet and
holy thought, without possessing an obtrusive pro
ininence, which would disturb by fresh calls the
repose of spirit needful to a wearied mind, or distract
it when intent upon its own earnest pursuits.
G
XXXI .
Rooms habitually occupied by members of one

family should be furnished with appliances for social
kindly pursuits and recreations, such as music, mark
ing the domestic bond as habitually knit closer by
union in the same tastes and pursuits ; also with
means for separate occupation, such as drawing and
writing, thus showing that those who dwell there
under the same roof are accustomed to be cheered,
even in their several paths, by the sunbeam of each
other's sympathy and loving countenances.
XXXII .
No general sitting -room is well or agreeably

furnished which does not present, on a substratum
of peaceful, holy associations, an impression of the
abounding cheerfulness that springs from varied
means of social occupationh ; these, while they im
part variety, may yet consist with and corroborate
each other in a rich luxuriance, corresponding with
the mental varieties of the different members of a
family bound together in one closely united brother
hood. For every heart can feel, even where the
lips do not utter, nor perhaps the memory imme
diately recall the words, “ Behold, how good and
how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in
unity ! "
XXXIII .
The more public rooms, the principal destination of

which is the reception of occasional visitors, should be
1
so furnished as to call forth the intelligence, the tastes,
the social talents, and the holy and kindly feelings of
the varied minds transiently occupying them. Their
dressings should be more stimulating than in a room
for family occupation. The pictures and surround
ing objects should emphatically strike the mind, and
be calculated to lead conversation into holy, useful,
and kindly channels, which is the true heart-refresh
ing object of society, and which sometimes makes
the little cup of living water there administered a
true blessing, both to the giver and to the receiver.
XXXIV.
As there is often too great a penury of intellectual

objects in the furniture of reception -rooms, so there
sometimes prevails a distraction , from too ostentatious
an exhibition of their affluence. Cabinets of natural
history, minerals, geology, music, books, prints,
models, and artistic implements, should not be
spread abroad in one profusion of intellectual chaos.
Xxxv .
In a well-appointed general sitting -room , there

should be channels opened abundantly sufficient to
G 2
invite the flow of the affluent and well - cultivated

inind. But then it should be left free, and not, in
its hours either of unbending social relaxation or of
needful mental repose, bé obtrusively dunned and
impelled to fresh exertion, and still less should it
be bewildered by a multitude of discordant and in
compatible solicitations.
XXXVI .
Music inviting to sound and to sociality ; books or

mathematical instruments to solitude and silence ;
writing materials urging to intent thought and ela
boration of mental treasures ; cabinets of natural
history soliciting to resume the intellectual staff, and
set forth afresh on a pilgrimage in search of new
facts. Surely it is no less perplexing to be assailed
by contradictory demands upon the mind within,
than by irreconcileable claims upon the time with
out.
XXXVII .
No bed-room can be well furnished unless it be

borne in mind that in that room not the body only,
but the heart, the soul, and the spirit retire to rest,
to find each its own needful refreshment after
the labour of the day. And that, not only as it
respects the brief days of which the year is com
posed, but as to what may be emphatically termed
that day of man when alone he can work , before the
night cometh from which the resurrection morn will

awake him. In that room the pilgrim will lay down
the staff of his pilgrimage ; there he will lie down to
sleep in peace, to awake satisfied with His likeness,
whom to see as He is, is to be like. There his exile
will end, there his eternal home begin. That, too, is
not only the room of the soul's special communion
with God and with itself, but also it is the room
of chosen social converse. There friend often speaks
to friend, and heart speaks closely to heart, as in the
holy yet sweet presence of their Heavenly Father.
XXXVIII .
:
Hence all the appointments of a bed -room should

eminently partake of a character of peaceful medita
tive repose , cheerfulness, social kindness and recollec
tion. Bed- rooms most incompletely fulfil their
destinations which only present the means for
physical warmth , rest, and refreshment. All the
three united lives of man created in the Divine Image
should there find restoration,
XXXIX.
The scenery of the bed -room , its pictures, books,

and all its furnishings, should centre in quieting,
recollected , and kindly musings, tending either to
GOD, or to sweet remembrances of dear friends, who,
though absent in body, are yet, in the silent and holy
G3
evening hour, vividly present in the depths of the

spirit, to the faithful and loving memory of the heart.
And as its scenery leads at the end of the day to
recollection , so in the morning should the sunbeam
which irradiates it lead the heart to soar heaven
wards, and to commence the day like the eagle, by
contemplating its centre of effulgence, life, and glory.
XL .
There, too , should be scattered around reminis

cences both of peaceful, solitary, and of kindly social
enjoyment. We must bear in mind that the seclu
sion of the chamber is that sanctuary where the heart
receives its daily heavenly portion of super-substan
tial bread, both for peace with God, and for activity
and loving duties amongst men ; and that there, too,
it returns when the activities of the day are ended ,
to the bosom of our Heavenly Father, to be again
replenished by Him.
XLI.
Such a room , then, is well furnished, when, on enter

ing it the wandering mind may almost unconsciously
be led to its home, the disturbed spirit to its rest, the
sorrowful heart to its stay, the weary to refreshment,
the faint to its cordial, and the spirit worn and soiled
by treading the dusty high road of life is beguiled to
the fountains gushing with living water ; whilst the
sportive and light-hearted may there be won by serene
peace, and by loving and sweet and holy thoughtful

ness ,
XLII .
Sweet is it to the woman whose privilege it is to

keep silence in the church and to speak only by her
life, so to arrange her home scenery that it may
whisper in gentle and holy but unmistakeable accents
to the understanding heart and cultured mind ; and
amidst an adorning veil of flowers may be traced the
under - current of living water vivifying them ; so that,
wearied, she may drink of the brook by the way ,
and hold up the head, or, in sweet communion with
God, may rest and be still.
XLIII.
If any of my readers will take the trouble to ex

amine into the causes of the impression made by the
>
aspect of any of the homes they visit, I believe they
will find that the modification which, in various pro
portions, Christian holiness, love, and cheerful activity
may have given to the dressing of every room , is in
fact that which imparts the sensibly felt but nameless
charm to domestic scenery .
XLIV.
Light is very important in imparting to a room

varieties of pictorial effect.
G4
XLV.
A broad and harmonious effect of light and shadow ,

which is a great beauty, is given by having the light
centred on one side of a room .
XLVI .
From one spacious window will be obtained the

most sober and tranquil effect of light and deep
shade,—the light resting upon the principal figures
and subduing the other parts into deep shadow .
This is the effect to be preferred for meditative
apartments occupied by one person . The artificial
light should correspondently emanate from one lamp
or centre.
XLVII .
The light in a general family apartment, where

many persons sit at one time, whose several occupa
tions require light, should be wide and generally
diffused ; but it should still preserve the pictorial
effect by emanating from one side of the room . In
such a case, the light from a very wide oriel or bay
window is desirable, because it is sufficiently wide
for diffusion, and the change of position of the sun
from morning till evening affords successive variety,
whilst it maintains simultaneous unity. The artificial
light of such apartments should, in correspondence,
emanate from various lights arranged round a
central one, so as to diffuse itself over the whole

room.
XLVIII.
The lights in rooms of representation or recreation,

where more vivid stimulus is required, may be given
by cross lights in various sides of the apartment,
breaking up the unity of a general effect into a
variety of stimulating little parts. The artificial
lights in this case should be numerous, and their
effect enhanced by reflectors of coloured or cut glass.
XLIX .
We believe the power of the association of ideas

is not sufficiently appreciated in practical daily life.
Every room should not only have its destination, but
that destination should be distinctly manifested . The
Lecture Hall, the Church , the Exchange, the Library,
the home fire -side, should each spontaneously suggest
its own distinct class of associations to the mind.
And the maintenance of an aspect peculiar to the oc
cupation of each saves a great deal of time and labour
which , did no such law of association exist, would be
necessarily lost in vain endeavours to collect the
mind and turn the current of thought. But under
the beneficent operation of this law, there exists far
less danger of annoyance and distraction by the
intrusion of one set of thoughts and feelings into a
place appropriated to some other. And why, but
because the costume and aspect of each is indis

solubly associated with its own peculiar train of
spiritual, mental, or physical occupation ?
L.
Great would be the inconvenience were the
amusements of the social circle suggested to our

hearts and minds in the oratory, the study, or the
counting-house ; and equally unrefreshing would it
be, did traces of the labours of science, or of the
anxieties of the bank or exchange, disquiet our hearts
and minds in the social or domestic circle .
LI .
Now, so far as recalling or dismissing trains of

thought or feeling may be termed an art, that art,
exclusively of religious self-discipline, chiefly consists
in connecting certain pursuits with certain fixed
objects and seasons, and with them only, and not
letting them interfere with each other by being
presented at one and the same time as a double or
contradictory claim.
LII .
Whoever, instead of retiring to the solitude of his

own study, has tried to write in the deserted saloon
he saw occupied the evening before by a brilliant
and splendid company, or whoever, by some acci
dent, changes his accustomed seat at his own place of

worship, will assuredly experience how very much
his facility in recalling trains of thought and feeling
depends on accustoming them to definite fixed
associations.
LIII .
And if these observations be true, may we not

suggest, as an apology for having so long dwelt on the
arrangement of domestic scenery , that we must view
it not only as a high application of the principles of
Beauty, but also as in some degree an important
branch of minor domestic morals ?
LIV .
One or two concluding observations. Dwelling

houses are essentially in bad taste, in which those
profuse luxuries which pamper the animal above the
spiritual or intellectual man prominently obtrude
themselves. Those debasing forms of bestial or
diabolic selfishness, the lust of the flesh , the lust of
the eye, and the pride of life, are as contrary to
Beauty as they are destructive of religion.
LV .
Animal luxury and self-aggrandisement belong to

an essentially degraded style, intrinsically contracted,
base, and vulgar. Animal appliances should not fix
the eye, but be passed through, as ministering only
to necessary comfort ; and self-aggrandisement, or

emphasis on self, should only be allowed for the ne
cessary order of social life. Adornment should always
be connected with something intellectual or spiritual.
LVI .
For man is an animal only in his very lowest

grade of being. He is human by his intellect, he is .
angelic by his spirit. An abode well laid out should
then, if I may be allowed the expression, bear the
heraldic achievements and distinctions not of
lowest but of his highest grade. His genealogic tree
should emblazon not his animal but his spiritual
intellectual parentage.
LVII .
That establishment will be elevated and beautiful

in which the physical wants are supplied, though
with amplitude, yet unobtrusively, while the emphasis
is placed on that which is distinctive to man as a
cultured spiritual and intellectual being, as an heir of
immortality rather than as a child of dust.
CHAP. X.
GRADATIONS OF THE CULTIVATED PHASE OF BEAUTY ,

CONCLUDED .
THE SPLENDID.
I.
A FEW observations must be added upon the

Splendid or highest grade of the Cultured phase of
Beauty.
II.
The utilities of this style chiefly respect public life.

Its uses belong to the representation necessary on
public occasions, as distinguished not only from the
retirement of strictly domestic life, but even from the
wider limits of an extended social circle.
III .
Thus gorgeous colours, plate, gilding, burnished

metals, adorned horses, carriages, and attendants,
splendid jewels, magnificent coronals, are on certain
public occasions no display of selfish vanity, but a
necessary index to the eyes of the assembled gazing
multitude. At a coronation , a civic procession , the

inauguration of the Crystal Palace, they are no
empty pageant, but a truly useful guide, and direct
the uninstructed eye by bestowing pictorial emphasis
on really emphatic personages or circumstances,
making them spontaneously occupy, to the eye of the
spectator, the same distinguished place which they
should in fact fill in his mind ; thus, like an index,
enabling him at once to distinguish and turn his
attention to the desired point.
IV.
Nor is this style perhaps to be wholly and severely

restricted to national occasions. The mansions of the
aristocracy of a great nation may be considered as
holding a midway position between strictly private
and national palatial structures. Such abodes as
Warwick Castle, Chatsworth , Castle Howard, and
Blenheim, are , by the courtesy of their distinguished
owners, perhaps by duties involved in their privi
leges, truly national treasures of art and Beauty, as
not only enjoyed by their owners, but as accessible
through their bounty to all the cultivated public.
V.
A house, then, in such circumstances should more

or less partake of this style. It is de facto more or
less a palace. And as the grade ascends, the circle
of its publicity extends. The head of the house to

whom it belongs merges his own individual tastes in
those of the public. His private pursuits form but
one part of the influence, the support, and the aid he
should bestow on the wide circle of which he is the
centre ; his book-room becomes more of a library
his cabinets assume in some degree the amplitude
of a museum-his pictures exhibit a gallery - his fur
niture are specimens of artistic skill, improvement, and
adornment. But why ? Because he who receives
national honours is no longer merely his own, but is
called on henceforth to live in measure for the benefit
of those to whom he owes his privileges. He lives
for others - he adorns his house and place for others.
It forms the moral tone, the taste , the mind, of aa vast
neighbourhood to which it is the centre. It is the
adorned key-stone in which meets a noble arch ,
constituted of many concentric circles. Hence
what in a private individual would be physical or
intellectual selfishness, becomes in his case a grace
ful and noble munificence.
VI .
He feels the duties of his order even more than its

privileges. And all his house — his possessions -- his
treasures of art, have been formed, through a long
course of centuries, by those whose views in their col
lection were not limited to themselves and their own
family, but embraced their noble position of being

the helpers, the friends, the developers of genius, and
the sustainers of the fortunes of others. And that
adornment which in the prosperous private life would
be ignoble ostentation, is, or may be, in him whose
order calls him to public life, the most constant and
unappreciated self-denial of individual tastes, a sacri
fice by which alone he can achieve the benevolent
purposes of his destination.
VII .
The legitimate because the only valuable use of the

Splendid and Gorgeous style is when brilliance to the
eye is only a means of riveting the attention on that
personage or that circumstance which forms a yet
brighter intellectual or moral portrait on the heart
and mind.
And the vivid colouring or sparkling adornments
become aa visible help, similar in use, though different
in kind, to the accent of a musical note or syllable
upon the emphatic word or idea.
VIII .
This style is, we believe, always misused when ap

plied to simply private life. All universal splendour
destroys emphasis, and substitutes tawdry general
glare for vivid yet harmonious effect. And whilst in
public life it facilitates, when sparingly used, the re
cognition of the actually distinguished, it is ever as
contrary to good sense as to good taste when usurped

by the folly of a petty egotistic vanity, seeking to
obtrude that into distinction by its glitter whose best
hope is to remain undistinguished .
IX.
Brilliance, when adopted by the many instead of

being used to distinguish the eminent few , becomes
like false emphasis multiplied on insignificant words,
whose only graceful place is unobtrusively to con
nect or sever those on which the attention should
properly be fixed.
It is equally bad, in the scenery of life as in the
page of the author, for that which is a mere
conjunction to receive the emphasis and the capital
heading of the substantive.
X.
All finery is an emanation of littleness of mind.

It is a contemptible medium through which the in
trinsically little endeavour to govern the still less.
XI.
All self-aggrandisement is the hallucination of a

fallen beart, contemplating itself by the ignis-fatuus
of disordered ideality in the mirror of self-esteem ,
instead of appreciating itself by the light of the Spirit,
which makes wise the simple, in the sure word of
the revelation of GOD.
H
CHAP. XI.
SUGGESTIONS FOR THE SELECTION AND APPLICATION OF

THE TWO GREAT PHASES OF BEAUTY.
I.
Having now defined the three ascending grades

belonging respectively to the Natural and Cultivated
phases of Beauty, I think it is here the place to add
a few observations on the principles which should
determine and regulate the selection or adoption of
either phase, with a view clearly to discriminate the
occasion and circumstances under which the one may
be available, or preferable to the other.
II.
For as the two phases of the Natural and the Cul

tivated have each a true origin in the actual relation
of man to God, and of men to each other, either, like
the varieties of the active or contemplative life, may
be adopted and blended in different proportions, ac
cording to the taste or choice of the selector.
IIL
The taste and circumstances of some persons in

duce them to choose the Natural, whilst those of
others lead them to prefer the Artificial phase.
Some, again, seek to have the two variously modi
fied and combined . Others demand the stimulus of
their sudden and vivid contrast .
IV .
It may be well, then , to add aa few strictures respect

ing each, in order to throw a distinct light on the
principles which should determine their adoption, or
regulate or modify their application.
V.
In point of fact, however surpassing in beauty and

in actual excellence are the unaltered works of GOD
in themselves, yet, as He has bestowed on man
the materials and faculties for labour, and has re
vealed the call and command to employ them ; so it is
always a defect, when any of the appropriated domain
of man remains wholly unimpressed by the signature
of his industry, his intelligence, his tastes, and his
feelings.
VI .
For it then becomes the case of the child neglecting,

as unappreciated, the use of his Father's most boun
1 2
tiful gift; or of the idle servant culpably leaving the

proffered talents of his Lord unemployed.
VII .
For the works of God, contemplated as His utter

ance in the natural creation , stand in a very widely
different position and relation to man from that small
part of them entrusted to him as his peculiar and in
dividual domain, the subject of his handiwork . The
two involve different considerations, and are addressed
to different capacities of enjoyment.
VII.
The one has the sensible revelation of GoD to His

creatures for its object; the other, revolving within
that vast circle, has for its object the sensible mani
festation of the character of man towards man.
IX .
God is infinite ; man is finite. And as the Great

Creator is inscrutable to His creature, so are His
plans likewise. A degree of mystery, like a sunny
veil, bright but impenetrable, though shrouding a
glory, must, from the very nature of their relation
ship, hang over them .
X.
But man being the equal of man, his actings come

within the scope of human scrutiny. If well carried
out, they not only address themselves to the heart and

understanding, but in proportion as they approach
perfection are they vividly felt by the one, and
clearly and obviously apprehended by the other.
XI.
Now, then, in the Natural phase, (that of all the

>
works of GOD,) we do not expect to comprehend the

plan. We know this would involve an impossibility.
The less cannot include the greater, the finite the in
finite. As regards the apprehension of God, the
most eminent philosopher can only humbly stand in
tellectually, as Moses did , shielded in the cleft of the
-rock, and catch a brief glimpse of His glory as He
passes by. And hence, and hence only, is the ab
sence of discernible order in natural scenery.
XII.
An apparent wildness and want of plan is here no

defect betraying want of skill or design, but rather a
testimony of the littleness of the creature as com
pared with the infinity of the Divine wisdom. It
only marks the hand of the Great Artist, whose foot
steps are indeed in the deep, and whose works are
past finding out; and their contemplation affords one
of the highest pleasures to His feeble creature man,
from the recognition of His signature who is his
Father, bis Saviour, and his King ; that Lord whose
works are manifold , who has made them all in wisdom ,
H 3
who has replenished the earth with His riches, and

whose tender mercies are over all which He has
made, and who forsakes not the work of His own
hands.
XIII .
But, by parity of reason , want of order in human

works is displeasing. With respect to a creature
like ourselves, we justly feel that if he have a design
it should be comprehensible to us, and that every
part of which the whole is constituted should obvi
ously bear upon the central intention.
XIV .
Now to return to our original position. No real

beauty can exist without moral sentiment. But in
human outward action there can be no moral senti
ment without principle and conscience. Where these
really exist they will emanate in discipline, order, and
design.
It then becomes obvious that there can exist no
Cultured phase of Beauty unimpressed by the signa
ture of design and order.
XV.
The works of GOD we know assuredly are perfect.

We dwell and rest securely in the simple recognition
of His signature; and thus the pleasure of the Natural
phase of Beauty consists chiefly in that the heart
of man, the child of dust, rests in sweet peace in the

palpable autograph of Him whom he knows to be
his Almighty Father, Sovereign, and Saviour; and
it delights in drawing near and contemplating Him
unrestrainedly, in being free from all trammels im
posed by fellow -men .
XVI .
As to the works of man, we have no such assurance .

We know , indeed, of man's Fall, by the voice of re
velation , by the testimony of our own evil hearts, and
by the wide desolations of the world around ; but
we can judge of any man's individual restoration only
by his manifestations. As the relation , then, of man
to God compels immediate and blind affiance in His
signature , so our relation to man requires a manifested
token of his character before it can be confided in.
And hence it is that the design and order which ema
nate from the manifested love of man to man, become
indispensable in the Cultured phase of Beauty .
XVII .
And let us examine our own hearts if this be not

true. Why do the vast ocean , the gorgeous sunset,
the deep forest, the beetling crag, please us ? Why
but because they speak to us of the mighty power
of that God we already know as our Saviour ; be
cause, amidst the turmoils, and conflicts, and wars
H 4
of time, they raise the soul to the contemplation of

that eternal permanence wherein these petty feuds
shall have past, and love shall eternally endure ?
XVIII .
What is it which imparts delight to domestic

scenery, but the expression of that love of man to
man founded in Him whose essential brightness is in
the Paradise of God, but whose rays burst forth as
sunbeams, gladdening, cheering, and vivifying all the
appliances of domestic life ? Why do we like order,
but because it gives liberty for social and spiritual
occupation ? Why science, but because it enables
men, yea, even generations long since past from
earth, to bless generations to come with useful know
ledge ? Why works of art, but because these are
forms by which ingenious love can sympathise with
those it will never see in the flesh ? Why collec
tions of industry, but to bless and encourage the
artisan at his loom, the labourer at his toil ? What are
all the inventions of man, when emanating from the
source which was their origin , but the ingenuities of
talent to display love and sympathy ? All these things
may, indeed, abound in the houses of the wealthy
and the noble ; but without perception of this love
and without sense of this sympathy they are as the
leafless trees of winter, forming sad moaning music
in the icy blast, or as the ice -bound river, clear and
bright, but hard and useless. Then let but the Sun
of Righteousness arise with warmth, and healing,

and light in His beams; let but the domestic sun of
human love, grounded in divine, go forth, and 0, what
a transformation ! The ice-bound lake reflects the
bright face of heaven ; the frost -chained river gushes
forth, carrying life and gladness in all directions ;
the trees burst forth in verdure, blossoms, and rich
fruit, and are redolent of sweet fragrance, and reson
ant with the songs of hundreds of happy birds, rejoicing
in their branches. Yet the difference of mid- winter
and bright summer is as nothing compared with the
difference when love, the sun of life, shines forth
upon or withdraws from the domestic prospect.
XIX .
As the outward ceremonials of politeness or religious

ritual are , when lifeless, to the true courtesy and devo
tion of which they should be the genuine utterance, so
are all the appliances for usefulness, science, or taste,
when not vivified in all their actings by a living bene
volence. How many noble institutions does this coun
try possess, by which man may bless his fellow -man,
-libraries, museums, colleges, institutes of every kind.
How many valuable means of useful knowledge are
to be found in almost all cultivated families in this emi
nently utilitarian age. How is it that, with so many
appliances for blessing, men are not blest ; that
generation seems not knit in gratitude to the gene

ration from whom it inherits intellectual treasures, or
the members to the head of their house in love ? Why
is this ? Do the beneficent forget that to do good,
the good must be the utterance of the love of the
heart, the opening up of a spring which henceforth
is to flow for ever, of which every succeeding cup,
like its first, should bubble and sparkle as it gushes
forth , instinct with life ? How onerous is benefi
cence where not the offspring of love ; how cheer
less the glare of light unaccompanied with glowing
warmth ; and how different, how vastly different, are
the benefits of God and man ! For in every work
of God, whilst its profound wisdom instructs the
understanding, the yet more excellent signature of
love elevates and softens the heart.
XX .
It is to be observed that all the requisites of the

Cultured phase of Beauty may be traced as a ne
cessary consequence of design for socially useful pur
poses. It is on this ground that order, as indicating
an organised plan, is a necessary constituent. Hence
are required not only Symmetry, Proportion, and
Correspondence, but that regularity of construction
and sequence which denotes a permanent and conti
nuous will operating through a variety of channels
converging towards the achievement of one and the
same plan. On the same ground, fitness of measure

and adaptation of material are also requisite ; for the
parsimonious occasions a lack , whilst the lavish be
comes onerous from an encumbering superabundance.
XXI .
Cleanliness is on the same ground an integral part

of the Cultivated phase of Beauty; for though not
perhaps essential as a necessary part of an organised
whole, it is yet indispensable to perfection of order
and readiness for immediate use. The tool burnished
to hand , the instrument tuned for utterance , the
family household dressed for the full enjoyment of
the domestic circle, belong to the semper paratus
which is an essential constituent of this phase.
XXII.
On the same ground, every flaw in animated nature,

every apparent want of health, stands opposed to this
phase of Beauty, as marking an unreadiness for im
mediate and full usefulness and social interchange,
whether physical, moral, or intellectual; whether
personal, social, or civil.
XXIII .
The Natural phase, again, which respects not the

social brotherly relation of man to man, but the di
vine relation of the creature to the Creator, involves
none of these objects.
It presupposes personal liberty and social uncon

straint. The sequestered and retired life of an an
chorite or a philosopher, or the wandering life of the
untutored savage or the nomadic herdsman, need not
the multiplied appliances which are indispensable to
more complete social relations. A life destitute of
ang but the simplest wants, delights rather to rest in
a sense of repose in the providence and bounty of
God, than to be entangled in ceaseless activities in
order to provide a multitude of what, to it, are
onerous and embarrassing superfluities.
XXIV .
Both these phases of Beauty have equally their

type in the works of God ; and hence both may
equally look to Him for blessing.
The lily of the field, which toils not neither does
it spin ; the flowering cereus, unseen by any human
eye, pouring forth her rich fragrance and robed in
unsullied purity amidst the thick darkness prevalent
around ; the Victoria Regia in majesty , sitting like
a queen upon the waters amidst dense fogs and
poisonous reptiles; the birds of the air, that sow
not and reap not, nor gather into garners :-- these are
beautiful types of the one phase. The busy and
honey -gathering bee, the laborious emmet, and the
social beaver, labouring for their respective communi
ties, are each equally typical of the other .
XXV.
Both types in His natural creation are equally the

work of the same Father's loving hand ; and as in
His church the call of Martha and of Mary are both
sanctified and both blest by Him, and as they pri
marily set Him forth , the one in His six days' labour,
the other in His sabbatic rest, so do they equally ex
press His goodness and mercy in the bountiful gifts
which He affords, and in the farther gift of the
talents, activities, and industry, useful to elicit their
various and recondite value.
XXVI.
On the one is bestowed the sweetness of liberty,

uncarefulness, solace, and rest. The heart sits at
Jesus' feet, feels that “ one thing is needful,” and is
filled with satisfaction . To the other is given the
enjoyment, for His sake, of cheerful, hopeful activity,
the bands busily employed, whilst the glad heart, blest
by Him, bursts into a song of thanksgiving.
XXVII .
The lovers of the first phase are wont to say ,

These woods are more free from peril than the en
vious court, and they delight, in their “life exempt
from public baunts, to find tongues in trees, books in
the running brooks, sermons in stones, and God'in
everything ;" and, like Amiens, they sing with light

and uncareful hearts,
“ Und the greenwood -tree,
Who loves to be with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither ;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather .”
XXVIII .
The partisans of the second phase care compara

tively for none of these things. Like their eminently
gifted prototype, Mde. de Staël, their spirits kindle
at the prospect of the multitudinous stacks of town
chimneys and of gilded spires, glimmering through
or just emerging from the dense cloud of sooty smoke
that broods over the hum of the city below.
For that prospect, albeit far different from that of
her beloved Alps, with the clear blue Lake of Geneva
at their feet, yet holds out the promise of the literary,
the friendly, or the intellectual reunion ; she already
rejoices in the anticipation of many a gifted social
circle, with its quickly kindling sympathies, ani
mated repercussion of repartee, patient elaboration
of thought, the lambent play of cheerful, yet
luminous hilarity, the sparkling of wit, the flash of
genius ; all which, whilst wholly invisible to the
merely picturesque eye, tell their welcome tidings to
the discerning and cultured intellect, and make the

heart and mind, as well as the spirit, glow .
XXIX .
Such are the principles of the Natural and Arti

ficial phases of Beauty. We shall conclude this part
of our subject with some remarks on the use of each
phase, and the place which it should hold in the
works of man .
XXX.
As the cultured is the utterance peculiar to human

civilisation, partaking of its objects, and circum
scribed by its limits, so should it modify everything
which bears the stamp of human industry.
XXXI.
As uncultured prodigality of bounty is the utter

ance of the Creator in the Natural phase, so should
this phase characterise all that is without the im
mediate province of man .
XXXII .
A false position is destructive to the beauty of

either phase. Thus the Picturesque is debased into
the negligent when misapplied where the neat should
obtain, and the Cultivated degenerates into the prim ,
when order appears as an end instead of a means,
assuming the post of the mistress instead of unob
trusively fulfilling that of the servant. Whatever is

out of place loses its moral expression and influence.
Nothing can be beautiful but where it is appointed
in the will of God, and is consequently accompanied
by His blessing.
XXXIII .
Could it impart pleasure if in the sublime pass of

Cheddar, or amongst the Alps, a bright Chinese pago
da, with its splendid gilding, its glittering galleries,
its tinkling bells,were stuck up ? And why would
it displease, but because the obtrusive creations of
tiny man become impertinent in the presence of the
grandeur of the works of God, before that silent
voice which says to the heart, Acquaint thyself with
GOD, and be at peace ?
XXXIV .
Misapply the Cultured phase of Beauty, and it

becomes an intrusive annoyance, like a succession of
trifling visitors when we need to be alone. Misapply
the Natural or Picturesque phase, and it becomes
dreary and desolate. For such is solitude without a
sense of the presence of God, and there is no sense
of this when walking out of His order.
XXXV .
Both phases find a place in every extensive do

main .
XXXVI .
The flower -garden , shrubbery, hot-house, and con

servatory, which are fruits of social tastes and inter
course, should, like the house itself, be entirely mo
delled by the Cultured phase.
XXXVII .
The more distant grounds should, on the other

hand , gradually lose every apparent trace of art ;
and the mind, left to unrestrained freedom of
musing, would thus restore itself by returning to the
uninterrupted sense of the presence of God. For it
inhales fresh supplies of life from above, as it recedes
from the busy haunts of society, gradually dropping
careful ornament, and sliding into a stronger modifi
cation of the picturesque; that the heart may for a
season entirely leave man and his doings, and the
eye of the sout be fixed upon GOD alone.
XXXVIIL
And we shall find after the full refreshment of

converse with Him, amidst works which alone bear
His stamp, that we shall return with renewed health
ful vigour from our Father's face, strengthened by
His blessing, to show forth His love amongst His
children, our brethren .
We shall return from our picturesque walk with
I
equal pleasure and alacrity, to a house so well ap

pointed, that each apartment will spontaneously pre
sent the associations of the pursuits we follow there.
XXXIX .
Nor should only the adjunct phase of Beauty be

varied in a wide domain . The mind should be ad
ditionally refreshed by an alternation of the Sub
stantive classes : the Active and Passive Sublime, the
Beautiful, the Vivid, should all relieve each other,
yet so modified as not to destroy unity ; that is, one
style should be selected as predominant, and the
others used as accessories in subdued expression.
The order should be that in which the mind can
really enjoy them , always alternating an Active by a
Passive style, and vice versa, as exercise alternates
with rest.
XL .
One observation must be added. Nothing is more

false in taste than obtruding the factitious amidst the
real. On this principle the adornment of grounds
with pagan temples, statues, and symbols, is wholly
bad. In natural scenery the living God Himself
speaks to the heart : nothing can be worse than in
troducing, whilst He thus speaks, the associations of
classical literature and false gods. A sentiment is
an idea combined with a feeling. Now where true
feeling is excited, it should have true ideas through
TAE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY . 115
which to find its utterance. A false idea in the

midst of true feeling is as a gag to the heart. On
this account it is that many of the elaborate mor
tuary sculptures exhibited in St. Paul's and West
minster Abbey, are but far -fetched impertinences
compared with the unpretending tombs of olden
times, which are satisfied with the solemn represen
tation of the dead.
XLI .
Now that there is infinitely more artistic skill in

the sculpture, for instance, of Roubilliac than in
such tombs no one can doubt ; but the simple repre
sentation of the dead, however inartistic, leads to
the contemplation of death , GOD, eternity, the
greatest of all ideas which the human mind can
reach.. The elaborate sculpture of the moderns
presents, on the other hand, some false heathen
association , some ingenious conceit, between the
earnest heart and the great truth God is speak
ing to it. The one, through unskilful expression,
leads to a great, an eternal idea ; the other, through
great artistic skill, conducts to a puny, miserable
conceit. The one opens the ear of the soul, and
leaves the voice of God to fill it ; in the other,
pigmy man pours forth an elaborate emphatic
.
barangue, which prevents that "still small voice "

from being heard.
I 2
XLII .
And now it may be added that we believe that

it is owing to this great disfigurement and radical
defect, that the noblest poem the world ever saw ,
Milton's “Paradise Lost,” though it will be ever
praised, will be seldom spontaneously read. The
earnest heart, which is so often addressed, is as con
stantly chilled and thrown back by its pagan allusions
and fallacious ornaments . All feeling is true, and
expresses itself with truth ; and nothing is so great
an extinguisher and destroyer of genuine feeling, as
dressing it up in artificial, and false, and curiously
elaborated ideas. Had Milton's taste been as cor
rect, and, if I may use the expression, as moral, as
his genius was powerful, how different would have
been the result of his work ; what a deep response
would it have elicited from every heart and mind
XLIII .
The foundation of the pleasure man finds in both

phases of Beauty is laid in his sense of necessary
dependence, on the one hand, as a creature upon
God , the Almighty Creator, and, on the other, upon
his fellow - creatures, to whom he is related by parity
of condition, unity of hope, and identity of parentage.
Hence his double love for the outward manifestations
which reach him under the Natural or the Cultured
phase of Beauty, and speak to him either of his

Father which is in heaven , or of his brethren who
are yet on earth, his fellow -pilgrims towards that
better land.
XLIV .
When, then, the presence of God truly dwells in

the temple of the heart, how elevating, how profound ,
how pure, how free and holy, are man's expatiations
amidst natural scenery ! How full, how august
that society, where the heart of man, elevated by
commune with his Father, converses in secret with
Him who is invisible !
XLV .
When that holy presence does not abide in the

temple of the heart, then is the sanctuary desolate
indeed, empty, or occupied by evil spirits. Then
does bereft and lonely man feel only the oppressive
weight of natural objects around. For he stands
alone in the world , crushed by an overwhelming
sense of his own littleness, encompassed by inscru
table greatness and power, with which he has no
communionl ; he feels the presence of myriads of in
animate or animate objects, but he knows not a
father in the Lord of hosts, who wields them at His
pleasure. It is, indeed, a dreary solitude.
13
XLVI.
The true enjoyment of intercourse with our fellow

creatures depends in like manner upon the presence
of the love of God in the heart.. Then how sweet
is it when the heart expands and the mind kindles
by reciprocated kindliness and knowledge. And
sweeter far in domestic life is it to rest the wearied
heart and mind on the chastened expression of sym
pathy, lighting up the well-known and beloved coun
tenance of one who has often treated our sorrows
with compassion, returned long -suffering to our
tryingness, and shown enduring fidelity in our bur
dens, -endeared to us like a gallant ship, which,
though the gloss of its new paint and rigging may
be worn less bright, yet in its very scars marks the
tenacity with which its anchors have held , and its
rudder answered the helmsman, through many a
storm and tempest.
XLVII .
Man was in his original, and is in his restored

creation, closely and inseparably linked both to GOD
and man, nor can the golden tie which unites them
be severed, but by sin ..
XLVIII .
By the restoration of man in Christ the link be

comes re- established . There is peace with GOD ,

peace with man, peace with one's own heart. Such
is the power of real commune of heart and spirit ,
the origin of true society. Then all association in
their various communions is delightful, and solitude
is no more .
XLIX .
Though few of us are, perhaps, sufficiently aware

how very much the moral associations of kindliness,
order, principle, and self -denial from love to others,
which are made visible through the arrangement
and selection of external objects in the scenery of
daily life, add to its comfort and cheerfulness, yet it
would be a great mistake to imagine that the Cul
tured phase of Beauty is incapable of giving pleasure
to the mind, independently of its use in this respect.
L.
For there is nothing found to be uniformly a

means of good which will not gradually attach to
i itself aa sensible pleasure, distinct from the considera
tion of the end for which alone it was originally
valued .
LI .
And, again, we can finally esteem nothing to be

useful but what furnishes means for the enjoyment
either of God, or of man who is in His image . For
this, man is created ; for this, the earth, his school, is
I 4
furnished ; for this, he is placed and trained amidst

his fellow -men ; and the end of all his training on
earth is to enable him still, as a member of the human
family, to enjoy God's eternal bounty.
LII .
The Cultivated phase of Beauty pleases, then, in

part, from the very strong affinity which it possesses
to the works of God in the class of Indirect Beauty.
It exhibits the same mental qualities which , we have
seen , are there displayed in Symmetry, Proportion,
and Correspondence, and, like that, always pre
supposes a plan.
LIII .
Yet may the exhibition of the principle of order

be contrasted as it appears in the works of man and
in the works of GOD.
LIV .
For however much the constituent parts of order

obtain in some of the works of GOD, they yet never
exhibit more than the degree necessary to achieve its
end. So that the most regularly organised natural
object is generally seen under circumstances which
practically render it picturesque.
LV .
The movements of the animal take away the ap

parent regularity of disposition of its form . The

deer, the horse, the goat, though symmetrically
formed , yet are constantly assuming varying and pic
turesque attitudes.
LVI .
Again, the flower may exhibit an exact regularity

of structure, or corresponding pinnated leaves or
similar petals, yet in truth the variety of the pictu
resque is imparted by its growth and the play of its
stem or leaves in the wind, so that its Order, though
recognisable on inspection, is not obviously prominent.
And the waving of their frondage in the breeze
bestows just the same picturesque variety of move
ment to plants as voluntary motion imparts to
animal life.
LVII .
In the Cultured or Human phase of Beauty Order

is obviously regnant ; in the Organised or Divine it
is recognisable on examination, but subservient.
: LVIII .
}
In the works of man Order is often the means by
which the principle is arrived at: ; in those of GOD
it is the vesture in which the originating living prin
ciple clothes itself.
LIX.
Just as in morals we see man by elaborations of

science, by Bridgewater Treatises, painfully climb

ing up in the hope of knowing God — as the giants
heaped Pelion on Ossa, earth upon earth to heaven
- whilst in grace the living and central love of God
emanates in rays of light illuminating and vivifying
the creations around.
LX .
In God is life, and the life is the light of men ;

when man teaches, he begins at light, and vainly
hopes by it to reach unto life.
123
PART II .
OF DEFORMITY .
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL CONDITIONS OF DEFORMITY. PREPARATION OF

1
HEART FOR THE CONTEMPLATION OF DEFORMITY .
DEFORMITIES EITHER SELF - CONTRADICTORY OR TRA
VESTIES OF THE STYLES OF BEAUTY.
I.
As all Beauty is a reflection of the moral character

of God, which is perfect, so all Deformity is the
reflection of the evil arising from the fall of man.
II .
Some species of Deformity may be considered as

the stamp of the curse, which , when man fell, passed
upon the world ,—his ruined kingdom , his desolated
garden, which was henceforth to bear to him spon
taneously only thorns or thistles; an awful type of
the worthless, entangling, lacerating products of the
henceforth earthly mind.
124 THE PRINCIPLES OF DEFORMITY.
His habitation was henceforth to teem not with

beautiful things only, stamped with the character of
GOD, but also with images of the bestial and diabolic
characters, into which he was now sunk .
II .
For the ever blessed GOD , the Father of spirits, as

His love fails not, compassionated His fallen creature.
In that loving mercy He not only set before him
the blessing and the curse in the preceptive law, but
also exhibited before him , in sensible images or
types, the moral character involving both.
IV.
And as He has declared that " by their fruits ye

sball know them,” He has not only given external
objects to symbolise the internal spiritual graces
wbich He has bestowed upon His regenerate chil
dren, but has also instituted outward material types
of warning. Both warnings and examples are, in
some degree, explanatory to the natural man of what
he cannot spiritually discern , until he listen to the
voice of the Spirit.
v.
Hence it is that we have a double set of types for

our teaching, the one for recreation and example, the
other for warning.
THE PRINCIPLES OF DEFORMITY. 125
VI.
The one set, as the lamb, the lily, the rose , mani
festing the Divine perfections of our Lord ; the wind,
the dove, the living water, manifesting those of the
Spirit.
VII .
The other, setting forth the deadly and odious

character of the sins of the creature in the flesh, the
mind, and the spirit. As the violent rhinoceros,
the wallowing sow, the envenomed adder, the base,
creeping and slimy reptile.
VIII .
The first of these classes of objects constitutes

Beauties . God has given the eye and heart of man
to delight in them , for they are fragments recording
>
the praises of Him whom his heart once delighted in.

They are the shattered emblems of his Father and of
his God. They address his inmost heart, and tell it of
his high original, and invite and beseech it to turn to
look on Him whose emblematic portrait they present ;
they invite him to come to himself, and say, " Father,
I have sinned against heaven and before Thee, and am
no more worthy to be called Thy son.”
IX .
The second class, also given by God, constitutes

Deformities.
i
These are equally designed by His lovingkindness,

and hold up to reckless man the degraded and loath
some picture of his own fallen heart.
X.
They show forth his vileness, his pride, his cruelty,

his falsehood. Man turns from them with abhorrence ;
he terms them deformities, for they hold up to his eye
his own odious and fallen image.
XI.
O, blessed is he who, contemplating the salutary

type, receives its instruction and turns to Him who
has effectually bruised the serpent's head, repents
and abhors himself in dust and ashes, — and, going to
>
Him who can both forgive sin and change the heart,
learns by a happy experience the blessedness of that
man whose iniquity is forgiven, whose sin is covered,
who is born anew of the cleansing water of the
Spirit !
XII.
Both these sets of types are to be studied, because

both are appointments of GOD,-both are destined
to blessed ends, and both constitute a very large por
tion of the language of Scripture.
1
THE PRINCIPLES OF DEFORMITY . 127
ΧΙΙΙ .
Let us, then, set ourselves to the consideration of

both, in the intention of Him who gave them for
our instruction.
Let us set before our hearts His beneficent purpose,
let us view them in His light, let us look to Him for
His blessing.
XIV.
May we never forget that the man of true artistic

taste must be a man whose heart, whose mind, whose
imagination, and whose entire faculties are so nur
tured by Christian truth, that they can feel and dis
cern the workings of the spiritual and moral affections
both in their germ of principle and in their extreme
outward ramifications.
XV.
i
And may we remember that there is no slight re
ward for those who would accumulate even the
gleanings of spiritual truth, and gather into their
spiritual garner that which too often is cast unheeded
away .
XVI .
Thus may taste, like every other thing which may

be exercised at all, be cultivated to the glory of GOD.
128 THE PRINCIPLES OF DEFORMITY .
XVII .
Having already spoken of the various styles of

Beauty as exhibiting the moral attributes of God, it
now remains to trace the various species of Deformity
originating in the sin and fallen condition of man .
XVIII.
But how wide is the transition from the one to the

other set of manifestations ! In considering Beauty
the spirit was captivated in happy musings, solacing
itself in a paradise of sweets planted by God. It
rejoiced in His living empire of unity, of light, and
life .
XIX .
We now, for a season, quit those blessed realms of

light and life, the pure free atmosphere ofour Father
land, and we descend and enter, yet leaning upon His
arm , the realms of darkness and of DEATH. O may
His guiding hand enable us to explore, in His spirit,
its dark and cheerless abyss, and the warning variety
and gloom of its deep sepulchral caverns !
XX.
And oh ! how thick is that darkness, how chill the

gloom , how profoundly impenetrable to the voice of
joy and gladness, is the realm of Deformity ; the
dreary threshold , on earth, to that most awful sepul
chre in which God will one day bury His dead out
of sight; that deep sepulchre where the worm
ceases not to gnaw, nor is the scorching fire ever
quenched . ; that sepulchre over which there is no
recorded promise that the glad trumpet of the arch
angel shall sound its loud clarion of jubilee to startle
their deep sleep, or to recall the hopeless sleepers
to the glories of a gladsome resurrection morn.
XXI.
Truly the contemplation of the various manifesta

tions in which the germinal principle of evil in each
deformity is clothed, is, after dwelling upon the
Beautiful, like quitting the green pastures and still
waters whither our good Shepherd is wont to lead
His children, to pass through the awful valley of the
shadow of death. Yet if He vouchsafe but to be
with us, and to lead us, we need even here fear no
evil. We shall indeed abundantly discern His rod.
We shall see how evil, how bitter, how debasing, how
>
hideous is even the external garb of departure from

the LORD. Yet even in that very rod we shall re
cognise the warning of His love. And if we keep
closely to Him, we shall not only find His supporting
staff protect our feet from falling, but we shall prove
that He will even prepare for us a table of living food
in the presence of our enemies ; that He is willing
even there to anoint our head with oil, and to bid our
cup run over .
K
к
XXII.
O may our hearts so receive His warnings as to

discern His paternal voice, even in these manifes
tations ! May we of a truth feel that goodness and
mercy have followed us all the days of our life, and
may it be the deep, and earnest, and prayerful resolve
of our souls that we may dwell in the house of the
LORD for ever.
XXIII ,
Deformity, then, being a manifestation of sin, it

abides in the empire of Death, that is, separation
from GOD.
XXIV .
Now death necessarily includes in it two con

ditions. In its infliction , the loss of vitality ; in its
abidance, disintegration , corruption, and dissolution.
XXV .
Both these conditions apply alike to every species

of Deformity. They distinguish them ab initio from
Beauty, which is glowing with instinctive life and
power, and in which all the constituent parts act
together, in vigour and unity of life and will.
XXVI .
Yet while death is the wages of all sin, and the

manifestation of sin and death the condition of all
Deformity, it is, however, equally true that different
species of sin conduct to different species of mental
as well as bodily disease and death, and that the over
anxious or unbelieving, the sensualist or luxurious,
and the starving, grasping miser whose sole trea
sure is on earth, are bending their steps unconsciously
towards very different, though all alike downward
paths of woe and misery on earth, and towards very
different doors of exit from this brief human stage,
though all alike opening to the abyss of Despair.
XXVII .
Just so it is of Deformities, as of the various

principles of evil which they typify.
Each one has its own peculiar form of death, its
own distinctive phase of disintegration or corrup
tion, in which the parts not only become separated,
but their proportions are altered as they mutually
conflict with and contradict each other. The prin
ciples constituent of each style of Beauty form
one united whole. The principles constituting each
species of Deformity conflict and disintegrate.
K 2
XXVIII .
The truth here stated admits of a far wider appli

cation.
XXIX .
Holiness has been defined to be in the Divine Being

the perfection of consistency with Himself, and to be
in His children their consistency with His image in
CHRIST JESUS.
XXX.
Wherever, therefore, holiness exists, it tends to

unity, as it emanates from it.
XXXI .
Now Beauty, being the reflection of the moral

image or holiness of God, is subject of necessity to
the same laws.
It sprang from unity in its radiationl ; it reverte
to unity in its absorption.
XXXII.
It is the manifestation of the mind of God. Not

only of the holy, but of Him who is emphatically
designated the living God.
XXXIII.
Sin, on the other hand, consists in falling from

the concord of the Divine unity into discordant and
suicidal destructiveness of antagonising multiplicities.
XXXIV.
Deformity is the manifestation not only of the

various unholinesses of sinful man , but of the moral
condition of that fallen being, eminently and empha
tically termed mortal man. Of man dead in tres
passes and sins. Of man in his state of separation
from GOD ; alike severed from Him by evil, and
by the wages of evil ; by moral,, by intellectual, and
by physical death.
XXXV.
Now Deformity, being the manifestation of evil

reflected in the visible creation, must also reflect the
antagonising, self -destroying principle which lies at
the root of sin .
XXXVI.
For the creature can subsist only as upheld by

Him by whom everything that is made was made,
by Him who is the firstborn of every creature, " who
is the beginning, " the vital Principle of the created
universe, by whom, to whom, and through whom
all things consist.
XXXVII .
When , therefore, the wretched creature is severed

from its union with God, it passes from life into
death — from unity into, first, lifelessness, then de
composition and destruction, and finally into “ the
Second Death ," from which is no revival !
K 3
XXXVIII.
Nor is such an unhappy being severed merely from

his own life, but from the link of union subsisting
between all children of God through CHRIST JESUS.
He stands also in equal severance from those who, like
himself, have no standing in God, because all who are
unbound to Him, the centre of life and being, remain
without bond (sons of Belial Symba, Beliyaal). For
there is no bond but this, either with men amongst
each other or among the various respective parts of
particular organisations.
Nothing but the pressure of outward circumstances
can , even for a time, hold them together. It is aa
diffusion , not a chemical mixture.
XXXIX .
I have now to enter upon the consideration of

each distinct style ofDeformity ;recurring to the ger
minal principles, mentioning the principal branches,
and then briefly exhibiting the essential manifesta
tions characterising each . And be it remembered
that my object in the following pages is rather to
furnish a true key, by which to unlock the various
lessons presented by the several species of Deformity ,
than to render patent, in their oppressive details, that
which each unblest assemblage contains of sin and
sorrow and woe.
XL .
It must also be premised, that whilst it is necessary

to note the extreme characteristics of each style, yet
it is happily a truth that in their united and complete
force they are simply a " laid ideal,” not a reality.
For the perfectly hideous, like the perfectly beau
tiful, never exists in full and paramount complete
ness in any one single example. And thus, as in all
other systems of classification, the definitions must be
considered as concentrating in one view all the charac
teristics and peculiarities which determine the identity
of each style, in order both to constitute a measure by
which to detect the various shades of approximation
in their feeblest individual symptoms, and to raise an
ideal standard by which the germinal principle of each
style may be successfully and graphically reproduced
and exhibited in works of art.
XLI .
Were the symptoms ofdisease not portrayed in their

extreme form , how could the feeble or dispersed indi
cations of lurking malady be successfully detected,
either by the patient himself or by the benevolent
physician ? Were the symptoms less exactly detailed,
how could many a latent indication be discovered ?
Yet were they supposed necessarily to co-exist in full
force, because some lurking approximation may be
discerned, the physician's healing art were converted
K4
into an inexorable sentence of doom, instead of a mer

ciful help and rescue.
XLII .
Again, did not the description of each species of

Deformity concentrate all its necessary characteristics,
how could it form any help towards that graphical
reproduction , which is indispensable to artistic excel
lence of representation, whether by the brain, the
pencil, the chisel, or the pen ?
XLIII.
In order to distinguish the germinal principle of

sin and death in each species of Deformity, it is neces
sary first to contemplate some of the effects of the Fall
in the human heart which are capable of manifesta
tion through the material world by means of natural
objects.
XLIV.
Man, by his original creation, had for his centre,

GOD.
XLV .
Man, by his Fall, became severed from GOD, and

became his own centre.
XLVI.
Every style of Beauty, being a reflex manifestation

of some Divine attribute, has its source in GOD.
XLVII .
But every species of Deformity has its origin in

the Fall.
XLVIII .
It exhibits not, then, the immediate image of

God, but some distorted travesty of His perfection ,
set forth by the heart of man in severance from
Him .
XLIX.
Now, then, since by the Fall self was substituted in

i
the human heart for God, so all species of Deformity,
1
however diverse, move round self, as the central point
of their various orbits.
L.
Every species of Deformity, analysed to its con

stituent parts, involves the manifestation of some
mode of self-adoration , some infraction of the two
fold law, “ Thou shalt have no other gods before me; '
>
“ Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”

LI .
And having renounced the true centre, they, as a

necessary consequence, all agree in substituting the
inferior for the higher life of man .
LII .
Now as man was originally created in the likeness

of GOD, so in his Fall does he retain a distorted and
travestied semblance, if it may be so called, of the
same image.
LIII.
It might be said of Beauty and Deformity, in the

words descriptive respectively of Adam, and of Cain,
that the first was in the likeness of God, the second in
that of Adam, who, though fallen, had in his pristine
condition borne the Divine likeness.
LIV.
Hence it is, that as the styles of Beauty bear the

image of the Divine perfections, so are there corre
spondent styles of Deformity, exhibiting each its own
distorted image of those perfections.
LV.
For, as each of the attributes of God has its mani

festation in a peculiar style of Beauty, one exhibiting
His energising, another His sustaining power, one
His loving mercy , another His recreative fertility,
so in man’s lapsed state, each of these styles is dis
torted and travestied after its own manner, and each
travesty constitutes a separate species of Deformity.
LVI .
Deformities may be divided into two grand

classes, corresponding to those of Direct and Indirect
Beauty
LVII.
In the first class various parts of the same object

are made to exhibit contradictory expressions mutu
ally destructive of each other, as though the object
or work of art had been constructed to no deter
minate end. And as a house divided against itself
obviously cannot stand, little more need here be
said of this class of Deformity than that it is a
solecism , the representations of which can never
enter into any legitimate object of artistic represen
tation.
LVIII .
As examples of this violent self-destructive discord,

may be adduced spiral columns. The waving line
of compliance being substituted for the right- lined
perpendicular form of strength, in that part of a
structure the very object of which is to give firm
support.
LIX .
Again, in architecture. Houses, like many in Rot

terdam and Amsterdam , with the upper stories over
hanging the lower, are essentially on a false principle.
For a house being stationary, the base ought to
occupy a wider space than the superstructure. The

latter should, in truth, almost imperceptibly converge
as it ascends, on the principle of аa Gothic tower, thus
giving the effect of being firmly rooted and grounded.
LX.
The foregoing examples will sufficiently illustrate

the self-destructive principle. This class of De
formity corresponds by inversion to the Indirect Class
of Beauty
LXI.
I believe that in Raffaelle's Cartoon of “ The Beau

tiful gate of the Temple,” the false line of the spiral
column, in contradiction to all sound intellectual
taste) is introduced with consummate skill to impart
redoubled force to the rectilinear form of the Apostle;
thus weakening the strength of the massive fabric
of stone, to infuse a preternatural force into the di
vinely inspired soul beaming through the temporary
tenement of flesh and blood. Had St. Chrysostom
beheld this wonderful design, would he not have re
cognised the pictorial utterance of the same contrasted
expression which is so finely conveyed in his own des
cription of another Apostle, — “ that philosopher who
measures little more than four feet high, but who,
speaking, rises to an altitude, as though his head
reached beyond the very stars of heaven ? "
LXII.
The second class of Deformities includes those

which are derived by inversion from the various
styles of Direct Beauty. They exhibit the evils into
which the constituent principles of Beauty lapse,
when held in the fallen instead of in the renewed life.
They alone are subjects of regular classification ;
and alone are capable, like the measured intervals of
regular discords, of becoming legitimate subjects of
artistic skill.
LXIII .
We shall find , as we proceed, that every species of

Deformity has two sources, one in its corresponding
Beauty, the other in some form of apostasy from
GOD.
LXIV.
Again, as each style of Beauty consists of two or

more principles, combining, as that which is grounded
in truth ever does, in unity ; so in Deformity these
principles are held in death, separated from their
1
true centre, and can no longer coalesce, or continue
in union. As those principles which are combined
in Beauty disintegrate in Deformity, and lapse each
into its own form of death , so it will appear , that
there is more than one species of Deformity corre
sponding to every style of Beauty.
LXV .
Now though these are truly Deformities, inasmuch

as that which they represent is evil, yet in another
point of view they are not without their value.
For since it has pleased GOD to bestow warnings on
man by instituting, even in natural objects, some
hideous types of perverted will, so man seems justi
fied in likewise taking up the same parabolic instruc
tion.
Hence he may adopt the same themes in works of
art; and Deformities may both be imitated by the
artist and considered by the spectator, for the same
useful purpose, and with aa similar beneficent result.
LXVL
It is on this principle that Deformities acquire a

real, though only a secondary value, and that though
far from filling the highest, they yet truly occupy
a legitimate place in artistic composition and ästhetic
criticism ,
LXVII.
These works, when well executed, possess real

merit, in the fidelity and truth with which they re
produce the characteristic traits of that evil which
they are intended, in warning benevolence, to por
tray.
LXVIII .
It is on this account, and upon this account only,

that we are enabled to assign them a place truly
within the just province of artistic criticism .
LXIX .
Yet this ground, though a true, is certainly far

from a very high one, even when most legitimately
occupied.
But, in point of fact, it is to be feared this is too
seldom the case. If the character to be represented
is evil, so likewise is the fallen heart of man to whose
eye it is presented.
LXX .
How often are men destitute of that spiritual dis

cernment which would enable them to see and to ab
hor what is contrary to the Divine mind ; and how
often , though discerning it, may they be destitute of
that charity towards their fellow -men which would
prevent them from rejoicing in iniquity, or from finding
amusement in the image of those sins over which the
angels weep
LXXI.
Hence such representations have grown, in common

parlance (which is the base current coin of the evil
heart of man), to be considered as a sort of spurious
beauty, viz., a beauty which consists in each peculiar

style of ugliness being perfectly and characteris
tically represented.
LXXII .
It is in the world of taste as in the world of social

life. It is not the best who occupy themselves with
denouncing the evil. Ubi cor ibi oculus. Where
the heart is imbued with a genuine love of the great,
the lovely, and the happy, it recreates itself by
dwelling upon them ; and finds it proportionably
painful to contemplate even the semblance of moral
evil.
LXXIII .
The hard of heart, who feel not for that deepest

of miseries,, sin —- the satirist, whose spirit revels in
accumulated treasures of petty malevolences - the
ignoble, who delight to exalt themselves by depre
ciating others — the not unkind but inconsiderate ,
who do not realise the moral suffering caused by the
evil principle actually carried out in conduct, -
these often make it their amusement to castigate the
undeveloped germs of evil in works of taste, and
have a thoughtless pleasure in the representation of
evil.
LXXIV.
Many desire by such castigations to do good, and

to cleanse the defiled sanctuary. Yet we doubt
THE PRINCIPLES OF DEFORMITY . -145
whether, even in these cases, it may not be well to

bear in mind, that in the temple of Jehovah the
priests only who were themselves blemished were
allowed to worm the wood intended for the sacri
fices ; whilst the clean priests, being themselves pure,
were alone appointed to offer the gifts.
L
CHAP. II.
TRAVESTIES OF THE ACTIVE SUBLIME .
I.
In the first place, let us consider the Violent or

Horrible, as the first travesty of the Active Sublime.
II .
The Violent exhibits the energy which belongs to

the Active Sublime, deprived of the appearance of
illimitable power, which connects the Sublime with
the Infinite. It proceeds from a root of self-will.
III.
The Violent may appear as rebellion against God ,

or as tyranny and cruelty to man .
IV .
The will of self is substituted for the will of GOD,

and it therefore becomes circumscribed in action by
the capacities of self : in its own nature, indeed, it is
unlimited, for will is the act of spirit, and spirit is
boundless. But in power, in wisdom, in knowledge,
in love, it is limited, not only by the finiteness of the

creature, but by the still diminished space left to
that wretched creature who has instituted a gulf
of severance between his whole moral and spiritual
nature, and the will of GOD.
V.
Self -will is not only rebellious against GOD, but

despotic, violent, and tyrannous to man ; it is dis
cord in the creation of God, and revolt against
all the circumstances of His providential appoint
ment.
VI.
Unlike the Sublime, the Violent is destitute alike

of grandeur, vastness and dignity; because whilst
the will, being spiritual, is boundless, all its resources,
mental and physical, are bounded by the condition
of the falleu creature.
VII .
It is incapable of the elevation which alone can be

imparted or maintained by that celestial link to the
eternal world, which it has broken.
VIII.
It exhibits self -reliance without the arm of power ;

determination without other end than the exercise
of self-will ; change without aught but the restless,
i2
ruthless unquietness of a heart separated from God.

It is dark and gloomy ; for where is hope to him who
is at war both with the Creator and His creation ?
IX .
The radical forms of the Violent are those of the

Active Sublime, sharpened by increase of the number
of rectangles, in proportion to the continuity of right
lines.
X.
In animate objects the muscular play is increased,

and the strength diminished. Examples ; Fuseli's
pictures.
XI .
The manifestation of the Violent in human beings

exhibits the aquiline cast of determinate constriction ;
the muscular system wrought to the extreme pitch
of intensity, like cordage creaking at its utmost pos
sible tension ; the vehemence of intense will ever
straining against the power of the material.
XII.
The Violent is wholly without respect for the

presence of GoD or man, and incapable of impressions
from external circumstances.
XIII.
Who shall dare to brand their fellow -men from

the inadequate, and often contradictory representa
tions of that accredited romance, founded on fact,
termed history ? We will only, then, to explain our
meaning, add, that the historic characters conven
tionally ascribed to the Duke of Alva, Christian of
Denmark, Lewis XI. of France, and Herod the
Great, precisely exemplify this style. It excites
hatred and fear.
XIV .
The next travesty of the Active Sublime is the

Ghastly or Morne. It is founded on the mystery,
or inscrutableness, which belongs to the Sublime. It
is also the reflection of the preying terror and abject
fear which the mysterious excites, when it does not
bear the signature of the unsearchable designs of
GOD .
XV.
Unbelief in God and man is the centre round

which it revolves. Fear, doubt, consuming and
restless anxiety, are its orbit. It is tossed, guide
less, amidst interminable conflicts of heart and mind
within . Hence irresolution, suspicion , secretiveness,
mystery, morbid terror, and cruelty.
L 3
XVI .
It is dark, despairing, hopeless. It is destitute

of energy and power. It is uncertain, cowering,
stealthy, misanthropic.
XVII .
Its radical forms are long straight lines, unin

flected by angles. Muscular system , shrunk and
weak . Delineated by a misty, indefinite outline.
Movement, heavy, slow, and indecisive. Occupation,
>
none ; for what is commenced without stimulus from

hope ?
XVIII .
To this class in literature belong dark super

natural tales, ghost-stories, unearthly visions, and
works like Godwin's “Caleb Williams or 66 St.
Leon.”
History has assigned characters in this style to
Joanna, mother of Charles V., and to Philip II. of
Spain.
XIX.
In human beings the excess of this style consti

tutes morbid and melancholy madness.
Oh ! how evil a thing and bitter is it to forsake
the LORD. Acquaint thyself with God, and be at
peace. And without Him, oh ! how terrible the
unrest.
CHAP. III.
TRAVESTIES OF THE PASSIVE SUBLIME .
I.
LET us proceed to the distortions or death -forms

of the Passive Sublime.
II .
And first is the Vapid. It borrows from the

Passive Sublime its permanence and unimpressi
bility ; but instead of the calmness of repose, it exhibits
the paralysis and imperturbability of death . It is
without the expression of an underlying infinitude
of strength .
III .
Permanence in the Sublime is a consistent conti

nuity of efflux from one constantly indwelling prin
ciple ; unity operating from within to uniformity of
manifestation without. In the Vapid it is the substi
tution of form for life, and it appears in endless
bedridden modes of thinking, speaking, and acting.
IV.
Intrenched in the selfish frigidity of routine, the

Vapid defies change ; it maintains the same unvary
L 4
ing aspect, because a stolid indifference precludes all

impressions from without.
v.
The Vapid has for its principle of strength pride

in self. It is full of petty detail of minutiæ, and of
those observances which constitute the Sublime of
the morally little. This style excites ennui.
VI.
It has immutability , not from sublime power, but

from stolid adherence to customs. Not rising above,
but falling below, temptation. It goes through the
evolutions of devotion, charity , and friendship, with
out hurry or glow , or failure in exactness and punc
tuality ; like the mechanical precision of aa well-con
structed automaton, the unceasing click of whose
machinery is always audible ; or like the corpses in
the “ Ancient Mariner,” automatically fulfilling a
round of soulless observances.
VII.
It bears the stamp of the Sublime in adherence to

what it considers great and lofty; it bears the stamp
of the Fall by placing its point of view of that great
ness on earth instead of in Heaven .
Hence its pride in antiquity, family, station, or
riches disunited from worth. It is separated from
its own true greatness by renouncing the high hopes

of a son of God for the petty greatnesses of earth,
and from all creation by a want of plastic power of
adaptation to varying circumstances. The radical
forms are those of the Passive Sublimeflattened.
VIII .
The Vapid is in person unbending; in attitude

sitting bolt upright, with arms formally crossed,
never reclining. No laisser aller. The step is noise
less ; but the Vapid is announced by the rustling
of its whistling silks, or the thrown - open door and
low bending of the obsequious attendant.
IX .
The smile of the Vapid is ineffectual, like the last

wintry sun on late autumnal flowers ; joyless as a
а
watery December sunbeam faintly gleaming on
cold marble monumental stone.
There is no play of countenance, for it is without
heart or mind to play.
X.
The occupation is adopted from conventional

usage, continued from routine, and riveted by habit.
The manners, and appliances, are old -fashioned and
quaint ; not from the long attachment and deep
remembered associations of an aged heart with the
past, but simply from want of energy to leave ac

customed habits, and want of sympathy with the
progression of its own century.
XI.
As examples of this Deformity in the animal king

dom , we might mention the expression of the formal
and melancholy ourang -outang or chimpanzee.
"
As examples in literature, Sidney’s “ Arcadia,” and
many euphuistic compositions of the Elizabethan
age.
XII .
The second travesty of the Passive Sublime as

sumes its breadth and mass without the principle of
strength, and, fallen into the abyss of the physical
life, appears as the Porcine.
XIII .
The Porcine changes the proportion of man's

triune life, and exhibits the preponderance of flesh
over spirit.
XIV.
The radical form is circular, containing the greatest

quantity of matter in a given space, yet, owing to its
want of breadth of base, it is without the expression
of strength ; its outline is unmarked by variety or in
flection, and there is no constriction of muscle. The
1
characteristic forms of the Porcine are exhibited in

the walrus, the hippopotamus, and the dodo.
XV.
Without discipline and spiritual or intellectual

perceptions, it manifests the absence of constriction ,
order, and, indeed, regulation of any kind. This
style excites abhorrence.
CHAP. IV.
TRAVESTIES OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
I.
The second style of Beauty, or the Beautiful, has

for its germinal principles the desire to please others
in order to make them happy, and the loving flexibi
lity which gives the power of adaptation to their
wants and circumstances.
II.
The first travesty of the Beautiful is the Mawkish

or Affected.
III .
The Mawkish borrows from the Beautiful its

desire of winning and pleasing, but it is not inspired
by love to GOD or to man. It substitutes, as a central
principle, the desire of approbation.
IV.
Its radical forms are those of the Beautiful, of

which it is, in a word, the artificial mimic.
V.
It would be elegant, but is ridiculously fine. It

would be refined, but is full of cold far - fetched con
ceits. It would be eminently polite, but wearies by
elaborated hyper -refinements manufactured in death,

instead of glowing with life.
VI.
It would be tender, but it is coaxing and whee

dling. It is full of exaggerated morbid profession on
the lips, but has the heart cold and hard beneath ;
incapable, from coarseness of material, of real polish ;
incapable, from induration , of real sympathy ; inca
pable, from coldness and vanity, of aught but self
i
seeking. Water artificially heated extinguishes fire
as effectually as when cold ; and so does this heart
less, and affected, and sickly style prove a curfew to
all true affection.
VII.
The style might be termed the Vapid Sentimental.

Many of Miss Harriet Byron's letters in “ Sir Charles
Grandison "-nearly all the distress in Miss Burney's
“ Evelina " - most of the euphuism in Sidney's “ Ar
cadia "-Molière's “ Précieuses Ridicules " -- are spe
cimens of this style, to which we may add the tone
of manners, of artificial refinement and coarse vapid
sweetness originating in the writings of Richardson,
and so universally prevalent in the manners of
society, and in the correspondence of ladies a cen
tury since. This style excites sickening distaste, and
scornful pity.
VIII .
The second travesty of the Beautiful is the

Reptilian or Base.
IX .
It bas for its root the flexibility of the Beautiful

inspired by fear and sordid self-interest.
X.
All its movements aim at some point from which

they seem to retreat. This point is the interest of
self, pursued without strength to combat, but by
means of aa flexible sinuosity with which the Reptilian
can circumvent and wind its way.
XI .
Its radical lines are eminently indirect.

XII .
The Reptilian works its end by compliance and

devious courses. It can crouch, slink, fawn, cir
cumvent ; is tortuous, sinuous, full of complexities ;
equivocates, looks not in the face, never pursues a
direct line ; is sly, over-reaching, ever making its ap
proaches by multitudinous lines of circumvallation .
To this ignoble class belong all the servile attitudes
which express the spirit of slavery.
XIII .
To this style belongs casuistry in religion, which,

rebelling and crouching at the same time, would, by
flimsy and hair -breadth “ distinguos," cheat not only
man , but that all-seeing God who searches the very
inmost heart, and who is not mocked.
XIV.
To this belongs servility to man, whether the livery

of the mercenary hireling, the pension of the obse
quious and unworthy place-man, or the artificial
smile of ceaseless approbation by which the enslaved
mind fawns and crouches, whilst it trembles, before
the powerful worthless. Judas-like, it barters for
sordid pelf its own best happiness with God, its
brother, and its own soul.
XV .
Woe to the integrity of the weak and fearful if,

slidden from their Divine allegiance, they contemplate
power as issuing from the cold unloving creature,
instead of from the paternal heart of the Creator.
XVI.
All fear of the creature debases, all fear of the

holy but loving Creator elevates, the heart. And
fear ever rules where there exists the consciousness of
weakness, with no consciousness of the Omnipotent
source of support.
XVII .
This style is exemplified in the animal world by

the gliding serpent concealing himself beneath the
long grass ; or the asp hidden in the sand and biting ,
the heel of the unsuspicious traveller.
This style superlatively excites scorn.
CHAP . V.
TRAVESTIES OF THE VIVID .
1
I.
The third Style of Beauty , or the Vivid, it will be

remembered, has for its germinal principles activity
and contrast.
II .
Now the Flippant is the first Travesty of the

Vivid.
III .
It borrows from the Vivid the principle of inter

minable activity, but it is an activity without rest,
and its hardness and sharpness are unmodified by
love. It exhibits, like the Vivid, a multitude of
small parts, but its littleness is without the grace of
tenderness.
IV .
The Flippant is without that innocence and peace,,

from which a heart resting in a childlike manner on
God, receives, amidst its playfulness, a holy and
sacred character.
V.
For want of this foundation the Flippant is

obtrusive, impertinent, insolent, petty, assuming,
M
busy, and petulant. It has no rest at home, and is

therefore ever meddlesome, full of insatiable and
objectless curiosity.
VI.
In place of the distinct sparkling brightness of the

Vivid, the Flippant is tricked out with tawdry tinsel
finery , and bedizened with multiplied incongruous
ornament.. It is the offspring of an empty, hard,
uncentred mind, conscience, and heart.
VII.
To this class belong many characters in Miss Bur

ney's and Miss Edgeworth's novels, and in general
all very little people, who by glitter, finery, tinsel,
and by what seems, but is not, try to make themselves
appear great in the eyes of those who are as little
as themselves. They are a genus whose habitat is
often in watering-places.
VIII .
In the natural world ephemera, musquitos and

various other buzzing and stinging insects present apt
types of this style in its simply frivolous or in its
annoying aspects. This style excites sovereign con
tempt.
IX.
The second Travesty of the Vivid, which also con

stitutes the last species of deformity, borrows the prin
ciple of startling contrasts, but uses it in the vain

endeavour to attain inconsistent ends of self-aggran
disement; and appears in the strange antagonistic
pretensions of the Grotesque.
X.
Whoever has visited Holland in long by - gone days,

and has seen the heavy Dutch burgomaster vainly
seeking to transform himself into one of Napoleon's
little, dapper, springy, Frenchmen ; or whoever, with
out quitting England, has cultivated an acquaintance
with Sir John Falstaff, will thoroughly understand
this style. Let him contrast these characters with
that of the massive, strong Englishman ; or with
the tranquil and serene, benevolent and intelligent
Dutchman, who abiding in their own dispensations,
respectively exhibit the beauty of the Active or Pas
sive Sublime ; as the good specimen of the French
does that of the Sprightly.
This style excites ridicule.
XI .
We have now concluded the classification of De

formities, in which it has appeared that there are
two styles of Deformity corresponding to each sub
stantive style of Beauty.
M 2
CHAP. VI.
MORAL USE OF THE ARTISTIC REPRESENTATION OF

DEFORMITIES .
1.
The various styles of substantive Beauties and their

attendant and correspondent Deformities have, so far
as I am aware, been spoken of and classified as to
their germinal principles.
II.
It remains in summing them up to recur to our

first principle, viz.— that Beauties show forth the
moral perfections of God, and more especially those
of the God -man ;
III .
While Deformities show forth the evils of every

principle held not in unity with GOD, and more es
pecially the evils of the fallen human heart.
IV .
Taste may be considered as the very extreme rami

fication of the moral sense, and is intended to be
exercised in the discrimination of Beauty and
Deformity ; -
V.
For GÓD sets before His creatures the blessing and

the curse by their blossoms, in matters of taste here
below , as truly as He does in spiritual fruitswithin ,
works of faith without — or eternal results in that
invisible world to which we hasten , and of which, as
to our souls, we even now form a portion.
VI.
Yet though both Beauties and Deformities are

equally of God, both perhaps may not equally be
intended to endure for ever.
VII .
Beauties, being transcripts of portions of the

Eternal Divine Image, must permanently abide, as
partaking of the same Eternity. Their extreme
manifestations are indeed exhibited through the in
strumentality of the mutable things of earth , but
their deep rooted principles are within the veil.
They are butexotics below, they are indigenous above.
VIII.
Deformities, on the other hand, being but images

of the evil of man , having been introduced into the
natural world, for purposes of memento and instruc
tion, the question arises, - Will the memento abide,
after those to be warned bave passed beyond the
warning voice ?
M 3
IX .
Whilst the principles of Beauty must from their

intrinsic nature be permanent; might it not be, that
on the very converse principle, Deformities perhaps
may be but transient ?
As they have their root in time, may not their
duration be limited to time ?
X.
Will not the temporarily prepared or allowed dis

cord be at last resolved into that perfect concord,
whose transcendent beauty it was instituted to shew
forth ?
XI.
Will not the dark intercepting veil of shadow be

removed when the creature — sown in corruption but
raised in incorruption-sown in mortality but raised
in immortality - shall have spiritual eyes of strength
to bear the universal blaze of the bright and un
divided light whose glories it desires to contem
plate ?
The Apostle speaks of inaccessible light as though
the glories of Him who is, and was, and is to come,
were invisible ; and as Milton finely says, “ dark
through excess of light;" and the same Apostle also
observes, that although now we see through a glass
darkly, yet we shall one day, “ see face to face, and
know, even as we are known.”
XII.
If such be the opposite origins of Beauty and

Deformity , whence arises it that we are susceptible
of pleasure, not only from the Beautiful, but also
from well executed representations of the various
species of Deformity ?
It is perhaps attributable to three very distinct
causes .
XIII.
Firstly ; the apt representation of Deformities,

whether by the pen, the pencil, or the mimic, though
but the signature of the passions and evils of fallen
man, yet is able to give a certain pleasure, because
as they are truly set up by God for our warning,
we, perhaps unconsciously, hail them with the same
pleasure with which the mariner recognises the
friendly light-house, the warning buoy, or the lofty
land -mark .
XIV.
Secondly ; it affords another and more spurious

species of pleasure, in that man being more earthly
than spiritual, enters more easily into the germinal
1 principles of the Deformed, than of the Beautiful,
and is able more easily to imitate them ; as a conse
quence, Deformities are in general more perfectly
and livingly portrayed than beauties.
M4
XV.
No Beauty can be portrayed in its highest phases

without that elevation of soul in the artist, which
enables him to seek a living inspiration at the source
of Beauty. Thus did Milton compose his Paradise
Lost, Dante his Divina Comedia, Handel his Messiah ,
Leonardo da Vinci his Last Supper, and thus did
Dunstan plan his Abbey at Glastonbury.
XVI .
There is a third reason why Deformities are so

often entered into with more zest than Beauties. It
is this.
We have more ready fellowship of spirit with evil
than sympathy with good ; and perhaps unhappily
rejoice more easily in iniquity , than we do in the
truth . And it requires a far more elevated, and
far less common tone of mind to enjoy Beauty than
Deformity. The multitude relish the vulgarity and
foolery of Shakspeare's comic scenes : the refined
infinitely prefer his noble or tender sentiments and
beauteous images.
XVII .
Thousands can sketch, and hundreds of thousands

can enjoy, spirited caricature.
But one Raffaelle alone could paint the Trans
figuration, one Rubens alone the Descent from the
Cross, one Domenichino alone the communion of St.

Jerome; and the genius and piety of Leonardo da
Vinci could alone produce the Last Supper or the
Salvator Mundi. And when by the inspiration of
the Holy One, finding utterance through the organi
sation of these highly gifted men, these masterpieces
have been achieved, the similarly awakened spirit
and heart, and the highly educated mind and eye,
can alone fully and completely appreciate their
superlative merits. To those few they are and ever
will remain transcendent.
i
XVIII.
Reader, and thou my own heart, how is it with

thee ?
XIX.
Art thou of the multitude thronging the broad

way , whose chief pleasure in works of art consists in
the enjoyment of successfully and vividly represented
Deformities ; the representations of what are in truth
the mournful images of the varied diseases of the
Fall ?
XX.
Or art thou of the few , whose hearts, born into a

new life from above, rejoice in Beauties as the por
traiture of the varied ineffable perfections of thy GOD,
and as the image of Him in whom dwelleth all the
fulness of the Godhead bodily , and of whose image,
by steadfast contemplation, thou trustest one day

to receive the full impress ?
XXI.
Art thou of those who look only on the Beautiful

and the Deformed as objects of critical taste, as em
bellishments to the sunsbine of prosperity, a zest to
give poignancy to the vacant languid hour of indo
lence, or as materials to fill, with successive amuse
ments, the gaps of a life unoccupied by duties ?
XXII .
Or art thou of that happy number who gladly, yet

with thankful reverence, avail themselves of the boon
divinely bestowed , not only and not principally to
amuse, but to refresh the heart from above, to point
instruction, and instil the balm of healing truth ?
XXIII .
Dost thou in contemplating the rich and varied

styles of Beauty, pass through the outward manifes
tation, to rest and renovate thy spirit in the contem
plation of Him who is their intarissable source, who
is Beauty itself, even the perfect Beauty of Holiness ?
XXIV .
And dost thou use the representations of Defor

mities, to enhance thy grateful sense and high value
of their opposing Beauties ? Is the desire of avoid

ing those evils, so vividly set before thee, rendered
more ardent ? Do they excite more tender com
passion, or more earnest longing both to be thyself
emancipated, and to be made an instrument in
emancipating others from their degrading and hateful
thraldom ?
XXV.
Or hast thou hitherto thoughtlessly indulged thy

evil heart in the spurious amusement, and unhallowed
habit, of tracing all the odious forms which the
extreme ramification of sin can assume, and finding
in their vivid representations a base and malevolent,
or an ignoble amusement ?
XXVI.
Art thou, my heart, like the wretched and hopeless

idiot, who walking over the battle - field on the day
following the fight, laughed aloud with inextinguish
able merriment at the various grotesque and unsightly
attitudes and grimaces exhibited by the silent mul
titudes who lay before him ; unconscious or unmind
ful that each one which to him appeared so ludicrous
was in fact a ghastly memorial of aa track of carnage,,
desolation, ruin and death ?
XXVII .
In the case of the simile we have adduced, the type

presents only the death of the body. But in that of
the antitype we would illustrate, is involved the de

solation of an infinitely more awful death — that of
-
the soul.
XXVIII .
We will close this part of our subject by a synop

tical resumé of the grounds already traversed .
CHAP . VII.
GENERAL RECAPITULATION .
I.
God is the source of Beauty.
II .
Beauty is the reflection of His moral attributes

manifested in objects of sense.
JIT .
God is the centre of living energy - the centre of

living rest. The Active and Passive Sublime mani
:
fest Him in these characters. Both excite admiration ;

the one awe- the other veneration .
IV.
God is also the compassionate High Priest —the

healing Physician - the Lover and Cherisher of men.
The style of Beauty manifesting this character is the
Beautiful, and excites love and tenderness.
V.
God is likewise the Gladdener, the Renovator, the

fertile and exuberant Bestower of good, replenishing
with a constant variety of successive gifts. This

character is manifested in the Vivid or Sprightly,
VI.
These are termed Direct Beauties, and exhibit

GOD's heart.
VII .
But God is likewise the fountain of Wisdom and

Intelligence. His acts are with design and con
sistency, for He is for ever the same, without vari
ableness or shadow of turning.
VIII .
Hence in those works of God the plan of which

is within the scope of our intelligence, we find every
part conducing to the design of the whole, Sym
metry or exact similarity of appointment, in exactly
similar circumstances --- Proportion, or a graduated
similarity, according to the graduated similarity of
>
circumstances — and Correspondence, or a fitting of

different and perhaps wholly dissimilar parts to the
same end, all resulting in one complete organised
structure.
IX .
These are termed Indirect Beanties, and exhibit

God's mind.
Direct Beauties are so termed, because they alone

are Beauties in the highest sense. They are ad
dressed to the heart and feelings, and excite vivid
pleasure as a direct emotion.
XI.
Indirect Beauties on the other hand are addressed

to the judgment and conscience, and rather afford an
abiding sentiment of calm satisfaction through the
medium of Reflection than please by a direct per
ception of Beauty.
XII .
All the styles of Beauty, whether Direct or Indirect,

are termed substantive Styles, because they have a
real existence or integral principle corresponding to
them in the Divine Nature. The perfect Styles being
connected with God as the principle of Love-- the
Imperfect, as the principle of Truth.
XIII .
Every style of Direct Beauty, is susceptible of two

principal modifications, termed the Natural, and the
Cultivated phase.
XIV .
These modifications are termed adjective or adjunct

phases, because they have no independent existence,
but are simply modifications which, like the major

and minor modes in music, may be applied at pleasure
to impart variety of character, to each substantive
class.
XV.
The gradations of the Natural phase of Beauty are

three — The Wild, the Picturesque, and the Pastoral.
XVI .
The essence of the Natural phase of Beauty is

nature, liberty, and the Divine impress.
XVII.
The gradations of the Cultivated phase of Beauty

are the Neat, the Refined , and the Splendid.
XVIII .
The essential principle of the Cultivated phase, is

the stamp of the industry, artistic skill, and intelli
gence of civilised man.
XIX .
Such are the various substantive Beauties, and the

phases by which they may be modified .
XX.
As Beauties are the reflection of the perfect image

of God, so Deformities are the reflection of the fallen
heart of man , in which the Divine image is travestied

and distorted.
XXI.
Each Beauty is subject to two or more travesties

from the disintegration of its parts.
XXII .
It may be observed, that as all Beauties have their

source in the fountain of good, so likewise the feelings
they excite are good and pleasurable.
ΧΧΙΙΙ .
And in like manner, as Deformities flow from the

turbid fountain of evil, so likewise the feelings to
which they are addressed are evil and productive of
pain.
XXIV .
It follows that a taste for the Beautiful is in

finitely more elevated and elevating, more noble
and more ennobling, than a taste for Deformities.
XXV .
For the Beautiful, like the good, acts on the heart

of man by an attractive power ; whereas Deformities,
even in their most hallowed use, act by a repulsive
power, which can but close the heart against evil,
without leading it on to good.
N
The one builds up in good, the other can only at

best pull down the bad.
XXVI .
We proceed to the third division of this work, or

the laws by which the ġerminal principles of Beauty
are manifested in objects of sense.
END OF PART JI .
179
PART III.
OF THE MATERIAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE

GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
The next part of our subject is the enquiry in what

manner the principles of Beauty and Deformity are
manifested in the material world ; how these prin
ciples are made obvious to the mind through the
perceptions of the senses. Or, more definitely,
what are the laws of correspondence determining the
various expressions of mind through matter ?
What, then, are the laws in accordance with which
God has stamped the signature of those germinal prin
ciples on the various objects of His creation ? And how
are they to be classified with that distinctness which
may enable man to reproduce the miniature impress
of those expressions on the various works of human
art ?
N 2
CHAPTER I.
OBJECTS OF THE MATERIAL WORLD , ANIMATE AND IN

ANIMATE . LAWS OF EXPRESSION COMMON TO BOTH.
-LAWS PECULIAR TO INTELLIGENT ANIMATE NATURE.
I.
The objects of the material world may be said to

be divided into two grand classes.
That of inanimate and unintelligent beings, and
that of animated or intelligent ones.
II .
To prevent misapprehension, it is necessary to

premise that in these pages the term animated exist
ences will not be used in the strictly scientific sense.
It will not include vegetable as well as animal life.
III .
Objects of taste are addressed to the senses ; to in

tuitive sentiment, not to elaborated analysis.
However deeply internal, then, may be their soul
or principle, they present manifestations which are
wholly external.
IV.
It is with these manifestations solely that we now

have to deal.
Nor is our concern with appearances to be detected
only by close discriminating scrutiny or laborious in
vestigation, but with those which lie open to every
eye, which speak to every heart, which constitute ex
pression addressed obviously to all, and wbich form
a language equally to be read by the child and the
aged , the unlettered and the learned, the sensitive
woman and the meditative philosopher.
V.
Hence , in these pages, the term " animated nature "

will be restricted to those beings that are obviously
gifted with consciousness, perception, volition, loco
motion, and variety of individual character.
VI .
The term “inanimate nature ” will be applied not

only to unorganised substances, but it will always
comprehend the vegetable world likewise. For
whether the creations included in the latter possess
the disputed endowment of consciousness or not, we
have no obvious indication of such possession. Inde
pendent volition and spontaneous locomotion they
certainly have not.
N 3
VII .
Animate and inanimate nature being thus defined ,

it may be observed that both are capable of reflect
ing the glory of their great Creator.
VIII.
Even as the bright radiance of the material sun

may be reflected from the inanimate crested mountain
that shoots its granite peaks far into the cloudless
heavens, from the polished leaf of the garden laurel,
and even from the little dew-drop that trembles on
its edge ; as it may be reflected from the animated,
bright and glancing eyes of happy children, or from
the soft eye of the dove - so it is with the bright
-
>
beams of Him who is “the Sun of Righteousness.
The still majesty of the unorganised crag, or the
energic grandeur of the strong and living lion, equally
show forth His attribute of power.
IX ,
And it is doubtless in consequence of this power of

reflecting the Divine character being truly imparted
to both animate and inanimate nature, that both are in
Scripture alike called upon to praise God. The one
hundred and forty -eighth Psalm is one of many ex
amples.
X.
And thus the spiritual intelligences in the heights

above, the world of life on the earth and in the
depths beneath, the inanimate creation , the snow,

storm, hail, wind, vapour, and fire, the beasts, the
cattle, the birds, young men and maidens, old men
and children , princes and people, are all alike called
upon to give glory to Him, and to Him alone.
XI.
An indisputable testimony is thus set forth by the

inspired Record, that the Divine character is really
manifested in His works, and that one of their truest
and highest uses is the contemplation, through them ,
of Him.
.XII.
This, then, is the true, the sanctified, the sacra

mental use of Beauty .
XIII.
So also, in like manner, has our Lord Himself

declared other parts of His creation to have been
established as salutary warnings.
XIV.
Does not the inspired Word speak of the dumb

dog who cannot bark ; the deaf adder, who listens
not to the voice of the charmer ; the sow, who
returns to her wallowing in the mire ; the roaring
lion, who goes about seeking whom he may devour ;
the mule and horse, who must be kept in with bit
N 4
and bridle ? And to what end are they so spoken

of, but as the inspired sanction to their use, as the
key to a whole set of types created in merciful
warning ?
XV .
Thus does God set forth the material world, both

in the Beautiful and the Deformed , for the contem
plation of man . The Beautiful is His image, for the
exaltation of man's hopes ; the Deformed is the exhibi
tion of man's lapsed image, for his humiliation and
self -knowledge.
XVI .
But whilst animate and inanimate nature agree in

their susceptibility of reflecting images of Beauty
and Deformity , yet they altogether differ in that
they reflect these images under very distinct and
dissimilar laws.
For the very conditions under which they exist
are dissimilar.
XVII .
Inanimate nature, though it may be organised,

possesses no vital energy, no spontaneous volition.
XVIII.
Animate nature possesses, indeed, in common with

the inanimate, a material frame; but then it possesses
as the inhabitant of that framework, a living and

spontaneous energy and volition.
XIX .
That is, the objects of inanimate nature are to be

considered as capable of no voluntary power them
selves. But they yet possess a decided character
inseparably annexed to them by association, because
they are so formed as, when instrumentally used by
any external agent, to express that character, and
that only
XX.
Thus a harp and a trumpet are both inanimate

objects. But we invariably connect the one with a
sentimental, the other with a martial expression,
because when used, although by a will extrinsic to
! themselves, they are yet each capable of giving
utterance to its own particular expression, and to
that only .
XXI.
But in animated nature the case is widely dif

ferent. The animated does indeed possess a material
structure subject to the very same mechanical laws
with the inanimate, but then it also possesses in ad
dition, and inseparably connected with it until its
dissolution by death , a central wielding force or
energy, residing within that material structure and

using its resources at pleasure.
XXII .
Thus in the case of a dog. He may be tame or

fierce, loving or hating, and his actions are governed
by the determinations and fluctuations of a will re
siding within him.
XXIII .
There is, then , in the case of animated nature, a

double set of laws to be observed.
First, the laws to which the external frame is
subject as a material mechanical fabric, and which
belong to it in common with every other material
object of a similar style of Beauty or Deformity.
But, secondly, we have laws which manifest the
degree of energy, and power of tenacity or activity, of
the living agent, and also laws which manifest the
peculiar class of activities and intelligences, of the
motive principle of life inseparably attached to the
material frame residing within it, and which wield
at pleasure all its resources.
XXIV.
For the character inanimate nature is only a

capacity of uses.
But animate nature adds to the capacity of uses a
principle of living power.
XXV.
Thus whilst the beauty of the objects of the in

animate world depends solely upon material laws
and conditions, that of the animate world depends,
first, on those organic laws constituting its beauty
as an object of the material world , and then on
laws which constitute its beauty as a living being,
and manifest the power and direction of will of the
agent within. And all these, first singly, and then
in the wide results of their complex combinations,
alone constitute the full complement of the various
sources of Beauty in the animate world .
XXVI .
In a word, we have in the one case simply a set

of laws manifesting the capacities of the instrument ;
in the other, we have likewise to become acquainted
with the skill and power of the hand which is to
touch its chords.
XXVII .
These two sets of conditions are thus distinct and

dissimilar from each other.
The principle of the one depends on mechanical
force; that of the other upon vital power.
XXVIII .
In the case of inanimate objects, as mechanical

force alone exists, so it alone has to be considered.
But with regard to animate objects, which possess
also vital power, it is not only necessary to be ac
quainted with each principle, but likewise thoroughly
to understand the complex results consequent upon
their co-existence and mutual bearings on one
another.
XXIX .
The same unity, which is requisite in the various

parts constituting the style of expression of an in
animate object, becomes, if possible, yet more impe
ratively indispensable in the two great principles of
mechanical capacities and vital energy , when they
constitute in combination animate expression.
XXX.
Contrary expressions tend mutually to destroy each

other. For the contradiction blurs and effaces that
distinctive character, whether of Beauty or of Defor
mity, which constitutes the appropriate signature of
example or of warning.
XXXI.
And this is equally true in animate or inanimate

objects; in works of nature, the creation of God, or
in their miniature imitations, which are man's artistic

combinations of materials arranged upon the same
Divine principles.
XXXII .
Thus a sublime discourse, delivered in a vulgar

provincial dialect, is displeasing. It is so, because
of the contradictory manifestations of spiritual ex
pansion and of mental contraction.
XXXII .
But in Dickens's “ Old Curiosity Shop," the vul

gar expressions of Mrs. Jarley enhance the plea
surable effect, because they exhibit the irrepressible
power of a noble and generous nature, swallowing
up and annihilating the ignoble form , and overleap
ing by its inherent energy all the obstacles which in
terest, want of education, and low habits, interposed
to its exercise. It is the bright beaming sword of the
angel displaying itself through dark clouds.
XXXIV .
And, it will be observed , the delight consists, not

in seeing two expressions of equal force battling the
one against the other, but in seeing the strength of
the nobler life in enhanced clearness, by its instan
taneous victory over the opposite low one.
XXXV.
The pleasure is in this case similar to that of be

holding a royal conqueror tower the more loftily as
his crowned brow beams far above the heads of the
ignoble crowd of peasants or smutched artificers who
attend on his triumph .
XXXVI.
Or like the pleasure with which the Eastern tra

veller beholds the lofty Demavend shooting up its
solitary granite peaks, radiant with sunbeams, far
into the cloudless blue and tranquil heavens, and ap
pearing yet more gigantic in unapproachable majesty ,
from the dense fogs and swamps of the low and un
healthy region of Mazanduan girdling its base.
XXXVII.
Again, a Thalestris, a Boadicea, a Jael or a Judith,

can never, by any expenditure of art, become really
beautiful. Because the character ofwar, of despotic ty
ranny, of treachery, and of murder, must ever be most
antagonistic to woman from the very destination for
which God created her, - that of a help meet in
.
man's Paradise, that of a gentle and tender soother,

a bountiful and wise dispenser, and a solace under
the multiplied evils of death, of sin, and of poverty,
of which her beguilement was the occasion :
woman, to whom the seed of restoration was pro

mised, whose heart, whose house, whose home, should
be as an asylum full of serene love, and whose errands
of loving mercy abroad should bless with beneficence
and peace .
XXXVIII.
Beauties and Deformities should , then, not only be

consistent with themselves in all their manifestations,
but they must, likewise, be consistent with the Di
vine design in the destination of the particular objects
in which they are apparent.
XXXIX
For God alone is good. The signature of His

perfection and stamp of His will is the alone perfect
ness or Beauty of any created thing. God alone is
light. He alone truly knows what is in man, and
His signature of the creature's evils is what alone
constitutes the effectual warning in Deformities.
XL.
The man of true taste is a physiognomist on a large

scale .
Whilst he looks on the whole face of nature, it is
his privilege clearly to discern God's signatures of
counsel and of warning ; and, discerning them , to
192 TIE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
bow down in worship and reverent adoration before

Him whose will is manifested . It is his prayerful
wish, by the aid of God's Spirit, to keep those holy
intimations, and to ponder them in his heart.
XLI.
Well may he who discerns and recognises with eye

and heart His stamp of Beauty and goodness on all
creation, behold that creation with joy, and contem
plate it with affiant thanksgiving !
XLII .
Well may he, too, of awakened heart, who seeing

in material forms that which the unheeding eye can
not see, who hearing in the outward voice that which
the unopened ear cannot hear, discern the solemn
warnings of the Most High - well may he also humbly
thank his Lord with reverence for the salutary ad
monition those dark signatures convey !
XLIII .
For it has pleased the Lord of glory to form every

creature, directly or indirectly to show forth some
portion of that glory.
XLIV .
From the seraph of light who veils his face with

his wings, and who eternally worships, rejoicing in
the sunbeam of his Creator's countenance , to the

defenceless worm that winds its way beneath the turf
--from the stately cedar of Lebanon that spreads the
wide shade of its protecting arms on the crested
mountain, to the lowly hyssop, the plant of purifica
tion, upon the wall - all is created not only to some
.
general purpose, but to some definitely beneficent

one.
XLVI .
In contemplating Beauty or Deformity, whether

Animate or Inanimate , we must then be understood
as equally referring to the character which that par
ticular species expresses.
XLVII.
And we use the term character in speaking of the

two species, as applicable with equal justness to
both. Because, in truth , they do both equally convey
the expression of moral character.
The character of the harsh, rough, grating voice of
the choleric, is not more certainly different from that
of the sweet, inflated, yet unsubstantial voice of the
melancholic, than the startling, thrilling blast of the
trumpet is from the sweet and tender breathing of
the flute, or the wild and pensive Æolian harp.
O
194
XLVIII .
Both agree in each being fitted to the expression

of its own peculiar character and no other. The
instrument may, if unused , be silent. The moral
being, if restrained , may have no active utterance .
But if a motive force be applied , they are each
equally limited to its own mode of utterance.
XLIX .
It will be assumed then as established , first, that

animate and inanimate nature agree in being alike
susceptible of moral expression ; and secondly , that
they differ in that the character imparted to inani
mate nature depends upon one set of laws only,
whilst the expression of animate nature emanates
from two distinct sets of laws, superadded to which
is a third result, arising from their combination .
L.
We now proceed to the consideration of the Laws

which impart character to inanimate objects. And it
may be here observed that the present work does not
embrace the consideration either of the laws of vital
energy , or of those laws of moral expression which
depend on the exercise of an intelligent will, and form
a separate branch of Science .
CHAP. II.
INBERENT LAWS BY WHICH MORAL EXPRESSION IN IN

ANIMATE OBJECTS IS CONVEYED TO THE MIND THROUGH
THE MEDIUM OF THE SENSES .
SENSE OF VISION .
FORM, MOVEMENT, AND COLOUR.
I.
What is the appropriate clothing of each germinal

principle of Beauty in inanimate objects ?
What are the laws of perception by which moral
expression reaches the mind through the medium of
the senses ?
II .
In reply, we must begin by distinguishing the

various modes of enunciation which constitute the
utterance peculiar to each of the human senses.
III .
We begin with the sense of vision.

Objects of vision are manifested chiefly by form ,
colour, and disposition of parts.
o 2
IV.
Forms are bounded by lines. It is obvious that

a right line constitutes the shortest interval between
one point and another: — that a perpendicular line
is that in which the apex is exactly supported by
its base : - that a cube and a parallelogram rest
-
upon foundations of equal breadth and width to their

summits.
v.
Hence the straight line is the characteristic of every

movement which is single in its determinateness.
As of the lion that rushes on its prey—of the eagle
-
that pounces on its quarry - of the instant stroke

of the lightning - flash.
VI.
And straight lines and rectilinearly based forms

must in truth be those of every figure set in strength
upon its base.
Such are those of the massive pedestal of the two
gigantic brother statues, which have sat for forty
centuries in isolated grandeur amidst the desolation
of Thebes . Such are the lines of the tower resting
on its foundation.
VII .
As rectilinearity of figure marks strength , so

THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY , 197
latitude of base in proportion to height marks repose

and permanent resisting strength.
For though both in a cube and in a parallelogram
the base is equal to the summit, yet the difference
of the comparative height between the base and per
pendicular renders the cube a more immoveable figure
than the parallelogram .
VIII.
The same rule applies to every other object. Thus

the vast strength of the Romanesque pillars or
that of the piers in the caverns at Elephanta and
Ellore depends upon the greatly increased latitude
of base and diminution of height in comparison with
1
the proportions of other columns. The same expres-.
sions result from the same cause in the elephant
itself; in whose massive legs the base is wide in pro
portion to the height. Very different is the expres
sion of the lion. He is indeed bounded by rectilinear
lines, but he does not exhibit cubic but parallelo
grammatic proportions; which joined to his muscular
constricted system impart the character of active force
as distinguished from reposing strength.
IX.
Again, a pyramid and an obelisk both possess

rectilinear bases, but the width of base in propor
tion to its height imparts an expression of repose
03
and durable permanence to the pyramid, which the

obelisk does not possess.
The rectilinear line being the shortest interval

from one point to another, marks the unswerving
determination ; the breadth of base, the degree of
repose.
XI.
As a right angle is the most sudden and violent

deflection from the course of a straight line to the
adoption of another equally direct, so do movements
and gestures characterised by rectangles and sudden
breaks mark sudden change of purpose , and deter
minate strength. As examples, see the charge of
a regiment of cavalry, and its instant stop ; the evo
lutions of a soldier, the walking of a lion.
XII .
Hence all these characteristics of strength, right

lines, and right angles, mark the Sublime in form .
Horizontality and breadth of base characterise
the Passive Sublime. Perpendicularity and abun
dance of rectangles, mark the Active Sublime.
XIII .
Compare the horizontal shade of the beech with

the gnarled rectangular contorted limbs of the oak ;
the stalking of the lion with the stately ponderous

tread of the elephant ; the castle with its crested
towers frowning aloft with the deep repose of the
Pyramids of Ghizeh.
XIV .
Delineations of the Sublime, whether Active or

Passive, should agree in having thick, powerful, de
terminate outlines ; lines of demarcation severing
and isolating them at once from surrounding objects,
and causing them to stand out in strong relief.
XY .
But they should differ, in that the line should in

the Active Sublime be shaggy and rough, like the
stroke of a reed pen ; in the Passive, broad, perma
nent and equable.
XVI.
For the Active Sublime acts on others; hence its

lines must be rough.
The Passive only resists the action of others upon
it. Its lines must then be broad and hard, but
smooth .
XVII .
Curves exhibit the least decision, because a curve

is the least direct line from one point to another.
Also, because ovals are formed on two centres,
04
they are formed on a double, instead of on one single

integral principle.
Where that form is further modified into an egg
shape, where one of the centres is formed by a circle
of smaller diameter than the other, there subsists the
greatest divergence that a figure bounded by one
line can exhibit from the original point of departure.
At the same time its deflection is so gradual as to
achieve its whole circumference without one angle
or abrupt interruption, and with an apparently com
plete continuity.
XVIII.
This figure then is in its double centre and in its

gently deflected line, a perfect manifestation of the
germinal principles of the Beautiful.
For that which belongs to this style of Beauty
must be discreet, every successive portion growing
out of the preceding, without salient angle or oppos
ing parts; without contrast or break.
XIX .
As examples in nature we have long, wavy grass

and the twining convolvulus, or the weeping willow,
contrasted with the rectilinear rugged oak, or the
wide horizontal shade of the cedar of Lebanon. We
have also the same line in the flexures of the outline
and movements of the greyhound.
XX .
Figures belonging to this style should be most

delicately drawn with an elastic nuancé outline, or
they lose all grace. Portrait painting would be ren
dered more true by an attention to the characteristics
of outline and shadow belonging to each style of
Beauty.
ΧΧΙ .
An acute angle, being the sharpest and most

piquant deflection from the right line, as for instance
in a zig -zag path, characterises the Sprightly, because
it involves a succession of petty distinct determina
tions with continual novelty and change. So in the
figure of a multangular star. The Vivid pleases, not
like the Sublime, by one magnificent whole, or by
a few emphatic parts strongly contrasted ; nor like
the Beautiful, by a gentle and almost imperceptible
flexure ; but by many distinct impressions combining
in one harmonious utterance.
XXII.
For a multitude of petty distinct parts produces

the impression of movement. Because the eye and
the mind not being able to apprehend all at once, are
compelled to pass from one to the other successively.
And from this cause the eye transfers the conscious
ness of its own successive perceptions to an apparent
succession of objects in what is before it.
XXIII .
The right lines of the Sprightly are ever changing

their directions; but with a degree of deviation from
the original course, which marks rather caprice of
purpose from sportiveness, than determinate change
of aa momentous and earnestly pursued object.
XXIV.
It must be represented in drawing by a sharply

cut, very fine outline ; keen angled, keen edged.
XXV.
We may here observe in reference to the several

styles of Beauty , that nothing is more important
with regard to their right use in works of art, than
an acquaintance with the laws of expression regard
ing antagoniem , contrast and sequence.
XXVI.
Antagonism is the juxtaposition of opposing

expressions in equally intense degree ; battling
against, and tending mutually to destroy each other.
This is wholly inadmissible in works of art ; it is a
solecism and contradiction .
XXVII .
Contrasted expression is where two expressions of

different styles, but of wholly unequal force, are
presented at the same time.
|
XXVIII .
Where a strong impression is interrupted by a

weaker one, it causes a harsh intolerable discord and
jarring. As, for example, supposing an assembly
convened for some important purpose, involving life
and death , and one in a harlequin dress were to
enter and exhibit his pantomimes. For in that case
the strong impression is weakened by the super
added one . This is wholly inadmissible in works of
art.
XXIX.
But where a weaker style is interrupted by a

stronger one, then the powerful impression swallows
up the weaker, and is itself increased in force and
vividness, precisely in the ratio of the difference
between them .
XXX.
Thus if in our morning walk aa funeral pass by, it so

lemnises the mind. But if in the midst of aa crowded
ball -room , when surrounded by brilliant dresses,
splendid lights, and dazzling ornaments, the door
be suddenly thrown open, and a stately funeral pro
cession, with its plumes, its escutcheons, its coffin ,
and its long train of mourners, were to enter, it
would then instantly impress with so much the more
awe, as the weaker feeling it annihilated had been
opposed to that newly excited.
XXXI.
If two parts do not battle together in destructive

equipoise, but one part, either by emphasis of shadow ,
intense colour, expanse of light, or grandeur of idea,
is dominant, then the subordinate adds to the expres
sion of the dominant exactly its own difference in
the other scale, by setting the standard of measure
ment that degree lower than its natural scale.
XXXII,
Sequence of expression is when two expressions

in the same style are presented together, the latter
of which enhances on the former.
XXXIII,
Whenever sequence is well arranged , not only is the

original expression deepened by being long kept be
fore the mind, but also, by the last impression being
the strongest, it is enhanced. It is on this principle
that works of poetry and fiction, whilst they preserve
unity of tone throughout, should yet increase in
interest as the work proceeds. It is on this principle
that well-arranged processions are formed, the mind
being gradually stimulated in one direction till the
principalobject is at length presented.
XXXIV.
We thus find that contrast measures expression,

not from the mean standard , but from the opposing
one of the style most contrary to it, thus impart
ing to it an artificial degree of vividness.
Sequence, on the other hand, increases intensity by
the continued reiteration of expression from various
objects; it is like the continuous deposition of many
witnesses to one thing.
XXXV.
As illustrations of both , let us imagine the vast

desert of Thebes, with its wide unvaried expanse of
sand, and the huge colossal statue of Memnon sitting
>
in stillness over the silent waste, even from the hour

when Germanicus inscribed his name upon the lofty
pedestal to the present day. In the midst of the
death - like stillness suppose a troop of Arab horsemen
to rush by with a shrill cry, darting the jerrid as
they sweep past. Does not the very contrast of ex
uberant life make the death - like silence more vivid ?
Such is contrast.
XXXVI .
1
Again. Let us imagine ourselves in a vast Gothic
cathedral after vespers. We see a caverned depth of
arches, and аa succession of columns stretching almost
to infinity. Around us is the nave, the symbol of the
1
Church militant with its fluctuating throng ; the chan

cel, that of the Church triumphant ineternal adoration;
the rood screen, the emblem of death that separates
the two; and the cross above, that point of junction in
which the Church militant and the Church triumphant
are united. The images of Judgment confront the
soul over the chancel arch . The heraldic emblems are
trampled under foot on the floor below. The coronals
of light depend from the angel forms above. The peal
ing organ, the utterance of praise, is swelled by the
multitudinous voices in the church below, and echoed
from the cupola as from angelic choirs above. The
dim solemn light is streaming through the coloured
glass, rich in scriptural narrations, and like them
here and there illumed with passing sunbeams of
more especial brightness. The clock tells out its
admonition of time ; — the spire points to eternity.
The cock which, turning to every quarter as the
breath of heaven blows, calls alike to repentance, to
vigilance, and to the morning of the Resurrection,
when those who sleep peacefully below shall rise to
life everlasting
Such is an example of sequence, or character deep
ened by a multitude of expressions combining in one
harmonious utterance.
XXXVII.
Contrasted expression is eminently suited to the

force of the Active Sublime ; sequent expression,
to the permanence of the Passive; gently deflected

expression, to the Beautiful; multitudinous, percus
sive, petty stimuli, to the Vivid .
XXXVIII .
Let us now consider the general principles of ex

pression in movement.
XXXIX .
The Active Sublime rushes straight to its object;

like the pouncing eagle, the felling blow of the tiger;
the stroke of the lightning- flash; the disruption of a
mountain, the great Horse-Shoe Fall of Niagara.
XL .
The Passive Sublime moves in undeviating irre

sistible continuity , as in the sailing of an owl, the
majestic rising of a balloon , and the silent eternal
revolutions of the heavenly bodies.
XLI .
The Beautiful is in movement undeterminate,

graceful, and gently undulating.
XLII.
The Vivid is in movement quick, sudden, active,

playful, capricious, agile, bounding, and elastic.
XLIII.
The Active Sublime stalks, marches like a sol

dier. The Passive proceeds like an established mo
narch with a stately and majestic, not a threatening
tread. The Beautiful moves with gentleness; and as
a compassionate and loving cherisher, it reclines and
rests .
The Sprightly bounds with elastic spring, leaps,

runs, sings, dances, plays, and never is weary .
XLIV
The Active Sublime is suitably dressed in armour,

hard , succinct, so as not to impede violent motion.
The Passive is suitably dressed in heavy drapery,
falling in few folds, to mark the great flexures of the
body, leaving the smaller articulations shrouded in
mystery. The material should be heavy, suitable to
slow movement .
XLV .
As the Sublime has no accessories, it can have no

ornaments. It is itself all in unity.. It cannot be
enhanced. It brooks no appendage.
XLVI.
The Beautiful is suitably dressed in light and soft,

but long waving drapery, falling in sinuous folds,
accommodating itself to length of limb and ease ofmo
tion ; as muslins and soft silks, sweeping the ground ;

ornaments few , pearly , opalaceous, iridescent, not
sparkling so as to distract the general effect, not
intense in colour, but designed and finished with
exquisite delicacy, placed on points of rest and not
on points of motion.
XLVII .
The Vivid is in dress succinct, showing all the

parts of motion, the feet, the hands, the arms. Dress
of elastic material, lively, party-coloured. Ornaments
very many, sparkling, glancing. It is full of petty
emphasis and glittering accessories.
XLVIII.
Let us now consider the various styles of Beauty

in respect of colouring.
XLIX.
It is obvious that the more intense the colour

and the larger its body, the stronger will be the im
pression it causes on the eye ; and that the more
dilute the colouring, the less forcible impression
does it produce .
L.
Again , two forcible and intense colours, suddenly

but harmoniously contrasted, produce in colour the
same effect that rectangles do in a figure. They
mark a sudden and abrupt change. We have here
the characteristics of the Sublime.
P
LI.
But harmonious yet delicate colours so placed as

to blend with each other without losing their purity,
as the rainbow, the colours of a pigeon's neck, mother
of-pearl, opal, &c., are those which form the most
gentle deflections. They present in colour the same
effect as gentle curves do in form , and characterise
the Beautiful.
Thus incipient twilight after the glare of day,
and a certain dreaminess of tint over the landscape,
are eminently Beautiful; darkness has not yet
shrouded the colouring, but still the sobered light
imparts a coalescent blending of effect.
LII.
The Vivid, on the other hand, is characterised by

well-pronounced and brilliant colours, as in the chequed
>
pattern of a Scotch tartan, or in the polished and stiff

a
holly with its bright berries. Or its sharp angles

catch glistening beams of light, as in jewels and cut
glass. It appears in burnished metals and polished
and glittering insects.
LIII.
Any one wishing to imagine the full effect of the

Vivid with respect to light, may fancy a winter's
night, the Neva covered with snow, the stars glisten
ing in the cloudless sky like diamonds above the vast
crowd of gaily dressed company in sleighs, or who
adorn its expanse as spectators. Whilst ever and

anon the bright rocket shoots up far into the heavens,
then falls through the silent air in showers of living
fire ; or the Bengal light illumines the whole with
the rich halo of brilliant effulgence, and then, like the
brightness of earth, passes away and leaves not a
trace behind .
I 2
CHAP. III.
INHERENT LAWS, CONTINUED . HEARING . QUALITY OF

TONE . PITCH . MODE OF SUCCESSION. STYLE IN
COMPOSITION. CONSTRUCTION OF LANGUAGE .
I.
The same rules which regulate perceptions of sight

obtain likewise with respect to sound.
II.
The most loud, deep, and full sounds are effects

produced by the vibration of the largest volume of
air impelled with the most force. They cause the
strongest stimulus to the ear. Hence this class of
sound necessarily belongs to the Sublime.
III .
Again, a forcible and violent impulse causes rough

and grating sound ; the more continuous the force,
the greater the volume of full, deep, equable sound.
The first characterises the Active, the second the
Passive Sublime.
IV.
Contrast the disruption of fields of ice in the

Northern Ocean, concussion after concussion, or the
successive reports of repeated charges of artillery,

with the deep, continuous, equable roar of the
autumnal ocean, or the solemn moaning of the north
west wind. Contrast the rattling crash of the start
ling thunder-clap with the awful, solemn roll of the
lengthened peal.. Again,, the harsh, full tones of the
great organ, the sudden blast of the thrilling trumpet,
and, in general, military music, are actively Sublime.
The deep toll of a muffled bell, the wailing lament
of the Posaune, the full volume of organ diapasonis,
solemn ecclesiastical Gregorian chants, and plagal
cadences are passively Sublime.
V.
Harshness of tone may be termed the imperative

mood of sound, as intense colour is the emphasis of
vision. Both, then, belong to the Sublime.
VI .
Full volume of continued tone, deep and slow, as

though the utterance came from the very depth of
the inmost soul, is the natural language of a fixed ,
undeviating, earnest purpose. A tone solemn and
equable, but uninflected, irresistible, steadfast, re
solved, leaves no power of added force, nor does it
brook any adventitious softening. That is wholly
irrespective of moulding from without which springs
with force from the utterance of a principle within .
P 3
It proceeds on its own course, and conforms not ; but

conformity to it is an inevitable necessity.
VII.
Contrast the astounding salvos of sound in Handel's

Hallelujah Chorus " with the soul-overflowing solem
nity of the “ Miserere ” of Allegri, or the “ Lamenta
tions ” or “ Improperia ” of the immortal and heaven
taught Palestrina.
VIII.
Again, sounds at a moderate pitch, equally remote

from solemn depth and piercing shrillness, sounds
gentle and mellifluent, as the dulciana and sweet
claribell of the organ, continually moderated and
ipflected by the swell, cause the least violent vibra
tion of air, and fall with the least perceptible stimulus,
compatible with distinctness, upon the ear.
IX.
The sweet but unsubstantial melody of the flute, the

Æolian harp, swelling and dying away with the breeze,
the ethereal musical glasses, with their sound like the
wafted strain of angels, all belong to the Beautiful.
As musical specimens, may be added Webbe’s “ La
mentation over Jerusalem ," at the end of the office
of Tenebræ in Holy Week ; the exquisitely pathetic
“ Hostia et preces” of Paer ; Handel's “ Dove sei ”
I
and “ Angels ever bright and fair ;" Webbe's “ O

salutaris Hostia ; ” Kent's “ O that I had wings like
a dove ; " and the Hebrew dirge over the Departed.
X.
The Passive Sublime and the Beautiful both re

quire continuity of tone. The one pours forth its
full, sonorous tide in a smooth cumulative volume, or
else in regular and measured solemn cadence ; the
other flows in a sweet, gentle, continuous and uninter
rupted course, every part gradually yet softly inflected.
For the first denotes the silent yet steadfast progres
sion of overwhelming power ; the second, the un
wearied self-sacrifice and accommodation of unfailing
sweetness and love.
XI .
Once more ; sounds clear and shrill, but yet sweet,

not flowing continuously, but with distinct, rapid
percussions succeeding one another, a staccato in
petty reiterated strokes, as the twittering of birds, bear
the character of the Vivid. It is in tone bell-like,
tinkling, jingling, as the dulcimer or Pandean-pipe,
or musical snuff -box , and, when heard mellowed by
distance, the fife.
XII.
As each style of Beauty has its source in the Divine

P4
appointment, so has the tone belonging to each its

appropriate utterance in the works of God .
XIII.
The commanding voice of man, the vice-gerent of

God on earth, may on the whole be classed under the
Active Sublime.
XIV.
The gentle, tender, heart-healing voice of a woman,

the lovingness of whose nature is rendered steadfastly
holy, yet still more gently flexible, by the Divine
Spirit, is Beautiful.
XV.
The clear, bell -like voices, the merry laugh of gay

and happy children, rejoicing in hope and life and
loving affiance, and in the bursting gladness of behold
ing a world where all is yet new - this is a lesson of
loving trust read by the children of God in sacred
blessing, even amidst the Sprightliness of which it is
characteristic.
XVI.
There is yet another voice, deep, solemn and sono

rous, yet mellow and agreeable ; permanent, like the
heavenly truths it utters ; a voice whose inspiring
life is full of earnest and august, yet healing and
imperishable hopes and loves. That serene voice is
the utterance of a heart which, deeply schooled in

heavenly lore, has learned to dwell far above the mu
tabilities of this tabernacle of exile, and to abide, as
in its home, in the unchanging beatitude of its true
Fatherland : a heart whose peace is in the con
tinued sense of its Father's blessing, whose ineffable
happiness is in continued communion with GOD, whose
joy is the continued irradiation of the light of His
countenance. A heart thus deeply grounded in the
root of unchangeable happiness, and permanence of
repose in Him, who is love unchanging, will find
utterance in strains solemn and fervent, yet in still
peacefulness of trust, in its earnest appeals to the
hearts of men . Such a voice, sweetened in love by
Divine love, if it be a man's, and deepened and
strengthened by the solemn import of its happy and
holy truths, if a woman's, will find its utterance in
the full, serenely equable, yet august and cadenced
tones which constitute the Passive Sublime.
XVII .
The principles which apply to tone and its quality

and mode of succession, apply likewise to style in
composition.
XVIII.
That of the Active Sublime is compressed, concen

trated. Its sentences are abrupt, energetic, short. In
idea, it is vast, definite, making to the point. It keeps

the leading idea in full light or strong contrast. It has
no accessories, no expletives, no subordinate thoughts.
It exhibits the life, the root, the trunk -- but no
branches. In thoughtand in feeling, intense, distinct ;
and full in vital principle. It presents no development,
no amplification, little illustration , but that to the
point. It compels conviction ; does not suggest opinion.
It rouses the tempest of passion. It spurns soliciting
the affections. It has to do with volition, not with
sentiments. It is turbulent, rapid, emphatic, con
stricted, harsh ; abounding in periods and breaks, and
guiltless of all subordinate stops ; direct in purpose,
and unmitigated and unmeasured in its application.
XIX .
The Passive Sublime has a serene , equable flow of

elevated thoughts and feelings, poured forth in grave
and sonorous diction. Its style is without hurry , like
>
one vast tide of thought and feeling irresistibly

coming in and swelling until it attains its full volume
of cumulative grandeur. Its root, its trunk, its vast
limbs are fully and continuously developed. It de
lights not in abrupt, broken sentences, but flows on
in the serene, majestic continuity of discrete thought
and feeling. It abounds in full, long vowels or diph
thongs ; it has few gutturals or sibilants, few short
sharp vowels and few percussive consonants.
1
THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY, 219
XX.
As an illustration from English poets, contrast

Gray’s minatory “ Ode ” against the first Edward's race
with the end of the book of Carthon in Macpherson's
“ Ossian ; or contrast the styles of Homer and
Æschylus with the solemn, sonorous resonance of
Milton's “ Paradise Lost."
XXI.
But the most truly lofty and magnificent instances

of the Sublime are to be found in their highest form
in that utterance which is in truth most exalted,
even in the Word of the Most High. And as that
Word promulges the most stringent truths, the most
awful sanctions, and the most glorious promises, so
their clothing in thought and dignity of utterance is
correspondent to their internal and eternal spirit.
XXII.
The Lord has Himself declared that out of the

abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Let us,
then , studying His language, wait on Him for the
knowledge of His heart. With deep reverence, then,
we turn to the light-creating Word, as the highest
instance of the Active Sublime, 718 777' ( Y’hi or ).
“ Let there be light.” See also the Ode in the
fourteenth of Isaiah ; the description of the Spirit,
in Job iv. verse 15, to the end of the chapter ; that of
the war horse, Job xxxix. 19–25 ; the twenty
fourth Psalm ; the Song of Moses at the Red Sea,

Exodus xv.; which may all be adduced as examples
of the Active Sublime.
XXIII .
As parallel instances of the Passive Sublime, may

be mentioned the 8th , the 65th, the 104th Psalms ;
the magnificent passage in Hebrews xii. on the
cloud of witnesses, and the contrast between Mount
Zion and Mount Sinai. To which we must add the
two closing chapters as well as several passages in
the Book of Revelation . And O my soul ! do thou
deeply remember and lay it to heart , that if the
highest instances of true sublimity are to be found in
the Holy Scriptures, it is because they alone really
convey the most weighty and important of all utter
ances ; even those of the Eternal Jehovah , the
King Immortal and Invisible, who dwelleth in
light inaccessible, yet thy Lord , thy Father, thy Sa
viour and Redeemer, thy Renovator and Gladdener.
O, then, stop not thou in mere admiration of the pre
cious and magnificent and richly wrought chalice ;
but refresh thyself daily, hourly, with the living
water with which it is replenished, in deep thankful
ness, and reverent abasedness of heart and spirit.
XXIV .
Again, long modulated sentences, undistinguished

either by full, resonant vowels or harsh, rough con
sonants, and gliding in equable flow of calm senti
ment, but without very deep or very ample thought,

a style exhibiting rather graceful, gentle, flexile
ramifications and development of silvery frondage and
blossoms, than strongly timbered trunk, - belongs to
the Beautiful. The Beautiful abounds in tender, and
varied, and delicate hues of thought and feeling , and
in elegant rather than forcible illustration. In thought
and sentiment pure, often pensive, always exquisite
in delicacy of finish . Gray’s “ Elegy in a Country
>
Church-yard,” and his “ Ode to Eton College," may
be adduced as examples .
XXV .
Short sentences dexterously and neatly turned ,

terse, sparkling, distinct, witty, rapid, without in
cumbrance of words, characterise the Vivid. They
abound in short treble vowels and percussive or
sibilant consonants. The thoughts are well dis
tributed in little neat packages, easily caught up
and carried away in the memory .
XXVI.
Generally speaking, odes might be considered as

belonging to the Active Sublime ; contemplative
writings, especially those in blank verse, to the
Passive. Elegies and sonnets often belong to the
Beautiful; satires, aphorisms, epigrams, to the
Sprightly.
XXVII.
On the whole, the Active Sublime in Style de

lights in contrast and antithesis ; the Passive, in full,
sonorous, lengthened periods ; the Beautiful, in melli
fluous, inflected cadence ; the Vivid, in rapid suc
cession of glittering points, salient repartee, and
sparkling wit.
XXVIII .
Under the head of sound, perhaps, a few obser

vations may be added on the construction of lan
guage.
XXIX .
Those languages which most repudiate the use of

subordinate parts of speech , rather expressing them
selves by modifications of the principal words, the
marrow of language, viz., verbs and substantives,
will always possess most strength and energy, and
are most allied to the Sublime.
XXX .
Again, vowels may be considered as the substance

of sound, as verbs and substantives are of sense ;
consonants as the inflections of sound, as the sub
ordinate parts of speech are inflections of sense.
XXXI.
Now gutturals, and rough aspirates, and strongly

marked consonants are the most sudden and forcible
inflections. They answer in sound to the deflectiòn
formed by the right angle in form . Where they
abound they impart abruptness, distinctiveness, force
and contrast to the articulation of the syllable, word,
or sentence in which they occur. Such consonants
have in their strong accent a natural affinity to the
Active Sublime.
XXXII.
Again, lengthened words, not strongly accented,

and full, long, sonorous vowels and diphthongs, impart
>
the most ample volume of solemn measured cadence.

They belong to the Passive Sublime.
XXXIII .
The Beautiful requires the vowels to glide into

each other with the least possible degree of marked
flexure ; to be united by liquid and mute consonants,
and not by those which are guttural, sibilant, or
percussive. Contrast the two lines,
“ The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,"
and
“ Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings,”
as an illustration of the different characters imparted
by the different classes of consonants.
XXXIV .
The Sprightly, on the other hand, abounds in short

vowels, and, still more, in rapid and percussively
articulated consonants. It rejects the rough, ponder
ous gutturals of the Active, and the long, sonorous
vowels of the Passive Sublime, together with the
liquid and mellifluous consonants of the Beautiful.
Its sharp, shrill, accented syllables and percus
sive consonants trip and bound along in dactyl and
iambic measure, or run lightly on in voluble anapæst.
XXXV .
Once more : diction is lengthened when thought

finds utterance not through prefixes or affixes, simply
inflecting the commencement or the termination of
the principal words, but when their modifications are
spun out by the multiplication of subordinate parts of
speech or expletives.
XXXVI .
The power of suppressing minor words and con

solidating emphatic ones, is that which imparts
compression, stringence, and energy of style. This
has been said to be eminently the case in Greek, and
still more in the Russian language.
XXXVII .
Now, then, our own language is susceptible of both

these varieties ; the one lengthened out after the man
ner of an Alexandrine, by many subordinate words

from the Teutonic dialects, the other compressed into
its quintessence, and forming a language of diagrams
by its Latinised stringency and dismission of all sub
ordinate words. These form two modes of expressing
thought and feeling precisely analogous to the major
and minor modes in music.
XXXVIII.
11
The former is lengthened, elegiac, tender, adhesive,
dwelling on the same thought, in all its varied shades
and aspects. It is the language of the tenaciously
loving heart of sentiment.
XXXIX .
The latter is terse, sinewy, rapidly traversing the

space of interposing accessory ideas, passing over the
successive links, to gain at once the point to which
the mental eye is directed . This is the mode of
utterance which belongs to the ardent, the definite,
the earnest of purpose, the single of eye ; -it is the
language of truth and of definite thought.
XL .
It has now been endeavoured to point out some

of the principal characteristics of the various styles of
Beauty, as manifested in the two principal or royal
senses—those of vision and hearing.
Q
XLI .
The three remaining senses are so subordinate to

these master inlets of perception that the two former
have often been denominated " the human senses," as
those more especially characterising man ; whilst it
has been supposed that the remaining three are pos
sessed in more acuteness by the animal creation.
XLII .
But though in human beings the three inferior

senses are less vivid than those of vision and of hear
ing, yet each possesses its own peculiar utterance,
an utterance, more or less distinctly articulated ,
yet modelled upon one and the same principle as
that of their more exalted brethren.
CHAP. IV.
INHERENT LAWS, CONTINUED.--TOUCH . -SUPERFICIAL SUR
FACE. TEXTURE . MASS OF SUBSTANCE .
I.
THE sense of touch has been denominated the sense

of accurate knowledge — the test of truth .
II .
Its notices have received, in contradistinction not

only to those of the lower, but to those of the higher
senses, the distinguishing appellation of Reality.
III .
Whilst that which only receives the testimony of

sight, without being corroborated by that of touch ,
bears the designation of visionary, as though sight
unaccompanied by touch were not to be relied on ;
the testimony of touch, even when unsupported by
sight, is acknowledged by the term substantial, tan
gible, or palpable, as though, in the ultimate resort,
the testimony of this sense were alone to be relied
on as an infallible test of truth. That which " we
have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which

Q 2
we have looked upon, and our hands have handled , of

the Word of life." 1 John i. 1 .
IV.
Nor does this view obtain in modern parlance alone.

Hence, no doubt, the Hebrew verb vii (yada) “ to
know ,” or “grasp," is connected with the substantive
'7 (yad) the hand or grasper. As though all know
ledge were unreal whilst it abode as a vision , without
being grasped by the heart and mind.
V.
Touch may be considered in various aspects, accord

ing to its various manifestations in Superficial Sur
face, Quality, and Mass of Substance, Texture and
Weight.
VI.
Now that which is vast and massive is more

difficult to heave than what is light. When in
movement, it inflicts a more violent concussion, and
presents more obstacles to a motive agent. That

which is hard , rough , shaggy or rugged, impresses
and grates against that with which it comes in contact,
whilst it abides itself unimpressed. It not merely
remains unacted upon, but it is itself aggressive.
And this is still more the case, when to hard and
harsh texture are added volume, weight of substance.
coarseness and roughness of material. As examples,

take the felling stroke of a rugged, hard, ponderous
bludgeon ; or the thundering crash of a rough, dis
rupted crag, dislocated from its native Alpine heights,
and leaping from rock to rock, till it overwhelm the
luckless travellers below, and disappear with them ,
in one hideous ruin , in the black abyss.
All these are the conditions of the Active Sublime;
massiveness, hardness, coarseness, and ruggedness, are
its characteristics, under the sense of touch .
VII.
Again, that which is large in mass and thick in

volume, of continuous, uninterrupted expanse ; that
which, though hard in surface, is perfectly smooth,
even, or polished ; that which, though thick in sub
stance and ample in volume,is yet fine in texture ; that
which is perfectly level and continuous, which resists
impression and motive power , yet, in its broad equal
pressure, does not inflict pain, exhibits the conditions
which belong to the Passive Sublime in touch.
VIII .
Again , that which is neither sufficiently massive

nor weighty to oppose a strong resistance to a mo-
tive agent, nor yet sufficiently minute or light to
become the sport of every casual impulse, as the
gigantic bulls of Nineveh, on the one hand, or light
Q 3
thistle- down on the other, constitute bodies most

fitted for gentle but uncapricious movement. That
which, so far from inflicting aggression, instantly it
self yields to every substance with which it comes in
contact, like an eider -down enclosed in a light satin
cover, possesses the conditions of the Beautiful in
touch .
IX .
Once more, substances which are at once very

smooth and very light, liable to be carried away by
every sportive breath of air, and to undergo ceaseless
change of position, which are both acted upon and
react with vigour and elasticity , possess the charac
teristics of the Sprightly in touch .
X.
It may be remarked, in closing the classification of

perceptions of touch, though the observation is
equally applicable to the other branches of our
subject, that it is with respect to the styles of Beauty
as it is with respect to Natural History. No nomen
clature is perfect, because all the characteristics of
each order are found united in the first degree only
in a few genera ; the others are classified on the prin
ciple of approximation. And thus the Creation of
God is abundant in variety, without collision or dis
ruption. And whilst a few perfect types of each
style stand out in prominent salience, there is a long

chain of intermediate examples, bridging over the
gulph which at first appears to separate them , and
uniting them in an indissoluble bond, for every pur
pose of utility, comfort, or social intercourse.
Q4
232 TEE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.
CHAP. V.
INHERENT LAWS, CONCLUDED. TASTE AND SMELL .
I.
With respect to objects of taste and smell, very

few and brief notices will suffice.
II.
When we consider Beauty as setting forth the

Divine perfection, we may well be inclined to pause,
and question how far it may comport with reverence,
to typify these most holy principles by manifestations
reaching man through the medium of those two
senses wbich are by universal consent considered
the lowest.
III .
Yet, on the other hand, when it is reverently

remembered that the high and lofty One who in
habiteth eternity, whose dwelling is in light in
accessible which no human eye can contemplate,
He, whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain ,
and who can far less be limited to the material temple
of this physical universe, has vouchsafed to descend
and become partaker of our frail' humanity, and that

He veiled His glory for our sake in a garb of dust ;
when it is remembered that He not only vouchsafed
to symbolise Himself under the type of the sun,
but that also it was His Divine appointment that His
holiness should be typified by the clouds of ascending
and far -spreading odour of frankincense, which by
its penetrating and diffusive fragrance proclaimed
the presence of Him before whom all contagion is
purified, all mortal plague stayed, all sickness healed ;
when the expression of His smelling a sweet savour,
even that of the odour of sanctity, is recalled to
mind ; and it is considered that His most holy and
most endearing mysteries are veiled under the edible
and potable forms of bread and wine, of meat, of liv
ing water, of fruit, of honey from the rock ; and that
we are invited not only to see the marvellous works
of the Lord and to hearken to His word, but also
to taste and see that the Lord is gracious; it
has appeared, after such recollections, that it was

well thus to take up the set of types of which
the Lord's appointment had vouchsafed to give
the key, and to seek, as in His presence, and
to His honour, to apply the brief notices, even of
man's lowest senses, as He may enable me.
IV .
Strong aggressive impressions of taste are those

which are either fiery, rough, strong-bodied, or

intensely hot.
V.
The powerfully passive are those which are pure,

cold , strong-bodied .
VI .
The gentle are those which are pure, sweet and

mild, and admit of but a very small degree of sub
acid .
VII.
The most stimulative are the pungent, piquant,

crisp, or racy acids, with slight sweetness.
VIII .
The same principles apply to scents.

IX .
The powerful, penetrating, pure, odour of frankin

cense belongs to the first style of Beauty.
X.
The fragrance of the luscious sweet - pea , the

delicate heliotrope, the rose , the jasmine, & c., &c.,
to the Beautiful.
XI .
The piquancy of aromatic vinegar, southern

wood, or aromatic salts, to the Vivid.
XII.
Again, so far as texture belongs to taste, the

Active Sublime delights in what is hard, and requires
crushing, tearing, and grinding, as by the carnivora .
ΧΙΙΙ .
The second style delights in what is melting or

soft. It is often to a degree viscous, flowing less
quickly.
XIV .
Again , the Sprightly delights in the crisp and

crackling or racy texture, in that which stimulates,
effervesces, quickens.
XV .
We have now briefly stated , under the head of

each different sense, the distinctive laws by which
each germinal principle of Beauty is manifested in
sensible objects. This division of our subject is
closed.
END OF PART III .

237
PART IV .
OF THE USES OF BEAUTY AND OF THE MORAL MAXI

FESTATION OF ITS GERMINAL PRINCIPLES.
CHAPTER I.
TYPICAL USE OF BEAUTY. PRACTICAL RESULTS .
I.
WE have considered, first, the germinal principles of

Beauty in their source - namely, the moral character
of the Most High, whence, as from their Fountain ,
the various streams and various styles of Beauty
flow .
II .
We secondly attempted to discriminate the cha

racteristics of each style of Beauty, and then pro
ceeded to trace the laws under which each is
manifested by God in creation, or may be reproduced
by man in works of art.
III.
It remains to devote a few observations to the

uses which all these different manifestations of the
principles of Beauty are intended to subserve ; that

our theory be not a mere theory, but that, like all
that is worthy the name of true knowledge, it may
not end in speculation, but issue in abundant prac
tical good fruits.
IV.
And, first, as to Beauty generally, or the trans

cript of the perfections of God upon outward objects,
we have seen that to glorify His name, who is the
Sublimity from which the sublime is but a stream
the Love from which the lovely proceeds in ceaseless
flow - the Bliss from which all gladness is but an
-
emanating rill ~ is its first and highest mission.
V.
We have found another instituted end of Beauty

in the provision in nature of a rich magazine of
types laid up for our use by God, and by which He
has bridged over, by sensible manifestations of Him
self, the chasm which separates the natural heart
from the knowledge of spiritual objects ; and we have
seen that He has thus prepared for man from early
childhood a spiritual language of things, which reaches
him before the Word of Truth can bear its full
import to his ear. We learn by things before we
learn by words.
VI.
For childhood , in its sportiveness and gaiety of

heart, is easily led into holy associations with out
ward things, and to read in each its lesson. The
child sees the flower opening to the beams of the sun
and closing as it departs, and he soon learns to ob
serve a similar expansion and closing of heart, as he
is in the light of the Sun of Righteousness or turns
from its beams. He sees the flower scorched beneath
the arid heat of the noon -day sun. He sees, again, in
the dark night the copious dew descend, and roots
and foliage revive and their blossoms emit their full
fragrance ; and he soon perceives how , in his own
little sphere, the sun of prosperity withers, and the
night of adversity is the time of refreshment. And
thus in childhood are dug those pools which in due
time may be filled by the rain from Heaven.
VII.
Nor is the language of symbolic association less
blessed to the aged. The pilgrim, worn in his length
of way through the desert, and bending to his dust, is
no more encompassed by the friends who once walked
with him hand in hand. They have long since, it
may be, exchanged the church militant for the
church triumphant. And as he journeys on alone,
no human voice will ever again solemnly address him
with parental, holy strength, nor yet warn him in the

equality of friendship, nor can youth break through
the reverence of his years. Then what a blessing is
it early to have learned that language in which God
from every object speaks to the spirit ; to hear in
them aa voice which the unopened ear of the natural
man does not hear ; to see "Holiness to the Lord” in
scribed on everything. O how cheering is it to the
aged to watch the peaceful sunset after the weary
day, or the quiet disrobing of autumn after the fervid
summer, when the heart sees from its very depth the
promise of the morning of the resurrection - when
it realises the bursting into life and glory of all who
now, like him , are preparing to lie down in their
dust.
VIII .
And perhaps if Beauty, with its various species of

manifestation, were more practically felt as well as
seen to be an appointment of God for certain recog
nised ends of blessing, we should more habitually
look to Him in our use of them , that they might in
fact accomplish the distinct services for which each
was given by God, to His glory and to the hap
piness of man .
IX .
For how many are accustomed to own the Divine

mind only in its grand puttings forth . They quail
before the power of God in the thunder-storm , but

their hearts do not equally and spontaneously con
nect His appointment with the sweet and cheering
blessings of life. They do not discern His footsteps
with equal readiness in their several tracks of power ,
love, and refreshment.
X.
Yet in proportion as man does distinctly recognise

his Father's heart and mind in each of these directions,
will he be enabled with more distinctness of inten
tion to furnish himself not only for the occasional.
greatnesses of the Christian martyr, hero, or patriot,
but for the holy and loving sympathies of friendship
and domestic life, and for the pure yet godly cheer
fulness and gladness which warm and enliven them as
with a sunbeam.
XI .
And for want of this distinct perception of the

Divine plan, and being yet urged by the necessities of
that human nature which God Himself has instituted,
how many regard the embellishments and recreations
of domestic life, as unavoidable parentheses in the vast
and important objects of a religious course, instead of
truly discerning in them integral parts of the Divine
appointment, which God wills to be faithfully, lov
ingly, and brightly fulfilled. Just as a well-trained,
R
happy child feels equally near to his father whether he

set himself beneath his eye to serious study, or affec
tionately nestle his head in his bosom, or gaily spin
his top or drive his hoop before him right merrily ;
ready in an instant to put aside the playthings his
kind parent has given him, when that watchful, smiling
eye becomes reverendly grave, feeling by instinctive
love, without waiting for the outward word, that it
is time to return .
XII .
One further observation may be added. Did our

partially unbelieving heart's equally feel the lovely
and the cheerful in all their little details, to be as
truly emanations of Divine moral attributes, as the
solemn, the majestic, and the great, we should not
only ourselves fulfil the daily amenities of which
domestic life is made up, in happy communion with
God, but we should be disposed to bail, to recognise,
to honour, and to aid, as our God's appointment, these
manifestations in others.
XIII.
We should not only acknowledge them to be good,

but we should truly feel their beauty. The conscience
would not only recognise the value and usefulness, but
the heart and imagination would feel the charm, of
that appropriate poetry with which it has pleased the
LORD to adorn and glorify each utility with its own

form of beauty. For when His mind is seen, that
sunny mantle or halo of heavenly ideality is thrown
over every incident of life, which, like the radiance
of the material sun, brightens and gladdens and glori
fies every object of earth , by investing it with the
light of heaven.
XIV .
And each individual would be thus prepared in

heart, both to fulfil his own, and to respect his
neighbour's vocation ; without either neglecting what
is common to both or confounding the individual
training. The same observation may be applied to
both sexes, and to different ages.
XV .
For Man may be considered the type of the Sub

lime. Upon him is especially bestowed the firm
osteology of truth . Woman typifies the Beautiful.
To her is given the graceful and sweet flexibility
of love. On children, the representatives of the
Vivid, is bestowed the elastic buoyancy of recreative
and sportive fancy.
XVI.
But it is the necessary condition of the creature,

that with every gift is also appointed its limitation.
To every class is assigned its distinctive post, and
R 2
its distinctive blessing, but the line of circumscrip

tion is also affixed to each .
XVII.
Now God is the God of order, not of confusion .
XVIII.
It is then a beauty in the writings, as in the dress

and the bearing and the course of action, of a man,
that they should be characterised by the style of
feeling, of thought, and of diction beseeming a man.
That they excel in forcible energetic truth, though
rendered less sharply angular by love.
XIX .
It is on the same principle no eulogium on the

book of a woman to say that it is written like that of
a man, any more than it is so to designate her bear
ing or her dress as bold and masculine. For the
exterior is but the enunciation of the interior, and
it is because the germinal principles of woman's heart
and mind should in reality differ from those of man,
that aa different exterior is suitable. Her province
is love and Christian hope. These should so dwell in
her heart, as supereminently to characterise her whole
being. They should both inspire and chasten her
feelings, her thoughts, her speech and address.
And thus while we believe the bold daring of a
man's mind is as undesirable in a woman as the

adoption of anything verging on masculine attire,
yet in truth both styles unite in their root, each
holding truth and love, though in different propor
tions.
XX .
And as that is not true love, in which truth is

sacrificed to please, and as truth will never become
effectual which is unmodified by love, so forcible
truth enunciated by man should have its asperities
removed by love, and the woman who pours forth for
the sweet lovingness of her heart, should receive
from truth, purity, and holy dignity, and strength .
XXI,
Thus under whatever aspect we view the instituted

manifestations of the various styles of Beauty, we
find them ever rendering fresh testimony to the polar
truth, that every perfect gift, little as well as great,
beautiful as well as useful, must and can come only
from above, and can continue in its perfectness only
so long as it is held in the sunbeam of the light of
God's countenance, since it is only in His blessing it
can retain unalloyed, and in full purity, its full meed
either of utility or of beauty.
RS
CHAP. II.
MANIFESTATION OF THE GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY

IN DIFFERENT PHASES OF THE CHURCH OF CHRIST.
I.
Our path now leads us away from those outward

forms of Beauty whether in natural objects, or in
works of art, in which we have hitherto traced the
germinal Principles of the Sublime, the Beautiful
and the Vivid, and which we have last met with in
the strength of man, the delicacy of woman, and the
activity of childhood. It now remains to trace the
manifestations of the same germinal Principles in the
different phases of man's moral being, and in the
different classes of human character , and to observe
the special use and destination of each.
II .
And first, we believe there is indeed a service and

a blessing for each of the three great classes of beautiful
moral expression in the Church of Christ.
III.
But with the separate endowment, service, and

blessing of each, there comes to all, as well as to each

respectively, the same word of solemn warning,
Beware that no man take thy crown !
IV .
The Active Sublime, or vastness and strength in

energy , is the soul of the Church Militant. Toit does
>
the word go forth, “ Be strong in the Lord, and in

the power of His might ;" and the blessing, “ Him that
overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple of my
GOD, and he shall go no more out."
V.
Again , the vastness of strength in repose, or the

Passive Sublime, is the soul of the Church Adorant or
Contemplative. To them is the word, “ Blessed are
they that dwell in Thy house, they will still be praising
Thee." Their blessing, “ Son, thou art ever with me,
and all that I have is thine ."
VI .
The loving, merciful, or Beautiful belong to the

Church Compassionating. They are healers in the
Church. They dwell at the foot of the Cross, and it is
their most blessed privilege to abide in the continual
fellowship of Christ's sufferings. It is their blessing,
to feed their souls continually on the super-substantial
bread and wine of the sacred body and blood of Him
R4
whom they love, broken and poured out for them ; to

feed on the love of Him who so loved them , that He
gave Himself for them ; to be as the loved disciple,
reclining on Jesus' bosom, as the lambs which He
>
carries in His arms.

VII .
And as the merciful abide especially in the fellow

ship of Christ's sufferings, so do the glad of heart
especially rejoice in the power of their LORD's resur
rection life. They dwell beneath the bright cloud on
the heights of Tabor, as the others at the foot of the
Cross on Calvary . They are renovators and glad
deners in the Church. They go forth invested with
joy and light, and walk on earth in the spirit of im
mortality . The word to them is, “ The life is the
light of men. Abide in that light ; go forth in the
>
living power of His resurrection.” Their blessing,
“ The living, the living, he shall praise Thee. The
joy of the Lord is the strength of His people.”

Their privilege, the realising sense of immortality.
VIII.
Thus then abide in the Church these four ; Energy,

Permanence, Love, Life.
They have their source alike in God. And there
fore each forms a stream of usefulness and blessing in
His Church .
IX.
May they not be likened to the primæval four -fold

river of Eden, issuing from one and the same fountain,
and irrigating in their divergent courses the whole of
the Paradise of God ? They rise from Him as their
deep source. They flow for Him in their distinct
streams. O may their waters ever in their course
reflect, in pellucid and uncontaminated purity,
His most glorious image, even that of the Sun of
Righteousness !
!
CHAP. III.
MANIFESTATIONS OF THE GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY

IN HUMAN CHARACTER . --ACTIVE AND PASSIVE SUBLIME IN
CHRISTIAN CHARACTER . CHRISTIAN HEROES.
I.
Man is created in the image of God, and is doubt

less intended to present a model of His Perfections in
a higher degree than can belong to the reflection of
those Perfections from the material world ; yet each
man can singly reflect but a part, and a very limited
part, of His glorious image. Hence we have different
styles of human character answering to the different
styles of Beauty likewise appointed by God, and
adapted to show Him forth, in His power, His love,
or in His creative fertility .
II .
The fulness of the Divine perfections is displayed

in nature, by means of the various capacities with
which He has endowed His creatures, and so, in them ,
by the rich variety of capacity in human character,
which He has ordained among the children of His one
vast family, all united indissolubly to Himself, and
bound to each other, both for time below and for
>
Eternity above, each reflecting a fragment of His

glory.
III .
And there is a special crown for everyone in whom

that perfection which he is individually called to re
flect, shines forth in pureness, and to the glory of
GOD.
IV .
And while Christ, the two sided-ladder, at once

God and Man, is the medium of communication be
tween heaven and earth, we shall find the varieties
of Beauty in human character, as holy angels, de
scending from God, to explain His revealed attri
butes to man, and then ascending up from man in
worship and adoration to the Creator.
V.
And in this point of view we may consider the

germinal principle of any style of Beauty, as affixing
the Divine Stamp Royal to the character in which it
is found, and as bearing indisputable witness to its
divine appointment and sanction. If held and nur
tured in communion with God, it may be returned
in worshipful work to Him, will be abundantly
blessed by Him, and will yield a rich harvest of
good fruits on earth, and of fitness for the eternal
enjoyment of Him in heaven.
VI .
And first He blesses the strong in faith ; the

large, the valiant of heart ; the undivided will ;
the stern integrity of purpose ; the earnest resolve;
the contemning of ease ; the spurning of difficul
ties ; the confronting of perils ; the unswerving
eye ; the indomitable energy which tramples upon
impossibilities, is victor over self, the world, and the
devil ; the loyal to their Lord, and the daring in His
name, achieving all the might and the deathless
deeds of Christian heroism.
VII .
This is the Active Sublime in christian character.

Those, on the crest of whose lofty helmet, ever beams
that irradiating sunbeam, even the assured hope of
salvation . Strong in irresistible power , they grasp
the two-edged glaive. A superhuman force nerves
their arms to wield untired the unerring “ sword of
the Spirit.”
Immortal in purpose, invincible in diverse achieve
ment ; of such were the noble army of Martyrs, of
such the glorious company of the Apostles, of such
the goodly fellowship of the Prophets.
Perhaps not wholly unakin to such, men of im
perishable names, as Luther, Becket, and Knox,
loom athwart the thick mists and partial observa
tions of bygone times and centuries.
VIII.
Such are all who dauntlessly and indefatigably

combat, not for a corruptible crown, but for an in
corruptible, under the Captain of their Salvation,
who was made perfect through sufferings.
O glorious company of Christian heroes, ye have
in His Name fought the good fight, in His triumphant
Name overcome, and are henceforth pillars in the
temple of our God to go no more out for ever.
Your warfare is accomplished, your toils are ended..
Blessed are they who have been faithful unto death,
and who henceforth , with all who love His appear
ing, shall receive the crown of life.
IX .
Next come the august in true nobility of heart ;

the elevated of aim ; the steadfast of faith ; the im
pregnable of peaceful, enduring strength ; those whose
loins are girt about with truth ; they whose deep heart
is defended by the double breast-plate of a double
righteousness. These are invincible in that Divine
panoply, which no weapon can pierce ; intense in
that steadfast love which no waters can quench ;
fortressed on that rock which no convulsions can
move. They hold, with a grasp which no force can
unloose, that broad shield of faith from whose un

scathed expanse every fiery dart must rebound. Of
such are those who have on earth borne the sceptre
of a wise and holy rule in the omnipotence of Divine
love and truth ; those who endure, having the world
beneath their feet, the word of life treasured in their
hearts, and their lips feeding many with the same ;
their calm and steadfastly -beaming eyes fixed upon
their Father- land, even the enduring realm of the
Eternal King, the inheritance, pure, holy, incor
ruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. These
too bear the stamp royal; they are the Passive
Sublime of Christianity .
X.
Of these are the holy, the reverend, the wise

legislators of realms, pastors of churches ; nursing
fathers and nursing mothers in provinces, in tribes,
in families, in neighbourhoods ; strong in fortitude.
These are they who walk as seeing Him who is in
visible, who have a testimony that they please God,
who die in the faith ; before whom , whilst yet on
earth , men instinctively rose up and stood, for they
felt the Seal of the living God, stamped in lofty
and calm serenity upon their strong and loving and
holy brow.
Of such was Elizabeth Fry !
XI .
Hail ! then, O holy and venerable and august As

sembly ! Ye honoured and revered patriarchs, fathers,
and elders of the Christian Church ! Once our re
verenced guides on earth, now shining as stars in
heaven, or , prostrate in adoration around the throne !
Hymning on your harps of gold those immortal songs
of thanksgiving to God and to the Lamb, which it is
i not possible for mortal ear to hear or mortal tongue to
utter, and which tell of joys which eye cannot see,
nor can it enter the heart of man to conceive !
O blessed saints ! ye have endured unto the end ;
keeping the word of His patience. To you belongs
the white stone, on which is written the new and
incommunicable name. To you is given the crown
of undying amaranth . To you the privilege, to feed
for ever on the hidden Manna, in His ineffable
presence, at whose right hand are rivers of joy and
pleasures for evermore.
CHAP. IV.
THE BEAUTIFUL OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD ; OR , THE

MERCIFUL .
I.
Next in succession, but not less in value, in this

world of sin and sorrow, come the loving, the merci
ful, the gentle of heart.
II.
These are they, who faithful in commune with

their Lord, rather win others to His service by
gentleness, than coerce them by force ; who attract
by their lives and loving words, rather than compel by
dogmatic enunciations. How often do they strengthen
the feeble knees by the cup of cold water so oppor
tunely administered, that the very heart feels how
sweet that living water is. How often is the sunken
spirit cheered by inhaling the refreshing fragrance of
the lily of the valley, or the Rose of Sharon presented
by them. How often do they renovate the failing
flesh , by the rich clusters of the grapes of Eshcol,
and teach, by a blest experience, how rich, how
sweet are the fruits of the promised land ; - how
blessed the land of which they are products.
III.
Such are the Beautiful of the Kingdom of God.

Of such are healers and helpers.; Christian women ,
who know and who fulfil the high calling of domestic
life ; cheerfully taking up the little cross of the pass
ing hour, “ hoping all things, believing all things, en
during all things; ” followers of Him who was meek
and lowly in heart, who went about doing good,
who came to seek and to save that which was lost, to
bind up that which was broken, to heal and strengthen
that which was sick ; those who break not the
bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, but who
nourish and cherish them , as Christ the Church, re
membering them as members of His body, of His
flesh , and of His bones.
IV .
This style bears that Divine signature which is

at once the warrant, the glory, and the strength of
those unostentatious and devoted helpers in this
fallen world, who, deeply feeling that they have much
forgiven, also love much ; the loving, actively
quiet, silent woman ; the wise and tender mother,
who fosters under a gentle, but holy and enlightened
rule ; the affectionate and self- denying daughter, who
brings domestic sunshine to cheer and to brighten the
winter of age to her declining parents; the inde
S
fatigable and self-sacrificing Sisters of Mercy, like

holy angels, encamping round the desolate death-bed
of the poor ; the devout and tender nurse, whose
prayers and close commune pour holy unction on her
patient ministrations ; the devoted and much en
during instructress of unheeding or wayward youth,
who amidst sad recollections, perhaps, of brighter days
and her own childhood's home, submits from the
heart, and takes up her daily, lonely cross, hoping
against hope, and, amidst her thankless toil, looking
for her reward to God, who seeth in secret, and not
to the cold eye of man ; the sympathising friend, lend
ing a patient ear to sorrows she cannot cure, ' and
whilst faithfully probing, yet ever remembering that
she also is in the body, compassionating the captive
even of sin, as having been herself in bonds.
V.
These are they who look not on their own things,

but on those of others : the eyes of the afflicted wait
on their steps ; the hopes of the hopeless cling to
them ; the wearied heart rests with them. Wherever
they go, their feet are shod with the preparation of
the Gospel of peace, and, like Asher's, though of true
metal, they are ever dipped in oil.
Or like some pure rill, only visible by the verdure
which accompanies its course, where the parched
herbage revives around, and the withered flowers lift
>
up their blossoms in beauty, whilst the modest stream,

whose sweet musical flow wrought the change, glides
on in tranquillity, burying itself amidst their roots.
VI .
Unseen, indeed, of men, but not unheeded of GOD.

For He, the Good Shepherd, knoweth His sheep and
calleth them by name, and leadeth them , and not one
of them is forgotten before Him. And their Shepherd
is also the King with many crowns, who shall come
in His glory in the clouds of Heaven, and all His
holy angels with Him. Then shall He say unto
them : “ Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of
the world : For I was an hungred, and ye gave me
meat : I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a
stranger, and ye took me in : Naked, and ye clothed
me : I was sick, and ye visited me : I was in prison,
>
and ye came unto me.” “ Well done, good and
faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord . ”
VII.
O blessed are the merciful, rich in compassion and

Divine love, for they shall obtain mercy. Such were
Philippa of Hainault, and Elizabeth of Hungary.
Such Sir Philip Sidney, and Francis de Sales, and
Vincent of Paul, and Fenelon. Such were the
8 2
Countess Zinzendorf, Sarah Martin, Madame Eliza

beth , and the venerable Lavater.
In tender compassion they bore the burden of the
afflicted, and thus fulfilled the law of love. They
felt for those that were bound, and did themselves
assume their bonds. They became all things in
holy love to all men, that they might gain some.
They rejoiced in righteousness, they endured the
contradiction of sinners, they mourned with the
sorrowful, they were afflicted with the desolate,
they wept with those who wept.
VIII .
O blessed Merciful! The days of your mourning

are over . Ye have sown in tears, bearing precious
seed ; ye shall reap in everlasting joy. Henceforth
shall ye have beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for
mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of
heaviness. Your sun shall no more go down, neither
your moon withdraw its light. The Lord shall be
your everlasting light, and the days of your mourning
are ended .
IX .
O lovely and holy Merciful ! Loving children of

light and peace, once walking amongst us, children of
dust and ashes ;; ye have spread your wings like the
dove, and leaving this desert far behind, are now for
ever at rest. Sorrow and sighing are fled away.

There shall be no more sin, no more death, neither
shall there be any more pain, for the former things
are passed away. But the Lamb which is in the
midst of the throne shall feed you. Ye shall follow
Him whithersoever He goeth, and He shall lead you
unto living fountains of water, and GOD shall wipe
away all tears from your eyes.
9 3
CHAP. V.
THE BLESSED GLAD OF HEART. ASCRIPTION OF GLORY

TO GOD.
I.
AGAIN, there are those who exhibit neither the

lofty achievement of the Sublime, nor yet the close
and melting sympathy of the Beautiful. Yet they
too bear the stamp royal. They have their ap
pointed post of usefulness and meed of blessing.
These are the Glad of Heart.
II .
O blessed are ye, bright, rejoicing children of your

heavenly Father. In you, faith in the living God
is not merely the deep and steadfast conviction of
the heart and conscience, assuring the spirit of its
salvation , and sustaining its weary steps through the
desert. In you , it is the warm gush of animating
life-blood, quickened by the breath of the living
God ; its renovating current rushing to the extremi
ties of the whole being, inspiring the affections
and gladdening the heart, pouring, in rich abun
dance, alacrity, and gladness, and the exuberance
of trust, over all the details of life. You are enabled
to rejoice without ceasing, to trust without care, to

enjoy without anxiety, to hope without doubt, to
run with alacrity, to be ready for every vicissi
tude, to meet every change with uncarefulness and
joyfulness of heart ; resting amidst boundless acti
vity, not in indifference, but in full childlike con
fidence under your Father's eye.
III.
This is that rich essence of faith, prized indeed

by all the children of God, but poured abroad on the
Glad of Heart in that rich profusion which descends
to the very fringes of their garments, anointing all
with its renovating power.
IV .
Bright and happy children, anointed with the oil

of peace and gladness, not only in spirit but in soul
and body ; ye are like the far -famed and pleasant
olive-trees, the scarlet pomegranates and fragrant
citrons, adorning the courts of the house of the Lord.
These were planted indeed in the rich native soil,
but their pre-eminent beauty, we are told, arose froin
their ramifying roots having penetrated into the
solid rock, until their delicate net-work had spread
itself in one vast web over the caverns below, whence
gushed fountains of living water.
v.
Therefore, said the great Apostle to the Churches

84
which he was favoured to plant amongst the sanguine

9
and light-hearted Greeks, “Rejoice evermore.” “ Re
joice in the Lord always, and again I say, Re
joice.” O childlike, happy saints ! Happy alike in
joyful pursuit, in sweet stillness, in taking up, in
laying down, trusting not only for the illimitable
greatnesses of eternity, but for the littlenesses of
time ; not only for the enduring inheritance, but
for the bright passing bubbles, swiftly succeeding
each other on the stream of life. Truly He pours
out of His riches upon all your store, and blesses it
with that blessing which maketh rich ; which blesses
with joy the scanty repast as well as the affluent
feast, so that he who has much has nothing over, and
he that has little bas abundantly enough. Ye skim
lightly, like the bright and bounding pinnace, over the
restless ocean of life ; and if sometimes hidden as ye
dip amidst the tempest, yet soon ye emerge in glad and
elastic buoyancy on the summit of the crested billow,
springing to meet in fresh brilliance the sunbeams
bursting through the dark cloud. Ye rejoice ever
more, because the Lord, your exceeding joy, loves
evermore. Ye are in His Church as a rainbow, smi
ling in bright and unearthly tints of promise and of
peace on the bosom of the darkest storm.
VI.
Blessed, then, are ye who rejoice in the Lord, and in

every thing give thanks. For the only living source

of that intarissable fountain of gushing joy lies deeply
hidden in the sanctuary of God. These living waters
burst forth from their deep and hidden fountains at
the east of the altar. Living are those waters of Zion,
pellucid their waves, sparkling with diamond lights
as they emerge into day, and sportively bound on
in their devious course and rapid gurgling flow , irri
gating and making glad the city of our God. They
encircle again and again, with their beautiful zones of
silver light, her lofty towers, her mighty bulwarks,
and her gorgeous palaces, feeding and refreshing, as
they go, the thousand fruitful trees of righteousness
planted on their verdant and flowery margin. O !
beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is
Mount Zion, the city of the Great King.
VII .
In the exhausting demands of long and strenuous

exertion, or in the dust and turmoil of the sultry hour
of mid -day life, when the flagging spirit, too severely
overwrought, turns from strong excitement, and the
heart, worn perhaps by long protracted suffering, or
its sensibilities already too deeply drawn upon, needs
not to be called forth , but to be renovated and restored,
>
how blessed the opening of some bright channel of

refreshment, to invigorate and re-brace for renewed
and healthful action !
VIII .
Blessed be our Father, who knoweth we have need

of these things, and who hath provided healthful re
storatives among His own children, whose hearts, and
tastes, and fancies, resting in joyful peace in Him, are
thus at leisure ; those who, from the worn, daily,
beaten path of life, cull a thousand casually springing
flowers, and from the most trivial incident strike out
some hidden and unexpected spark of scintillating
brightness ; like the skilful artificer who espies with
quick eye the neglected scrap of dull black iron, and
converts it by his magic touch into a precious spark
ling chain of beauty and of brilliance.
IX .
Blessed, then , are those whose fertile fancy and

mind, obedient to an ever loving heart, teem with a
new and beautiful succession of bright and renova
ting associations ; who fling the varied and brilliant
colouring of playful illustration over the monotonous
paths of well-worn habit ; thus rendering routine, like
light itself, at once the oldest and the youngest, the
newest and the gladdest of all things.
X.
This is the talent which bestows perpetual novelty

of idea without novelty of circumstance, which con
fers everlasting variety without dissipation, perpetual

gladness and cheerfulness without quitting the do
mestic threshold. Truly a merry heart maketh a
cheerful countenance, and he who is of a merry
heart hath a continual feast. Rejoice, then, for light
>
is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in

heart. Here, too, is the Divine warrant, the stamp
royal of the Great King.
XI .
And is it a light commission or a small benefit to

lift the burden of life, for a brief season , from the
wearied shoulders on which it habitually presses ?
to refresh, as with a fragrant nosegay of sweet
flowers, the aching head worn with study, or the
laden heart surcharged with care ? Is it nothing to
cheer, even for aa brief hour, the lonely, declining path
of the aged, to brighten the dim eye with the pros
pects of the land of promise, to awaken the dull, cold
ear of approaching death with the glad, sweet songs
and hymnings of a resurrection morn ? To gladden
the lonely in heart with the joyous anthems of those
blessed and loved companions above, whom he is so
soon to rejoin ? Is it nothing to pour into the dark
ened chamber of the habitual invalid a ray of light
from Heaven ? to gladden the sunken heart with
words of hope and promise, and, whilst the flesh fails,
to bid the spirit glow with gratitude, and dance with
joy in God, its everlasting strength and portion ?

Blessed is he who awakens the vivid hopes which
enable the sufferer to bless his Father's hand, not only
under, but for His discipline ; and which teach that
he too may glorify his Lord, by rejoicing before Him,
whether in poverty, or sickness, or in sorrow .
Blessed is it to cheer a long , sad hour with a feeling
of a Father's bounty administered through a loving
brother's hand. Blessed to consecrate a dreary bed
of lonely poverty and destitution, by opening the holy,
but not more holy than assuredly true, version of the
blest angelic host and ministering spirits encamping
in brightness around.
XII.
Of such blessed gladdeners, rich in domestic charms

and endearments, was, in the Earlham circle, Rachel
>
Gurney, the beloved sister of Elizabeth Fry ; and of

such , had they but known their heavenly gift, and
appreciated its celestial privilege, might have been the
sweet and engaging Duchess of Burgundy, in the
court of Louis Quatorze ; and such perhaps might have
been the bright Lady Austen to the afflicted Cowper.
XIII .
Are not such children of light blessed in their

spirits, blessed in their deeds ? Are they not fol
lowers of Him who is our exceeding joy, and who
can hold the reviving cordial to the lips and extend

the sustaining staff even under the chastening rod ?
Can it be imagined that because their wide useful
ness is made up of aa combination of very minute par
ticles, they have no blessing to receive from Him in
whose eyes the small and great are alike in value,
when alike His will, - from Him whose omnipotent
hand of power and mind of wisdom created both the
stupendous mammoth and the microscopic animal
cula, the eternal mountain and the passing flower, the
most enduring and the most evanescent ?
XIV.
For He, in His inscrutable wisdom and greatness,

not only created the wild tornado and the bursting
tempest to sweep away the miasmata from the atmo
sphere ; He not only expanded the wide ocean to
convey the stately pomp of nations and convoy their
richly freighted treasure; He not only instituted the
clear and musical flow of the devious brook, and the
gentle, equable murmur of the distant cascade, to
soothe the weary and the languid to repose ; but the
very same omnipotent and bounteous Being has also
created the sportive and painted butterfly, the glis
tening of the glancing gold and silver fish , the bril
liant diamond beetle, the luminous showers of fire
flies, and the vivid and evanescent but perpetually
renewed garniture of flowers to adorn and embellish
the earth, even that primeval earth He pronounced

so good, and commissioned unfallen map to dress.
XV .
And by so doing, did not our Heavenly Father

both institute and put into His children's hands, a
key by which to open the important treasury of daily
refreshments and delights to the wearied spirit ? by
a small current coin of joyfulness, not only to recreate
the eye and ear, but perhaps, above all, to cheer and
uphold the heart, by the realising sense that the
Father's love, as well as His wisdom, has provided for
the least as well as for the greatest blessings, for the
passing as well as for the enduring good, and to teach
that gladness, exuberant joyousness, without care, is
truly the inmost will of the Father's heart ?
XVI .
Brightness and joy are, however, exhibited in their

completeness only where the life is purely vegetable
or animal. If it is not so in man, it is because sin
intercepts. If joy, even in the children of God, be
incomplete and interrupted, it is because their re
newed life, though of sufficient potency to establish
the faith and conscience, yet wants that fulness of
vital force which rushes to the very extremities of the
system, pervading in its strong gush alike the spiritual,
the intellectual, and the physical life.
XVII .
Yet the very sight of joy, even in the lower life,

is itself joyful, because it gives promise of the com
pleteness of joy in a far higher life, when the spirit
shall be again fully restored.
If such be the fulness of enjoyment of the little in
sect, plying his short-lived morrice in the sunny ray,>
what must be the ineffable fulness of joy of the re

stored body, soul, and spirit of man in his greater
capacity, rejoicing in the beams of that Father's coun
tenance in whose image he was created ?
XVIII .
Now, shall the holy, and wise, and loving God

Himself vouchsafe to recreate and to gladden the ha
bitation of His creature man, and shall He not bless
the sanctified and loving use of the very same means
for the same purpose of blessing, when adopted after
His example, by man , to his fellow -man ? Can it be
supposed that the cheerful, pure, confiding playful
ness, the merry laugh, and sportive wit of the domestic
circle are a mode of warding off care and disease, less
acceptable to our Father than the physician's pre
scription or the druggist's draught? The merry
heart doeth good like aa medicine.
Thus has it pleased our Father to set forth for
His Church, in the lower forms of life, amidst the
sorrows of this fallen world, not merely His power to

sustain and His love to heal, but His fulness of joy
to cheer the heart of man, — bright flowers of Para
dise, fallen from the lower boughs of the tree of life !
Let us reverently and carefully, as well as with joyful
thankfulness, gather up and treasure these buds of
immortality.
XIX.
Sweet is it to see the gladness of children, enter

ing in unclouded glee upon the beauties of a world
so rich to them in what is new. Cheering to see the
deer or the gazelle bounding and racing for very ex
cess of the joy of animal existence. Sweet, too, it is to
see, after a cold iron-bound winter, the leafless trees
bursting at once into renewed life and frondage;
the gelid mantle of the earth disappear, and the whole
visible creation burst at once into blossom and verdure,
life and song, and teem with exuberant gladness and
renovation .
Yet sweet as are all these things, their crowning
blessing consists in their being but the type, the ear
nest, and the promise of a yet newer world, a yet
higher and more loving life, of a yet more glorious
renovation.
XX .
Even a type of that blessed time when former

things shall have passed away, and all things shall
have become new ; when life and immortality shall

fully reign ; when the Lord shall send forth His Spirit,
and the face of the earth shall be renewed ; when
there shall be a new heaven and a new earth, where
in dwelleth righteousness. Then shall the whole
earth be at rest, and sing for joy, Instead of the
thorn shall come up the box -tree, instead of the
briar shall come up the myrtle. The wilderness
shall become like Eden, the desert like the garden of
the LORD ; joy and gladness shall be found therein,
thanksgiving and the voice of melody. When the
lion shall eat straw like the ox, the cow and the bear
lie down together ; when captivity shall be led cap
tive, and when the children of that Jerusalem which
is above, the mother of them all, shall be free, and
her happy ransomed ones encompassed with songs of
deliverance. Let the righteous be glad, let them
rejoice before God ; yea, let them exceedingly rejoice.
XXI .
O beautiful in that day, and the joy of the whole

earth, shall be Mount Zion, the city of the Great
King. Her walls shall be salvation and her gates
praise. Her happy children shall sing forth the
honour of His name, and make His praise glorious.
The redeemed of the Lord shall return with songs of
joy and thanksgiving. Their very hearts shall rejoice
in His salvation. For when Christ who is their life
T
274 THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY...
shall appear, they shall see Him as He is, and

seeing Him shall be changed into His likeness. The
Lord whom they love shall suddenly come to His
temple. He shall descend from Heaven with a shout.
He, the desire of all nations, the hope of all the ends
of the earth, He, for whom praise waiteth in Zion,
shall come . O sing, shout, thou inhabitant of Zion,
for thy King cometh ; thy King having salvation.
He who once came lowly, seated on the foal of an
ass, now cometh in the clouds of Heaven, with His
holy angels and all His saints with Him. Thou art
the King of Glory, O Christ ; the King with many
crowns. O rejoice, ye who have waited patiently for
Him ; ye countless multitude of all peoples and
languages and centuries, from the east, the west, the
north and the south, pressing on your vast tide, all
clad in white robes, with oil in your lamps and
palms in your hands. Lo, the Bridegroom cometh ,
go ye forth to meet Him. And the immense as
semblage shall strew their palms and shout their loud
Hosannas to the Son of David, the King that cometh
in the name of the Lord ; and the angelic host shall
answer, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace , good will to men !
XXII .
Verily the shout of a King is amongst them, and

the heavens and earth ring with joy and songs of
gladness.
j
“Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up,

ye everlasting doors ; and the King of Glory shall
come in. ” His train filleth the temple. Praise the
LORD. Praise God in His sanctuary, praise Him in
the firmament of His power. Praise Him with the
sound of the trumpet, the loud trumpet of Jubilee,
proclaiming the restoration of the alienated inherit
ance. Praise Him upon the loud cymbals, inviting
all to come to the living waters. Let every thing
that hath breath praise the LORD. For He is alone
the living GOD , all life is from Him. The living,
the living, they alone can praise Him.
And, behold, I hea d the voice of much people
as of a great multitude and as the voice of many
waters, saying, Alleluia, salvation , and glory, and
honour, and power unto the LORD our GOD, for the
LORD GOD omnipotent reigneth ; let the whole
earth rejoice and be glad.
ΧΧΙΙΙ .
Sing unto the LORD, for He hath triumphed glo

riously. Sing a new song, for Thou, O LORD,
wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by Thy
blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people,
and nation, and hast made us to our God kings
and priests.
“ And behold I heard the voice of many angels round
about the throne, and the elders, and the number of
T2
them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thou

sands of thousands, saying with a loud voice, Wor
thy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power,
and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour,
and glory , and blessing,
“ And every creature which is in heaven and on the
earth , and under the earth , and such as are in the sea,
and all that are in them , heard I saying, Blessing, and
honour, and glory, and power be unto Him that sitteth
upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and
ever.” Hallelujah ! Amen !
THE END OF THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.

ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS.
PREFACE .
The Essay on the Temperaments was written in the

year 1815. Those who have been interested in
tracing the progress of Mrs. Schimmelpenninck's
mind, will not be surprised to see a difference be
tween her early works and those written near the
close of her life, when she had learnt to see God in
everything, and everything in God. The following
Essay was not prepared by the Author for publica
tion, though it was often referred to by her, as con
taining the substance of her thoughts on the subject
on which it treats.
On the original MS. are pencil observations in the
hand-writing of Mrs. Barbauld, from which it appears
to have been submitted to her judgment , and to have
been read by her with much interest and pleasure .
The illustrations are chosen from among many
with which Mrs. Schimmelpenninck was wont to
throw light on a Temperament or class of character
T 4
280 PREFACE .
which chanced to be the subject of conversation .

Such drawings were made by her with great rapidity,
to occupy her hands it might be while she listened
to reading, or to please those around her, when
the drollery of some of her conceptions would amuse
no one more heartily than herself.
EDITOR .
ON THE TEMPERAMENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
In treating of the classification of Beauty, we con

sidered the various expressions of which inert matter
is susceptible. It remains to inquire into those
sources of expression which are peculiar to animal
life.
Now, as the inherence of vital principle is the
source of motion, and the one distinguishing charac
teristic of animal nature, in opposition to inert matter ;
so the variety of degrees in which the vital principle
is either permanently possessed, or occasionally sti
mulated, becomes the source of various classes in
the scale of animated expression. For wherever
there is a superabundance of vital principle, whether
it be integrally belonging to the constitution of the
individual or superinduced by the transient stimulus
of excitement, there is a disposition to expend or
get rid of it by a correspondent degree of activity.
When, on the other hand, there is a deficiency of
282 INTRODUCTION .
vital principle, whether it be radically wanting in

the constitution of the individual, or whether it be
only the effect of a transient exhaustion ; yet, where
ever this deficiency of power is found, there is a
disposition to let it reaccumulate by correspondent
inaction . In other words, where there exists a sus
perabundance of vital principle, whether from the
stimulus of temperament or passion ; then the degree
of celerity and vigour in the vital functions, in
feeling, thought, speech, and gesticulation, will be
greatly increased ; and where, on the other hand,
there exists a deficiency, whether from the depres
sing influence of temperament or from the absence
of emotion, there they will all be proportionally re
tarded .
Hence the whole scale of human expression may
be divided into two grand classes, that of superabun
dant vital principle and that of deficient vital principle.
Where a superabundance of vital principle exists, it
is accompanied by the following signs, which are
habitual if it arise from temperament, and occasional
if produced by transient excitement.
CLASS I.
OF SUPERABUNDANT VITAL PRINCIPLE.
The activity of the whole system is in proportion

to the degree of vitality. Hence in this Class an
INTRODUCTION. 283
accelerated action of the lungs, which elevates the

chest and gives inflation, form , and definition to the
nostrils. It gives also increased power to the mus
cular fibre ; hence the increased action of the heart
drives the blood to the extremities of the system ,
imparting greater warnıth and heightened colour.
The attitudes become erect, the gesticulation spirited
and superabundant, as the redundancy of vital power
expends itself in over-shooting the necessary ends of
action . An increased activity of the senses also takes
place , which gives form and decision of contour to the
cheeks and mouth , brightness to the eye, and tone to
the skin . Amongst savage nations the ear becomes
erect, and turned a little forwards ; the movements
are quick.
CLASS II.
OF DEFICIENT VITAL PRINCIPLE .
In this Class the activity of the whole system is

decreased . The respiration being retarded and
laborious, the chest sinks, and the shoulders become
round ; the nostrils collapse, and present a narrow and
indefinite contour, and the whole muscular system is
languid and feeble. Hence the decreased action of
the heart is not forcible enough to propel the blood
to the extremities, and occasions coldness and a pallid
colour. The decreased muscular power gives at once
284 INTRODUCTION.
languor and relaxation to the muscles ; hence the flesh

becomes flaccid and ill pronounced, and presents a
feeble contour ; the attitudes are languid and drooping ;
there is aa deficiency of gesticulation, because the vital
principle labours even in attaining the necessary ends
of action. A decreased activity of the senses gives
a contracted or collapsing outline to the mouth and
cheeks, dullness to the eye, and want of tone to the
skin. All the movements are slow.
We thus see both in active temperaments, and in
the temporary excitement of stimulating passions, an
exuberance of gesticulation, energy, movement and
speech ; because where there is a superabundance of
sensorial power it must expend itself on something ;
and if it be not turned into a salutary channel by
l'eason or religion, it will spend its force through
whatever outlet opportunity may first present.
We cannot then judge of the effects which will be
produced on any individual by the strength of an
exciting cause , without taking into the calculation
the quantities of vital or sensorial power which that
individual has at the moment to expend, above what
the necessary vital functions consume. For if we
observe human nature, we shall almost uniformly see
that the amount of energy and interest brought into
action, does not in fact depend on the importance of
the object presented, but upon the quantity of power
which it finds ready for excitement.
INTRODUCTION. 285
Thus if the world has seen a Darius and an Alex

ander, a Cæsar and a Pompey, disputing the do
minion of aa continent, it has also seen two orders of
recluses who had alike renounced the honours, the
wealth, the comforts, and almost the first necessaries
of life, carry on an acrimonious contest for years,
dividing the Christian church, to determine whether
the mantle of the prophet Elijah were blue or red ;
and the schoolmen of the eleventh and twelfth cen
turies engage in mortal animosities on the equally
important question, whether, when a man led a pig
by a cord, it was, philosophically speaking, the man
or the cord which drew along the pig.
On the same principle, on a small excitement of
anger, some persons use violent gesticulations and
contortions of countenance , and both feel and say
infinitely more than the occasion really requires.
Thus angry women scold in a loud voice, and men
use oaths, not that they are of the least use to the
matter in debate, but that, to those who have neither
reason nor religion, scolding and oaths are the readiest
>
mode, short of manual aggression, of getting rid of

the excess of sensorial power. On the same prin
ciple Achilles, a Pagan hero, we are told, dragged
the dead body of Hector round the walls of Troy,
not that he could inflict further punishment on the
unconscious dead, but only that he might thus expend
his own superfluous energy. When, on the contrary,
286 INTRODUCTION .
Edward the Black Prince, a Christian hero, con

quered the king of France, Christianity turned the
overplus of sensorial power to good account, and he
employed it in serving, as a son, him whom a Pagan
would have triumphed over as an enemy.
Thus children excited with anger , often strike
the floor or the wall, and people without education,
for the same reason, will throw about or break
what happens to be under their hand.
Again, in joy, persons jump about, dance, sing,
laugh, and talk. Thus when Archimedes ran out of
the bath into the streets to declare he had discovered
the solution of his problem , it was not because this
was a necessary piece of information to the persons
going by, but because it was a means of relief to
his own excited emotions.
Nay, so necessary is this balance between the
excitement and the expenditure of the vital principle,
that even the very amusements of different ages ,
nations, and centuries, depend upon its exuberance
or its deficiency. Almost all the games of children
and the amusements of youth, as well as those of
hardy nations, are founded upon a disposable quantity
of superfluous power. The Scandinavian bards, for
example, peopled Odin's hall with warriors, whose
amusements consisted in nothing but battles and
bloodshed ; and no doubt but that the jousts and
tournaments of our chivalrous ancestors in an early
INTRODUCTION . 287
stage of civilisation, were as necessary to their vigor

ous constitutions, as leap - frog, prisoner's base, and
foot- ball, are to children now.
In a feebler state of society different amusements
prevail. The Hindoo places his heaven in a state of
perfect tranquillity, and the amusement of the oriental
is to be fanned by slaves or shampooed ; and on the
same principle sedentary amusements will always be
resorted to by those of deficient sensorial power. It
thus appears that by a little observation we may

trace an intimate connection between the diversions
and habits of any individual, with the health , the
radical strength, and the class of excitable passions
which belong to him.
Persons when placed, either by their own choice or
by that of others, in situations where their sensorial
power is without useful objects on which to expend
itself, will find an outlet in frivolous or mischievous
directions. Thus we continually see, that those des
titute of social ties, who have neither religious pria
ciple nor literary tastes, occupy themselves in gos
siping from house to house, and intermeddling in
their neighbours' affairs ; others, whose passions are
very highly and artificially stimulated, and whose
object of activity suddenly fails, if unable by reason
or religion to turn their superfluous energy into an
other channel, frequently employ it to their own
destruction ; as in the instances of gamesters and
288 INTRODUCTION .
others, who on any disappointment will do violence

to their own persons.
So also in the inferior animals. Birds are the
most active of all creatures. If a parrot be put into
a wire cage where it has nothing else to tear, it will
bite off its own feathers, but if it be supplied with
wood to bite, it will cease doing so. When birds are
immured in cages, they are often taught to draw up
small buckets of water, which furnish them with active
employment ; and the persons who thus teach them
are in a degree more kind than Louis the Fourteenth ,
who, having deprived the Count de Lauzun of liberty
for his own amusement, permitted the barbarous
jailor to crush the spider, which was the only object
of amusement to his prisoner. From what has been
said it will appear, that persons of active tempera
ments or stimulated passions can easily be diverted
from the objects of their excitement.
A witty reply, a touching appeal, or a magnani
mous trait has often disarmed extreme anger. The
reason is that much sensorial power having been
accumulated , though it could not be stopped, its
direction was easily changed ; just as when a
child is troublesome and mischievous, it will avail
little to tell him to be still, but nothing will be
more easy than to divert his sensorial power into
another direction, by giving him a new object. The
knowledge of this principle affords the ground of
INTRODUCTION . 289
váluable means both of self-government, and of action

upon ot hers .
others. We have heard of a Christian philoso
pher, as also of a great statesman of the last century,
who were in the practice of resorting to severe
bodily exercise to draw off the superabundance of
sensorial power, whether it had accumulated by se
vere study or had been stimulated by anger. In all
well regulated convents we also find that severe
bodily labour is recommended, as well as attendance
at devotional exercises.
Perhaps, indeed, as remarkable a parallel might
be drawn between the different religious rules of the
Orientals and Occidentals, as that between their
amusements. It was among the relaxed Orientals,
who think standing better than walking, sitting than
standing, and lying down better than either, that
the recluses of the deserts of Egypt and Syria, whose
life was spent in silent and sedentary contemplation,
took their rise. Among the hardy Occidentals, on
the contrary, arose the austere rule of St. Bennet,
where the long attendance at the choir was succeeded
by seven hours of the severest manual labour.
To return from this digression. It follows that if
we see a person angry it will be in vain to oppose
ourselves to the torrent ; we must either wait till it
subsides, or touch some other chord which will divert
the attention and give a different current to the
activity of thought. It also appears from this, why
U
290 INTRODUCTION.
a
a person of a lively temperament, or one under the
exciting influence of joy, hope, or anger, on hearing
anythingwhich is pathetic easily sheds tears, whereas
a person who is of a melancholic disposition, or who
hears such things under the depressing influence of
sorrow, droops in silence. The truth is, that where
a mind in a state of stimulus is suddenly relaxed, it
gets rid of the superabundant sensorial power by
tears ; but where the mind is in a depressed state, as
it has no sensorial power to spare, it remains over
borne and silent.
Again ; this shows why children or uneducated
persons, on being taken to a silent Quakers' meeting,
or to a formal circle in which they must not move, are
restless, and feel particularly liable to laugh, or to have
their fancies tickled. The reason is, that having
much sensorial power, and being prevented from
expending it in bodily activity, they can restore the
equilibrium only by amusement and laughter.
Persons of more extended information , and of
reflecting powers, do not feel thus disposed, be
cause their sensorial power is drawn off in a dif
ferent direction .
We may also see on this principle what course
to pursue with those who are labouring under the
alternate irritability and apathy which is produced
by nervous disorders, or the transient high spirits,
and deep and long fits of dejection, which are symp
INTRODUCTION , 291
tomatic of deep sorrow. We must endeavour, during

the season of preternatural stimulus, to present some
object powerful enough gently to employ the super
abundance of energy without exhausting it ; so that
the severity of depression, caused by subsequent re
action, may be mitigated, if not entirely relieved.
While persons are in this state, we must not en
deavour to divert them by exciting a strong interest
on any other object, for they have no disposable
active power to expend on anything.
We might just as well propose dancing to a man
already worn out with walking.
We should in such a case begin to rouse with some
mere trifle, which is agreeable in its nature, but of the
very lowest possible stimulus ; just enough to pre
vent the sensorial power, as it accumulates, from
occupying itself in storing the imagination with
miserable images. Our object should be to amuse,
without exciting the mind, so as to leave it nearly
in repose . By degrees, the burden of miserable
thoughts having been upheld, the heart will rest
itself ; and when it is sufficiently restored to be
under the influence of the will, the newly accumu
lated sensorial power must be forcibly turned by a
strong impulse into a healthful direction. This is
the reason why persons who have lost their friends,
or are in other sorrow, receive benefit from change
of scene after a time, though they would be alike
[ 2
292 INTRODUCTION .
incapable of seeking or benefiting by change imme

diately.
Having made these general observations on the
effects of a superabundant, and of a deficient degree
of vital principle, I shall now proceed to observe that,
independently of the state of health, there are two
causes by which the degree of vital principle is
determined -radical temperament and the influence
of the passions.
The radical temperament may be considered as
circumscribing the stock of vital principle possessed
by each individual, and as · regulating its habitual
expenditure. Stimulating or depressing passions may
be considered as temporarily borrowing from , or
restricting the income of vital principle, which the
temperament habitually yields. Hence, as a man
who has anticipated his income, must afterwards live
with proportionate economy, so persons subject to
strong excitements must pay the penalty of long fits
of distaste and despondency. Hence the knowledge
of the temperament of an individual acquaints us
with his habitual degree of strength and activity ;
the knowledge of the exciting passions which agitate
him acquaints us with the extra and occasional
degree of activity and depression to which he is sub
ject ; while it also indicates the specific object to
which his activity is directed.
A just representation of the expression of any of
INTRODUCTION . 293
the passions or faculties can never be given without

an accurate previous knowledge of the signs of the
temperament, because the general activity or languor
of the temperament, in fact, bounds the activity of
any one individual passion, as the income of a man
bounds his expenses in any one particular branch .
We shall therefore begin by a few observations
on the temperaments, and show the effect of their
various combinations, and their mode of action, and
then proceed to their illustration in the fine arts.
03
294 OF TEMPERAMENTS.
CHAPTER 1.
OF TEMPERAMENTS.
THE causes of the different temperaments have

occupied the ingenuity and pens of various philoso
phers and writers. Some have endeavoured to trace
them up to the variety of stocks from which our
modern European nations derive their origin. Others
have attributed them to an innate difference in the
strength of the constitution, whilst many ascribe
them to a wide variety of different causes, and have
maintained their several theories with more or less
of plausibility.
The ancients have told us that the human body
is composed of what are vulgarly termed the four
elements ; they conjectured that the Sanguine tem
perament arises from the prevalence of air, and the
Phlegmatic from that of water ; that fire predomi
nates in the Choleric, whilst the pensive Melancholic
derives its source from the earth . Some nearer our
own time have ascribed the temperaments to other
sources, and have said that the Sanguine arises
from an increased action of the lungs, the Choleric
from superior irritability and strength of muscular
OF TEMPERAMENTS. 295
fibre, the Melancholic from the superior sensibility

of the nervous system , and the Phlegmatic from a
preponderance of the lymphatics.
With the merits, however, of theories of this nature
we are not at present concerned. However curious
and interesting it might be to dive into the recondite
causes of the varieties of human temperament, their
elucidation is by no means indispensable to that
accurate knowledge of their indications and charac
teristic expressions which is necessary to constitute
the true idea of human beauty, and to enable the
artist to render with truth , and to select with
felicity, that expression which is appropriate to each
of his subjects.
Our business accordingly is to form a clear and
correct notion of the radical principle which distin
guishes each of the temperaments, of the modifica
tion which temperament imparts to the feelings,
thoughts, and actions ; of the modes of activity, the
attitudes and gestures belonging to each , and the
general indications in the figure, outline, complexion,
hair, and muscular motion by which each is imme
diately recognisable.
These generic characteristics being established ,
we shall have a basis on which to ground, and a scale
by which to measure, the activity and expression of
particular passions.
Before entering into the various characteristics of
U 4
any one temperament, and the outward signs by

which it is distinguished, it is necessary to say that
though the union of all these signs would be ex
hibited by persons possessing that temperament ex
clusively, yet, in actual experience, this is rarely
met with, so that we must in fact regard the follow
ing descriptions rather as the ideal of each pure
temperament than as a portrait which we may expect
to recognise in any one individual. The reader is
also particularly requested to bear in mind, that
the temperaments do not express the radical faculties
or propensities, but only their modes and bounds of
activity. The following observations are not, then,
intended to enumerate any mental, moral, or physical
endowments as necessarily belonging to persons ofthe
Active or Passive temperaments, but only to show
the modification which temperament would impart
to such endowments where they exist.
The temperaments may be divided into the Active
and the Passive.
The Active consisting of the Sanguine and Choleric
form the class of superabundant sensorial power.
The Passive consisting of the Phlegmatic and
Melancholic , that of deficient sensorial power.
The Sanguine and Choleric unite in the following
characteristics.
They are fitted for action, not for endurance ; the
attitudes in both are erect and spirited ; the lines
OF TEMPERAMENTS . 297
are convex, and the muscular systems sufficiently ex

ercised to give a spirited and definite outline.
The flesh is firm , the chest well developed, the
nostril well defined, its contour definite. The eye
bright, and its expression prompt and decisive, the
veins are apparent, the complexion has colour, when
not under the artificial influence of counteracting
circumstances, and the hair curls.
Both are governed rather by impulse than habit,
both are averse from sedentary pursuits, both are
prompt, and set in motion by very small stimuli.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE ACTIVE TEMPERAMENTS.
The Sanguine.
As a disposition to action may be termed the radical
characteristic of both the Active temperaments, so
celerity may be considered as the distinguishing mark
or mode of the Sanguine. Hence it is naturally
lively, versatile , and therefore superficial as well in
physical as in mental and moral qualities, and this
equally with respect to the susceptibility by which
impressions are received as to the mode of corre
sponding reaction . As convexity of outline is the
radical form of the Active temperament, so sharpened
salience of outline is the peculiar mark of the San
guine . The figure is bounded by oval lines, and
united by gently sharpened angles ; exhibiting light
elastic swell of muscle, the fleshy parts being well
rounded , yet definite and not flaccid . The bones
light, fine, and well knit, like those of a beautiful
Arabian courser.
The Sanguine bas lightness, elasticity, and con
stant muscular play, without any strong or laborious
‫دکر‬
Choleric Sanguine
HANBART
C
, HROMO
LITH
muscular constriction. Head, hands, feet, are small,

light, and flexible, well defined in motion , not en
masse with the body. Complexion and colour pink,
eye bright blue and sparkling, lips curling and fleshy,
cheek convex, never flat, hair bright red and crisped;
attitudes erect, agile, well poised , and spirited,
motions short and quick, voice clear, speech rapid.
Base on which the features are placed, narrow , veins
blue,, motion of the eye versatile .
We refer the reader to the admirable plates of the
characteristic heads of the four temperaments in the
first volume of Lavater ; and we request him to turn
to the vignette of persons of the different tempera
ments engaged in contemplating the picture of the
family of Calas in the second.
my
Ifa person of the Sanguine temperament have talent,
it will rather be distinguished for quickness and clear
ness than for patient research or depth. He will
have an apparently intuitive elegance of taste, and
what is termed imagination “ riante," rather than a
ponderous and forcible vigour. If he be religious,
his mystic reveries will be elegant and benevolent,
and his taste for amusement will give a tincture
even to his piety. The promptitude to excitement
will give a peculiar susceptibility and vividness to
immediate impressions, and an equally acute and
quick sensibility to the allurements of pleasure, the
sharpness of pain, or the irritation of sudden anger.
300 OF TEMPERAMENTS :
All these feelings will be vivid, and yet quickly

effaced by a succession of others equally so. The
same promptness and sensitiveness to present im
pressions will prevent his being withheld, by a calcu
lation of consequences, alike from hasty expressions
and from good-natured and generous offices. The
spirits in this temperament are elastic and buoyant.
Under distress the Sanguine shifts the scene with
ease .
The mind is, like an April day, in which
bright sunshine and transient showers quickly suc
ceed each other. The Sanguine is lightsome, play
ful, and peculiarly susceptible of hope ; and is suited
to be an agreeable, cheerful, amusing companion.
Let it be remembered that the knowledge of the
temperament is that which determines the mode,
and sets bounds to the activity of every particular
faculty. Properly speaking the Sanguine tempera
ment is nothing but a peculiar quickness in the per
ceptive, and promptness in the active faculties. A
succession of various quick impressions gives versa
tility, and this quickness and promptness manifest
themselves by the instrumentality of the radical
faculties, the activity of which they always bound
and modify.
In individuals we shall always most easily recognise
the marks of temperament in the more prominent
parts of their character.
Let us turn to a few illustrations.
OF TEMPERAMENTS 301
The head of Prior, the poet, given in a small bust,

and often seen as a frontispiece to his works, is a very
good specimen of the almost unmixed Sanguine.
:
In the temperament of Lavater himself the San
guine was modified by the Melancholic. He was
distinguished by imagination and by lively religious
affections. We ask whether the character of hope,
sensibility, cheerfulness, quickness, without profound
depth, which is usually attributed to Lavater, is not
in precise agreement with the modification which his
temperament would impart to those qualities.
The reformer, John Wesley, cultivated his reasoning
powers and not his imagination, and also used great
bodily exertion. His works show manifestly that
quickness, perspicuity, and rapidity, which belong to
>
the Sanguine temperament ; and no person who reads

his life, and contemplates his rapid succession of
employments, can doubt of his possessing it ; though,
in his case, it was modified, strengthened, and deepened
by the force of the Choleric with which it was
1 combined. His friend, Mr. Fletcher, who possessed
more imagination , bears the marks also of a Sanguine
temperament, though united with indications of the
Melancholic. We request our readers to compare the
best portraits of John Wesley with the two prints of
Lavater in his study, to be found in the first volume
of his works, and the large print of Fletcher,
taken from the picture in the possession of James
Ireland, Esq., of Brislington. They will recognise

in the outline of each - as they would see also in the
-
colouring if it were given, - a preponderance of the

characteristics we have stated as belonging to the
Sanguine. In rope-dancers, tumblers, or persons who
cultivate only their corporeal faculties, the Sanguine
will appear in liveliness, lightness and dexterity of
movement. Both the Sprightly and the Flippant, as
described in the Principles of Beauty, involve a
great preponderance of the Sanguine. It will be
found in a large proportion amongst the inhabitants
of temperately cold climates.
The Sanguine in an uncombined state, when not
inspired by the energy of the Choleric, not steadied
by the calm of the Phlegmatic, not awakened by the
deep sensibility of the Melancholic, and not directed
by conscience and religion, would tend to rashness,
frivolity, emptiness, and petulance of character. In
this case the voice would be shrill and sharp.
The Choleric.
As celerity of action and feeling is the radical

quality ofthe Sanguine, so force is that of the Choleric.
Hence the character of this genus is bold , fiery, fear
less, and energetic. Courage, enterprise and irresis
tible impetuosity mark alike the physical, mental,
and moral qualities, and equally modify the force with
OF TEMPERAMENTS, 303
which the Choleric receive impressions, and the

correspondent violence of reaction . A word ill- timed
may be to this temperament as a spark accidentally
dropped on a train of gunpowder. The passions are
strong and tempestuous, without shades ; there is
strength without delicacy of expression ; therefore
the Choleric is overbearing, and impatient of control.
As sharpened salience of outline is the character .
istic of the Sanguine, so a strongly arched contour
formed by bold muscular constriction and right lines
united by rectangles, is the generic form of the
Choleric. The lines of the whole figure are bold ,
strongly arched and rectilinear; it exhibits rugged,
forcible constriction of muscle, and a harsh , forcibly
pronounced outline. The fleshis hard and rough, the
bones are large, ponderous, and united as by iron sinews.
The shoulders square, chest broad, limbs firm , sinews
of the arms and legs and articulations of the fingers are
strongly knit, veins prominent. The Choleric may be
compared to a fine heavy charger or war-horse, who
proudly champs the bit, and whose neck is “ clothed
with thunder."
The Choleric exhibits overwhelming energy, vigour
and force, without lightness ; the head, hands, feet,
and neck are strong ; spontaneously assuming the
erect attitude of defence. The Gesticulation is im
petuous, forcible and rectilinear ; the complexion is
swarthy red brown, mixed with dark vermilion. The
304 OF TEMPERAMENTS ,
hair is black and coarse, strongly curled ; the eyes are

dark and flashing fire, eye -ball prominent, eyebrow
dark and rough ; the inside corner next the nose is
strongly defined and tufted with hair habitually
bristling up ; the nostril is strongly arched and inflated,
mouth and jawbone strongly pronounced and capable
of determinately shutting, chin bony. Attitudes and
manners determined and energetic. The voice is
loud, bold, commanding, harsh , and broken. Base
on which the features are placed, cubic.
Such are the characteristics of the Choleric tem
perament. Persons of this stamp seem prone to the
resisting passions, to determination and to self- love.
Their talents are peculiarly fitted for bold enter
prise. They are in an especial manner calculated to
be effectual defenders.
The Choleric temperament is always a principal
ingredient in that species of Beauty we have termed
the Active Sublime * ; and in that of Deformity,
designated as the Horrible.
The Choleric temperament, when its dark and
tempestuous passions are neither lightened by a mix
ture of the Sanguine, softened by the tenderness of
the Melancholic, nor rendered steady and dignified by
the Phlegmatic, would have aa tendency to degenerate
into haughty overbearing tyranny.
We refer the reader for an example of the Choleric
* See Principles of Beauty, page 25.
to the head of the great Arnauld in the collection

of Perrault, and to that of Napoleon Bonaparte ;
to which we might add the best prints of Lord
Thurlow .
We request the reader to compare these portraits
and the anecdotes which belong to their memoirs
with the generic characteristics we have given of this
temperament.
X
CHAPTER III.
OF THE PASSIVE TEMPERAMENTS .
We have now to consider the Passive temperaments

which constitute the class of deficient sensorial power.
The Passive temperaments consist of the Melan
cholic and the Phlegmatic. They unite in the fol
lowing generic characteristics. They are unfitted for
action and destitute of energy. The attitudes are
spiritless, reposing by material weight, not poised by
muscular exertion. The muscular system is unex
ercised, so as not to give a definite or bold outline.
The nostril is not boldly or decidedly marked , the eye
is habitually dull ; veins not apparent, complexion
colourless, hair lank . Neither is governed by imme
diate impulse ; both are averse from bodily activity,
and from variety of pursuits. Though not prompt to
action, yet, when set in motion, it is very difficult to
turn or stop their modes of excitement.
The Melancholic.
The Melancholic temperament may , in a particular
manner, be considered as opposed to the Choleric.
Melancholic Phlegmalic
C
HART
HAN
, HROMO
LITH
As the principle of the Choleric is energy and fire, so

80
that of the Melancholic is weakness and depression .
The characteristic of this genus is acute sensibility ,
timidity , and shrinking from the fear of being
wounded . Hence it is in character anxious ; in man
ner reserved and depressed .
In form it is long, lank, lean, and drooping. Its
radical lines have length, concavity, and contraction.
The face is long and drawn ; the jaw-bone lengthened
and weak ; the cheek-bone flat; eye morne, pupil
large, the upper eyelid is drooping, the white of
the eye appearing under the iris, eyebrow rising
towards the inside edge with relaxation, as in sorrow ,
so as to give tension, narrowness, and weakness to
the skin between the nose and eyebrows; skin loose
and shrivelled ; general form pensile ; chest sinking
in, and narrow ; shoulders stooping ; arms, legs,
fingers, and body long, weak,
W
and flat; complexion
sallow ; hair dark and lank ; nostril collapsing; mouth
drawn down ; voice unsubstantial. As examples of
the characteristics of the Melancholic, we again refer
to Lavater's print of “ Persons of the Four Tem
peraments, looking at the Death of Calas,” and also
to the head of the Melancholic at the commencement
of this chapter.
To the general characteristics of the Melancholic
we will add aa few observations, showing the effects of
this temperament in a variety of circumstances, and
x 2
308 OF TEMPERAMENTS :
combined with a variety of faculties with which it

may be connected .
Weakness and acute sensibility are the radical
characteristics of the genus. This consciousness of
weakness, timidity , and the fear of being wounded,
gives the Melancholic a great proneness to attach
himself strongly to those few under whose shelter
he finds sympathy. When severed from them , he
is apt to intrench himself in selfish and gloomy
misanthropy, rather than unite with those who cannot
fully sympathise. Hence the weakness of the Melan
cholic drives him into boundless and devoted attach
ment, and absorption in the person he loves, or
pursuit he follows. It also gives a fear of adventure,
which prevents him from going forth in new direc
tions ; and when disappointed, the very same weak
ness and tremulous sensibility to pain leads him to
shrink from collision with others, and to endure in
misanthropic and cheerless solitude.
Consequently the Melancholic is habitually re
served and fearful, his affections expanding when
fostered by genial and kindly warmth , but they
are instantly chilled or blighted by the least coldness
or reserve. For the same reason he shrinks from
exposing himself, with the Sanguine, to indiscrimi
nate external impressions, but lives chiefly in an
internal world , which he can arrange to his own
liking. His affections, once formed, are of the most
deep, strong, and permanent die, and are concentrated

in very few objects, accumulating in strength and
depth by reflection and solitude. The Melancholic
is more open to pleasures and pains of imagination
than to those of sense ; he is not excited by the vivid
stimulus of new objects, but instantly expands to the
touch of a chord in unison with himself ; changing,
perhaps, from a devoted affection to selfish and
gloomy misanthropy, because unable to bear the
least disappointment, but never cooling from indif
ference, nor wandering from fickleness. His dislikes
also are deeply rooted, and originate rather in petty
discordances than in positive aggression.
He is tenacious in mind, in affection, and in bodily
habits, clinging to one object and impatient of in
terruption. Hence he is capable of deep study, and
loves sedentary occupation. From a sense of de
pendence, the Melancholic is strongly susceptible of
tenderness, enthusiasm , devotion, and benevolence,
yet, from a continual aptitude to be wounded, he
may , in particular instances, be peevish, selfish ,
cautious, suspicious, and punctilious. Owing to the
deep impression which every feeling makes in his
mind, he is liable to strong and deep -rooted an
tipathies and unfounded prejudices.
He is also peculiarly prone to a certain contraction,
whether of understanding , feeling, or habit, arising
from the undivided manner in which he has abandoned
X 3
himself to one affection , one pursuit, or one set of im

pressions. Hence his heart is subject to long periods
of unoccupied satiety and misanthropy ; his mind to
ennui, and his body to listless indolence, occasioned
by that moral indigestion which arises from glutting
oneself too long with one kind of food.
He is often preoccupied and absent, and therefore
not unfrequently will be found selfish and inattentive
to the interests of others. He seeks to defend himself
by following the circuitous paths dictated by timidity,
caution, and suspicion ; he sinks rather than resists.
The Melancholic lives much within himself, and is
so little awake to surrounding objects that even his
perceptions are often tinctured by his feelings ; hence
he does not abound in judgment. The tender
affections of the Melancholic suit him for a devoted
friend.
The Melancholic, if not cheered by a mixture of
the Sanguine, armed by the bold and fiery spirit of
the Choleric, or strengthened by the calm tranquillity
and endurance of the Phlegmatic, would sink into
that cheerless and hopeless despondency which, after
being disappointed in aa favourite object, might take
the form of the Vapid. The tenderness of the Melan
cholic, with a slight tincture of the Sanguine, produces
that style we have termed the Beautiful. The differ
ence between its pensile outline and soft swell, and
the drooping, hollow, but contracted forms of the pure
Melancholic will at once appear.
The Phlegmatic.
The radical characteristics of the Phlegmatic are
apathy, inertness, solidity and tenacity. He is
obtuse, slow, sluggish , steady, and plodding, and
is consequently difficult to be roused or set in
motion ; yet having received a bias, the Phlegmatic
plods on, and from the same apathy and obtuseness
is not easily stopped or diverted from his course ;
steady in his affections from the adhesive tenacity of
habit, rather than glowing with the new-kindled
warmth of the active temperaments, or imbued with
the deep enthusiasm of the Melancholic.
He is, again , wholly free from that acuteness of
sensibility and quickness of perception which by
producing disgust in feeling, and suggesting doubts
as to the justness of ideas, is one great cause of
changeableness and inconstancy. On the same prin
ciple, he is never dazzled by brilliance of appearance .
He is slow to perceive ; hence he counts, he weighs, he
examines on every side before he decides, and his
decisions therefore are often more substantially just
than those of the other temperaments . He may be said,
cæteris paribus, to be more inclined to wisdom than
the other temperaments, owing to his being wholly
shielded from those minor acute feelings or delicate
impressions, which are so often suffered to bear an
undue proportion and to obscure radical points.
X 4
312 OF TEMPERAMENTS .
The Phlegmatic is, in a peculiar manner, suited

to be a wise counsellor.
The radical outline of this temperament is glo
bose, flattened, obtuse, and flaccid . Features snub,
truncated, and bearing a small proportion to the
expanse of fleshy parts ; base of features horizontal,
and the figure broad in proportion to its height ;
limbs short, and en masse with the body ; neck
short ; complexion white or sodden ; hair flaxen ;
eye full, staring, wide open, and dull ; eyebrow highly
>
elevated in one unmeaning arch, inside corner

finishing weakly in place of the strong bristling tuft
of the Choleric ; hair of the eyebrows quite smooth
and flat ; hair lank ; cheeks broad, with peculiar
breadth of cheek over the jaw ; mouth flaccid, and
not pronounced with strength ; attitude reposing on
its base by its own inert weight ; no gesticulation ;
no great mark either of activity of the senses or of
muscular exertion ; voice deep.
The Phlegmatic temperament united with the San
guine constitutes that national complexion and form
which is found in latitudes of high temperate cold .
The strength and steadiness of this genus is the
radical ingredient in that species of Beauty we have
termed the Passive Sublime, which will be found to
consist of the Phlegmatic , with a very slight tinge
of the Choleric and Melancholic. The mixture of
radical tranquillity and strength with force and
sensibility produced by this combination, may be

seen admirably exemplified in the print of Philip
de Champagne, by Edelinck, from the fine picture
painted by himself for Port Royal des Champs, but
which is now in the French school of the Louyre.
For examples of the pure Phlegmatic we refer to
Lavater's picture of the Temperaments cited above,
and to the illustration opposite page 311 of this
Essay.
The Phlegmatic, when not animated by the cheer
fulness of the Sanguine, the force of the Choleric, or
the sensibility of the Melancholic, and if ill -educated
and unprincipled, would be very apt to fall into the
Porcine, when it exhibits a pendulosity of muscle,
and flabbiness of texture, beyond that which belongs
to the radical forms of this temperament. But the
Phlegmatic, it must be observed, in its pure form ,
when not degraded , is instantly recognised by a
beautifully harmonising, though round and flattened
contour, and by its wide base, or horizontality of
feature, and short snubbiness of form .
CHAPTER IV .
THE DIFFERENT TEMPERAMENTS COMPARED AND

CONTRASTED .
HAVING enumerated the radical qualities and cha

racteristics of the temperaments, we will add a few
words by way of further elucidation.
The Sanguine is opposed to the Phlegmatic by
its quickness ; to the Melancholic by its superfi
ciality ; and it is distinguished from the Choleric
by its want of force. It is opposed in form to the
Passive temperaments by being convex instead of
concave ; it differs from the Choleric by being
salient instead of constricted, and in colouring pink
rather than red.
The Choleric is opposed to the Melancholic by its
resisting powers ; to the Phlegmatic by its active
powers ; and it differs from the Sanguine in its com
parative want of lightness and versatility.
The Melancholic is opposed to the Sanguine by
its existence in reflection rather than perception ; to
the Choleric by its weakness and timidity ; and to
the Phlegmatic by its sensibility.
The Phlegmatic is opposed to the Sanguine by its
constancy ; to the Choleric by its want of enter

prise ; and to the Melancholic by its apathy.
It would, no doubt, be curious, as well as in
teresting, to observe whether there exist any
necessary connection between the phrenologic mani
festations of the radical faculties and propensities
and the temperaments. To us it seems probable
that such a connection may exist, because each
temperament in its uncombined state certainly has
its own distinct and peculiar mental development ;
and it appears that the different degrees of strength
and activity of the different temperaments have, on
the whole, a tendency to call particular faculties into
activity.
Thus the Sanguine is, on the whole, most disposed
to Hope, to the love of Approbation, and to Mirth
and Cheerfulness. It loves action too much to be
very Circumspect. It is more remarkable for clear
perceptive than for deep reflective faculties. As the
Sanguine temperament supposes a high state of ac
tivity of the faculties, it often allows of Imagination
and Wit.
The Choleric is particularly prone to Determina
tion, generosity, and the resisting passions. It is
too confident in its own strength , and too prompt to
be very Circumspect. Choler being the highest state
of activity of the faculties, is often associated with
creative genius.
The Melancholic, from its acute sensibility to

pain, is peculiarly liable to a morbid Self-love,
and to the extreme of Circumspection. From con
stantly feeling the inadequacy of realities, it is
tempted to shut itself out from commerce with the
external world, and live in a world of its own,
Hence its imagination is vivid, and it is thus pecu
liarly liable to Credulity, while it strongly exhibits
Veneration and Ideality .
The Phlegmatic is prone to Adhesiveness. As his
faculties have very little activity, so he has very little
imagination or Ideality. He has not much acuteness
in the knowing faculties, but compares his ideas, and
has often a sound judgment.
We have now considered the characteristics of the
temperaments.
It must be remembered that in truth very few per
sons possess only one temperament. The generality,
indeed, exhibit one radical or prevailing temperament,
but then it is almost always blended with the mi
tigating or inspiring influence of one or two others .
Hence in most individuals we see a mixture of the
generic characteristics belonging to the various tem
peraments which they combine ; sometimes one pre
vails in form and another in complexion, and
sometimes both the form and complexion exhibit a
modification of the generic standard of each. Thus,
in the beautiful print of Fénélon by Audran, the
temperament is a union of the Sanguine and the

Melancholic. The Sanguine is recognisable in
the oval convex general outline without forcible
muscular constriction, in the squareness of shoulders,
in breadth of chest, and in the appearance of
flexibility in the neck, and a sort of radiance in
the eye. The character of the Melancholic is dis
played in the deep long concavities uniting the
features, the air of sensibility in the eye and mouth ;
and in Fénélon himself, it was decidedly marked
by the darkness of the hair and eye, and entirely
pallid complexion. If the reader will compare with
this the portrait generally given of Bossuet, he will
then see the precise difference between the light oval
convex of the Sanguine and the strongly arched rec
tilinear constricted convex of the Choleric. The genius
and character of these two men exactly answer to
that oftheir temperaments. We shall see in Fénélon's
life and in his works the flowery imagination, the
quickness, the lightness, and gentle activity of the
Sanguine, without any of the thundering force of the
choleric author of the “ Variations of Protestant
Churches ;" and we shall surely see the sensibility of
the Melancholic in the saint of Cambray, who meekly
submitted to the censure of his book, but who never
could restrain his tears at the remembrance of the
generous friend who had defended his cause.
From what has been said of the temperaments, it
will have already appeared that each in its simple

and uncombined state is possessed of peculiar advan
tages and peculiar disadvantages. In friendship , for
example, the quickness of the Sanguine will enable
him instantly to perceive the feelings, or enter into
the tone of his associate ; but that same susceptibility
of excitement will render his warmest feelings tran
sient and versatile. The Choleric will generously,
and perhaps nobly, serve his friend, but he will find
it easier to fight for than to sympathise and endure
with him. The Melancholic will acutely feel and
tenderly sympathise, but he will be quite incapable
of any vigorous or active exertion in behalf of one
he may even devotedly love. The Phlegmatic, again,
will be steady and constant in his attachment, he will
also uniformly go on serving his friend, but it will
only be in one slow jog-trot pace ; neither sympathy
in minute feeling nor vigorous exertion must be ex
pected. Each temperament therefore has a tendency
to its own distinct good, and to its own distinct evil.
And as in general the active temperaments lead to
active good and evil, and the passive temperaments
to passive good and evil, so it appears that the two
can never be so valuable a counterpoise to each other
as when they mingle in the same individual.
Accordingly , no character can possess capacious
powers which does not combine two temperaments
at least. Nor will the character ever be beautifully
harmonised or balanced where one of these tempera

ments is not active and the other passive, yielding
together at once an active and a passive power, and in
their united operations modifying each other, so as to
keep the character steady and to form a due balance
of activity and repose. Nor, again, can the counte
nance be truly beautiful without this harmonious
variety. Where the countenance exhibits one tem
perament only there will be a poverty of expression,
and where there are two temperaments of the same
order, there will always be a violent overcharge of
nearly similar expression. If both temperaments be
active, the countenance and character will exhibit a
feverish irritability and utter incapacity of calmness,
repose, or stability, either bodily or mental. If, on
the contrary, they be passive, then the expression will
be languid, weak, and inanimate, wholly deficient in
spirit, courage, and energy.
It must, however, here be understood, that such
combinations of like temperaments may not only be
perfectly harmonious, but that by the great emphasis
of their own style of expression, they may give the
most powerful effect of beauty. Hence, in painting,
where the one action which is precisely suitable can
be selected, these combinations are often used with
the greatest advantage.
But two temperaments of the same order can only
possess a beautiful expression under the peculiar
light of fitting circumstances, and in real life they can

seldom give the most agreeable effect, because, in each
case, the style of expression being suitable only to one
class of circumstances, the redoubled emphasis gives
redoubled discordance under every other. Hence,
when we hear persons say, - Such a one is very
>
handsome, but I do not like his face,” it sometimes
means, “ such a person has a countenance the tem
peraments of which are so combined as to throw out
his expression in bold relief .” The situation or cir
cumstances could easily be imagined in which this
countenance would have the finest effect , but it has
no flexibility ; the opposing temperaments not being
mixed , it has not that beautiful action and reaction
of force and pathos which enables its expression to
be plastic to circumstances. It is the combination
of active and passive temperaments which gives the
strength and animation of alternate repose and
action . This is the source of all the variations and
degrees of expression in the human countenance
which continually refresh the heart, and delight the
imagination by representing copiousness , force, and
contrast of feeling in an infinite variety of shades of
gradation.
CHAPTER V.
OF THE RENDERING OF TEMPERAMENTS IN PORTRAIT

PAINTING .
In the preceding chapter allusion was made to the

effect of temperament in painting, we will now enter
a little more fully into the subject.
a а
Let us suppose a person of a Choleric-Sanguine
temperament in a military attitude and costume,
seated on a fiery charger, as in David's portrait of
Bonaparte traversing the Alps and their perilous
abysses, whilst the storms of the mountains rolled far
below him. That such a subject has formed aa noble
painting we have seen, but it is only because the
exactly proper circumstances to exhibit this combina
tion of the bold and enterprising temperaments have
been selected. Follow the person really possessing
the same combination in the daily occurrences of
life, see him not arrayed as a conqueror, but, it may
be, in the hours of devotion as a penitent, or in those
of domestic intercourse, when forbearance, social
sympathy and tranquillity are requisite, and then
the deficiency will alike appear in his character and
Y
in his beauty. On the other hand, we may imagine

a person of a Melancholic-Phlegmatic temperament
who would make a most beautiful portrait as a recluse,
but whose countenance when its tranquillity was
disturbed by active circumstances, would have none
of the force which can alone give dignity to an
active position .
We must, therefore, observe that painting and
sculpture are by no means perfect criteria by which
to judge of living beautiful expression. Painting
and sculpture select a momentary expression, and
therefore whatever contributes to give most emphasis
to that expression, is esteemed in those arts most beau
tiful. But actual life must be considered as a perpe
tually mutable picture. Now it is impossible that
the same countenance can render all expressions with
equal force. That countenance therefore is in actual
life the most beautiful which has the greatest copious
ness, variety and compass of expression, for that
will be the least frequently discordant with sur
rounding circumstances.
It may also be remarked, that the greatest power of
expression should lie in that class of feeling which is
appropriate to the position in society and acquired
habits of the individual.
From what has been said, we may on the whole lay
down the following results : –
First, there will always exist a false, discordant,
inharmonious expression , whenever a person's educa

tion, religious society , or habits have induced a set of
manners or attitudes different from those which
spontaneously flow from his actual temperament. A
Sanguine person, for example, assuming the gravity of
the Phlegmatic, or the Phlegmatic affecting the
sportiveness of the Sanguine, would be as ridiculous
as for a goldfinch to mope like an owl, or for an
owl to hop about, strut, and plume himself like a
goldfinch.
Consequently, no portrait can ever give a charac
teristic likeness in which the painter does not form a
clear conception of the temperament, and render
with emphasis and truth its characteristic signs.
No similarity of feature, no one particular ex
pression, however accurately given, will ever show
the stamp of general identity without this; and this,
when well given, rarely fails to afford a certain
pleasure, as we may see in good caricatures, where
all else is false . And the reason it gives pleasure
to the mind is, that truth of momentary expression,
as of anger, pity, or any other passing emotion,
shows only the feeling of that particular moment,
whereas the temperament truly given shows what
the man is every day and in all things. A per
fect portrait should, on the basis of forcibly cha
racteristic temperament, engraft particular expres
sion. A portrait-painter
- cannot be too much
Y 2
aware in what the peculiar excellency of his art

lies, and in what it differs from historic painting.
The end of historic painting is to throw a strong
light, not only on some particular character, but also
on some particular action of that character. But
the portrait-painter, generally speaking, has not
to commemorate any one great event, but to exhibit
the general man in so characteristic a manner as in
stantly to kindle the hearts of those who know him,
and to enable their imaginations to apply that style
of character to every variation of circumstances under
which he might appear. Hence, a characteristic ren
dering of the signs of temperament, a good taste in
selecting the species of occupation and showing the
mode of activity, though it is generally the point in
which too many portrait - painters fail, is that on
which their excellence should mainly depend. Let
the reader again contemplate Lavater's vignette of
“ Persons of the four temperaments looking at the
picture of the Death of Calas.” Is there not con
centrated in that one group as much mental power
of delineating character as is often expanded over
two or three volumes of a good novel ?
The set smile, for example, which is often repre
sented in portraits, and which some painters adopt,
whilst it is by others as assiduously rejected, is, in
truth, a dressed expression of countenance very
often to be met with in the lively, social, and not
unfrequently vain, Sanguine. The very lightness
of their spirits, and sociality of their tastes, render

them peculiarly apt to wish to please others, and
hence that decorated smiling exterior, and a sort of
agreeable put-on countenance is, if one may use the
Irishism, a mode of affectation almost natural to the
temperament. The attitude in this character should
always be smart and lively ; not one of musing con
templation , energetic thought, or apathetic indiffer
ence : and the dress should also partake of the
general character ; it should be light and airy, not
to impede rapid motion, and decorated with pretti
ness, like that of one whose tastes are for gregarious
amusements. On the other hand, the unmoved
gravity habitual to the Phlegmatic, would be entirely
spoilt if either a smile or any very intent occu
pation either of head or heart, disturbed the un
ruffled smoothness of his deep serene. The attitude
best suited to a portrait of this nature, is one show
ing some occupation of steady habitual daily interest,
but which does not excite. The attitudes of the
portrait of Dr. Johnson prefixed to Boswell's Life,
and that of Dr. Darwin holding a pen, and listen
ing to his patient, by Wright of Derby, are excellent
specimens of the species of attitudes which should be
selected for the Phlegmatic. The dress, too, in
unison with the character of the temperament, should
be plain, unadorned, grave, and, as the Phlegmatic
moves but little, warm and heavy , remote from new
Y 3
fashion or smartness of any kind. It should be put

on with grave neat orderliness, characterising a person
of plain but perfectly steady, regular habits. Both
the dress and figure should be en masse. The Cho
leric portrait, again, neither admits of the dressed ex
pression or the light elastic attitude of the Sanguine,
nor yet of the tranquil orderliness of the Phlegmatic.
Whatever be the attitude, it must be given as of
one who, wholly wrapt up in his object, forgets all
else. If, then, it be an attitude of action , it must be
impetuous ; the brows, the muscles, the starting veins,
all must bear the marks of forcible constriction : if
it be in study, it must be intense, and if seen in
front, the deep frown of the brow , and eye unmodu
lated by social perception, must clearly show the
subject to be wholly and intently fixed on the end
he has in view, so as to heed not the presence
of those around. The dress, whether the figure be
wrapped in heavy drapery, or clad in short garments,
must be grave, and mark the great articulations of
the limbs, and it must be put on with the negligence
of a person occupied with great passions and forgetting
appearances.
The portrait of the Melancholic should exhibit
neither the lightness and decorated vivacity of the
Sanguine, nor the equanimity of the Phlegmatic, nor
the strength and impetuous force of the Choleric. It
should, indeed, appear absorbed in its object, but with
a passive, instead of an active, expression ; not so

much intent on some laborious pursuit, as occupied
by contemplative meditation or musing reveries.
Hence must be selected the pensive and bending
attitude of meditation, or the exalted and upward
one of ideality and elevated contemplation. In the
same manner, too , as the Sanguine, in artistic repre
sentation, admits of a selection from all actions of
transient social feeling or physical activity, the
Phlegmatic, a choice from all those of tranquil uniform
habits, and the Choleric, from all emergencies of sud
den, vigorous, active exertion, so the Melancholic
admits, with peculiar propriety, of a choice of any of
the passions of deep sensibility, as sorrow, compas
sion, or veneration . In dress, too, as in manner, the
Melancholic may exhibit either of two very different
effects arising from its character. It is susceptible,
on the one hand, either of the greatest delicacy, good
taste, and refinement, or, on the other, of the sordid
negligence of persons wholly wrapt up in themselves,
and misanthropically retiring from others.
We may observe that aa strict attention to proprieties
of temperament is as necessary to historic as it is to
portrait painting. Every painter who wishes to give
permanent dignity to his designs must first form a
clear and distinct idea of the temperament he means
to assign to every character, and must suit the species
of qualities brought into activity, the style of gesticu
Y 4
lation and attitude, and the degree of force and activity

precisely to the temperament represented. The want
of attention to this frequently renders historic painting
uninteresting. The historic painter too often confines
his view to the particular action to be represented,
and to the transient emotion under which the actors
were at the moment influenced. This fixed, he fills
up his characters with any personages of the right
age and sex, all of whom he draws according to what
may happen to be his standard of beauty, and he pro
bably adopts one class of gesture, line, and colouring,
which runs through all his pictures. Without men
tioning particular examples, it is impossible to visit
any large collection of paintings, and more especially
that of the Louvre, without being convinced that this
is too often the case. Thus, for example, were the
battles of Cæsar, of Alexander, of Charles the Twelfth
of Sweden, or of Gustavus Adolphus to be repre
sented, it is not at all improbable that had no busts
of them been preserved, a painter might choose, in
differently, the same portrait for either ; provided it
were a man, and one of a commanding aspect, repre
sented under the present emotion of courage, any
would suffice. Nevertheless, in reality the philosophical
courage of the politician and man of letters in Cæsar,
the generous impetuosity of Alexander, the impene
trable iron hardness of Charles the Twelfth , and the
Christian valour and humanity of Gustarus, not only
are totally distinct from each other, but it is these

characteristic differences which give to their courage a
dignity which might otherwise equally belong to that
of the highwayman or the pugilist. For it is not the
transient emotion of valour, or the brute courage of
physical strength, but the fundamental character with
which that valour is combined, which confers dignity
upon it. Hence the representation of radical character
is that which ought to be the chief object of historic
painting. Whilst the action of the piece and parti
cular expression points out to us whether it be
Alexander crossing the Granicus, or Cæsar sending
back the Helvetii, or Charles before Pultawa, it is
by the radical lines of each figure we should yet dis
tinguish the orator, philosopher, gentleman, states
man, and historian, as well as the general of his age,
from him who cut the Gordian knot, who slew his
friend, and who died of intoxication, and both from
the man who defended himself at Bender, who
heeded not the bursting of the bomb, and who trod
over the yet breathing body of his friend Grothusen ,
to gain the victory.
That it is alone the representation of the radical
character which can give dignity to historic paint
ing will at once easily appear on consideration.
Every man that ever breathed has, no doubt, been
susceptible of feeling every passion of the human
heart. Every man has loved, hated, felt anger, and
shame. Hence as the representation of these passions

is only the rendering of what is common to human
nature, the most accurate representation of particular
emotions can never give dignity to a picture, because
the passions themselves are within the compass of
the most vulgar and common - place characters. It is
not the mere expression of love, anger, courage,
merely as such, (though they excite sympathy ,) that
touches the deep feelings of the heart, but it is the
grandeur and worth of the character of him who loves
or of him who hates, that imparts dignity to the
emotion. Now, then, all good painting should attach
itself first to render the radical temperament, that
which gives the scale of the man's habitual character,
and then upon that basis the particular emotion should
be superadded. The knowledge of what passion is
felt is comparatively little interesting ; the point is
the knowledge of him who is agitated by it. For
want of this, historical painting is in fact too gene
rally little more than a painting of men and women
acting the parts of heroes and heroines, but it is
rarely the characteristic representation of the person
ages themselves. The courage of passing a wide
water in a crazy boat has equally inspired thousands
of idle school-boys, as Julius Cæsar ; it is not, then ,
the momentary expression of courage that gives
dignity to the action, or that could bestow dignity
on the representation of the action, but rather the
radical character of the individual in whom the

passion is seen.
Painting, in its highest walk , does not wholly con
fine itself to one moment of time, nor to one action.
It is indeed true that the primary object of a picture
is to represent the scene chosen ; but if transient
expression be substituted for permanent character,
as a work of art it will never maintain its interest.
The lowest object of painting is mere imitation ; its
highest, the awakening the heart and imagination,
But he who gives only one insulated incident does
not quicken so many associations as he who, giving
this, yet records besides a whole biography in every
figure ; consequently, the latter only is in the first
rank of painters. We must, therefore, conclude
that, for bistoric painting to possess first-rate ex
cellence, not only should the particular expression of
each figure tell his part in the story, but the tem
perament, clearly marked in form , complexion, and
gesture, should instantly make the spectator ac
quainted with the man himself, wholly indepen
dently of the one incident represented. We refer
to West's excellent picture of “ William Penn's
Treaty with the North American Indians," and to
the beautiful print ofhis own family. Surely there is
no one who has ever seen these pictures but has
as clear an idea of the persons represented as he
would have of any of the characters of a well
written tale, or of those of any of his own living

acquaintances. Every one that beholds them not
only clearly conceives the idea of the particular
actions represented, but can precisely represent to
himself Wwhat any of the personages would be in
feeling, manner, and species of character, under any
other circumstances. This alone is true painting to
the mind and heart.
Many other observations might be adduced in
support of the position that temperament ought to be
clearly understood and studied by a portrait-painter,
and that it ought also to rank very highly with
every good historic painter. The custom of painting
portraits without any determinate expression, as
though the artist were rather laying down the plan
of the face than making a picture, — or the opposite
extreme of taking a likeness under an occasional,
instead of under an habitual degree of excitement,
is almost equally inconsistent with truth of repre
sentation. The one, by leaving out the habitual
action, gives an entirely fallacious idea, and falls short
of the truth , and such a picture seems rather the
likeness of an effigy than the portrait of a man,
of a mere lifeless body uninspired by any living
soul .
The other, by representing an occasional
instead of a prevailing expression, and by giving
fixity to that which is of a transient nature, both
invests the subject with an entirely false character,
and also produces a disagreeable effect on the eye

of the spectator, as if the person , in the instant
of action, were suddenly arrested by enchantment.
This is a most capital fault in the design of the
beautiful print of Mr. Fletcher, to which allusion
has already been made. The action selected would,
if seen in nature, have been a transient and momen
tary expression of emotion. The very circumstance,
then , of giving fixity to this beautiful expression, in
reality destroys its character, and gives to this strik
ing but momentary appeal of one of the most heavenly
minded of men the air of an affected attitude pur
posely chosen and deliberately persisted in, not to
give thanks to God, but to make a beautiful picture
for men ; than which a more false impression of the
saint whom it portrays could not be given. Surely
the subject of this picture would have been chosen
with much more felicity, had Mr. Fletcher been
represented in the same attitude of head , but kneeling
in prayer. In that case, not only the position of the
body and the extended arms would have infinitely
enhanced the expression of the uplifted eye, but the
action being then in reality a continuous one, the
picture would have had an effect of truth which it
now wants.
We may lay it down as a general rule that

portraits, where, above all, the object is to give a true
idea of the individual, should be painted with the
habitual, not with the occasional tone, whether of de

pression or excitement. And, moreover, that as the
figure is one, and to be the object of undivided con
templation, the action under which it is represented,
should also be continuous. It may be observed,
however, that in proportion to the number of figures,
the character of transience in the action of each may
be increased, for the multiplication of parts distracts
the eye and produces the effect of momentary action.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SAME PRINCIPLES APPLIED TO HISTORIC PAINTING ,

SCULPTURE , AND SOCIAL MANNERS.
In historical painting the same knowledge and atten

tion to the fundamental temperamentis equally neces
sary as in portrait painting, though in the former
case the transient action and occasionally excited
emotion must be added .
For the object of a portrait is to tell posterity
what such a man habitually was ; that of historic
painting to tell what a man who was habitually so
and so, became in this or that particular action .
As no attitude can be justly designed unless we
have an accurate idea of radical human proportion
before we venture to represent the foreshortenings or
muscular exertion incident on any particular position,
so there can be no truth of historic painting, however
accurately any particular emotion may be rendered,
unless we first establish a clear idea of the degree of
radical force and the sphere of activity belonging to
each personage on whom we mean to engraft such
and such particular expressions.
In short, in producing a good historic painting, as
in writing a good tale, we must first get a clear notion

of the individual man himself we mean to represent,
before we can possibly have a just notion of rendering
with truth his peculiar mode of expressing or feeling
the passion we mean to ascribe to him.
Love, anger, and jealousy are common to all men ;
and no merely accurate representation of these passions
will ever give individual character, or consequently
ever touch strong individual feelings. It is the mode
of loving, the mode of hating, which designates the
man, and it is our knowledge of the man that makes
us take interest in his love and hatred. But this
knowledge of the individual can be given in picto
rial representation only by characteristically render
ing the temperament, and modifying or inspiring the
particular expression according to its appropriate
sphere of vigour and activity.
Now many otherwise good pictures totally fail in
this ; they give the emotion but not the man who
felt it. Yet it is this alone that makes the other
interesting
We see a man angry, but whether it be the rage
of the fool Caligula, of the bloodthirsty Nero, of the
noble Germanicus, of the wily Philip, or of the im
petuous Alexander, we are informed only by turning
to the costume or accessories of the picture.
Were three pictures, for example, exhibited, repre
senting Socrates, Hannibal, and Themistocles, re
spectively drinking the poison , it might be possible,

had not tradition handed down aa bust of the former,
that the accessories only should distinguish their heroes
from each other. The painter who studied tempera
ment, and who bore in mind the calmness and
acuteness of the Socratic mode of disputation, the
equanimity exhibited by Socrates in death, and the
early faults with which Zopyrus charged him, would
represent a man with the horizontal basis and obtuse
features of the Phlegmatic with a slight touch of the
Sanguine in the light of theeyes and complexion ; this
union of temperament, if degraded, would exactly
comport with the indolent, luxurious, and slightly
irascible inclinations of his early youth, and in its
elevation it would in an especial manner be susceptible
of that calm , equable, and cheerful wisdom which
afterwards characterised him.
To Hannibal the convex, and acutely sharpened
features and eyes of the Sanguine, with a slight touch
of Choler, might be given, marking the man of
unwearied energy and activity, of deep craft, vigi
lance, and penetration, and who, by the union of
quickly perceptive and active powers, was possessed
of inexhaustible fertility in resource .
To Themistocles the same sharpened features, with
a Melancholic- Sanguine basis, might belong, denoting
the man who by craft, and not by force, would have
destroyed the rival fleet, who was governed at home
Z
by his wife and child, and who was content to end

his inglorious days in the gilded chains of favouritism ,
at a tyrant's court.
But there is another ground on which the tem
perament should always be preserved in historical
painting, from which it will appear that where this
is wanting there can neither be truth, nor dignity,
nor grace in the expression of any particular emotion.
Where the degree of radical strength and activity
is not marked by the style of complexion, muscular
constriction, and attitude, indicative of temperament,
the painter must trust entirely to the strong expression
of that particular emotion which forms the action of
his figure, and this has always a tendency to degene
rate into caricature. For example, where tenderness
of expression is to be conveyed, it is without measure, 1
unless there be the flexibility and grace which are given

by choosing the true temperament, as the Melancholic
Sanguine where tenderness and liveliness are coin
bined, and then slightly touching in the emotion.
Where strength of character or passion is to be
conveyed, the expression without the rendering of
temperament generally fails ; in fact, a strong emotion
in violent activity, by showing the limits of human
power, always wants sublimity. It is only where the
painter means to show the extraordinary emergency
that forcibly rouses a weak character, that violent
overwhelming emotion should be given. Real
strength or real energy can be imparted only by

force of habitual temperament, and aa strict attention
to its characteristic lines and colour. True sublimity
consists in the temperament of unshaken strength
and powerful energy , a radical force which achieves
great things with tranquillity and without exertion,
and in which therefore the very slightest touch should
mark the direction .
Thus, for example, let us consider the very dif
ferent expressions of courage with which a phy
siognomic painter would represent Julius Cæsar in
his frail bark saying, “ Cæsarem vehis et Cæsaris
"
fortunas,” and the officer's lady returning to the tent
from which she had just rushed, and stepping over
the blazing fuze of the bomb to snatch up her infant
child.
To Cæsar he would assign the radical lines, colour
and degree of muscular constriction which belong to
active strength of temperament, with that attitude
the mechanical power of which exhibits strength and
repose — or passive strength. The painter would
simply mark him as speaking or directing ; the dan
ger should appear only in the countenances of the
assistants, and the accompaniments of the storm. But
he would sedulously guard against giving Cæsar any
action of violent determination like a bad ranting
player, whose effort shows that greatness is not the
habit of his mind, but the occasional assumption of a
z 2
part ; for Cæsar is the hero himself, not the occasional

actor of heroic speeches. No excited action, there
fore, must be given, for his mind was at rest ; gran
deur was habitual to him, he did not feel the danger,
and was therefore not excited. In the case of the
lady, on the other hand, the painter would give all
the signs of a temperament of weakness and sensi
bility, and oppose to it the violent marks of the force
of the preternatural transient emotion which could
alone make her forget her own danger to save her
child.
In truth , the expression of temperament is of the
greatest use to painters, for this reason among others,
that by fixing the standard of habitual feeling,
strength , and activity, it gives to each its own appro
priate scale for measuring the superadded expression
of excited emotion. And when well managed, the
coincidence, harmony, or contrariety of these two
sources of expression affords the most copious and
diversified variety and emphasis of strength and
pathos.
Particular expressions, which have most affinity
with any temperament, are always those which are
most habitually excited ; but their representation can
never exhibit the forcible emphasis which is given by
the union of a temperament with particular expres
sions totally out of its habitual course ; for the active
temperaments having always a superabundance of
sensorial power, are ever ready to be excited, and

require a very cogent pressure to sink them below the
level ; and, on the contrary, the depressed tempera
ments never having a sufficiency of vital power, are
ever ready to be still more depressed, and nothing
but an urgent necessity can compel them to collect
and concentrate their feeble forces by borrowing at
so much expense from their scanty fund. And in
real life, those incidents always form the most touch
ing and powerful appeals to the heart, where the
pressure of circumstances extorts a feeling in dia
metrical opposition to the usual tone of character.
Thus the bravery of Achilles, Alexander, and
Charles the Twelfth , in which the temperament and
excited emotion accord, is not nearly so touching as
where the grandeur and strength of excited emotion
is elicited in the weakness and tenderness of the
female character. As, for example, in the history of
the faithful and noble Panthea and Abradates, the
advice of the Spartan mother to her son, the incident
of Portia seeing the picture of the parting of Hector
and Andromache, Lady Harriet Acland seeking her
husband in the enemies' camp, Lady Russell con
cealing the death of her daughter from her invalid
sister, Maria Theresa' presenting herself with her in
fant son in her arms and addressing the assembled
Diet, and --ever to be remembered by every British
heart-- the noble Lady Fairfax daring, in the face
z 3
of an assembled nation, to lift her single voice in

behalf of the oppressed sovereign, whose unlicensed
encroachments, in the plenitude of prosperity, she
had withstood. In similar instances the very con
trast between the excited emotion of strength , with
the habitual one of softness, gives fresh pathos to
both, and has infinitely more power than all the
unmingled violence of a Boadicea or a Thalestris.
So in the same manner in the contrary expression.
The sentimentality of all the Sapphos and Werters
never touches the heart like the slightest exhibition of
emotion in a strong and firm character.
When we read of Pericles, noble and generous,
but cold, philosophical, and reserved , with unmoved
stoicism succouring his fellow - citizens in the midst
of the desolating plague ; alone, unsupported, stand
ing like a fortress in the wide calamity, and we are
told that he followed silent, but tearless, all the
members of his family , one by one, to the grave, till,
putting the funeral crown with his own hands on
the head of his only remaining son, he burst into
a flood wf tears, the deepest chords of feeling are
touched. And the simple words, “ Et tu, Brute ,"
from the lips of the great Cæsar, appeal more for
cibly to the inmost feelings of the heart than whole
volumes of elegies or love sonnets.
Thus, it must be recollected, that wherever sub
limity of strength in the subject is intended, it must
be imparted by representing the fund of strength as

greatly exceeding the emotion drawing upon it.
Wherever, on the other hand, the sublimity of
a powerful feeling, transiently overcoming natural
weakness, is intended, it must be by giving feeble
ness to the temperament, and force to the particular
expression, — by depicting force of emotion beyond
the pitch of power.
Habitual tenderness of character must be deli
neated on the basis of a flexible temperament ; but
when a strong appeal is to be given to the heart,
then the tone of temperament must be strong, with
sudden relaxation of touched feeling.
It is greatly to be desired that the principles of
sculpture were always more assiduously studied by
painters. Painting, because of the peculiar facilities
it possesses, has always a tendency to represent that
action and play of countenance which is the natural
utterance of particular emotion ; and, consequently, it
insensibly neglects the study of temperament, which
can nevertheless alone give it emphasis. Sculpture, on
the other hand, entrenches itself in the calm , grand ,
fundamental lines, and copious power of habitual
expression, neither assisted by colour, nor, for the
most part, by accessory figures. The forms must be
true and correct ; they cannot so well represent an
action as show what the individual himself would be
in any action. In a word, the eye being undis
24
tracted by many figures, the habitual scope of cha

racter must be given, and not transient action or
emotion. Thus the grand lines of expression are
studied.
Hence sculpture is the true corrective of painting,
nor can painting ever retain dignity or grandeur of
radical expression where the study of sculpture is
neglected.
On the same principles it will be found that the
perfection of social manners consists in the habitual
expression of the just union of active and passive tem
peraments, which is equally calculated for cheerful
activity and for tender feeling. To this should be
superadded aa varied and slight strengthening of par
ticular expressions well blending with the ground of.
the native temperament, and with each other. The
whole should be harmonised and softened by that
modification which quick social sympathy and consi
deration for others spreads over the character, and
which prevents our own particular feelings from as
suming an obtrusive glare, or harsh discordance ; for
man is aa social animal, and he who wants social feel
ing wants one of the virtues of humanity.
No manners can be good where the temperament
is constrained, or where its utterance is falsely given.
In characters where the active or passive tempera
ments alone exist, the utmost pains should be taken
to counteract their undue influence by the cultivation
of opposing faculties. There is ever needed the

mutual play and counteracting power of an active and
passive temperament.. No manners can be pleasing
where the excited expressions, instead of blending
and growing out of and melting into the tempera
ment, rudely cut against it, and follow in harsh, crude
unmodified succession, because as man is by eminence
a spiritual and rational creature, so he who shows
harsh impulse unmodified by the habitual scope of
character, or fails in exhibiting these superior facul
ties, fails in one end of his being, because destitute
of the distinguishing characteristic of man.
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE COMBINATIONS OF THE TEMPERAMENTS .
We will now make a few observations on the combi

nations of temperaments. As all the temperaments, if
united in one person, would embrace the whole range
of human nature, so the most perfect combinations of
temperaments are those which afford the most copious
variety of powers, and those again are the least
perfect which afford the least variety. The obser
vation, too, of temperaments as a science is not only
pleasing as affording copious sources, and well
defined rules of beautiful, rich, and varied expression
in painting, but it is also very useful in directing us
in the choice of our friendships, and in the conduct
of real life. It is, in fact, the operation of the laws of
accordance between temperaments that so often gives
birth to the observation that in friendship, as in
music, there must be harmonic accordance rather
than repetition of unisons.
In truth , the foundation of all unions lies in the
peculiar wants, and the mutual capacities for supply
ing those wants, existing in different persons.
We have observed that where all the tempera

ments are united in the same character, which
indeed very rarely happens, there is included the
whole round of human activity, and in the very
few instances in which we have seen it, such
persons have been distinguished by very remarkable
independence.
But in general it is not so. It usually happens
that one temperament is prevalent, with a tincture
of one or two others possessed subordinately ; or that
two are strongly developed.
Now, then, whatever temperament a man wants,
or, in other words, whatever power he wants, that
he has a tendency to seek for in others. So that if
we look at the happiest marriages and friendships,
we shall always see them amongst persons whose tem
peraments are so crossed as between them to include
the whole range of human character. If, for example,
a person be Melancholic- choleric, his friend ought to
be Sanguine -phlegmatic, for he will want the calm
ness of the other to tranquillise and strengthen, and
his cheerfulness to enliven him. The Phlegmatic, on
the contrary, will seek the sensibility of the Melan
cholic to warm , and the energy of the Choleric to
rouse him.
Perhaps, too, some of the happiest marriages and
friendships are amongst persons whose subordinate
temperament agrees, whilst their ruling ones are
opposed. Thus a person who is Phlegmatic-sanguine

will easily accord with a person who is Melancholic
sanguine. The power of cheerfulness will give
them a point of union, whilst the strength of the
Phlegmatic will support and shield the weakness and
sensitiveness of the Melancholic, and the imagin
ation and feeling of the Melancholic will warm the
cool Phlegmatic.
Hence all persons, in forming friendships, should
remember that, if they fix their choice on those who
have only active or only passive temperaments, they
must prepare to find the one destitute of sympa
thetic feeling, and the other destitute of active power.
They should also begin by examining their own tem
peraments, and forming a just idea of their own
powers and deficiencies. Nor can they too much
remember, that however circumstances may unite
persons for a time, that friendship which has a real
foundation in nature, and which, therefore, alone
can give reasonable expectation of permanence, must
be sought for amongst persons possessing a tempera
ment opposite to their own ; that is, they must afford
not merely a reduplication of what we already have,
but a sufficiency of what we want. Any other union
may indeed be as a temporary diffusion, but can never
prove a chemical mixture.
It were in vain to attempt to describe every
different shade produced by different mixtures of
the temperaments, their proportions and degrees of

intensity, yet it may assist the reader to lay down
some general observations.
It will appear from what has been already said,
that the Choleric is the great or strong active tem
perament ; and the Phlegmatic the strong enduring
temperament, and where these two unite, the utmost
active and resisting force subsists. A person pos
sessing this combination would be calm in planning,
powerful in executing, equally cool, tenacious, reso
lute, and undaunted in the prosecution of his plans, of
too little sensibility to be deterred or even to be easily
moved. Such a character, and such a temperament,
will be recognised, mixed with a tinge of Sanguine,
in the best portraits of Oliver Cromwell. However
true it is that the sprightliness of the Sanguine,
or the sensibility of the Melancholic, must enter into
the composition of the most amiable and engaging
characters, yet there can be no grandeur, boldness of
relief, vastness, or force, without an admixture either
of the Choleric or of the Phlegmatic. They are to cha
racter what the diapasons are to an organ. We have
many sweet and lovely fancy stops which are more
delicate than they, but without them there is no body
of tone, no substance, no ſulness. There is no power
ful energy, no overwhelming, ponderous, active force
without the Choleric ; nor is there any vast, calm,
enduring grandeur without the Phlegmatic.
1
The head of Bonaparte, and the head of Arnauld ,

in Perrault's collection , are two of the finest ex
amples of Choleric heads. It will immediately be
seen that these two persons excelled in active, but
not in tranquil or enduring strength. In Chamber
layne's collection of the Holbein portraits, we refer
to that of Holbein himself, and to that of Arch
bishop Warham , for two striking examples of Phleg
matic heads. No one would doubt that these
persons possessed the most immoveable sang froid,
or passive strength, while it would be impossible
to attribute to them the activity, force, and enter
prise of the two former.
The utmost strength, both passive and active, is
given by the union of both these temperaments, as is
seen in the statue of the Farnesian Hercules, the head
of Oliver Cromwell, and that of Luther. In these
figures the latitude and broadness of feature and
figure mark the phlegm, and the degree of muscular
constriction, pronounced outline, and general preva
lence of right or convex lines, mark the tempera
ment, independently of the complexion and hair.
There is also a head in the second volume of
Lavater, which is there called a portrait of Sir
Thomas More, though it has no likeness either to
that in Holbein's collection, or to that given by
Henry Holland in his “ Heroologia.” However this
may be, that head, as there represented, is one of the
most perfect specimens of the Phlegmatic-Choleric.

If these heads be examined, and contrasted with
the fine heads of Melancthon , Fénélon, and Lavater,
the difference of temperaments will immediately
appear. All these heads exhibit different propor
tions of the Sanguine-Melancholic. No one can
doubt which of the temperaments are those of
strength, and which are those of delicate percep
tion, feeling, and refinement. The Melancholic, as
has been said, is the deep and acutely feeling tem
perament, and the Sanguine the quickly perceptive
one.
Consequently, where these two subsist toge
ther, the utmost acuteness of feeling and delicacy of
perception co-exist. Such persons are vividly sensi
tive, capable of the utmost delicacy, refinement, and
tenderness, often cheerful and gay, yet pensive, of
tender spirits, and exquisitely susceptible of pathos.
Such are the distinguishing characteristics of the
union of these temperaments. We refer to the
portraits above-mentioned , and to the biographies of
the individuals, as a proof of this position.
And however the Choleric or the Phlegmatic may
impart strength, there can be no sensibility, tender
ness, or delicacy,, — no flexibility and gentle shades of
feeling, - without either the Melancholic or the San
guine. There is no deep and acute sensibility with
out the Melancholic ; there is no quick perception
and activity without the Sanguine .
Where, then, a strong active and a strong passive

temperament meet, the character has the most
power and least delicacy. Where the light active,
and light passive temperament meet, it has least
power, but infinitely most delicacy. Where the two
active temperaments meet, there is the least rest and
the least calmness.
Hence, the first set, with various modifications, are
most favourable to the Sublime style of Beauty ;
the second set to the Beautiful; and the last to
the Sprightly.
Where there is no passive temperament, the
countenance has no susceptibility of expressing
quietness, contemplation, or rest, as in the counte
nance of Arnauld , which is Choleric ; in that of John
Wesley, which is Sanguine -Choleric ; and in that of
Bossuet, which is Choleric- Sanguine.
Where there is no active temperament, the coun
tenance has no capacity of expressing energy , power,
or activity, as in the head of Fisher, Bishop of
Rochester, in Holbein's collectionl ; or in that of
Warham , mentioned above.
A very good mixture is formed by crossing a
strong temperament of an active sort with a weak
passive one, and vice versa. Such countenances have
neither the full strength of the union of the strong,
nor the full refinement of the two weaker tempera
ments ; but they have, perhaps, the most desirable
union of mitigated delicacy and strength. Such are

the Phlegmatic-Sanguine, or the Sanguine-Phleg .
matic, the Choleric -Melancholic, or the Melancholic
Choleric.
In describing temperament, it will be observed,
that that which is the radical one is put first, and
the accessory after ; so that, though a Melancholic
Sanguine and a Sanguine-Melancholic have the
same temperaments, yet their proportions are dif
ferent, — the first being radically most Melancholic,
and the latter radically most Sanguine.
The temperaments, as has been seen, give great
variety to character by their combination, as each
one is susceptible of existing in a simple state, and of
being found in combination with each or all of the
cthers.
A A
1
CHAPTER VIII.
EXAMPLES OF THE SANGUINE IN ITS DIFFERENT
COMBINATIONS.
We shall select a few specimens of each tempera

ment in its most simple combinations, that we
may more fully illustrate what is meant, and also
give some aid in the practical discrimination of
the temperaments when seen in various combina
tions. Our references shall all be taken from en
gravings generally well known, and which, if not all
in the possession of each of our readers, may yet
be easily met with. We begin with different combi
nations of the Sanguine.
The first combination of this temperament we shall
mention is the Sanguine-Choleric. As examples, see
the prints and busts of John Wesley, and the portraits
of Henry the Fourth of France, as given in Lavater.
We shall also mention the pictures, busts, and statues
of Francis the First, especially the statue placed on
>
his tomb in “ Les Monuments Français.” Of these

heads, John Wesley's has the greatest mixture of
Choleric, and Francis the First's the greatest pro
portion of Sanguine.
‫ای‬
1
1
1
!
It is not our object to anticipate here remarks

which belong not to temperament but to particular
expression ; or we should direct the reader's atten
tion to the sharpened constriction of the contour
of the eyebrow, eye, and point of the nose, and to
the restricted outline of the cheeks and mouth of the
reformer, exhibiting at once his intellectual self
denying and ascetic habits as having been most
exercised . Contrast with them the comparatively
unexercised upper part of the face in the two kings,
1 and the shagginess of eye-brow, unconstrained fleshi
ness of the mouth and cheeks, which mark the
habitual irascibility, and the habits of luxury in
which they had indulged. Queen Elizabeth also, as
seen in most of her original portraits, affords an ex
ample of the oval outlines and the red hair of the
Sanguine, united with the muscular constriction and
strongly angularised features of the Choleric. Queen
Elizabeth's eyes, too, are represented of that red
brown, which, united with red hair, marks the
strongest degree of choler in a sanguine tempera
ment. Accordingly we find in her character the
harshness, boldness, resolution, enterprise, and vio
lence of the Choleric, with the liveliness, quickness,
love of amusement, and constant petty activity, and
perception of little things peculiar to the Sanguine.
We recognise in her double temperament the woman
who harangued her soldiers when threatened by the
A A 2
356 OF TEMPERAMEN .
TS
Spanish invasion , who nobly forgave Sparke, the

conspirator against her life, but who struck the
Earl of Essex, and who was vain of her personal
beauty and accomplishments. We may well be
lieve that it must have been from the union of
these two temperaments that she delighted in her
band of twelve trumpets and kettle-drums, after
entertaining herself with whipping a blinded bear
to death. We do not find, either in this queen's
countenance or in her character, any traces of the
feeling and tenderness of the Melancholic nor of the
tranquillity and serenity of the Phlegmatic.
The next combination of the Sanguine is that with
the Melancholic. Here we have the combination of
one active and one passive temperament. It has
been observed that as they are the least strong of the
temperaments but the most delicate, so their combi
nation is in a very peculiar manner, susceptible of
tenderness, sensibility, taste, and refinement. We
cannot find better examples than those referred to
before ; the heads of Fénélon, of Fletcher, that of
Madame Guyon prefixed to her works, that of
Lavater, and that of Melancthon. All these ex
press the light activity of the one temperament with
the tender sensibility of the other. The sanguine
temperament is recognisable in all by the ovolinear
outline, lengthy form , flexible neck, and narrow
shoulders. In the heads of Lavater and Fletcher it
is also marked by the hair, eyes, and complexion.

The melancholic temperament is recognisable in all
these heads, by the deep concavities, the tender soft
ness of the eye, and a sort of softening relaxation of
muscle in the countenance. In Fénélon it is marked
by decidedly brown hair, and the sallow complexion.
In Melancthon , the hair, eyes, and complexion par
take of both temperaments. Although the above
instances of this temperament which we have selected
are those of religious persons, it is not to be con
cluded that this temperament necessarily supposes a
religious character. The same capacity of tender me
lancholy combined with cheerfulness may exist unac
companied by religion. The reader will immediately
perceive that none of these countenances or characters
can possibly have the unmoved sang froid of the
Phlegmatic, nor again the ponderous overwhelming
force of the Choleric, but that the character both of
their heart and of their genius is cheerfulness and
gaiety, mixed with the tender pathos of sensibility and
sweetness. All this class of persons may be con
sidered as having in character that which is peculiarly
susceptible of forming endearing manners and of
-
exciting affection - a power equally of being cheerful

companions and affectionate and tenderly sympa
thising friends.
In the print of the English poet Cowper, we see
this mixture of temperament united, with a strong
A A 3
mixture of choleric outline, giving sharpness, pro

nunciation, and abruptness to the contour ; and the
closeness of the eyes shows at once an irritable and
feeble temperament. If the countenance of Cowper
and the character of his writings be compared with
those of Lavater and Fénélon , the exact difference of
temperament will be perceptible. With the tender
melancholy united to chastened cheerfulness which
characterises the former, we shall find in Cowper a
dash of the bold and powerful sarcasm , roughness, and
force given by a tinge of the Choleric.
The countenance of Mary Queen of Scots is also
a beautiful specimen of the Sanguine-melancholic;
and if we examine the traits of her character which
are left upon record, we shall see that her taste for
amusement, her love for a polished exterior, her
sprightly manners, her susceptibility of heart, as seen
in her pathetic farewell to France, and afterwards to
Melville and her faithful servants, exhibited that
combination of gaiety and tenderness, which gives
reason to imagine her portrait to be faithful.
The last combination of this temperament I shall
consider, is the Sanguine- phlegmatic.
We refer for examples to the head of Tillemont
in Perrault, and to Lavater, vol. II., pp. 24, 25, 27,
and 278. The Sanguine temperament is recog
nisable in all these heads by the oval- convexity of
outline, without angularity of form or constriction of
muscle, and by the various shades of red and pink in

the hair and complexion ; the Phlegmatic is obvious
in the wide, open eye, the truncated obtuseness of
feature and muscle, the preponderance of jaw, the
dull grayness of the eye, the tinge of yellow in the
hair, and the white sodden complexion. We see
none of the deep concavities of form , or tenderness
of character of the Melancholic, and none of the
constriction of form , or fire and energy of the Cho
leric ; but all shows the constant activity of the San
guine, its tendency to external observation, and the
orderly, steady plodding and coldness of the Phleg
matic. Hence in persons of constant industrious ac
tivity, without much sensibility, we often find exten
sive information, orderly arrangement, and unwearied
research and punctuality. Such particularly excel
in methodical details ; little roused by the spirit of a
thing, they attach themselves to the letter ; they are
industrious in collecting facts, cool and accurate in
relating them , and fond of that systematic arrange
ment which presupposes activity with order. It is
needless to say that such in an eminent degree was
the character of Tillemont, whose immense erudition
and accuracy ofdetail are exhibited in his histories of
the Roman emperors, and of the first five centuries of
the Church, which present in an unbroken and digested
tissue, a literal translation of almost every passage on
the subject from the original authors. With a slight
A A4
mixture of the Choleric added, this was also the tem

perament of the late Dr. Withering, the well known
botanist. We leave it to the reader to judge how far
these observations applied to the character of his
genius. The choleric tinge is recognised in Dr.
Withering by the greater constriction of muscles,
and sharper angularity of outline and of eye: the
Phlegmatic is chiefly recognised in the mouth, jaw,
and lips.
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Cuón
Un cag-
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72
:
CHAPTER IX.
EXAMPLES OF THE CHOLERIC IN ITS DIFFERENT

COMBINATIONS,
WE proceed to consider the combinations of the

Choleric temperament.
The first combination is the Choleric-sanguine.
The reader is referred to the portrait of Frederic of
Prussia, in the second volume of Lavater, and to the
best prints of John Calvin .
The choleric temperament in the King of Prussia
is recognisable by the right- lined features, flashing
eye, sharp, definite, edgy contour, constricted muscles,
and dark hair and complexion. The Sanguine is
recognisable by the salience in the general promi
nence of face, by the acuteness of the forms, by the
activity of the eye , and by the want .of squareness in
the shoulders.
In Calvin, the Choleric is recognisable by the
forcible rigid convexities and right lines of the
features and general constriction. The Sanguine ap
pears in the oval convexity, and want of ponderous
squareness.
These heads have neither the concavities nor the

feeling of the Melancholic, nor have they the thick
bulging form or inertness of the Phlegmatic.
From both these men we may expect unwearied
activity and restlessness, an energy and violence
nothing can quiet or daunt ; - an energy un
modified by calmness, which is ever in vehement
pursuit, and that rudely overthrows without pain
all that stands in its way. Look at the absence
of concavities in these countenances, and at the
strong active power, and it is easy to trace the
expression of the unrelenting severity and unwearied
activity of the Prussian discipline and of the death
of Zieturn, of the fury of the Reformer, the unre
lenting dogmas of reprobation, and the death of
Servetus. Look at the salient sharp outline of the
King, and at the oval outline of Calvin ; it is easy to
trace the source of the wit, the liveliness, the literary
taste, the politeness and superficiality in the reflecting
powers, which formed the royal philosopher of Sans
Souci, and to detect the source of his fondness for
French manners and literature. Calvin, we are told,
was witty, agreeable, and polite, in the same manner.
That is to say, both were susceptible of that part of
politeness which depends not on a feeling heart,
but on quick perception , ever alive to external cir
cumstances and to minute details of propriety and
activity, with the desire to oblige.
Were general reflections just, we should say that

this is that style of politeness, which the French in
so eminent a degree possess, the polish and sparkling
of a hard substance, not the flexibility of a soft one.
These characters are often eminently excellent when
placed in great circumstances. They acquire, when
well directed, popularity by their companionable
entertaining powers, and in action they are able to
bring to bear on great points, and to sacrifice with
ease minor sympathies, which would deter others dif
ferently organised.
It is said that there is no perfect likeness of Charles
XII. extant, but that the one usually exhibited
is a picture taken from a hasty, but characteristic
pencil sketch of one of his officers. However this
may be, his countenance as represented in the picture
at Oxford exhibits the same temperament fundamen
tally, only with considerably less of the Choleric and
much of the Phlegmatic. In this head the Sanguine
is recognisable in the salient form , the hair, and
complexion ; the Choleric in the perpendicularity of
attitude, rectilinear lines, and muscular constriction ;
and the Phlegmatic in the open eye and jaw. Ima
gine perfect coldness added to the constituents of the
King of Prussia and Calvin , and we have not only the
man who defended himself at Bender, but him who
heeded not the bursting of the bomb, who turned from
the Countess of Königsmark, who tortured Patkul,
and who stepped over the yet breathing remains of

his faithful friend, Grothusen .
The character and countenance of William III. of
England, is also Choleric -sanguine, with a great por
tion of Phlegmatic. William is esteemed by some a
great king and a good man . The character shown in
his temperament, no doubt, rendered it easy to him to
unite active valour, energy, and decision with a cold
>
ness and ambition, which led him without compunc

tion to ascend the abdicated throne of his father - in
law, and enabled him to hear unmoved of the horrid
massacre of Glencoe. In short, his choleric-sanguine
phlegmatic temperament conduced to that union of
energy of action, activity of spirits, and coldness
of heart, which constituted his character.
It will be observed that this combination that of
the two active temperaments — renders the character,
as seen in the King of Prussia and in Calvin, unsuscep
tible of much tenderness, or of much tranquillity.
Its excellency lies in business, and in the external
world. The reader is requested to compare this set
of examples with those of the Sanguine-choleric,
given in the preceding pages. He will see the tem
peraments are the same, but their proportions differ
ent, so that the liveliness of the Sanguine predomi
nates most in the former, and the violence of the
Choleric in the latter.
The next combination of the Choleric is with the
Phlegmatic. For examples we refer to the heads

of Kauffmann, in the second volume of Lavater ; to
that of the great Mr. Pitt ; to that of Philip II.
of Spain ; to that of General Washington ; and to
that of Luther. The choleric temperament in all
these heads appears in the perpendicular attitudes,
the right- lined features, and forcible muscular con
striction ; the phlegm, in the bulging outline about
the mouth . In the first heads, choler is the most
prevalent, as may be seen by the narrow perpen
dicularity of form ; in the latter, the breadth of
base indicates a greater proportion of phlegm. Ac
cordingly all these heads indicate in different propor
tions, a mixture of energy, activity, determination,
and perseverance running into obstinacy. None of
them can be expected to possess susceptible or senti
mental hearts, or to have the light, elastic cheerfulness
exhibited by persons of the sanguine temperament.
On the contrary, if we contemplate the upright
choleric forms of Kauffmann and Philip II., we shall
see coldness, with a mixture of unwearied and perti
nacious activity, violence, caprice with inflexible
pride, and obstinacy : -a disposition absolutely im
penetrable to external impressions, and pertinaciously
bent on objects of self-will.
No one would expect cheerful gaiety from these
men,, and still less flexible sensibility of heart.
In Washington , Luther, and the politician , the
phlegm preponderates. Hence, here is more calmness,

less caprice, less sudden paroxysm of passion, but the
same radical energy, with invincible decision and
strength.
The head of Dr. Colet, as given in the folio edition
of Holbein's heads, exhibits a degree of Choleric
phlegmatic, with a dash of the Sanguine.
The third combination of the Choleric is with the
melancholic temperament. A finer example of this
combination can , perhaps, not well be given than
that of Napoleon Bonaparte . The right lines,
convex forms, well pronounced angles, and muscular
constriction show the energy and rapidity of the
Choleric. Its deep concavities, sallow complexion,
and dark hair, exhibit the Melancholic and its ca
pacities of strong sensibility, but it also shows
that when warped, there would be selfishness,
and a suspicion which can repose on no man.
Such a countenance, ill or well directed, exhibits
a character which can flask with fearful severity,
enwrap itself in impenetrable obscurity , or beam
with radiant benevolence, courtesy, and sympathetic
benignity.
Such persons have a harsh and violent, and a soft
and feeling side. Often they enwrap themselves in the
first to defend the second, and often they employ the
first only to give animation and spirit to the expres
sion of sensibility. Such a person might become the
most suspicious and harshest of tyrants, or the kindest

and most active of friends.
Compare this head of Bonaparte with the Phleg
matic-sanguine countenance of Alexander of Russia.
How different the sanguine, light temperament and
complexion, comporting with the taste for cheerful
active amusement and pleasure in the Russian, from
the deep sallow of the melancholic, delving, solitary ,
tastes of the Corsican ! And how different the
phlegmatic, obtuse contour, and easy disposition
of the one, from the convex, choleric contour, and
unceasing energy of the other ! How great is the
difference in the expression of active power of the
two heads, and how great the difference in the calm
ness and irritability of the two characters !
The best likenesses of Milton are all Choleric -san
guine, with the slightest tinge of phlegm . Accord
ingly, the natural style of his poetry is a powerful,
lofty energy and sublimity ; often sprightly, often
calm, serene, and vast, but rarely, if ever, lapsing
into soft, tender sentiment. If we consider his cho
leric-phlegmatic temperament, we shall neither be
surprised at the force and grandeur exhibited in his
writings, nor yet at the want of suavity and comfort
in his domestic life.
If Milton's head be compared with the sanguine
countenance of Prior, and with the head of Cowper,
surely the differences of their poetry, and its coinci
dence in each instance with the temperament, will

appear very striking. Again, let us compare the
head of Milton with that which passes for Homer's,
probably, however, on no good authority. Here it
will be obvious that the ruling temperament is alto
gether choleric ; and the very concavities are accom
panied by so strong a degree of muscular tension that
there is but little of the melancholic, and none of the
phlegmatic.
Accordingly we find the natural style of Homer
to be altogether the Active-sublime, nor is there the
least degree of that tranquillity and serenity which
gives Milton the Passive-sublime character. And
we find that when Homer leaves the Active-sub
lime, which indeed is not often, he becomes pathetic,
as in the beautiful and touching passage of Helen
viewing the Grecian army and in vain seeking
Castor and Pollux, and in the parting of Hector and
Andromache.
1
&
a rt
he
Mean
SC-hol
un Mla ncholia
S- ing
CHAPTER X.
EXAMPLES OF THE MELANCHOLIC IN ITS DIFFERENT

COMBINATIONS .
We now proceed to observe upon the various combi

nations exhibited by the Melancholic temperament.
The first combination of which we shall speak is the
Melancholic -sanguine.
We refer to the head of Dr. Doddridge , prefixed to
his works, and also to that of Sir John Godsalve
in the Holbein collection. The former may be
considered as exhibiting these temperaments under
their most amiable form ; the latter exhibits the same
temperaments ill directed. The Melancholic of both
will appear from the long concavity of the features,
from the length and weakness of the jaw , and flatness
of the cheek -bone ; the sanguine mixture appears
in the mitigation of the other extreme marks of
the Melancholic, and the mixture of pink in the com
plexion , and of red in the hair. Decisively neither of
these heads has the convex forms, constriction, or
energy of the Choleric, nor the short, broad latitude
of feature and apathetic calmness of the Phlegmatic.
в в
Both characters are destitute of force and body, are

timid and feeble, are susceptible from the mixture of
the Melancholic of being occasionally fractious and
peevish, and from their Sanguine of quickness or hasti
ness. Neither will have the frenzy of ungovernable
fury, nor the cold frigidity of obdurate apathy and in
sensibility. In Dr. Doddridge, whose intellectual and
spiritual endowments were highly cultivated, we see
all the pleasing parts of these temperaments habitu
ally brought into exercise. We also see traces of the
sensibility, kindness, attachment, gentleness, and
humility, which distinguished him, mixed with gentle
activity, and some tone of popularity ; whilst in Sir
John Godsalve we see the habitual action of the mis
anthropy, suspicion, selfishness, and doubt, which we ,
have described as the bad or the perverted state of
the Melancholic.
If these melancholic -sanguine portraits be com
pared with the sanguine-melancholic ones mentioned
before, the reader will see the timidity and sensibility
much increased, and the expression of activity and
liveliness considerably diminished.
The head of Dante is a good exemplification of the
melancholic temperament united with choler. The
Melancholic is visible in the general length of face and
jaw, the concavity of its plane, and the want of con
striction of muscle; the choler appears in the barsh
convexity of features, the deep furrów between the
brows, and forcible pronunciation of the mouth, eye,

and brow, and a sort of hardness of set in the features,
which even its melancholic basis does not soften .
After looking at his portrait whoever reads tempera
ment will not be astonished at the mixture of power,
sublimity, violence, and gloom, which reigns in the
works of this celebrated poet.
As aa beautiful specimen of the Melancholic with a
mixture of choler, the reader may refer to the head of
Sir Thomas More, in the Holbein collection. Here
the deep concavities between the features show the
melancholic, and the constriction of muscle, especially
about the eyes and eyebrows, denote the degree of
choler mingled with it.
The head of Erasmus, according to the original by
Holbein , and also that of his portrait at Oxford, as
well as the prints in Lavater, are all eminently
melancholic, with a mixture of sanguine. The Me
lancholic will be seen in the gently hollowed forms;
the Sanguine in the salience of the features. Here
is none of the forcible energy of the Choleric, none of
the calm stability of the Phlegmatic ; but much of the
timidity, doubt, circumspection, and sensibility of the
Melancholic, with the quickness, acuteness, and love
of amusement of the Sanguine. We refer to his
biography and to his works in proof of the accordance
of his character with his temperament. The statue
of Erasmus erected at Rotterdam, appropriate as it is
B B 2
1
to its locality, and beautiful as a work of art, is yet

deficient in truth of temperament. The features have
all the breadth of base, and much of the obtuseness
of the Phlegmatic ; hence the impression it gives of
perfect serenity, without any of the penetration and
delicacy which was the peculiar character of his
genius.
Let us compare the heads under the combination
of the Choleric -melancholic with those just given
under the Melancholic -choleric. Let us, for exam
ple, compare the busts and the genius of Dante with
those of Homer. In the countenance and in the
genius of the first the Melancholic is the most preva
lent, and in those of the second, choler. Compare these
poets with Milton, who with choler united a degree of
phlegm , and whose genius superadded to both theirs
a degree of calm elevated sublimity, which is not ex
hibited either in the Grecian or the Italian . Dante
and Homer may both rank very high in the Active
sublime ; Milton, in addition, possesses the Passive
sublime in the highest degree.
The third and last combination of the Melancholic
is the Melancholic-phlegmatic. As an example we
shall adduce the beautiful head of Fisher, Bishop of
Rochester, as given in Holbein's heads, folio edition,
and likewise in Birche's collection. The Melancholic
is perceptible in the deep concavities, the phlegm
in the breadth of the plane of the face, width of
을
feature, and in the want of the constriction of the

Choleric or salience of the Sanguine. Remarkable,
consequently, is the expression of sensibility, deli
cacy , and calm serenity which pervades this most
beautiful head . The Melancholic gives sensibility
and delicacy, and corrects the obtuseness and apathy
of the unqualified Phlegmatic, and the Phlegmatic
gives serenity, calmness, and dignity to the weak
ness and depression of the Melancholic.
The head of Cruden , the author of the Concordance,
is a striking example, exhibiting the deep sensibility
of the Melancholic with the active industry and labo
rious and detailed perseverance of the Sanguine
phlegmatic. His earnest anxiety for the salvation of
others, and even the visionary means of accomplish
ing it, suggested by his feeling heart but disordered
imagination, will long be remembered with the ten
der respect due to his motives ; and his laborious
Concordance not only gives him aa claim to the grati
tude of every Christian heart, but will ever remain a
monument to the truth of the portrait with which it
is prefixed. The reader is requested to compare the
countenance of Cruden with that of Tillemont. The
head of Tillemont is sanguine-phlegmatic, that of
Cruden melancholic-sanguine-phlegmatic. The dif
ference of expression will be sensibly felt. Both
express calmness, serenity, and laborious activity ;
both are wholly without the forcible energy of
в в 3
the Choleric ; but how much more feeling and

warmth is there in the head of Cruden than in
that of Tillemont !
As a very fine example of the Melancholic, we
refer to the excellent print of Mr. Watt of Heath
field . Contrast this print with that of the Duke of
Wellington, the deep, hollowed, long, melancholic
contour of the one, with the forcible, spirited, choleric
sanguine outline of the other. What depth of re
flection and acuteness of sensibility, timidity, and
caution in the one, what force of action, violent
energy , unwearied activity in the other ! What
capacity of force in general views, what celerity and
precision in details ! Say to a child, a servant, a
boor,— one of these heads represents a deep thinker,
the other an illustrious hero ; the one a person of
caution, the other a man of bravery ; the one will
heal your wounds by sympathy, the other will avenge
your wrongs by force : we do not believe there is
one person who would hesitate to determine which
is the man whose arm has waged successful war
with the enemies of his country, and he whose
pacific and beneficent genius has facilitated its com
merce and improved its manufactures. With these
two heads, compare the excellent print of Mr.
Boulton. Its broad, phlegmatic basis, and its convex,
sanguine outline, with a slight mixture of choleric,
ord a medium of activity and calmness. Whilst
the head of the Duke of Wellington and that of Mr.

Watt are at total variance, and with no possible point
of assimilation, that of Mr. Boulton offers аa mixture
of sanguine activity and calmness, which might
equally qualify for attentive thought and for the rapid
execution of details. Were two persons of similar
physiognomies to Messrs. Boulton and Watt ever
associated in any enterprise, we may suppose that
the one like Mr. Watt would think profoundly, would
contrive and reflect in solitude, and the other like
Mr. Boulton would bring the result forth in actual
execution, set it afloat, and make it popular in general
society, and give importance to it by those manners
at once calmly magnificent and cheerfully popular,
which would emanate from the combination of the
gay, social, sanguine, and the calm, self-possessed
phlegmatic temperaments.
в в 4
CHAPTER XI.
EXAMPLES OF THE PHLEGMATIC AND ITS DIFFERENT

COMBINATIONS.
It now only remains to consider the various com

binations of the Phlegmatic temperament.
The first combination of this temperament is the
Phlegmatic-sanguine.
We can scarcely select two finer examples of this
combination than the heads of Catharine II. of
Russia, and her grandson the Emperor Alexander.
The phlegmatic temperament is recognisable in these
heads by the flatness of the face, obtuseness and
fleshiness and short concavity of feature, and the
width of jaw , and by the whiteness of the skin and
>
yellow flaxen tint with which the high red pink of

the sanguine is diluted. The Sanguine is recognis
able by the bright pink which gives bloom to the
otherwise colourless complexion of the Phlegmatic,
and by the liveliness of the eye.
Accordingly we see in both these heads the ex
pression of calmness, quietness, and strength, with
a sanguine openness to activity, cheerfulness, and
pleasure.
In neither do we see the morbid sensibilities and
visionary exaltation of imagination, or nervous timi
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1
1
dity of the Melancholic, nor do we see the over

whelming force and sudden terrific explosions of
the Choleric ; but all is steady, easy,, tranquil,
cheerful. Persons of this temperament seem na
turally formed for amiable social characters. They
have not the acute sensibility which is easily hurt,
nor the violent energies which make them run
counter to others, but they are cheerful companions
and steady tranquil friends ; and if they do not ex
cite the strong sympathies of the Melancholic, and
have not energy to enter the bold and lofty career of
the Choleric, they at least produce an uniformly
agreeable impression on others.
It may be curious, perhaps, to the reader to
compare the heads of Alexander of Russia and
Henry IV. of France ; —- both monarchs, both
generals, and both famed for their grandeur and
generosity, and for a magnanimity which eclipsed
the very lustre of their success. On comparison
it will appear that the temperament of Henry
was sanguine-choleric, that of Alexander, phleg
matic-sanguine . What a totally distinct character
is given to the generosity of the two by this circum
stance ! The observer of countenances will see that
the generosity of Henry must have sprung from
his energy , that of Alexander from his modera
tion. The one could trample upon the feeling of
revenge by the strong coercion of his forcible will ,
the other, tranquil and serene, was unruffled and

unroused by it.
As a phlegmatic head mixed with choler and a
degree of sanguine, the reader is again referred to
that of Cromwell. The phlegm appears in the ro
tundity and squattiness of the features, the choler
in the upright attitude, square shoulders, constricted
muscles and eyebrows, firmly closed mouth and
pronounced features ; and the sanguine in the reddish
tinge of the hair and complexion.
Accordingly, there is in this character a remark
able mixture of vigour with coldness and calmness
in the pursuit of the objects of his desire, and in
their execution a spice of the levity of the san
guine rendered clumsy by the mixture of phlegm,
and harsh by that of choler. We refer the reader
to Noble's account of some of his juvenile pranks,
and to the heartless levity with which he conducted
himself on the signature of the death warrant of the
unfortunate Charles.
The Welsh countenance often exhibits a very
strong mixture of phlegm and choler, not unfre
quently accompanied by a degree of the Sanguine.
Accordingly, in the Welsh character there is a great
degree of determined, immovable obstinacy and
anger. There are two excellent heads of this de
scription in the Holbein collection. That of Thomas
Parrie is Phlegmatic - choleric, that of Sir Philip
Hobby, is Phlegmatic-choleric-sanguine.
The reader is requested to compare these inflexibly

hard, and active, phlegmatic-choleric heads, with the
beautiful portrait of Philip de Champagne painted
by himself, in the Louvre collection, engraved by
Edelinck, and with the equally beautiful one of
Bishop Lowth, given in the collection of British
portraits.
The heads of both these excellent men exhibit a
fund of phlegm and calmness, corrected by the deep
sensibility and tenderness of the Melancholic. To
this, Champagne adds the force and energy of the
Choleric, Lowth the cheerfulness of the Sanguine.
What a contrast between the impenetrable hard
ness of the preceding set of heads, and the noble
calmness, but yet tenderness and activity of these !
We scarcely need add that it is, perhaps, impossible
to produce a finer mixture of temperament, than
phlegm with the melancholic, and a little of the
choler or sanguine ; that is, calmness tempered by
energy and sensibility.
As a beautiful example of phlegm and of the melan
a
cholic well directed, we refer the reader to the excel

lent print of M. de Barcos, nephew to the celebrated
Jean du Verger de Hauranne, and his successor as
Abbé de Saint Cyran, and to that of the Mère An
gélique Arnauld, after the drawing by Champagne.
And as a specimen of the very same temperaments
ill directed, the reader may consult the head of Sir
Richard Southwell, in Holbein's collection. There
the phlegm assumes the character of insensibility,

and the melancholic of misanthropy .
The head of William Penn as given in West's
beautiful print, exhibits a mixture of phlegm and
sanguine. It is calm and cheerful.
The head of Holbein’s wife, as given in his col
lection , is a mixture of phlegm , sanguine, and
melancholic.
Archbishop Tillotson's head in Rapin is a beauti
ful specimen of the Phlegmatic-sanguine.
Compare the heads of Penn and Tillotson with
those of Fénélon and Fletcher. How much calm
ness and cheerfulness in the former , how much
sensibility , delicacy, and cheerfulness in the latter !
Enough has now probably been said to give the
reader a clear idea of the Temperaments, and of the
>
style of expression suitable to each . In conclusion,

we heartily ailvise him to test the principles we have
endeavoured to lay down by constant reference, not
only to real life, but to the best portraits of well
known characters: for experience and habit give a
tact and nicety of observation, which is required to
make a knowledge of the Temperaments, as well as
all other knowledge, of practical utility.
THE END OF THE ESSAY ON TEMPERAMENTS .

THOUGHTS ON ARCHITECTURE.
1
1
THOUGHTS ON ARCHITECTURE.
THERE is perhaps no art the progress of which

marks more clearly the degree of civilisation at
tained by any age and nation than that of Archi
tecture .
In art, as in the affairs of daily life, the demand
creates the supply ; first a sense of need is awakened ,
and then the human mind, ever advancing, seeks to
gratify it.
In the wonders that modern discovery has brought
to light in the Etruscan Tombs, in Egypt, in
Nineveh and Babylon, we see traces of the mind,
the habits, the attainments of generations long since
passed away .
We find evidences that — “ They groped out
towards our future, as we grope back towards their
t," and we feel there are bonds which unite all
the families of the earth . Nor is this all. The spirit
of man, responding to “ that Light which lighteth
every man that cometh into the world ," and fed and
384 ON ARCHITECTURE .
nourished by its own appropriate food, finds its

utterance in all ages, in raising edifices for Divine
worship, and we trace the same utterance through
various stages of social progress, in the symbolism
of Solomon's Temple, in the Athenian Altar raised
to the unknown God, in the early Christian Church
roughly woven of branches, raised by our ancestors
amidst the marshes of Glastonbury, and in the highly
wrought pinnacles and solemn aisles of York Minster
or Salisbury Cathedral.
The first rude idea of architecture is to afford a
defence from the elements ; the second, a shelter or
seclusion ; but as society advances, and wants become
multiplied, each building, it is discovered, should
possess the appliances necessary to its peculiar
destination, and so far as it is a matter of taste,
should also bear the impress of its object, while
every part should conspire to raise corresponding
feelings. Thus a castle, a palace, or an abbey, should
each afford shelter from inclement weather, each
should enable its inmates to pursue in their own way
their occupations, apart from external observation,
and each must have appliances fitted for its desti
nation ; the castle with its keeps, and dungeons, and
loopholes ; the palace with its saloons, its audience
chambers, its banqueting and guest-rooms; the abbey
with its oratory, its cells, its chapel, and its altars ;
while the ornaments and decorations of each part
ON ARCHITECTURE . 385
should conspire to give unity of character to the

whole.
Man's works are but thoughts and feelings made
visible by outward signs. Where the signs most
distinctly exhibit the feelings, and each tends to the
unity of all, then is the object attained in the
greatest perfection.
Christian architecture was originally introduced in
this country by Christian Missionaries. Its object
was, in ecclesiastical buildings, to furnish appliances
for the worship of the true God, to afford means for
Christian instruction in its colleges, for a Christian
life in its domestic structure, and for Christian
memorials in its tombs.
These Missionaries came amongst a people in
profound darkness ; printing was not invented, and
few could even read . It was then, they thought,
necessary at first to teach in a language which all
could understand, and Ecclesiastical buildings were
so formed as to enlighten the multitude by presenting
Christian truth under types and symbols. And as the ·
Mosaic law taught by types, as the prophets, nay, as
even our Lord Himself used the material world as a
vast magazine of types, showing forth spiritual truth,
so man could do no better than follow the Divine
model. And as God in revealing His will taught
man by unalterable things, not merely by the
mutable signs of verbal language, so these servants
сс
386 ON ARCHITECTURE.
of God, ingenious in their benevolence, sought to

portray Divine truth by emblems, which might
furnish , as it were, books of Christian instruction
to the people, and in which all who would might
learn.
Hence the typical character of churches, rich
in Christian truth to those who were skilled to
read it. Hence the noble endowments of colleges,
and schools of science and theological learning.
Hence the mansion with its gate -house for abundant
alms, its halls for hospitality, its chapel for devotion.
Hence the tomb architecture, and other mementos
by which our England once declared even to the
casual traveller, “ As for me and my house, we will
serve the Lord .” Hence the texts that adorned the
walls of her houses, her fountains, and her market
places, and the crosses erected alike in the haunts of
business, pleasure, and devotion ; thus scattering the
good seed by the way -side, thus desirous that her
children should ever do all, as sitting at the foot of
the Cross.
Grecian and Gothic Architecture.
Grecian , or rather Pagan, and Christian architec

ture, as they are diametrically opposed to each other
in principle, so they are contrasted by an equal
difference in their manifestation and rules of prac
tice, as well as in the sentiments they are calculated

to excite.
Grecian architecture is essentially Pagan. Its
votaries practised occult rites in darkness. Its tem
ples consisted of a cell to conceal the mysteries,
to which the people had no access ; and they
were surrounded by exterior broad porticos, with
several rows of columns, where the worshippers
might come and go at pleasure, walking up and
down in the cool air, screened from the beams of the
sun, and where the multitude met for every purpose ,
either of amusement or licence. An impenetrable
veil concealed the worship within from the un
initiated people.
Gothic architecture was essentially Christian. It
was instituted by missionaries, in honour of the
one true God of holiness and purity. Christian
worship was then in the light. Her God is love.
The congregation were assembled in brotherhood.
All, in this holy religion, are called to be kings and
priests to God ; all are then invited to partake its
sacrifice. Her rites are holy and unblushing : there
is nothing to conceal. Hence, all are welcomed into
the interior of the Christian sanctuary , for the way
of access is open,, the veil is rent, all are children in
their Father's house. Gothic ecclesiastical edifices
are therefore constructed to invite a willing people
within their walls, for participation in Christian
CC2
mysteries, and to enlighten them by every possible

indication of the God of truth ; making the light
of the Gospel to shine out of darkness, by the
word of instruction to the understanding, by an
endless variety of types and symbols to the imagi
nation, and by a participation in heart-affecting
mysteries to the soul; for the God of the Christians
calls all to be saved, bids all His children to rejoice
in the light of His countenance. He invites all
nations and all peoples freely to enter into His
gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with
praise. Hence, in Christian ecclesiastical edifices,
the interiors are vast, to contain multitudes, the
worshippers are within , instead of without, and the
porticos or colonnades are constructed in the interior,
so as to enclose a larger space than could otherwise
be obtained, and light is admitted by numerous
windows, that all may behold and learn.
Grecian or Pagan temples are constructed with
columns, crossing superincumbent architraves, and
various members not growing out of, or corresponding
with, each other, thus resembling the opposing and
disjointed fallacies of which their various idolatries
are composed.
Churches, or Christian edifices are constructed of
columns united by arches growing out of them , and
interweaving in a vaulted roof above ; every member
being but the development of one and the same
ON ARCHITECTURE. 389
foundation, corresponding with the religion of Him

who is both the foundation and head corner - stone,
the author and finisher of faith, the foundation than
which no other can be laid, the pillar and ground of
truth , the canopy and covert from the heat, the
shelter from the storm .
Pagan architecture presents a general appearance
of horizontal lines running parallel with the earth ,
of which it is born, and above which it cannot rise.
Christian architecture presents a general appear
ance of upright and aspiring lines, growing from
the earth , yet pointing to that heaven to which her
children are invited, thus uniting in one view the
memento of the Divine and human Lord, to whose
honour they are erected.
By the comparative absence of light, Pagan tem
ples symbolised the darkness of their religion.
Christian churches abound in light, and their
windows of stained glass, imitating the various rain
bow tints in the arc of the covenant of peace, are
rich in sacred story, and pour their sunny light
through scripture history, as the beams of the Sun
of righteousness enter the soul through a contem
plation of Scripture truths and narratives.
Pagan temples are adorned with caryatides which
commemorate the slavery of miserable captives, and
with the skulls of sheep and oxen, the blood of
which flowed there .
с с 3
Churches are adorned with images of the blessed 1

angels who rejoice in the redemption of man , of the
semblance of saints of the church triumphant, ofjust
men made perfect who rejoice in the light of God's
countenance in Jerusalem above.
Grecian temples are adorned with images in
tended to exhibit the power of the divinities there
worshipped.
Christian churches are adorned with symbols
which portray yet more the moral character of Him
we serve, to show forth not only His eternal God 1
head, but His wisdom, His love, His longsuffering.

Hence Grecian temples exhibit the statues of
Jupiter launching his thunderbolt, of Minerva with
her shield, of Mars or Bellona with the implements
of war or carnage .
Christian churches exhibit on their façades the
triangle, the type of the Triune God, whose power,
whose wisdom , and whose love, planned and ex
ecuted the redemption of man , and makes it effectual
to each individual heart. They exhibit the Cross,
on which the Creator paid the penalty of His crea
ture ; — the Dove, the symbol of that Spirit of wis 1
dom and love and truth , which is waiting to teach

every individual soul.
On the pediments of Pagan temples are the stories
of battle and of blood, as shown in the friezes of the
Parthenon in the Elgin collection.
Christian churches show forth the Prince and
the Giver of Life, inviting the sons of men to par

take of his flesh and blood, which is Life indeed ,
and which binds in sweet communion with Him and
with each other those who worthily partake of it.
The approaches to Pagan temples are by porticos
of columns richly fluted, in order that the warriors
might rest their spears against them .
In Christian churches we hear of the day when
swords shall be beaten into ploughshares, and spears
into pruning hooks ; and in their approach is seen a
stoup or fountain in which to wash, previously to
entering, bringing to remembrance the words of
Scripture, “ I will wash my hands in innocency : so
>
will I compass thine altar, O Lord . ” In the church
of Saint Sophia at Constantinople the benetory was
encircled by the inscription,
NIYONANOMHMATAMHMONANOYIN,
which reading the same to those who entered , and to
those who left the church , exhorted them to wash not
their faces only, but their hearts also in the living
waters.
The ornaments of Pagan temples commemorated
to their votaries the achievements of blood, the meed
of pride and ambition. The ornaments of Christian
churches, by commemoration , incite to patient en
durance, through divine or brotherly love.
Hence instead of triumphal cars, prancing horses,
CC4
spears ,, swords, and slaughter, we see erected in

every shape, the cross, the type and signal of the
great salvation. It is brought before us in every
variety of meaning, -as
The Cross saltier, which leaps over intervening
obstacles :
The Cross boutonné, which buds :
Fleuré, bearing flowers :
En soleil, exalted , with many others..
And not only the cross is exalted, to bring home
its debt of deep gratitude to the heart, but the
disciple of the cross is encouraged by the mementos 1
of Christian suffering to lay down his life for the 1

Saviour that bought him at so precious a price.
The cable moulding, tells of the cords that bound
the martyrs
The saw tooth, of the instruments with which they
were sawn asunder :
The hatched, of the axes :
The indented , of the iron -worked spikes that tore
them :
The chevron or zig -zag speaks of the chains and
the racks :
The beak -head, the tiger's head , of the figures of
the birds and beasts which devoured them :
And the billet, tells of the fagots piled up to feed
the flames of their martyrdom .
The early Christian Missionaries left these, not
as mere ornaments, but as records on their churches,

and not only as records of what had been done, but as
incitements to endure . 66 If any man take not up his
cross and follow me, he is not worthy of me.”
Pagan temples exhibited on their metopes every
incitement, not only to the irascible, but to the
luxurious natural man. Hence the images of Bac
chantes, with the ivy -twined thyrsi, &c. &c.
The Christian church bore aloft on its heaven
pointing spire the cock, rich in golden light, turnin
with every breath of heaven, and like the cock of
St. Peter, calling men to repentance, in every corner
of the world . And shining aloft, it was to the
believer as a type of continual vigilance, brightly
reminding the saint worn by sorrows and afflictions,
that the night is far spent, the day -break at band,
even that glorious day when the sign of the Son of
Man shall appear in the heavens, when sorrow and
sighing shall flee away, and the days of our mourn
ing shall be ended.
Again, Pagan.architecture is earthly in its prin
ciple, and is therefore stationary.
Christian , is divine in its principle, and is there
fore progressive.
Hence the orders of Grecian architecture sub
sisted at the same time, and were determined and
unalterable.
Christian architecture was progressive from the
development of the principle of vitality within , and

its orders gradually succeeded and grew out of each
other. Consequently,, though each order in its per
fection may be clearly defined , there are yet few large
structures which do not savour of a transition state ;
for it m
- ay be said that Christian art is but the cloth
ing of the Christian feeling which forgets those things
which are behind, and presses forward to those which
are before.
The Christian heart swells with a sense of the
presence of an Eternal Being, to which no words,
no material substance, no type, can worthily give
utterance. All must fail before it ; hence the styles
of Christian architecture were formed progressively,
ever enhancing one upon the other as she became
more able to express what after all must be to
creatures inexpressible.
The gods of the Pagan were the creations of his
own mind ; therefore his portraiture of them could
be made accurately , and at once.
The Christian labours to portray a Being so in
finitely above himself, that from age to age he may
add to his work , but can never adequately attain
his desire. Hence the progressive character of
Gothic architecture is to be regarded not as a defect,
but is the natural result of our God's infinite per
fections, and of the vitality of Christian worship,
amidst its deep weakness and insufficiency.
To recapitulate :
\
Grecian architecture is horizontal ;
Christian - vertical, pointing upwards.
Grecian colonnades are connected by entablatures;
Christian — by arches.
Grecian orders are coexistent ;
Christian — successive.
Grecian temples are without light ;
Christian abound in windows.
Grecian buildings exhibit size by magnifying parts ;

Christian — give size by multiplying parts.
Grecian structures are regular, intended for or
nament ;
Christian - irregular, adapted to use.
Grecian are ornamental, seeking primarily to
gratify the taste ;
Christian, seeking not ornament for its own sake,
but to show forth the types of moral and devout
truth .
Such are some of the contrasts presented by

Grecian and Christian architecture, in their prin
ciples and in their manifestation. And conse
quently how opposite the feelings inspired by the
contemplation of each ! How different the affections
excited by the opposing classes of worshippers, who
have each chosen the appropriate symbols of their
respective religion : the Pagan, of the lion ; the

Christian, of the lamb ; the Pagan, of the eagle, the
Christian , of the dove ; the Pagan , of the laurel or
bay, the Christian, of the Rose of Sharon , or the
lily hidden in its deep valleys, the image of purity,
of humility, and retirement. And whilst the Pagan
gives the meed of admiration to the labours of Phidias,
and those false divinities which crown the temples 1
:
of Athens, as though urging upon men a behest
from above to deeds of rapine and luxury, the Chris
tian contemplates in deep thankfulness the tower
or spire of his temple beaming from afar, bright in
sunbeams, silently pointing to a glorious eternity ;
the dial below , giving its faithful admonition of the
lapse of time; whilst the sound of its bells borne aloft
on the expanse around, calls him to leave the weari
some works of earth , the brick and mortar of Egypt,
and to refresh his soul with draughts of the sweet
waters of life, and renew his strength by waiting on
the Lord.
Thus, as no fountain can rise above its source, but
as the waters, whether of the springs of Helicon,
or of Siloam , will ever find their level, it appears
that in its own nature, Grecian architecture, how
ever tastefully executed, never can touch the higher
or deeper feelings of the soul. It is addressed to
the animal, or at most, to the intellectual life, and
there its highest efforts must stop : it runs parallel
with earth and so far as it can influence, its tendency

is to fix the eye of the worshipper upon earth , or to
stimulate with restless and evil passions.
Christian architecture , on the other hand, possesses
all the appliances of beauty, which can belong to
Grecian. It may include what is beautiful as ad
dressed to the purified animal, or sanctified intellectual
nature ; but its crowning glory is beyond these, it
is addressed to the spiritual part of man. It is
heaven - born ; and its influence leads its worshippers
above the earth, to heavenly affections. Hence
while the most perfect Grecian architecture speaks
only to the animal and intellectual life, the most
imperfect Christian architecture is addressed to the
spiritual life. The most beautiful Grecian building
is but an elegant expression of earthly ideas and feel
ings ; the humblest Christian church is an appeal to
the loftiest objects of the human heart, eternity,
truth , love, and the heavenly inheritance. Whilst
supposing Christian and Pagan architecture to be
equally well executed, it is obvious that the former
is addressed to the three lives in man, the animal,
the intellectual, and spiritual, though eminently to
the highest ; and that the Pagan can comprehend
only the two lower, and has often addressed itself
exclusively to the lowest, the animal.
Hence, in conclusion, may I be allowed to add,
as a Christian, and as an aged one, who has found in
the gospel hope, the sunshine of a long and tried

life ; - shall I be excusable to God, if I do not add ?
—that as principles are nearly connected with tastes,
it does appear to me that the classic Pagan tastes
ought to find a less prominent place in education ,
and that we ought to cultivate that taste which is
the genuine out-pouring of a Christian heart. Happy
the time when England was not ashamed of being
and of seeming Christian, when her flowers, the Star
of Bethlehem , the Passion Flower, Solomon's Seal,
the Speedwell or the Traveller's Joy, marked the
habit of giving to all, even to that which is eva
nescent, pleasant and sweet names , showing that the
spontaneous utterance of the heart, was love to God,
and love to man.
THE END,
LONDON
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CLASSIFIED INDEX
Russell's Memoirs of Moore
Agriculture and Rural Affairs. (Dr.) Life of Mezzofanti
16
20
Bayldon on Valuing Rents , & c. 5 Schimmelpenninck's (Mrs.) Life 20
Cecil's Stud Farm Southey's Life of Wesley 21
66
Hoskyns's Talpa . 11 Life and Correspondence 21
Loudon's Agriculture . 14
14
Stephen's Ecclesiastical Biography
Strickland's Queens of England
22
22
Low's Elements ofAgriculture Sydney Smith's Memoirs 21
Morton on Landed Estates 17
Symonds's ( Admiral ) Memoirs 22
Taylor's Loyola 22
Arts, Manufactures, and Archi. Wesley
U wins's Memoirs and Letters
22
23
tecture . Waterton's Autobiography and Essays . 34
Bourne on the Screw Propeller 6

Books of General Utility .
Brande's Dictionary of Science, &c. 6
Organic Chemistry . 6 Acton's Bread - Book
Chevreul on Colour . 8 60
Cookery - Book
Cresy's Civil Engineering 8 Black's Treatise on Brewing
Fairbairn's Information for Engineers 9 Cabinet Gazetteer
i Gwilt's Encyclopædia of Architecture 10 Lawyer 7
Harford's Plates from M. Angelo 10 Cust's Invalid's Own Book
Humphreys's Parables Illuminated 12 Gilbart's Logic for the Million
Jameson's Sacred and Legendary Art 12, 13 Hints on Etiquette :
Commonplace- Book 13 How to NurseSick Children 12
König's Pictorial Life of Luther 10 Hudson's Executor's Guide
Loudon's Rural Architecture 14 on Making Wills 12
Mac Dougall's Campaigns of Hannibal 15 Kesteven's Domestic Medicine 13
Theory of War 15 Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia 13
Moseley's Engineering . 17
Loudon's Lady's Country Companion . 14
Piesse's Art of Perfumery 18 Maunder's Treasury of knowledge 15
Richardson's Art of Horsemanship 19 Biographical Treasury 15
Scotfern on Projectiles, &c. 20 Geographical Treasury 16
Scrivenor on the Iron Trade 20 Scientific Treasury 15
Steam Engine,bythe Artisan Club 6 Treasury of History 16
Ure's Dictionary ofArts , & c . . 23 Natural History . 16
Piesse's Art of Perfumery 18
Pocket and the Stud 10
Biography. Pycroft's English Reading
Reece's Medical Guide ..
19
19
Arago's Lives of Scientific Men 5 Rich's Companion to Latin Dictionary . 19
Brialmont's Wellington . 6 Richardson's Art of Horsemanship 19
Bunsen's Hippolytus 7 Riddle's Latin Dictionaries 19
Crosse's ( Andrew ) Memorials 9 Roget's English Thesaurus 20
Gleig's Essays 10 Rowton's Debater 20
Green's Princesses of England 10 Short Whist 21
Harford's Life of Michael Angelo 10 Thomson's Interest Tables 22
Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia 13 Webster's Domestic Economy . 24
Maunder's Biographical Treasury 15 West on Children's Diseases . 24
Mountain's (Col.) Memoirs 17 Willich's Popular Tables 24
Parry's (Admiral) Memoirs 18 Wilmot's Blackstone 24
2 CLASSIFIED INDEX.
Botany and Gardening. Rogers's Essays from Edinb. Review .

20
Roget's English Thesaurus 20
Hassall's British Freshwater Algæ 11 Schmitz's Fiistory of Greece 20
Hooker's British Flora 11 Soutbey's Doctor 21
60
Guide to Kew Gardens Stephen's Ecclesiastical Biography
i4444444B
11 22
60 66 .6
Kew Museum 11 Lectures on French History 22
Lindley's Introduction to Botany
66
14 Works
Sydney, Smith's Lectures 21
21
Theory of Horticulture 14
Loudon's Hortus Britannicus 14 Memoirs 21
Amateur Girdener 14 22
Trers and Shrubs 14
Loyola
Taylor's Wesley 22
Gardening 14 Thirlwall's History ofGreece 22
Plants 14 Thomas's Historical Notes 27
Pereira's Materia Medica 18 Townsend's State Trials 22
Rivers's Rose Amateur's Guide 19 Turner's Anglo - Saxons 23
Wilson's British Mosses .
以
24 CG
Middle Ages 23
Sacred History of the World 23
Chronology . Uwins's Memoirs and Letters 23
Blair's Chronological Tables . 6
Vehse's Austrian Court 23
Wade's England's Greatness 24
3sssuo
Brewer's Historical Atlas 6
Young's Christ of History 24
Bunsen's Ancient Egypt 7
Calecdars of English State Papers
Haydn's Beatson's Index 11 Geography and Atlases.
Jaquemet's Chronology 13 Brewer's Historical Atlas
co
Abridged Chronology : 13 Butler's Geography and Atlases
Cahinet Gazetteer 7
Commerce and Mercantile Johnston's General Gazetteer 13
Affairs. M'Culloch's Geographical Dictionary . 15
Maunder's Treasury of Geography 16
045
Gilbart's Treatise on Banking 10 Murray's Encyclopædia of Geography . 17

Lorimer's Young Master Mariner . Sharp's British Gazetteer 21
Macleod's Banking . 15
M'Culloch's Commerce and Navigation 18
15 Juvenile Books.
Murray on French Finance
Scrivenor on the Iron Trade 20 Amy Herbert 20
Thomson's Interest Tables 22 Cleve Hall 20
Tooke's History of Prices 22 Earl's Daughter (The ) 20
Experience of Life ' 20
Gertrude 20
Criticism , History, and Memoirs. Howitt's Boy's Country Book 12
Blair's Chron . and Historical Tables 6 ( Mary ) Children's Year 12
Brewer's Historical Atlas 6 Ivors . 20
Bunsen's Ancient Egypt 7 Katharine Ashton 20
Hippolytus 7 Laneton Parsonage 20
7 Margaret Percival 20
Calendars of English State Papers
Capgrave's Illustrious Henries Pycroſt's Collegian's Guide 19
Chapman's Gustavus Adolphus
Chronicles and Memorials ofEngland
Connolly's Sappers and Miners Medicine, Surgerl y, &c.
Conybcare and Howson's St. Paul Brodie's Psychologica Inquiries 7
Crowe's History of France Bull's Hints to Mothers 6
66
Fischer's Francis Bacon . 9 Management of Children 6
Gleig's Essaya 10 Copland's Dictionary of Medicine 8
Gurney's HistoricalSketches 10 Cust's Invalid's Own Book 9
Hayward's Essays . 11 Holland's Mental Physiology
66
11
Herschel's Essaysand addresses 11 Medical Notesand Reflections 11
Jeffrey's ( Lord ) Contributions 13 How to Nurse Sick Children 12
Kemble's Anglo Saxons . 13 Kesteven's Domestic Medicine . 13
Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia 13 Pereira's Materia Medica . 18
Macaulay's Critical and Hist. Essays 14 Reece's Medical Guide 19
History of England 14 Richardson's Cold -water Cure 19
(6
Speeches Spencer's Principles of Psychology 21
Mackintosh's Miscellaneous Works 15 West on Diseases of Infancy 24
History of England . 15
M'Culloch's Geographical Dictionary 15
16 Miscellaneous Literature.
Maunder's Treasury of History 16
Merivale's History of Rome Bacon's (Lord ) Works
Roman Republic 16 Deience of Eclipse ofFaith 9
Milner's Church History . 16 Eclipse of Faith ទ
Moure's ( Thomas ) Memoirs, &c . 16 Greathed's Letters from Delhi 10
Mure's Greek Literature 17 Greyson's Select Correspondence 10
Normanby's Year of Revolution 18 Gurney's Evening Recreations 10
Perry's Franks . 1S Hassall's Adulterations Detected , & c . 11
Raikes's Journal . 19 Havdn's Book of Dignities 11
Riddle's Latin Dictionaries 19 Holland's Mental Physiology 11
CLASSIFIED INDEX. 3
Hooker's Fiew Guides 11 Conybeare and Howson's St. Paul 8

Howitt's Rural Life of England 12 Cotton's Instructions in Christianity S
Visits to Remarkable Places 12 Dale's Domestic Liturgy 9
Jameson's Commonplace - Book 13 Defence of Eclipse of Faith 9
Jeffrey's (Lord) Contributions 13 Earl's Daughter (The) 20
Last of the Old Squires 18 Eclipse of Faith
Letters of a Brtrothed 13 Englishman's Greek Concordance 9
Macaulay's Critical and Hist. Essays
66
14 Heb. & Chald . Concord . 9
Speeches 14 Experience ( The ) of Life 20
Mackintosh's Miscellaneous Works 15 Gertrude 20
Martineau's Miscellanies 15 Harrison's Light of the Forge' 10
Pycroft's English Reading 19 Horne's Introduction to Scriptures 11
Raikes on the Indian Revolt 19 Abridgment of ditto 11
Rees's Siege of Lucknow 19 Huc's Christianity in China 12
Rich's Companion to Latin Dictionary 19 Humphreys's Parables Illuminated 12
Riddle's Latin Dictionaries 19 Ivors, by the Author of Amy Herbert . 20
Rowton's Debater 20 Jameson's Saints and Martyrs 12
66
Seaward's Narrative ofhis Shipwreck 20 Monastic Legends 13
Sir Roger De ( overley 21 Legends of the Madonna 13
Smith's ( Rev. Sydney) works 21 66
on Female Employment 13
Southey'a Doctor, &c. 21 Jeremy Taylor's Works 13
Spencer's Essays 21 Katharine Ashton . 21
Stephen's Essays 22 König's Pictorial Life of Luther 10
Stow's Training System : 22 Laneton Parsonage . 20
Thomson's Laws of Thought 22 Letters to myUnknown Friends . 13
Tighe and Davis's Windsor 22 on Happiness 13
Townsend's State Trials . 22 Lyra Germanica . 7
Yonge's Latin
English-Greek Lexicon 24 Maguire's Rome 15
Gradus 24 Margaret Percival 20
Zumpt's Latin Grammar 24 Martineau's Christian Life 15
66
Hymns 15
Natural History in general. studies ofChristianity

Merivale's Christian Records
15
16
Milner's Church of Christ 26
Catlow's Popular Conchology 8
Moore on the Use of the Body 26
Ephemera's Book of the Salmon 9
Soul and Body 26
Garratt's Marvels of Instinct . 10
« 's Man and his Motives 26
Gosse's Natural History of Jamaica 10 Morning Clouds . 17
Kirby and Spence's Entomology 13
Neale's Closing Scene 18
Lee's Elements of Natural History 13
16 Pattison's Earth and Word 18
Maunder's Natural History . Powell's Christianity without Judaism . 19
Quatrefages' Rambles of a Naturalist 19
Readings for Lent 20
Turton's Shells of the British Islands 23
Confirmation 20
Van der Hoeven's Handbook of Zoology 23 Riddle's Household Prayers 19
Waterton's Essays on Natural History 24 Robinson's Lexicon to the Greek Tes
Youatt's The Dog 24
tament 20
The Horse : : : 24
Saints our Example 20
Sermon in the Mount 20
Sinclair's Journey of Life 21
One- Volume Encyclopædias and Smith's (Sydney) Moral Philosophy 21
Dictionaries. 60
(G.V.) Assyrian Prophecies 21
6
(G. ) Wesleyan Methodism 21
Blaine's Rural Sports (J. ) Shipwreck of St. Paul 21
6
Brande's Science, Literature, and Art Southey's Life of Wesley 21
Copland's Dictionary of Medicine 8 Stephen's Ecclesiastical'Biography 22
Cresy's Civil Engineering S 22
10
Taylor's Loyola
Gwilt's Architecture Wesley 22
Johnston's Geographical Dictionary 13
14
Theologia Germanica 7
Loudon's Agriculture Thumb Bible ( The )
Rural Architecture 14
Turner's Sacred History 23
Gardening 14
Young's Christ of History 24
Plants 14 24
Trees and Shrubs 14 Mystery
M'Culloch's Geographical Dictionary
Dragon
15
Dictionary of Commerce 15
Murray's Encyclopedia of Geography 17 Poetry and the Drama.
Sharp's British Gazetteer 21
hotele
Ure's Dictionary of Arts, &c. . 23 Aikin's ( Dr. ) British Poets

Webster's Domestic Economy 24 Arnold's Merope
Poems
Baillie's (Joanna ) Poetical Works .
Religious and Moral Works. Calvert's Wife's Manual
Amy Herbert 20 Goldsmith's Poems, iliustrated
Bloomfield's Greek Testament 6 Horace , edited by Yonge
Calvert's Wife's Manual . 8 L. E. L.'s Poetical Works
Cleve Hall . 20 Linwood's Anthologia Oxoniensis
CLASSIFIED INDEX .
Lyra Germanica 7 Hawker's Young Sportsman . 11

Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome' 14 The Hunting-Field 10
MacDonald's
66
Within and Without
Pocms
15 Idle's Hints on Shooting 12
14 Pocket and the Stud 10
Montgomery's Poetical work's 26 Practical Horsemanship . 10
Moore's Poetical Works . 26 Pycroft's Cricket- Field 9
00
Selections (illusirated ) 26 Rarey's Horse- Taming 19
Lalla Rookh 17 Richardson's Horsemanship 19
Irish Melodies 17 Ronalds's Fly Fisher's Entomology 20
National Melodies 17 Stable Talk and Table Talk 10
Sacred Songs (with Miusic) 17 Stonehenge on the Dog
66
22
Songs and Ballads 16 Greyhound 22
Reade's Poetical Works 19 Thacker's Courser's Guide 22
Shakspeare , by Bowdler . 20 The Stud , for Practical Purposes 10
Southey's Poetical Works 21
Thomson's Seasons , illustrated 22
Veterinary Medicine, &c.

Cecil's Stable Practice 8
Political Economy & Statistics. Stud Farm
Hunting-Field (The) 10
Macleod's Political Economy . 15 Miles's Horse Shoeing 26
M‘Culloch's Geog . Statist.&c. Dict. 15 " on the Horse's Foot 26
Dictionary of Commerce 15 Pocket and the Stud 10
Willich's Popular Tables 24 Practical Horsemanship . 10
Rarey's Horse-Taming 19
Richardson's Horsemanship 19
Stable Talk and Table Talk 10
The Sciences in general and Stonehenge on the Dog . 22
Stud ( The ). . 10
Mathematics . Youait's The Dog 24
The Horse 24
Arago's Meteorological Essays 5
Popular Astronomy 5
Bourne on the Screw Propeller 6
66
's Catechism ofSteam -Engine 86 | Voyages and Travels.
Boyd's Naval Cadet's Manual
Brande's Dictionary of Science, &c . 6 Baker's Wanderings in Ceylon
Lectureson Organic Chemistry 6 Barth's African Travels .
Cresy's Civil Engineering 8 Burton's East Africa
Delabeche'sGeology of Cornwall,'& c. 9 Medina and Mecca
De la Rive's Electricity. 9 Davies's Visit to Algiers :
Grove's Correlation of Physical Forces 10 Domenech's Texas and Mexico
Herschel's Outlines of Astronomy . 11 Forester's Sardinia and Corsica 10
Holland's MentalPhysiology . 11 Hinchliff's Travels in the Alps 11
Humboldt's A spects of Nature . 12 Howitt's Art -Student in Munich 12
66
Cosmos 12 ( W. ) Victoria 12
Hunt on Light . 12 Huc's Chinese Empire 12
Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia 13 Hudson and Kennedy's Mont Blanc 12
Marcet's (Mrs.) Conversations 15 Hamboldt's Aspects of Nature 12
Morell's Elements of Psychology 17 Hutchinson's Western Africa 12
Moseley's Engineering and Architecture 17 M'Clure's North - West Passage 18
Ogilvie's Master -Builder's Plan 18 Mac Dougall's Voyage of the Resolute 15
Oiven's Lectures on Comp.Anatomy 18 Osborn's Quedah 18
Pere ra on Polarised Light 18 Scherzer'sCentral America 20
Peschel's Elements of Physics . 18 Seaward's Narrative 20
Phillips's Fossils of Cornwall . 19 Snow's Tierra del Fuego . 21
Mineralogy 18 Von Tempsky's Mexico and Guatemala 23
Guide to Geology 18 Wanderings in the Land of Ham 24
Portlock's Geology of Londonderry 19 Weld's Vacations in Ireland 24
Powell's Unity of'Worlds 19 United tates and Canada . . 24
Christianity without Judaism 19
Smee's Electro -Metallurgy 21
Steam-Engine (The ) 6
Works of Fiction .
Cruikshank's Falstaff 9
Rural Sports.
OOO
Heirs of Cheveleigh 11
Howitt's Tallangetta 12
OO
Baker's Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 5 Moore's Epicurean 17

OO
Blaine's Dictionary of Sports . 6 Sir Roger De Coverles 21

Cecil's Stable Practice 8 Sketches ( The ) , Three Tales . 21
Stud Farm 6 Southey's Doctor, &c. . 21
Davy's Fishing Excursions, 22 Series 9 Trollope's Barchester Towers 22
Ephemera on Angling 9 Warden 22
Book of the Salmon Ursula . 20
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This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized

by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the

WITH A CLASSIFICATION OF DEFORMITIES .

AN ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS

THOUGHTS ON GRECIAN AND GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.

MARY ANNE SCHIMMELPENNINCK

EDITED BY HER RELATION

The right of translation is reserved .

The Author of this volume gives the follow

of Lavater, which is remarkable for the phy

the chief favourite, and the school-room of the

the touch of Ithuriel's spear, bade the true

this Roman soldier, this Cheddar cliff have

intellectual and moral agent. While strength

chanism peculiar to man . It was manifest,

accidentally met with the unfinished MS .

was her wish, accordingly, as the symbolical

We shall conclude this Preface with the

Clifton , Way, 1859.

THE PRINCIPLES OF BEAUTY.

Of the Influence of Association 8

OF THE MATERIAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE

Pitch. — Mode of Succession . — Style in Composition. - Con

struction of Language 212

OF THE USES OF BEAUTY AND OF THE MORAL

ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS.

(ESSAY ON THE TEMPERAMENTS. )

The “ Choleric ” and “ Sanguine ” to face chap. ii. p. 298 .

OF BEAUTY AND THE STANDARD OF BEAUTY .

“ WHAT,” it may be asked, “ is Beauty ? ” One de

of being pleased alternately with oriental luxury,

a mental quality, but that the mental quality expressed

should be such as to call forth agreeable emotions.

faculties upon what is not only external to, but

consists in the sense of a stability it cannot measure,

from civilised nations, sees the Sublime in all the

Almighty in the roar of the winter's torrent, trembles st

at His anger in the rolling thunder, and shrinks be

Divine perfections which are the basis of all our

external objects, suggestive of love; condescension

startling contrasts. The babe begins to enter into

wondrous procession,- for what can go beyond this

ends, and are an exhibition of wisdom and intelligence

dary or indirect satisfaction from the symmetrical

one side of the plant to the other — and yet again

leaves, as they rustle, seem to murmur of the half i

The power of an object to call up agreeable ideas

another ? How was the association originally formed ,

and on what does it depend ? If the associations

were tipped with vivid light. The two sat on a soft

rendered him completely inaccessible to those ideas

can therefore not be appreciated by every indi

Under the head of partial association may be

been formed by circumstances affecting not an indi .

of that wherein we are distinguished from others. By

site tastes has led to the correction of false principles

* Vide Preface, p. iii.

application of this system to all the varieties of

GERMINAL PRINCIPLES OF THE BEAUTIFUL, THE NON

As there is but one good, and that good is GOD ;