{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2714", "width": "1700", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nChap..!:-.!.- Copyright No.\\n..\u00e2\u0080\u00a2?M\\ni^O o\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "AET A^^D LIFE\\nARUSKIN ANTHOLOGY\\nCOMPILED BY\\nWM. SLOANE KENNEDY\\nIh((ve always fhoiir/hf that more true force of persuasion mirjht he obtained by\\nrightly choosing and arranging what others have said, than by\\npainfully saying it again in one s own ivay.\\nRusKiN, Furs Clavigera, Vol. I., p. 381.\\nNEW YORK:\\nJOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER.\\n1", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "TVVo Copies iiti\u00c2\u00ab^\u00c2\u00a3ivEE),\\nL/trary yf Conjfret%\\nOffice f th\u00c2\u00ab\\nMAV 6 1900\\nKojfleter of Copyright*\\nSECOND COPY.\\nCopyrighted, 1886 and 1900\\nBY\\nJohn B. Alden.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "Of old sang Chaucer of the Floicer and Leaf\\nThe viirthful singer of a golden time\\nI And stveet birds song throughout his daisied rliume\\nRang fearless for our cities held no grief\\n3 Dumb in their blackened hearts beneath the grime\\nOf factory and furnace, and the sheaf\\nv^ Was borne in gladvA ss ar the harvest-time.\\nJ So now the Seer u ould Quicken our belief\\nLife the green leaf, saith he, and Art the flower,\\nk:^ Blow winds of heaven about the hearts of men,\\nCome love, and hope, and helpfulness, as ivhen\\nOn fainting vineyard falls the freshening shoicer\\nFear not that life may blossom yet again,\\nA nobler beauty from a purer power\\nH. Bellyse Baildon,\\nin John Buskin, Economist.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAOE\\nIntroduction, 11\\nPART I.- ART.\\nSection I.\\nCardiDal Tenets, 21\\nArt and Man in the Middle AKes, 46\\nImitation and Finisli, 50\\nGreat Art and Great Men 60\\nThe Imagination in Art, 67\\nSection II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Graphic Arts.\\nChapter I.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Painting, TO\\nReligious Painting, 86\\nVenice and tlie Venetian Painters, 90\\nThe Dntch Masters 105\\nThe Classical School, 106\\nLandscape, 109\\nTurner Ill\\nTurner and the Spliigen Drawing 117\\nColor 123\\nPre-Raphaelitism, 130\\nChapter II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Engraving 133\\nIllumination, 135\\nWood Cuts, 136\\nSection III.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Architecture, 143\\nHome Architecture, J45\\nCity and Suburban Arcliitecture, 147\\nGothic Architecture, 154\\nSection IV.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sculpture, 166\\nSculpture in Relation to the Workingman, 169\\nTlie Tombs of the Doges in Venice, 171", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "6 CONTENTS.\\nPART II.-SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY.\\nPAGE\\nChapter I.\\nEconomic Caiious .181\\nWealth 189\\nLivbor, li\u00c2\u00bbl\\nRiches, 194\\nPoverty, 214\\nOn Co-operation, 225\\nTrade, 220\\nLand 238\\nMachinerj-, 243\\nWar, 244\\nModern Warfare, 248\\nA Dream-Parable of War and Wf altli, 256\\nGovernment, 25S\\nLiberty 202\\nFiesh Air and Light, .264\\nChapter IL\\nEducation, 269\\nThe Education of Children 287\\nTeacliinpf Science to Children, 29\\nEducation in Art, 298\\nChapter III.\\nMuseums, 309\\nChapter IV.\\nSt, George s Guild, .314\\nIn llusldn s Utopia, 319\\nPART in.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE CONDUCT OF LIFE.\\nChapter I.\\nMorals 329\\nDomestic Servants, 349\\nLiquor Question, 352\\nGentlemauliness and Vulgarit}% 354\\nChapter II.\\nReligion 357\\nThe Bible, 307\\nChapter III.\\nWomen 380\\nWomen and Religion, 380\\nGirls 390\\nCH. kPTEK IV.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2TlieMob. 403\\nAddress by a Mangled Convict to a Benevolent Gentleman, 419", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS. 7\\nPART IV.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SCIENCE.\\nPAGE\\nChapter I.\\nSerpenl^, 425\\nBirds, 427\\nChaptkr II.\\nBotany 4132\\nChapter III.\\nMineials 440\\nChapter IV.\\nClouds, 446\\nChapter V,\\nBits of Thought 453\\nPART V. -NATURE AND LITERATURE.\\nChapter I.\\nNature, 407\\nThe Sea 4SJ\\nTheMonntaiiis, 484\\nChapter II.\\nLiterature 502\\nBooks 503\\nMyths 514\\nFiction 518\\nScott and his Novels 521\\nPoems by Ruskin, 530\\nChapter III.\\nAutobiographical, 531\\nReminiscences of my Cliildhood 542\\nLeaves from Ruskins Piivate Accounts, 553\\nChapter IV.\\nOdds and Ends, 561\\nAPPENDIX.\\nRuskins Writings in Classified Groups,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.\\nWhen John Ruskin died the other day on the\\nshores of Coniston water the last of the group of\\nidealistic giants of the Victorian era passed away.\\nOne must pity the man or woman who has lived as the\\ncontemporary of this man and not had his or her life\\nenriched by his gospel of beauty and justice. He has\\nshown us the world s delicate tent of blue shutting-\\ndown around a splendor of living beauty that makes a\\nmere child s toy of even such a marvellous shrine as\\nthat of St. Mark s. Single-handed Ruskin slew the\\nvile and heartless Ricardo and Adam Smith school of\\npolitical economy, proving it unscientific because treat-\\ning man as a machine, and ignoring the chief element\\nin the case, the emotional and moral nature. Even\\nhis enemies admit that he has done this. It was a\\ngreat service. Ruskin has rescued the study of art\\nin England from dilettanteism. His judgments on\\nspecial works of the old and the modern painters (you\\ncan see for yourself when you examine the originals)\\nare often absurdly awry, exaggerated, swayed by his\\nown eccentric personal bias but, as has been said of\\nCarlyle, his very foibles are interesting.\\nHis harsh words about America were, like Carlyle s,\\nlargely the result of dense ignorance of the best men\\nand things here. Charles Eliot Norton he loved, but\\nhe seemed to think Norton the only man America had\\nproduced 1 I suppose if I had not availed myself of\\nProfessor Norton s kind offices, when writing to get\\npermission from Ruskin to make this volume of selec-\\ntions from his works, I should have fared ill. For,\\nalthough I wrote ofEering him the copyright proceeds\\nof the work (wliich he kindly refused in my favor),\\n9", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "10 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.\\nthe MS. had ah eady been phiced in the printer s\\nhands.*\\nLast summer, a year ago, I spent a few hours at\\nConiston Lake, and took a walk to Brantwood, which\\nis the last house out from Coniston, all beyond it,\\nsouthward, being an unbroken solitude until the end\\nof the lake is reached, four miles away. A great\\nspongy fell slopes up and away from the estate, which\\nborders the lake. (I got lost up among the mists of\\none of these gloomy and rainy uplands, or mountain\\nfells, not far from Coniston, yet was smitten witli its\\ngrandeur and semi-conscious slumbering life, as of\\nBrowning s hills lying with chin on hand.) The road\\nof approach to Brantwood is a public one and runs\\nalong the lakeside, the few residences lying between it\\nand the lake. Running streams of pure water descend\\nfrom the fell, and out of the hillwood, across the road.\\nThe terminus of the only railroad that has tried to\\npenetrate the Lake Region is on the opposite side of\\nthe water from Brantwood yet the infrequent shrieks\\nof the locomotive can be plainly heard there. The\\nmaster had, willi-nilli, to endure the hated things. On\\nmy return, I stopped and chatted with a halo and canny\\nold wesher-woman, as she called herself, wlio lived on\\nthis same Ruskinward road, not very far from Brant-\\nwood, and whose lowly cottage door was glorified by\\na canopy of reddest roses (England seemed to me even\\nmore the land of roses than Italy every other cot-\\ntage has a gloire, or some red or white rose clamber-\\ning to its thatched dormers and about its roof). She\\nsaid a gentleman and his wife from foreign parts had\\nvisited Brantwood that summer. From America\\nYes. I think from America, or some such road,\\nhalf apologetically, as if anybody who did not live in\\nConiston were necessarily a little under suspicion for\\nfoolish wandering from the established and ordained\\ncenter of the world.\\nW. S. K.\\nBelmont, Mass., April 4, 1900.\\nProfessor Norton wrote me (April 23, 86): Mrs.\\nSevern writes (7 April) of Mr. Ruskin and your Selec-\\ntions As regards the extracts, be says he s pleased Mr.\\nKennedy has enjoyed his work, and that he s at liberty to\\npublisb tbem,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION.\\nJohn Rtjskin was born in London, February 8th,\\n1819, at his father s house, number 54 Hunter Street,\\nBrunswick Square a locality not far from the British\\nMuseum. For the greater part of his boyhood, youth,\\nand manhood, up to 1871, his home was in Camber-\\nwell, a rural suburb of London, lying four miles south\\nof the Centre and between Sydenham and Chelsea. His\\neducation was of the sternest Puritan kind, it being the\\npurpose of his parents to make a clergyman of him.\\nThe decrees respecting toys were of Spartan severity.\\nAt first he had none when he got older he had a cart,\\na ball, two boxes of wooden bricks, and a two-arched\\nbridge in blocks that was all. At seven he began\\nLatin with his mother. His first writings were certain\\ncompositions and poems printed in imitation of black\\nprint in a little red-bound book, four by six inches in\\ndimensions the title-page was as follows, (see Prae\\nterita\\nHarry and Lucy Concluded. Being the\\nLast Part of Early Lessons in four vol-\\nuitfES. Vol. I. with copper plates. Printed\\nAND Composed by a little boy and also drawn.\\nHis first piece of scientific composition was a mini\\nalogical dictionary, begun when he was twelve, and writ-\\nten in crystallographic signs that later were unintel-\\nligible even to himself. He began to learn drawing prop-\\ner by carefully copying the maps out of a small, old-\\nfashioned quarto atlas. His first picture was a Dovei\\nCastle, done when he was twelve. Later, his art studies\\nwere earned on under the direction of Copley Field-\\ning and J. D. Harding, Of an evening, at Heme\\nHill, he was usually placed in a little niche by the\\nfireplace, with a table before him to hold his cup and\\nl)]atteror his book, while his father read aloud from\\nWalter Scott, Shakespeare, Don Quixote, or some other\\nclassic.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "12 R USKLX A NTHOL G Y.\\nWhen his mother s tuition was ended he was sent\\nto the school kept by the Rev. Thomas Dale, and thence\\nto Oxford (about 1836). He entered his name as a\\ngentleman commoner on the rolls of Christ Church,\\nand, under Dr. Buckland, laid the foundation of his\\ngeological knowledge.\\nIn 18.57 he accepted the Mastership of the Elemen-\\ntary and Landscape School of Drawing, at the Working\\nMen s College, in Great Ormond Street, London, ful-\\nfilling the duties of the office without salary. It was\\nfor the pupils in this evening school that he wrote his\\nJ^Iements of Urau- tiKj.\\nIn 1867, the Senate of Cambridge University con-\\nferred upon him the degree of LL.D., and at the\\nsame time he was appointed Rede Lecturer at Cam-\\nbridge. In 1869, Mr. Felix Slade bequeathed a large\\nsum for the founding of Art Professorships in Oxford,\\nCambridge, and London. Ruskin was thereupon elect-\\ned Slade Professor of the Fine Arts at Oxford (re-\\nelected in 1876, resigned in 1878 on account of illness.*\\nresumed his duties in 1883).\\nIn 1871, Professor Ruskin bought, without seeing it,\\nthe old estate of Brantwood steep wood on Con-\\niston Water, in the Lake District, where he had played\\nwhen a boy of seven years. The fourteen acres of\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Brantwood are steep, craggy, and picturesque, containing\\nstreams, heather, nut-trees, and wild flowers, and abut-\\nting directly on Lake Coniston. Ruskin spent about\\n!i) oO,000 on the place before he had it to his mind,\\n1510,000 of this sum going to build a lodge for his pet\\ncousin and her children. He is a famous fellow among\\nboys and girls, and is voted by everybody to be a cap-\\nital neighbor.\\nProfessor Ruskin is emotional and nervous in man-\\nner, his large eye at times soft and genial, and again\\nquizzing and mischievous in its glance, the mouth thin\\nand severe, chin retreating, and forehead prominent.\\nHe has an iron-grey beard, wears old-fashioned coats,\\nsky-blue neck cloths, and gold spectacles is rather\\npetit, about five feet five in height his pronunciation\\nas broad as Dundee Scotch, and at times as indistinct as\\nThrice has he been at death s door i.e. in the years 1871 1878, and\\n1S85.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 13\\nBelgravia Cockney. He is one of the most popular\\nlecturers in England, and his influence over the stu-\\ndents at Oxford is said to have been such that, at one\\ntime, he purposely avoided (in a measure) their society\\nthat it might not be thought that he was doing an in-\\njustice to his fellow-professors.\\nMr. Stopford Brooke rightly speaks of Ruskin as the\\nmost original man in England. And the Frenchman,\\nMilsand, means the same thing when he says of his\\ngenius that it is fwitasqae et hizarretnent aeceiitae.\\nHe writes like a consecrated priest of the abstract and\\nideal, said Charlotte Bronte. And Carlyle wrote to\\nJEmerson, in the last letter he ever sent him, the sub-\\njoined words\\nThere is nothing going on among us as notable to me\\nas those fierce lightning-bolts Ruskin is copiously and\\ndesperately pouring into the black world of Anarchy all\\naround him. No other man in England that I meet has\\nin him the divine rage against iniquity, falsity, and base-\\nness that Ruskin has, and that every man ought to\\nhave.\\nSays Ruskin s old enemy, TJie iSpectator (x\\\\utumn\\nof 1384):\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNo other critic ever occupied such a position. He\\nexpresses his thoughts on art in words which, in their\\nexquisite collocation, their perfection at once of form\\nand lucidity, have been rivalled, in oi;r generation, only\\nl)y Cardinal Newman. He is one of the best known\\nand most appreciated figures in our generation. His old-\\ner books are among the treasures of the bibliophile, his\\nlater works are purchased like scarce jilates, his opinions\\nare quoted like texts from a Holy Book.\\nThe first thing I note in his make and stamp is that he\\nis Scotch on his father s side, and possibly also on that\\nof his mother. He has Scotch traits eccentricity,\\nwaywardness, paradox, quaint frets and freakish knots\\nin the grain, a sort of stub-twist in the fibre, a Dant-\\nesque imagination, and solemn Covenanter zeal in re-\\nligioc.\\nIt is as a teach \u00c2\u00abr of the people that he is preemi-\\nnent. He imparts more than a contagious enthusiasm\\nCarl^if s roeopnition of Ruskin as a man of genius and prophet-\\npower dales fnini isco, the j-ear of the publication of Unto This\\nLast. (See Froude s Carlyle in London, II. Chap. XXV.)", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "14 RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhe not onl} inspires and uplifts the soul, but clarifies\\nthe intellect by his lucid and elegant expositions of ab-\\nstruse subjects. What severe thought on every page of\\nhis books, presented in how graceful and piquant a\\nform How many new truths won by hardest toil\\nHow searchingly he probes, unfibres, unjoints, dis-\\nsolves, enumerates, classifies If his life sufficed, you\\nwould hardly be surprised to find him counting twice\\nand thrice and again all the stars of heaven and the\\ngrains of sand by the sea. The soft cloudlets of the\\nupper sky, the toppling cumulus, the shambling dance\\nof the no-formed waves (to the slow music of the thun-\\nder and the wind), the sprangle and green-shine of\\ntheir hollow-curving crests, the lustre and coloring of\\nthe breast of a dove, the tintings and shadows of moun-\\ntain rock, the intricate curves of leaf and bough with\\nall these he is at home, and for their hidden laws he\\nreverently seeks. Of the facts and aspects of nature,\\nsays W. M. Rossetti, Mr. Ruskin is and must re-\\nmain a teacher of teachers, an expounder to expounders,\\nand a poetiaer among those who feel and write poeti-\\ncally.\\nIn the power of placing a subject in a new and start-\\n]ing light by means of a clear, well-chosen illustration\\nor parallelism Ruskin is unsurpassed. He is a verbal\\nantiquary, never satisfied until he has penetrated to the\\nroot-meaning of the important words he uses. What new\\nstrength and vividness he gives to Bible texts No\\nnoble or sententious thought so worn by the attrition\\nof ages but he will pluck it fondly forth from its dull\\nobscurity, cleanse it of rust, and set it a-gleara ?\u00c2\u00a3rain in\\na foil of skilful explanation or glowing eulogy. He\\nreads continually between the lines, and has ahaLH of\\nchallenging accepted statements to see if the^ ring tvie.\\nHe is in part a conservative and in part i radiorc^\\nYet his radicalism is but a backward-working forse\\nhe would destroy and change, but only for the pur\\npose of reviving good old ways and tried customs.;\\nWhat our fathers have told us no one more rever-\\nently receives.\\nHis style is impetuou;s and orn?te, his words loaded\\nwith meaning. Perhaps the word intensity", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION. 15\\nbest describes liis style.* Repressed passion lurks be-\\nneath every page. For terrible and cutting irony he\\nis equalled by no other English writer, except it ba\\nSwift. His syllogisms are weapons with long range\\nhe withholds his conclusion approaches it cautiously,\\nwith subtle concealment and through devious ways;\\napparently starts off in the opposite direction (note\\nwhat Scott calls the national Scotch indirection),\\nthen, with lightning-swift stride and gleam of sword,\\nrushes tlirough a side way directly to his goal.\\nIn studying the art-writings of Kuskin, there are\\nthree important dates to be borne in mind namely,\\n1858, 1800, and 1874. Previous to the year 1858 he\\nbelieved the religious spirit to be necessary to su-\\npreme art-power. But during the next sixteen years\\n(1858-1874) his studies of the great Venetians led\\nhim to believe that Tintoret and Titian were greater\\npainters than Cimabue, Giotto, or Angelico. In 1874,\\nhowever, while copying some of Giotto s work at\\nAijsisi, he discovered, he says {Fors Clavlgera\\nLxxvi.), that that painter was inferior to the Vene-\\ntians only in the material sciences of the craft, and\\nthat, in the real make-up of hifii, he was after all supe-\\nrior to them, just on account of his religious faith.\\nThe third fulcrum date isCiO marks the entrance of\\nRuskin into the field of Social Science, and the conse-\\nquent partial diversion of his mind from the study of\\nnature_and_art^_\\nThe art-teachings of Ruskin may be summed up in a\\nfew words: -AH great art is praise, the expression of\\nman s delight in God s work. The greatest art is born\\nof a noble national morality, and is conditioned upon\\nthe moral fibre of the workman. The greatest art is\\nthat which copies nature with the most loving fidelity\\nand the most minute finish consistent with noble ima-\\nginative invention, or design. The greatest art can-\\nnot coexist with smoke, filtli, noise, and mechanism.\\nThe naive and Biblical [)iety of Ruskin gives to his\\nwritings a considerable part of their charm. Educated\\nin a narrow sectarianism he has gradually adopted\\n*Tn one instance {8emmi- and Liliea, English edition 1871 wishing\\nto lay the utmost possilile stress upon a pathetic account of deatU\\nby stai-vatiou, he prints the wliole narrative iu blooJ-red ink.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "16 EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nBroad Church views, without giving up the essentials of\\nChristianity, As late as 1H80 he said: I write as a\\nChristian to Christians, that is to say, to persons who\\nrejoice in the hope of a literal, perpetual life, with a\\nliteral, personal, and eternal God. He urges his\\nreaders to confess Christ before men. He believes\\nliterally and unmetaphorically in a Devil, a deceiving\\nand evil spirit in nature, the Lord of Lies and the\\nLord of Pain. I am always quite serious, he writes,\\nwhen I speak of the Devil. For forty-five\\nyears he scarcely missed once being at church on Sun-\\nday, and never misses the opportunity of talking with\\nI cligious persons. His well-known lavish benevolence\\nis a legitimate corollary of his creed it is the Sermon\\non the Mount put into practice. That he was on the\\nLondon committee for the victualling of Paris in 18T1,\\nsliows that his reputation for compassionate benevo-\\nlence had become as well known as in the case of a\\nGeoi ge Peabody or a Lady Burdett-Coutts. And in\\ntruth the purse of no man in England has been more\\nready to open for the relief of suffering merit or genius.\\nHis benefactions for a single year have amounted to\\nover f 70,000\\nThe gist, or marrow, of Mr^ Ruskin s political econo-\\nmy, or social philosophy, is that in all economic laws and\\nmeasures the moral relations and social affections have\\ngot to be considered. Political economy, as at present\\ntaught, is merely a mercantile system of cut and dried\\nI ules for getting rich at the expense of somebody else.\\nBut political economy, in the large and proper sense,\\ndoes not mean the art of getting rich, but it\\nteaches how wisely to order the affairs of a state, and\\nproduce and distribute the good things of life, especially\\ngood men and women. It is not a science at all, but\\na system of moral conduct; for industry, frugality, and\\ndiscretion the tliree foundation-stones of economy\\nare moral qualities. Surely in its general features his\\neconomic teaching is sound and good. It is only on\\naccount of the visionary and impracticable nature of\\ncertain of its details that the whole system has been\\nreceived with ridicule. It was because Ruskin saw\\nvery clearly the impossibility of getting his favorite", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "IXTRODUUTION. 17\\ntheories ad(ipted by society in general that he formed\\nthe bold scheme ot establishing in England (and after-\\nward in various other countries) ideal associations\\nnamed by him Guilds of St. George around which\\nshould gradually cluster all the better elements of soci-\\nety. Scattered through his books called Fors Clavi-\\ngera you will find the details of this scheme little by\\nlittle set down and, if you make a thorough study of\\nit, it is probable that you will see as much in it to admire\\nas to blame. You will not like his doctrines of coer-\\ncion and blind obedience, and you may smile af his\\nsumptuary laws and his theory of universal state aid\\nfor the poor; but the establishment of museums and\\nlibraries, the advocacy of free trade, organization of\\nguarantee trade-guilds for the production and warrant-\\ning of honest work, the insistence on industry, the\\nemphasis laid on agricultural work, and the attempt\\nto reconcile labor with culture, the reclaiming of\\nwaste lands and formation of mountain reservoirs\\nfor rain-water, the noble care of the infirm and\\ndisabled, lowering of rents in proportion to improve-\\nments, avoidance of usury, and formation of a national\\nstore of wealth all this we must emphatically in-\\ndorse. It is good and only good, and adapted to tlu\\nmending of broken down civilization. Along such\\nlines as these must England move if she would retain\\nher power.\\nIt may well be that the framework of Ruskin s\\nGuild will fall to pieces at his death. The great .secu-\\nlar energies of society are perpetually beating against\\nany forced or artificial organism formed within its\\nlimits, till it is finally swept away and incorporated in the\\ngreat catholic movements and life of humanity. But\\nno matter; what is good in the scheme of St. George\\nwill survive, Ruskin has blazed a path through the\\nwood, made a little garden in the wilderness, dug\\nwells of purest water of life. The lesson will not fail\\nof its effect, the leaven will work. Is there anything\\nin the life of the English people more significant than\\nthe existence of this very Guild? Like a dewy hill-\\ncroft or pastoral upland, lifted above the pall of Eng-\\nland s smoke like sunlight glinting on a troubled sea,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "18 RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\na swirl of rich colors in an arctic night, an oasis in a\\nboundless desert, a living fountain in a dry and thirsty\\nhind such, in the midst of the grossness of Anglo-\\nAmerican materialism, seeins to some of us the social\\nidealism of John Ruskin.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "PREFATORY NOTE.\\nWith a few exceptions, tiie page references through-\\nout this volume are made to the edition of Prof. Rus-\\nkin s whole works published by Mr. John B. Alden,\\n(1885-6.) The references are, however, approximately\\ncorrect for any edition, and may serve as an index to\\nthe various topics treated by Ruskin an index useful\\nboth to his old admirers and to new readers ho wish\\nto know all that he has written on a given subject.\\nFor permission to use the sonnet prefixed to the vol-\\nume I am indebted to the courtesy of its author, Mr.\\nH. Bellyse Baildon of Scotland. The parchment-\\ncovered, Round-Table series in which it originally\\nappeared, contains, besides the study of Ruskin, ap-\\npreciative essays on the protagonists of our own liter\\nature Whitman and Emerson. W. S. K.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "Part I. -A R 1\\\\", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nPART I. ART.\\nSection I. Cardinal Tenets.\\nGreat art [is] the Art of Dreaming. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 384.\\nAll great art is delicate. Elements of Drawing,\\np. 8.\\nThe art, or general productive and formative en-\\nergy, of any country, is an exact exponent of its ethi-\\ncal life. You can have noble art only from ngble per-\\nsons. Jjevtiires on Art, p. 22.\\nI have had but one steady aim in all that I have\\never tried to teach, namely to declare that whatever\\nwas great in human art was the expression of man s de-\\nlight in God s work. The Two Paths, p. 34.\\nThoroughly perfect art is that which proceeds from\\ntlie heart, which involves all the noble emotions as-\\nsociates with these the head, yet as inferior to the\\nlieart and the hand, yet as inferior to the heart and\\nhead; and thus brings out the whole man. IVie Ta o\\nPaths, p. 38.\\nGreat nations write their autobiographies in three\\nmanuscripts the book of their deeds, the book of\\ntheir words, and the book of their art. Not one of\\nthese books can be understood unless we read the two\\nothers but of the three, the only quite trustworthy\\none is the last. The acts of a nation may be triumph-\\nant by its good fortune and its words mighty by the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "23 -4 RUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\ngenius of a few of its children but its art, only by the\\ngeneral gifts and common sympathies oi the race.\\n;St. Mark s Itest, p. 3.\\nAn artist is a person who has submitted to a law\\nwhich it was painful to obey, that he may bestow a de-\\nlight which it isgracious to bestow. J- Vrs, III., p. 5H.\\nArt axd Mechanism. Almost the whole system\\nand hope of modern life are founded on the notion that\\nyou may substitute mechanism for skill, photograph for\\npicture, cast-iron for sculpture. That is your main\\nnineteenth century faith, or infidelity. You think you\\ncan get everything by grinding music, literature, and\\npainting. You will find it grievously not so you can\\nget nothing but dust by mere grinding. Lectures on\\nArt, p. G6.\\nThe Material Conditioxs of Art. All art which\\nis worth its room in this world, all art which is not a\\npiece of blundering refuse, occupying the foot or two\\nof earth which, if unencumbered by it, would have\\ngrown corn or violets, or some better thing, is art\\nii hicJi 2)roreeds from an individual mind, vorkin^j\\nthrough instruments which assist, but do not sujxr-\\nsede,the muscular action of the hu/nan hand, upon\\nthem (teri(ds which most tenderly receive, and most\\nsecurely retain, the impressions of such honan\\nlabor. Stones f Yenicc, I., p. 40().\\nAll fine art requires the application of the whole\\nstrength and subtlety of the body, so that such art is\\nnot possible to any sickly person, but involves the ac-\\ntion and force of a strong man s arm from the shoulder,\\nas well as the deiicatest touch of his finger and it is\\nthe evidence that this full and fine strength has been\\nspent on it which makes the art executively noble so\\nthat no instrument must be used, habitually, which is\\neither too heavy to be delicately restrained, or too\\nsmall and weak to transmit a vigorous impulse much\\nless any mechanical aid, such as would render the sen-\\nsibility of the fingers ineffectual. Aratra Pentelici,\\np. 96.\\nGreat Art Not to be Taught bv Rules. Do you\\nfancy a Greek workman ever made a vase by measure-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 23\\nix.ent I He dashed it from his hand on the wheel, and it\\nwas beautiful and a Venetian glass-blower swept you\\na curve of crystal f roiii the end of his pipe and Rey-\\nnolds or Tintoret swept a curve of color from their pen-\\ncils, as a musician the cadence of a note, unerrini;, and\\nto be measured, if you please, afterwards, with tlie ex-\\nactitude of Divine law. Etajle s Kest, p. 88.\\nNothing is a great work of art, for the production of\\nwhich either rules or models can be given. Exactly so\\nfar as architecture works on known rules, and from\\ngiven models, it is not an art, but a manufacture and\\nit is, of the two procedures, rather less rational (be-\\ncause more easy) to copy capitals or mouldings from\\nPhidias, and call ourselves architects, than to copy\\nheads and hands from Titian, and call ourselves paint-\\ners. t tO)i is of Venice, II., p. 175.\\nThe labor of the whole Geological Society, for the\\nlast fifty years, has but now arrived at the ascertain-\\nment of those truths respecting mountain form which\\nTurner saw and expressed with a few strokes of a cam-\\nel s hair pencil fifty years ago, when he was a boy.\\nThe knowledge of all the laws of the planetary system,\\nand of all the curves of the motion of projectiles, would\\nnever enal)le the man of science to draw a waterfall or\\na wave and all the members of Surgeons Hall help-\\ning each other could not at this moment see, or repre-\\nsent, the natural movement of a human body in vifor-\\nous action, as Tintoret, a poor dyer s son, did two hun-\\ndred years ago. ^to)ie i of Venice, III., p. 41.\\nCoNDiTioN3 OF A ScHooL OF Art. Nothing may\\never be made of iron that can as effectually lie made of\\nwood or stone; and nothing moved by steam that can\\nbe as effectually moved by natural forces. And ob-\\nserve, that for all mechanical effort required in social\\nlife, and in cities, water power is infinitely more than\\nenough for anchored mills on the large rivers, and\\njiills m.oved by sluices from reservoirs filled by the\\ntide, will give you command of any quantity of con-\\nstant motive power you need.\\nAgriculture by the hand, then, and absolute refusal or\\nbanishment of unnecessary igneous force, are the first\\nconditions of a school of art in any country. And un-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "24 A R USKIN A NTHOLOG Y.\\ntil you do this, be it soon or late, things will continue\\nin that triumphant state to which, for want of finer\\nart, your mechanism has brought them that, though\\nEngland is deafened with spinning wheels, her people\\nhave not clothes though she is black with digging of\\nCuel, they die of cold and though she has sold her\\nsoul for gain, they die of hunger. Stay in that\\ntriumph, if you choose but be assured of this, it is not\\none which the fine arts v/ill ever share with you. Lec-\\ntures OH, Art, p. 80.\\nEuropean Youth. It is certain that the general\\nbody of modern European youth have their minds oc-\\ncupied more seriously by the sculpture and painting of\\nthe bowls of their tobacco-pipes, than by all the divinest\\nwork;nrianship and passionate imagination of Greece,\\nRome, and Mediaeval Christendom. Aratr(t Pente-\\nUcl, p. 48.\\nFine Ak: and Sweet Nature. Whatever you\\ncan afford to spend for education in art, give to good\\nmasters, and lea ^e them to do the best they can for\\nyou and what you ian afford to spend for the splen-\\ndor of your city, buy grass, flowers, sea, and sky with.\\nNo art of man is possib. e without those primal Treas-\\nures of the art of God. F ors, IV., p. 71.\\nVerona. If I were aske(f to lay my finger, in a\\nmap of the world, on the spot -of the world s surface\\nwhich contained at this moment th*^. most singular con-\\ncentration of art-teaching and art-treasure, I should by\\nit on the name of the town of Verona. A Jotj Voi\\nEver, p. 50.\\nArt Rooted in the Moral Nature. In these\\nbooks of mine, their distinctive character, as essays on\\nart, is their liringing everything to a root in human\\npassion or human hope. Arising first not in any de-\\nsire to explain the principles of art, but in the endeavor\\nto defend an individual painter from injustice, they\\nhave been colored throughout nay, continually altered\\nin shape, and even warped and broken, by digressions\\nrespecting social questions, which had for me an in\\nterest tenfold greater than the work I had been forced\\ninto undertaking. Every principle of painting which I", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 25\\nhave stated is traeinl to some vital or spiritual fact\\nand in itiy works on architecture the preference ac-\\ncorded finally to one school over another, is founded on\\na comparison of their influences on the life of the work-\\nman a question by all other writers on the subject of\\narchitecture wholly forgotten or despised. Modern\\nPaiuters, V., p. 217.\\nInfluence of Right Conduct on Art. Great art\\nis the expression, by an art-gift, of a pure soul\\nBut also, remember, that the art-gift itself is only the\\nresult of the moral charcxcter of generations. A bad\\nwoman may have a sweet voice but that sweetness of\\nvoice comes of the past morality of her race. That\\nshe can sing with it at all, she owes to the determina-\\ntion of laws of music by the morality of the past. Ev-\\nery act, every impulse, of virtue and vice, affects in\\nany creature, face, voice, nervous power, and vigor and\\nharmony of invention, at once. Perseverance in Tight-\\nness of human conduct renders, after a certain num-\\nber of generations, liuman art possible every sin\\nclouds it, be it ever so little a one and persistent vi-\\ncious living and following of pleasure render, after a\\ncertain number of generations, all art impossible.\\nThe Merits of Art not Discernible bv All.\\nThe multitude can always see the faults of good work, but\\nnever, unaided, its virtues on the contrary, it is equal-\\nly quick-sighted to the vulgar merits of bad work, but\\nno tuition will enable it to condemn the vices with\\nwhich it has a natural sympathy and, in general, the\\nblame of them is wasted on its deaf ears. Art of\\nJ^ii gland, p. 107,\\nSociety and the Artist. The artist should be fit\\nioY t\\\\iQhQ t ?,0Q.\\\\(ity, a)ul shoidd keep Old of it.\\nSociety always has a destructive influence upon an art-\\nist first by its sympathy with his meanest powers\\nsecondly, by its chilling want of understanding of his\\ngreatest and, thirdly, by its vain occupation of his\\ntime and thoughts. Of course a painter of men must\\nbe (iniong men but it ought to be as a Vv-atclier, not as\\na companion. ^tonts of Ve/dee, III., p. 44.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2S A inrSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nNature First, Art Second. The beginning of all\\nmy own right art work in life (and it may not be un-\\nprofitable that I should tell you this), depended not\\non my love of art, but of mountains and sea.\\nAnd through the whole of following life, whatever\\npower of judgment I have obtained, in art, which I\\nam now confident and happy in using, or communi-\\ncating, has depended on my steady habit of always\\nlooking for the subject principally, and for the art\\nonly as the means of expressing it. J^arjle^s JVest, p.\\n33.\\nThe Best Art not always Wanted. The best\\nart is not always wanted. Facts are often wanted\\nwithout art, as in a geological diagram and art often\\nwithout facts, as in a Turkey carpet. And most men\\nhave been made capable of giving either one or the oth-\\ner, but not both only one or two, the very highest, can\\ngive both. ^Sto/ies of Venice, II., p. 183.\\nCopyists. The common painter-copyists- who en-\\ncumber our European galleries with their easels and\\npots, are, almost without exception, persons too stupid\\nto be painters, and too lazy to be engravers. Ari-\\nadne, p. 79.\\nAdvice to Tourists in Italy. My general direc-\\ntions to all young people going to Florence or Rome\\nwould be very short: Know your first volume of\\nVasari, and your two first books of Livy look about\\nyou, and don t talk, nor listen to talking. Mornings\\nin Fiorotce, p. 07.\\nStone Dolls after All. The greater part of the\\ntechnic energy of men, as yet, has indicated a kind of\\nchildhood and the race becomes, if not more wise, at\\nleast more manly, with every gained century. I can\\nfancy that all this sculpturing and painting of ours may\\nbe looked back upon, in some distant time, as a kind\\nof doll-making, and that the words of Sii Isaac New-\\nton may be smiled at no more only it will not be for\\nstars that we desert our stone dolls, but for men. Ar-\\natra Pent did, p. 127.\\nDilettante Lovers of Art. The modern Ideal\\n(jf high art is a curious mingling of the gracefulness", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 27\\nand reserve of the drawing-room with a certain meas-\\nure of classical sensuality. 3Todern Painters, III.,\\np. 84.\\nThe fashionable lady who will write five or six\\npages in her diary respecting the effect upon her mind\\nof such and such an ideal in marble, will have her\\ndrawing-room table covered with Books of Beauty, in\\nwhich the engravings represent the human form in\\nevery possible aspect of distortion and affectation and\\nthe connoisseur who, in the morning, pretends to the\\nmost exquisite taste in the antique, will be seen, in the\\nevening, in his opera-stall, applauding the least grace-\\nful gestures of the least modest figurante. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 86.\\nLet it be considered, for instance, exactly how\\nfar the value of a picture of a girl s head by Greuze\\nwould be lowered in the market, if the dress, which\\nnow leaves the bosom bare, were raised to the neck\\nand how far, in the commonest lithograph of some ut-\\nterly popular subject, for instance, the teaching of\\nUncle Tom by Eva the sentiment which is supposed\\nto be excited by the exhibition of Christianity in youth\\nis complicated with that which depends upon Eva s\\nhaving a dainty foot and a well-made satin slipper.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 84.\\nThe beauty of the Apollo Belvidere, or Venus de\\nMedicis, is perfectly palpable to any shallow fine lady\\nor fine gentleman, though they would have perceived\\nnone in the face of an old weather-beaten St. Peter,\\nor a grey-haired Grandmother Lois. The knowl-\\nedge that long study is necessary to produce these reg-\\nular types of the human form renders the facile admir-\\nation matter of eager self-complacency the shallow\\nspectator, delighted that he can really, and without\\nhypocrisy, admire what required much tliought to pro-\\nduce, supposes himself endowed with the highest crit-\\nical faculties, and easily lets himself be carried into\\nrhapsodies about the ideal, which, when all is said,\\nif they be accurately examined, will be found literally\\nto mean nothing more than that the figure has got\\nhandsome calves to its legs, and a straight nose. Mod-\\nern Painters, III., p. 85.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "S A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nYour modern mob of English and American tourist*?,\\nfollowing a lamplighter through the V^atican to have\\npink light thrown for them on the Apollo Belvidere,\\nare farther from capacity of understanding Greek art.\\nthan the parish charity boy, making a ghost out of a\\nturnip, with a candle inside.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 T^^^ D Arno, p. 11.\\nThe Nude. I can assert to you as a positive and\\nperpetual law, that so much of the nude body as in the\\ndaily life of the nation may be shown with modesty,\\nand seen with reverence and delight so much, and no\\nmore, ought to be shov/n by the national arts, either of\\npainting or sculpture. What, more than this, either\\nart exhibits, will, assuredly, pervert taste, and, in all\\nj)robabi!ity, morals. Eagle s Nest, p. 102.\\nWe see in a Painting only what we bring to\\nIT. The sensualist will find sensuality in Titian the\\nthinker will find thought the saint, sanctity the col-\\norist, color the anatomist, form and yet the picture\\nwill never be a popular one in the full sense, for none\\nof these narrower people will find their special taste so\\nalone consulted, as that the qualities which would en-\\nsure their gratification shall be sifted or separated from\\nothers they are checked by the presence of the other\\nqualities which ensure the gratification of other men.\\n2yie T ro Paths, p. 40.\\nThe Greek Ideal not Beauty but Design. It is\\nan error to suppose that the Greek worship, or seeking,\\nwas chiefly of Beauty. It was essentially of Right-\\nness and Strength, founded on Forethought: the prin-\\ncipal character of Greek art is not Beauty, but Design\\nand the Dorian Apollo-worship and Athenian Virgin-\\nworship are both expressions of adoration of divine\\nWisdom and Purity. Next to these great deities rank,\\nin power over the national mind, Dionysus and Ceres,\\nthe givers of human strength and life then, for heroic\\nexample, Hercules. There is no Venus-worship among\\nthe Greek in the great times and the Muses are es-\\nsentially teachers of Truth, and of its harmonies.\\nCrown of Wild Olliie, Lect. II., p. 55.\\nBeauty and Truth distinguished. Nothing is\\nmore common than to hear people who desire to be", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 25\\nthought philosophical, declare that beauty is truth,\\nand truth is beauty. I would most earnestly beg\\nevery sensible person who hears such an assertion\\nmade, to nip the germinating philosopher ui his am-\\nbiguous bud and beg him, if he really believes his own\\nassertion, never thenceforward to use two words for the\\nsame thing. The fact is, truth and beauty are entirely\\ndistinct, though often related, things. One is a prop-\\nerty of statements, the other of objects. The state-\\nment that two and two make four is true, but it is\\nneither beautiful nor ugly, for it is invisible a rose is\\nlovely, but it is neither true nor false, for it is silent.\\n3Iodcrn Pa inters, III., p. 49.\\nDiscipline in Art Work. Because Leonardo\\nmade models of machines, dug canals, built fortifica-\\ntions, and dissipated half his art-powei in capricious\\ningenuities, we have many anecdotes of him but no\\npicture of importance on canvas, and only a few with-\\nered stains of one upon a wall. But because his pupil,\\nor reputed pupil, Luini, labored in constant and suc-\\ncessful simplicity, we have no anecdotes of him\\nonly hundreds of noble works. Athena, p. 118.\\nPeople affect the Customs of their Ancestors.\\nAll other nations have regarded their ancestors with\\nreverence as saints or heroes but have nevertheless\\nthought their own deeds and ways of life the fitting\\nsubjects for their arts of painting or of verse. We,\\non the contrary, regard our ancestors as foolish and\\nwicked, but yet find our chief artistic pleasures in de-\\nscriptions of their ways of life.\\nThe Greeks and media3vals honored, but did not im-\\nitate their forefathers we imitate, but do not honor.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 280.\\nGreat Artists born, not made. Many critics,\\nespecially the architects, have found fault with me for\\nnot teaching people how to arrange masses; for not\\nattributing sufficient importance to composition.\\nAlas I attribute far more importance to it than they\\ndo so much importance, that I should just as soon\\nthink of sitting down to teach a man how to write a\\nDivina Commcdia, or King Lear, as how to com-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "30 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\npose, in the true sense, a single building or picture.\\nPre-RaphaelUism, p. 45.\\nNeither you nor I, nor any one, can, in the great ul-\\ntimate sense, teach anybody how to make a good de-\\nsign. I could as soon tell you how to make or\\nmanufacture an ear of wheat, as to make a good artist\\nof any kind. First you must find your artist in the\\ngrain then you must plant him fence and weed the\\nfield about him and with patience, ground and weath-\\ner permitting, you may get an artist out of him not\\notherwise. The Tioo Paths, p. 68.\\nA certain quantity of art-intellect is born annually\\nin every nation, greater or less according to the nature\\nand cultivation of the nation, or race of men but a\\nperfectly fi.xed quantity annually, not increasable by\\none grain. You may lose it, or you may gather it\\nyou may let it lie loose in the ravine, and buried in the\\nsands, or you may make kings thrones of it, and\\noverlay temple gates with it, as you choose but the\\nbest you can do with it is always merely sifting, melt-\\ning, hammering, purifying never creating. And\\nthe artistical gift in average men is not joined with\\nothers your born painter, if you don t make a jjainter\\nof him, won t be a first-rate merchant, or lawyer at all\\nevents, whatever he turns out, his own special gift is\\nunemployed by you and in no wise helps him in that\\nother business. So here you have a certain quantity of\\na particular sort of intelligence, produced for you an-\\nnually by providential laws, which you can only make\\nuse of by setting it to its own proper work, and which\\nany attempt to use otherwise involves the dead loss of\\ntoo much human energy. Before a good painter\\ncan get employment, his mind has always been embit-\\ntered, and his genius distorted. A common mind usu-\\nally stoops, in plastic chill, to whatever is asked of it,\\nand scrapes or daubs its way complacently into public\\nfavor. But your great men quarrel with you, and you\\nrevenge yourselves by starving them for the first half\\nof their lives. ^1 Joy For l\u00c2\u00a3ver, pp. 20, 21.\\nA Workman exposes Himself in his Work.\\nIf stone work is well put together, it means that a\\nthoughtful man planned it, and a careful man cut it,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 31\\nand an honest man cemented it. If it has too much\\nornament, it means that its carver was too greedy of\\npleasure if too httle, that he was rude, or insensitive,\\nor stupid, and the like. So that when once you have\\nlearned how to spell these most precious of all legends\\npictures and buildings you may read the charac-\\nters of men, and of nations, in their art, as in a mir-\\nror; nay, as in a microscope, and magnified a hun-\\ndredfold for the character becomes passionate in the\\nart, and intensifies itself in all its noblest or meanest\\ndelights. Nay, not only as in a microscope, but as un-\\nder a scalpel, and in dissection for a man may hide\\nhimself from you, or misrepresent himself to you, ev-\\nery other way but he cannot in his work there, be\\nsure, you have him to the inmost. All that he likes,\\nall that he sees all that he can do his imagination,\\nhis affections, his perseverance, his impatience, his\\nclumsiness, cleverness, everything is there. If the\\nwork is a cobweb, you know it was made by a spider\\nif a honeycomb, by a bee a worm-cast is thrown up\\nby a worm, and a nest wreathed by a bird and a\\nhouse built by a man, worthily, if he is worthy, and\\nignobly, if he is ignoble. AtJieiia, p. 80.\\nTiiE English Pound Piece. As a piece of mere\\ndie-cuttmg, that St. George is one of the best bits of\\nwork we have on our money. But as a design how\\nbrightly comic it is The horse looking abstractedly\\ninto the air, instead of where precisely it troiild have\\nlooked, at the beast between its legs St. George, with\\nnothing but his helmet on, (being the last piece of ar-\\nmor he is likely to want,*) putting his naked feet, at\\nleast his feet showing their toes through the buskins,\\nwell forward, that the dragon may with the greatest\\nconvenience get a bite at them and about to deliver a\\nmortal blow at him with a sword which cannot reach\\nhim by a couple of yards or, I think, in George III. s\\npiece with a field-marshal s truncheon. Fors, I.,pp\\n363, 364.\\nThe Earliest Art Linear. The earliest art in\\nmost countries is linear, consisting of interwoven, or\\nFor the real difficulty in dragon- fights is not so much to kill your\\ndragon, as to see him at least to see him in time, it being too prob\\nable that he will seevou first.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "32 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nrichly spiral and otherwise involved arrangements of\\nsculptured or painted lines, on stone, wood, metal, or\\nclay. It is generally characteristic of savage life, and\\nof feverish energy of imagination. Lectures on Art,\\np. 89.\\nA Grotesque. A fine grotesque is the expression,\\nin a moment, by a series of symbols thrown together in\\nbold and fearless connection, of truths which it would\\nhave taken a long time to express in any verbal way,\\nand of which the connection is left for the beholder to\\nwork out for himself; the gaps, left or overleaped by\\nthe haste of the imagination, forming the grotesque\\ncharacter. Modern Pahitcrs, III., p. 114.\\nThe Equestrian Statue of the Duke of Well-\\nington. You have a portrait of the Duke of Welling-\\nton at the end of the North Bridge one of the thou-\\nsand equestrian statues of Modernism studied from\\nthe showriders of the amphitheatre, with their horses\\non their hindlegs in the sawdust. Do you suppose\\nthat was the way the Duke sat when your destinies de-\\npended on him? when the foam hung from the lips of\\nhis tired horse, and its wet limbs wei-e dashed with the\\nbloody slime of the battlefield, and he himself sat\\nanxious in his quietness, grieved in his fearlessness, as\\nhe watched, scythe-stroke by scythe-stroke, the gather-\\ning in of the harvest of death? You would have done\\nsomething had you thus left his image in the enduring\\niron, but nothing \\\\\\\\o\\\\n .\u00e2\u0080\u0094Lectures on Archltectare, p.\\n120.\\nThe Crystal Palace. The quantity of bodily\\nindustry which that Crystal Palace expresses is very\\ngreat. So far it is good.\\nThe quantity of thought it expresses is, I suppose, a\\nsingle and very admirable thought of Mr. Paxtoii s,\\nprobably not a bit brighter than thousands of thoughts\\nwhich pass thi ough his active and intelligent brain\\nevery hour that it might be possible to Jbuild a green-\\nhouse larger than ever greenhouse was built before.\\nThis thought, and some very ordinary algebra, are as\\nmuch as all that glass can represent of human intellect.\\nBut one poor half-pennyworth of bread to all this in-\\ntolerable deal of sack. /Stones of Venice^ I., p. 407.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 33\\nTriE Creative Power in Art. Suppose Adam\\nand Eve had been riuide in the softest clay, ever so\\nneatly, and set at the foot of the tree of knowledge,\\nfastened up to it, quite unable to fall, or do anything\\nelse, would they have been well created, or in any true\\nsense created at all\\nA poet, or creator, is therefore a person who puts\\nthings together, not as a watchmaker steel, or a shoe-\\nmaker leather, but who puts life into them. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 182.\\nQuality, not Quantity of Art Study desir-\\nable. To have well studied one picture by Tintoret,\\none by Luini, one by Angelico, and a couple of Turner s\\ndrawings, will teach a man more than to have cata-\\nlogued all the galleries of Europe; while to have drawn\\nwith attention a porch of Amiens, an arch at Verona,\\nand a vault at Venice, will teach him more of architect-\\nure than to have made plans and sections of every big\\nheap of brick or stone between St. Paul s and the\\nPyramids. JS^otes on his ovn DraiDmgs, p. 29.\\nThree Rules. 1. Never encourage the manufact-\\nure of any article not absolutely necessary, in the pro-\\nduction of which Invention has no share.\\n2. Never demand an exact finish for its own sake,\\nbut only for some practical or noble end.\\no. Never encourage imitation or copying of any\\nkind, except for the sake of preserving record of great\\nworks. jS(07ies of fenire, II., p. 166.\\nArt IS THE same for all Time. Whatever changes\\nmay be made in the customs of society, whatever new\\nmachines we may invent, whatever new manufactures\\nwe may supply. Fine Art must remain what it was\\ntwo thousand years ago, in the days of Phidias; two\\nthousand years hence, it will be, in all its principles,\\nand in all its great effects upon the mind of man, just\\nthe same. T/ie Two Patlis, p. o9.\\nEtruscan Art. Etruscan art remains in its own\\nItalian valleys, of the Arno and upper Tiber, in one\\nunbroken series of work, from the seventh century be-\\nfore Christ, to this hour, when the country whitewasher\\n*tUl scratches his plaster in Etruscan patterns. All", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "34 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nFlorentine work of the finest kind Luca deila Robbia s,\\nGhiberti s, Donatello s, Filippo Lippi s, Botticelli s, Fra\\nAngelico s is absolutely pure Etruscan, merely chang-\\ning its subjects, and representing the Virgin instead of\\nAthena, and Christ instead of Jupiter. Every line of\\nthe Florentine chisel in the fifteenth century is based\\non national principles of art which existed in the\\nseventh century before Christ. Mornings in Flor-\\nence, p. 43.\\nDestruction of Works or Art. Fancy what\\nEurope would be now, if the delicate statues and tem-\\nples of the Greeks if the broad roads and massy walls\\nof the Romans if the noble and pathetic architecture\\nof the middle ages, had not been ground to dust by\\nmere human rage. You talk of the scythe of Time,\\nand the tooth of Time I tell you Time is scytheless\\nand toothless; it is we who gnaw like the worm we\\nwho smite like the scythe.\\nDo you think that in this nineteenth century it is\\nstill necessary for the European nations to turn all the\\nplaces where their principal art-treasures are into bat-\\ntlefields? Imagine what would be the thriving\\ncircumstances of a manufacturer of some delicate pro-\\nduce suppose glass, or china in whose workshop and\\nexhibition rooms all the workmen and clerks began\\nfighting at least once a day, first blowing off the steam,\\nand breaking all the machinery they could reacli _.nd\\nthen making fortresses of all the cupboards, and attaclc-\\ning and defending the show-tables, the victorious party\\nfinally throwing everything they could get hold of out\\nof the window, by way of showing their triumph, and\\nthe poor manufacturer picking up and putting away at\\nlast a cup here and a handle there. A fine prosperous\\nbusiness that would be, would it not and yet that is\\nprecisely the way the great manufacturing firm of the\\nworld carries on its business. A Joy J ^or J^cer, p.\\n49.\\nSymbols. A symbol is scarcely ever invented just\\nwhen it is needed. Some already recognized and ac-\\ncepted form or thing becomes symbolic at a particular\\ntime. Vibrate but the point of a tool against an\\nunbaked vase, as it revolves, set on the wheel", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 35\\nyou have a wavy or zigzag line. The vase revolves\\nonce; the ends of the wavy line do not exactly tally\\nwhen they meet you get over the blunder by turning\\none into a head, the other into a tail and have a sym-\\nbol of eternity if, first, which is wholly needful, you\\nhave an iden of eternity\\nAgain, the free sweep of a pen at the finish of a\\nlarge letter has a tendency to throw itself into a spiral.\\nThere is no particular intelligence, or spiritual emotion,\\nin the production of this line. A worm draws it with\\nhis coil, a fern with its bud, and a periwinkle with his\\nshell. Yet, completed in the Ionic capital, and arrested\\nin the bending point of the acanthus leaf in the Corin-\\nthian one, it has become the primal element of beauti-\\nful architecture and ornament in all the ages; and is\\neloquent with endless symbolism, representing the\\npower of the winds and waves in Athenian work, and\\nof the old serpent, which is the Devil and Satan, in\\nGothic work. lujrs, I., p. 313.\\nImportance of Dress to Historical Painting,\\nI believe true nobleness of dress to be an important\\nmeans of education, as it certainly is a necessity to any\\nnation which wishes to possess living art, concerned\\nwith portraiture of human nature. No good historical\\npainting ever yet existed, or ever can exist, where the\\ndresses of the people of the time are not beautiful and\\nhad it not been for the lovely and fantastic dressing of\\nthe loth to the 10th centuries, neither French, nor\\nFloi entine, nor Venetian art could have risen to any-\\nthing like the rank it reached. Still, even then, the\\nbest dressing was never tlie costliest and its effect\\ndepended much more on its beautiful and, in early\\ntimes modest, arrangement, and on the simple and\\nlovely masses of its color, than on gorgeousnessof clasp\\nor embroidery A Joy For Ever, p, 39.\\nCriticism of Art nv Young Men. Sound criti-\\ncism of art is impossible to young men, for it consists\\nprincipally, and in a far more exclusive sense than has\\nyet been felt, in the recognition of the facts represented\\nby the art. A great artist represents many and abstruse\\nfticts it is necessary, in order to judge of his works,\\nthat all those facts sliould be experimentally (not by", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "36 A RUSKiy ANTHOLOaV.\\nhearsay) known to the observer whose recognition of\\ntiieni constitutes his approving judgment. A young\\nman ca)rnot know them.\\nCriticism of art by young men must, therefore, con-\\nsist either in the more or less apt retaihng and applica-\\ntion of received opinions, or in a more or less immedi-\\nate and dextrous use of the knowledge they already\\npossess, so as to be able to assert of given works o{\\nart that they are true up to a certain point the prob-\\nability being then that they are true farther than the\\nyoung man sees.\\nThe first kind of criticism is, in general, useless, if\\nnot liarmful the second is that which the youths will\\nemploy who are capable of becoming ci-itics in after\\nyears.\\nAll criticism of art, at whatever period of life, must\\nbe partial warped more or less by the feelings of the\\nperson endeavoring to judge. Arroirs of the Chace,\\nI., p. 41.\\nHuman Work as Ornament. Ships cannot be\\nmade subjects of sculpture. No one pauses in par-\\nticular delight beneath the pediments of the Admiralty\\nnor does scenery of shipping ever become prominent in\\nbas-relief without destroying it witness the base of\\nthe Nelson pillar. \\\\t may be, and must be sometimes,\\nintroduced in severe subordination to the figure subject,\\nbut just enough to indicate the scene; sketched in the\\nlightest lines on the background never with any at-\\ntempt at reahzation, never with any equality to the\\nforce of the figures, unless the whole purpose of the\\nsubject be picturesque. That is to say, when the\\nmind is intended to derive part of its enjoyment from\\nthe parasitical qualities and accidents of the thing, not\\nfrom the heart of the thing itself.\\nAnd thus, while we must regret the flapping sails in\\nthe death of Nelson in Trafalgar Square, we may yet\\nmost heartily enjoy the sculpture of a storm in one of\\nthe bas-reliefs of the tomb of St. Pietro Martire in the\\nchurch of St. Eustorgio at Milan, where the grouping\\nof the figures is most fancifully conjplicated by the\\nunder-cut cordage of the vessel.\\nIn all these instances, however, observe that the per-\\nmission to represent the human work as an ornament,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 37\\nis conditional on its being necessary to the representa-\\ntion of a scene, or explanation of an action. On no\\nterms whatever could any such subject be independently\\nadmissible,\\nI conclude, then, with the reader s leave, that all or-\\nnament is base which takes for its subject human work,\\nthat it is utterly base painful to every rightly-tonec\\\\\\nmind, without perhaps immediate sense of the reason,\\nbut for a reason palpable enough when we do think\\nof it. For to carve our own work, and set it up for ad\\nmiration, is a miserable self-complacency, a contentment\\nin our own wretched doings, when we might have been\\nlooking at God s doings. And all noble ornament is the\\nexact reverse of this. It is the expression of man s de-\\nlight in God s work. iSto/tct; of Vtiitce, I., p. ilS-\\n218.\\nNo great art ever was, or can be, employed in the\\ncareful imitation of the work of man as its principal\\nsubject. That is to say, art will not bear to be redupli-\\ncated. A ship is a noble thing, and a cathedral a noble\\nthing, but a painted ship or a painted cathedral is\\nnot a noble thing. A wrecked ship, or shattered\\nboat, is a noble subject, while a ship in full sail, or a\\nperfect boat, is an ignoble one; not merely because the\\none is by reason of its ruin more picturesque than the\\nother, but because it is a nobler act in man to meditate\\nupon Fate as it conquers his work, than upon that work\\nitself. More complicated in their anatomy than the\\nhuman frame itself, so far as that frame is outwardly\\ndiscernil)le liable to all kinds of strange accidental\\nvariety in position and movement, yet in each position\\nsubject to imperative laws which can only be fol-\\nlowed by unerring knowledge and involving in the\\nroundings and foldings of sail and hull, delicacies of\\ndrawing greater than exist in any other inorganic object,\\nexcept perhaps a snow-wreath they [ships] present, ir-\\nrespective of sea or sky, or anything else around them,\\ndifficulties which can only be vanquished by draught-\\nmanship quite accomplished enough to render even the\\nsubtlest lines of the human face and form. But the\\nartist who has once attained such skill as this will not\\ndevote it to the drawing of ships. He who can paint\\nthe face of St. PauT will not elaborate the parting tim-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "38 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbers of the. vessel in which he is wrecked. ILirhors of\\nEngland.\\nPhotography. Photography cannot exhibit the\\ncharacter of large and finished sculpture but its au-\\ndacity of shadow is in perfect harmony with the more\\nroughly picturesque treatment necessary in coins,\\nAratra Pentellci, p. G.\\nPhotographs are not true, though they seem so.\\nThey are merely spoiled nature. It is not human design\\nyou are looking for, there is more beauty in the next\\nwayside bank than in all the sun-blackened paper you\\ncould collect in a lifetime. Lectures on Art, p. 118.\\nMy chemical friends, if you wish ever to know any-\\nthing rightly concerning the arts, I very urgently ad-\\nvise you to throv/ all your vials and washes down the\\ngutter-trap and if you will ascribe, as you think it so\\nclever to do, in your modern creeds, all virtue to the\\nsun, use that virtue through your own heads and fin-\\ngers, and apply your solar energies to draw a skilful\\nline or two, for once or twice in your life. You may\\nlearn more by trying to engrave, like Goodall, the tip\\nof an ear, or the curl of a lock of hair, than by photo-\\ngraphing the entire population of the United States\\nof America black, white, and neutral-tint, Ariadne,\\np. 70.\\nRaphael, Michael Angelo, and Tintoret. The\\nworks of Raphael, Michael Aiigelo, and Tintoret\\nare the most splendid efforts yet made by human crea-\\ntures to maintain the dignity of states with beautiful\\ncolors, and defend the doctrines of theology with ana-\\ntomical designs. Relation between 3Iichael Angelo\\nand Tintoret, p. 8.\\nNearly every existing work by Michael Angelo is an\\nattempt to execute something beyond his power,\\ncoupled with a fevered desire that his power may be ac-\\nknowledged. He is always matching himself either\\nagainst the Greeks whom he cannot rival, or against\\nrivals whom he cannot forget. He is proud, yet not\\nproud enough to be at peace; melancholy, yet not\\ndee})ly enough to be raised above petty pain and\\nstrong beyond all his companion workmen, yet never", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. S9\\nstrong enough to coniniand liis temper, or limit his\\naims,\\nTintoret, on the contrary, works in the consciousness\\nof supreme strengtii, whicli cannot be wounded by neg-\\nlect, and is only to be thwarted by time and space.\\nHe knows precisely all that art can accomplish under\\ngiven conditions determines absolutely how much of\\nwhat can be done, he will hmiself for the moment\\nchoose to do and fulfills his purpose with as much\\nease as if, through his human body, were working the\\ngreat forces of nature.\\nBoth Raphael and Michael Angelo are thus, in the\\nmost vital of all points, separate from the great Vene-\\ntian. They are always in dramatic attitudes, and al\\n\\\\vays appealing to the public for praise. They are the\\nleading athletes in the gymnasium of the arts: and the\\ncrowd of the circus cannot take its eyes away from\\nthem, while the Venetian walks or rests with the sim-\\nplicity of a wild animal is scarcely noticed ia his oc-\\ncasionally swifter motion when he springs, it is to\\nplease himself and so calmly that no one thinks of\\nestimating the distance covered. Relation heUoeen\\nMichael Aiujelo and Tintoret, ^V- ^^y l-l-\\nYou are accustomed to think the figures of Michael\\nAngelo sublime because they are dark, and colossal,\\nand involved, and mysterious because in a word, they\\nlook sometimes like shadows, and sometimes like\\nmountains, and sometimes like spectres, but never like\\nhuman beings. Believe me, yet once more, in what i\\ntold you long since man can invent nothing nobler\\nthan humanity.\\nAll that shadowing, storming, and coiling of his,\\nwhen you look into it, is mere stage decoration, and\\nthat of a vulgar kind.\\nNow, though in nearly all his greater pictures, Tin-\\ntoret is entirely carried away by his sympathy with\\nMichael Angelo, and conquers him in his own field y\\noutflies him in motion, outnumbers him in multitude,\\noutwits him fancy, and outflames him in rage he\\ncan be just as gentle as he is strong: and that Para-\\ndise, though it is the largest picture in the world,\\nwithout any question, is also the thoughtfullest, and\\nmost precious.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "40 .4 RUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nI have no hesitation in asserting this picture to be Ly\\nfar the most precious work of ait of any kind whatso-\\never, now existing in the world. llclailn}! hetweeii\\nMichael A\u00c2\u00bbfjdo and T lntoret.^^^. 20-30.\\nThe Study of Anatomy destructive to Art.\\nDon t think you can paint a peach, because you know\\nthere s a stoiie inside nor a face, because you know a\\nskull is. Laxrs of Fesole, p. 19.\\nThe study of anatomy is destructive to art.\\nMantegna and Diirer were so polluted and paralyzed\\nby the study of anatomy that the former s best works\\n(the magnificent mythology of th: icosin the Louvre,\\nfor instance) are entirely revolting to all women and\\nchildren while Diirer never could draw one beautiful\\nfemale form crfaee; and, of his important plates, only\\nfour, the JMelencholia, St. Jerome in his Study, St.\\nHubert, and Kniglit and Death, are of any use for\\npopular instruction, because in these only, the figures\\nbeing fully draped or armed, he was enabled to think\\nand feel rightly, being d. livered from the ghastly toil\\nof bone-delineation EcgMs JVest, J nfare.\\nI am now certain that the greater the intellect, the\\nmore fataljare the forms of degradation to which it be-\\ncomes liable in the course of anatomical study and\\nthat to Michael Angelo, of all men, the mischief was\\ngreatest, in destroying liis religious passion and imag-\\nination, and leading him to make every spiritual con-\\nception subordinate to the display of his knowledge of\\nthe body. Eagles ITe. it, p. 00.\\nAll the main work of the eagle s eye is in looking\\ndown. To Keep the sunshine above from teasing it,\\nche cyo is put under a triangular penthouse, which is\\nprecisely the most characteristic thing in the bird s\\nwhole aspect. Its hooked beak does not materially\\ndistinguish it from a cockatoo, but its hooded eye does.\\nBut that projection is not accounted for in the skull;\\nand, so little does the anatomist care about it, that you\\nmay hunt through the best modern v/orks on orni-\\nthology, and you will find eagles drawn with all man-\\nner of dissections of skulls, claws, clavicles, sternums,\\nand gizzards but you won t find so much as one poor", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 41\\nfalcon drawn with a falcon s eye. Eagles JVest, p.\\n08.\\nHolbein draws skeleton after skeleton, m every\\npossible gesture but never so much as counts their\\nribs He neither knows nor cares how many ribs a\\nskeleton has. There are always enough to rattle.\\nMonstrous, you think, in impudence Holbein for\\nhis carelessness, and I for defending him Nay, 1\\ntriumph in him; nothing has ever more pleased me\\nthan this grand negligence. Nobody wants to know\\nhow many ribs a skeleton has, any more than how many\\nbars a gridiron has, so long as the one can breathe, and\\nthe other broil; and still less, when the breath and the\\nfire are both out. Ariadne, p. 98.\\nArt in the History of Nations. The great lesson\\nof history is, that all the fine arts hitherto\u00e2\u0080\u0094 having\\nbeen supported by the selfish power of the noblesse, and\\nnever having extended their range to the comfort or the\\nrelief of the mass of the people\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the arts, I say, thus\\npractised, and thus matured, have only accelerated the\\nruin of the States they adorned.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 77ie 2\\\\co Paths, p. 73.\\nYou find that the nations which possessed a refined\\nart were always subdued by those who possessed none\\nyou find the Lydian subdued by the Mede; tho Athe-\\nnian by the Spartan the Greek by the Roman the\\nRoman by the Goth the Burgundian by the Switzer\\nbut you find, beyond this\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that even where no attack\\nby anv external pow?r has accelerated the catastrophe\\nof the state, the period in which mf given people reach\\ntheir highest power in art isprecisely that in which they\\nappear to sign the warrant of their own ruin and that,\\nfrom the moment in which a perfect statue appears in\\nFlorence, a perfect picture in Venice, or a perfect fresco\\nin Rome, from that hour forward, probity, industry,\\nand courage seem to be exiled from their walls, and\\nthey perish in a sculpturesque paralysis, or a many-\\ncolored corruption.\\nAnd finally, while art has thus shown itself always\\nactive in the service of luxury and idolatry, it has also\\nbeen strongly directed to the exaltation of cruelty. A\\nnation which lives a pastoral and innocent life never\\ndecorates the shepherd s staff or the plough-handle, but", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "43 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nraces who live by depredation and slaughter nearly al-\\nways bestow exquisite ornaments on the quiver, the\\nhelmet, and the spear. TJte Tiro Paths, pp. 12, 13.\\nWherever art is practised for its own sake, and the\\ndelight of the workman is in what he does and 2) odaces,\\ninstead of what he interprets or e.r/iibits -there art\\nhas an influence of the most fatal kind on brain and\\nheart, and its issues, if long so pursued, in the destriir-\\ntioii both of iiiteUertxal poircr and morol prlneipJi:\\nwhereas art, devoted humbly and self-foi-getf ally to the\\nclear statement and record of the facts of the universe,\\nis always helpful and beneficent to mankind, full of\\ncomfort, strength, and salvation. The Two Paths,\\np. 17.\\nThe art which is especially dedicated to natural fact\\nalways indicates a peculiar gentleness and tenderness of\\nmind, and all great and successful work of that kind\\nwill assuredly be the production of thoughtful, sensi-\\ntive, earnest, kind men, large in their views of life, and\\nfull of various intellectual power. Tlie Ttco Paths,\\np. 46.\\nAll great nations first manifest themselves as a pure\\nand beautiful animal race, with intense energy and im-\\nagination. They live lives of hardship by choice, and\\nby grand instinct of manly discipline the}^ become\\nfierce and irresistible soldiers the nation is always its\\nown army, and their king or chief head of government,\\nis always their first soldier.\\nThen, after their great military period, comes the\\ndomestic period in which, without betraying the disci-\\npline of war, they add to their great soldiership the\\ndelights and possessions of a delicate and tender home-\\nlife and then, for all nations, is the time of their per-\\nfect art, which is the fruit, the evidence, the reward of\\ntheir national idea of character, developed by the fin-\\nished care of the occupations of peace. That is the\\nhistory of all true art that ever was, or can be pal-\\npably the history of it unmistakably written on the\\nforehead of it in letters of light in tongues of fire, by\\nwhich the seal of virtue is branded as deep as ever iron\\nburnt into a convict s flesh the seal of crime. But al-\\nways hitherto, after the great period, has followed the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 43\\nday of luxury, and pursuit of tlie arts for pleasure\\nonly. And all has so ended. AtJicna, p. 82.\\nFear Grace; Fear Dehcatksse. Examine the\\nhistory of nations, and you will find this great fact\\nclear and unmistakable on the front of it that good\\nArt has only been produced by nations who rejoiced in\\nit fed themselves with it, as if it were bread basked\\nin it, as if it were sunshine shouted at the sight of it\\ndanced with the delight of it quarrelled for it fought\\nfor it starved for it did, in fact, precisely the opposite\\nwith it of what we want to do with it the}^ made it to\\nkeep, and we to sell.\\nWhile most distinctly you may perceive in past his-\\ntory that Art has never been produced, except by na-\\ntions who took pleasure in it, just as assuredly, and\\neven more plainly, you may perceive that Art has\\nalways destioyed the power and life of those who pur-\\nsued it for pleasure only.\\nWhile men possess little and desire less, they remain\\nbrave and noble while they are scornful of all the arts\\nof luxury, and are in the sight of other nations as bar-\\nbarians, their swords are irresistible and their sway\\nillimitable but let them become sensitive to the re-\\nfinements of taste, and quick in the capacities of pleas-\\nure, and that instant the fingers that had grasped the\\niron rod, fail from the golden sceptre.\\nThe only great painters in our schools of painting in\\nEngland have either been of portrait Reynolds and\\nGainsborough of the philosophy of social life Ho-\\ngarth or of the facts of nature in landscape Wilson\\nand Turner. In all these cases, if I had time, I could\\nshow you that the success of the painter depended on\\nhis desire to convey a truth, rather than to produce a\\nmerely beautiful picture that is to say, to get a like-\\nness of a man, or of a place to get some moral prin-\\nciple rightly stated, or some historical character rightly\\ndescribed, rather than merely to give pleasure to the\\neyes.\\nYou may fancy, perhaps, that Titian, Veronese, and\\nTintoret were painters for the sake of pleasure only\\nbut in reality they were the only painters who ever\\nsought entirely to master, and who did entirely master,\\nthe truths of light and shade as associated with color,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "44 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nin the noblest of all physical created things, the\\nhuman form. They were the only men who ever painted\\nthe human body; all other painters of the great schools\\nare mere anatomical draughtsmen compared to them\\nrather makers of maps of the body, than painters of it.\\nCiunhi hhje Tnavyural Address, pp. 9, 13, 19.\\nGreek Art. Greek art is all parable, but\\nGothic, as distinct from it, literal. From classic\\nart unless you understand it, you may get nothing\\nfrom romantic art, even if you don t understand it, you\\nget at least delight. Val Tf Arno, p. 98.\\nThe Greeks have not, in any supreme way, given to\\ntheir statues character, beauty, or divine strength,\\n[or divine sadness.] [Yet] from all vain and mean\\ndecoration ail weak and monstrous error, the Greeks\\nrescue the forms of man and beast, and sculpture them\\nin the nakedness of their true flesh, and with the fire of\\ntheir living soul.\\nThe Greeks have been the origin not only of all\\nbroad, mighty, and calm conception, but of all that is\\ndivided, delicate and tremulous; variable as the\\nshade, by the light quivering aspen made. To them,\\nas first leaders of ornamental design, belongs, of right,\\nthe praise of glistenings in gold, piercings in ivory,\\nstainings in purple, burnishings in dark blue steel; of\\nthe fantasy of the Arabian roof quartering of the\\nChristian shield rubric and arabesque of Christian\\nscripture. Aratra Pentidici, pp. 127, 129, 131.\\nGreek art as a first, not a final, teacher.\\nGreek faces are not particularly beautiful. Of the\\nmuch nonsense against which you are to keep your ears\\nshut, that which is talked to you of the Greek ideal of\\nbeauty, is among the absolutest. There is nor. a sin-\\ngle instance of a very beautiful head left by the high-\\nest school of Greek art. On coins, there is even no\\napproximately beautiful one. The Juno of Argos is a\\nvirago; the Athena of Athens, grotesque; the Athena\\nof Corinth is insipid and of Thurium sensual. The\\nSiren Ligeia, and fountain of Arethusa, on the coins of\\nTerina and Syracuse, are prettier, but totally without\\nexpression, and chiefly set off by their well-curled liair.\\nYou might have expected something subtle in Mer-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 45\\ncuries but the Mercury of ^nus is a very stupid^\\nlooliing fellow, in a cap like a bowl, with a knob on the\\ntop of it. Tiie Bacchus of Thasos is a drayman with\\nhis hair poniatum d. The Jupiter of Syracuse is, how-\\never, calm and refined and the Apollo of Clazomente\\nwould have been impressive, if he had not come down\\nto us much flattened by friction. But on the whole,\\nthe merit of Greek coins does not primarily depend on\\nbeauty of features, nor even, in the period of highest\\nart, that of the statues. You may take the Venus of\\nMelos as a standard of beauty of the central Greek\\ntype. She has tranquil, reglilar, and lofty features;\\nbut could not hold her own for a moment against the\\nbeauty of a simple English girl, of pure race and kind\\nheart. That sketch of four cherub heads from an\\nEnglish girl, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, at Kensington,\\nis an incomparably finer thing than ever the Greeks\\ndid. Ineffably tender in the touch, yet Herculean in\\npower; innocent, yet exalted in feeling; pure in color\\nas a pearl; reserved and decisive in design, as this\\nLion crest if it alone existed of such if it were a\\npicture by Zeuxis, the only one left in the world, and\\nyou built a shrine for it, and were allowed to see it\\nonly seven days in a year, it alone would teach you\\nall of art that you ever needed to know.\\nThen, what are the merits of this Greek art, which\\nmake it so exemplary for you Well, not that it is\\nbeautiful, but that it is Right. All that it desires to\\ndo, it does, and all that it does, does well. You will\\nfind, as you advance in the knowledge of art, that its\\nlaws of self-restraint are very marvelous that its\\npeace of heart, and contentment in doing a simple\\nthing, with only one or two qualities, restrictedly de-\\nsired, and sufficiently attained, are a most wholesome\\nelement of education for you, as opposed to the wild\\nwrithing, and wrestling, and longing for the moon, and\\ntilting at wind-mills, and agony of eyes, and torturing\\nof fingers, and general spinning out of one s soul into\\nfiddle-strings, which constitute the ideal life of a mod-\\nern artist.\\nHalf the powcn- and imagiiifition of every other\\nschool depend on a ccn-tain feverish terror mingling with", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "46 A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntheir sense of beauty; the feeling that a child has in a\\ndark room, or a sick person in seeing ugly dreams.\\nBut the Greeks never have ugly dreams. They can-\\nnot draw anything ugly when they try. Sometimes\\nthey put themselves to their wits -end to draw an ugly\\nthing the Medusa s head, for instance but tliey\\ncan t do it not they because nothing frightens\\nthem. They widen the mouth, and grind the teeth,\\nand puff the cheeks, and set the eyes a-goggling; and\\nthe thing is only ridiculous after all, not the least\\ndreadful, for there is no dread in their hearts. Pen-\\nsiveness; amazement; often deepest grief and deso-\\nlateness. All these: but terror never. Everlasting\\ncalm in the presence of all fate and joy such as they\\ncould win, not indeed in a perfect beauty, but beauty\\nat perfect rest. Athena, pp. 154-128.\\nThe Greek, or Classic, and the Romantic Styles,\\nWithout entering into any of the fine distinctions be-\\ntween these two sects, this broad one is to be observed\\nas constant: that the writers nnd painters of the Class-\\nic school set down nothing but what is known to be\\ntrue, and set it down in the perf^ctest manner possible\\nin their way, and are thenceforward authorities from\\nwhom there is no appeal. Romantic writers and paint-\\ners, on tlie contrary, express themselves under the im-\\npulse of passions which may indeed lead them to the\\ndiscovery of new truths, or to the more delightful ar-\\nrangement or presentment of things already known\\nbut their work, however brilliant or lovely, remains\\nimperfect, and without authority. Val U Arno, p. DfK\\nART AND MAN IN THE MIDDLE AGES.\\nA degree of personal beauty, both male and female,\\nwas attained in the Middle Ages, with which classical\\nperiods could show nothing for a moment comparable\\nand this beauty was set forth by the most perfect\\nsplendor, united with grace, in dress, which the human\\nrace have hitherto invented. The strength of tlieir\\nart-genius was directed in great part to this object\\nand their best workmen and most brilliant fanciers\\nwere employed in wreathing the mail or embroidei ing", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "CAnnixA!. ThJ.xprrs of art. 47\\nthe robe, Tlie exquisite arts of enamelling and clias-\\ning metal enabled them to make the armor as radiant\\nand delicate as the plumage of a tropical bird; and the\\nmost various and vivid imaginations were displayed in\\nthe alternations of coloi and fiery freaks of form, on\\nshield and crest; so that of all the beautiful things\\nwhich the eye:^ of men could fall upon, in the world\\nabout them, the most beautiful must have been a young\\nknight riding out in moi-ning sunshine, and in faithful\\nhojx\\nHis broad, clear brow in sunlight glowed\\nOn burnished liooves his war-horse trode\\nFrom underneath his lielniet flowed\\nHis coal-black curls, as on lie rode.\\nAll in the blue, unclouded weather,\\nTliick jewelled shone the saddle leather\\nThe I .eliuet and tlie helmet featlier\\nBurned like one burning flame together\\nAnd the gemmy bridle glittered free,\\nLike to some brancli of stars we see\\nHung in the golden galaxy.\\nNow, the effect of this superb presence of human\\nbeauty on men in general was, exactly as it had been in\\n(xreek times, first, to turn their thoughts and glances\\nin great part away from all other beauty but that, and\\nto make the grass of the field take to them always\\nmore or less the aspect of a carpet to dance upon, a\\nlawn to tilt upon, or a serviceable crop of hay; and,\\nsecondly, in what attention they paid to this lower na-\\nture, to make them dwell exclusively on what was\\ngraceful, symmetrical, and bright in color. All that\\nwas rugged, rough, dark, wild, unterminated, they re-\\njected at once, as the domain of salvage men and\\nmonstrous giants all that they admired was tender,\\nbright, balanced, enclosed, svmmetrical, M xleni\\nJ* i inters, III., pp. 219, 220.\\n[Yet they regarded mountains as places fit for pen-\\nance and prayer; but] our modern society in general\\ngoes to the mountains, not to fast, but to feast, and\\nleaves their glaciers covered with chicken-bones and\\negg-shells.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "48 A RUSKLW AXTHOLOGT.\\nComicetcd with this want of any sense of solemnity\\nill mountain scenery, i.i a general profanity cf temper\\nin regarding all the lest (;f nature that i to say, a to-\\ntal absence of faith in the presence of any deity tliere-\\nin. Whereas the mediseval never painted a cloud, but\\nwith the purpose of placing an angel in it and a\\nGreek never entered a wood without expecting to meet\\na god in it ice should think the appearance of an angel\\nin the cloud wholly unnatural, and should be seriously\\nsurprised Ijy meeting a god anywhere. Jfodern\\nPainterH, III., p. )ll(S.\\nThe art of this day is not merely a more knowing\\nart than that of the thirteenth century it is altogether\\nanother art. Between the two there is a great gulph, a\\ndistinction forever ineffaceable. The change from one\\nto the other was not that of the child into the man, as\\nwe usually consider it it was that of the chrysalis\\ninto the butterfly. There was an entire change in the\\nhabits, food, method of existence, and heart of the\\nwhole creature. This is the great and broad fact\\nwhich distinguishes modern art from old art that all an-\\ncient art w ^reUtjious, and all modern art is/ y o/Wy/t\\nIn mediaeval art, thought is the first thing, execution\\nthe second in modern art execution is the first thing,\\nand thought the second. And again, in mediseval art,\\ntruth is first, beauty second in modern art, beauty is\\nfirst, truth second. The mediaeval principles led uj^ to\\nRaphael, and the modern principles lead doicn from\\nhim. Lectures on Arcldtecture, p. 110.\\nThe art of the thirteenth century is the foundation\\nof all art not merely the foundation, but the root of\\nit that is to say, succeeding art is not merely built\\nupon it, but was all comprehended in it, and is devel-\\noped out of it. Lectures on Architect ure, p. 84.\\nJoy and Brightness of Medi.eval Times. The\\nMiddle Ages had their wars and agonies, but also in-\\ntense delights. Their gold was dashed v/ith blood\\nbut ours is sprinkled with dust. Their life was inter-\\nwoven with white and purple ours is one seamless\\nstuff of brown. Not that we are without apparent fes-\\ntivity, but festivity more or less forced, mistaken, em-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TESErS OF ART. 49\\nbittered, incouiplote nut of the heart. Jfodo n\\nPainters, III., p. 270.\\nLongfellow a good Interpreter of the Middle\\nAges. Longfellow, in the Golden Legend, has entered\\nmore closely into the temper of the Monk, for good and\\nfor evil, than ever yet theological writer or historian,\\nthough they may have given their life s labor to the\\nanalysis and, again, Robert Browning is unerring in\\nevery sentence he writes of the Middle Ages always\\nvital, right, and profound so that in the matter of\\nart, with which we have been specially concerned, there\\nis hardly a principle connected with the mediseval tem-\\nper, that he has not struck upon in those seemingly\\ncareless and too rugged rhymes of his. Jlodtrn\\nPainters, IV., p. 392.\\nPisa in the Middle Ages. Fancy what was the\\nscene which presented itself, in his afternoon walk,\\nto a designer of the Gothic school of Pisa Nino\\nPisano, or any of his men.\\nOn each side of a bright river he saw rise a line of\\nbrighter palaces, arched and pillared, and inlaid with\\ndeep red porphyry, and with serpentine along the quays\\nbefore their gates were riding troops of knights, noble\\nin face and form, dazzling in crest and shield horse\\nand man one labyrinth of quaint color and gleaming\\nlight the purple, and silver, and scarlet fringes flow\\ning over the strong limbs and clashing mail, like sea-\\nwaves over rocks at sunset. Opening on each side\\nfrom the river were gardens, courts, and cloisters long\\nsuccessions of white pillars among wreaths of vine\\nleaping of fountains through buds of pomegranate and\\norange and still along the garden-paths, and under\\nand through the crimson of the pomegranate shadows,\\nmoving slowly, groups of the fairest women tha Italy\\never saw fairest, because purest and thoughtfullest\\ntrained in all high knowledge, as in all courteous art\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in\\ndance, in song, in sweet wit, in lofty learning, in loftier\\ncourage, in loftiest love able alike to cheer, to enchant,\\nor save, the souls of men. Above all this scenery of\\njierfect human life, rose dome and bell-tower, burning\\nwith white alabaster and gold lieyond dome and bell-\\ntower the slopes of mighty hills, hoary with olive far", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "so A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nin the north, above a purple sea of peaks of solemn\\nApennine, the clear, sharp-cloven Carrara mountains\\nsent up their steadfast flames of tnarble summit into\\namber sky the great sea itself, scorching with expanse\\nof light, stretching from their feet to the Gorgonian\\nisles; and over all these, ever present, near or far\\nseen through the leaves of vine, or imaged with all its\\nmarch of clouds in the Arno s stream, or set with its\\ndepth of blue close against the golden hair and burning\\ncheek of lady and knight that untroubled and sacred\\nsky, which was to all men, in those days of innocent\\nfaith, indeed the unquestioned abode of spirits, as the\\nearth was of men and which opened straight through its\\ngates of cloud and veils of dew into the awfulness of\\nthe eternal world a heaven in which every cloud\\nthat passed was literally the chariot of an angel, and\\nevery ray of its Evening and Morning streamed from\\nthe throne of God.\\n[Yet] all that gorgeousness of the Middle Ages,\\nbeautiful as it sounds in description, noble as in many re-\\nspects it was in reality, had, nevertheless for foimdation\\nand for end, nothing but the pride of life the pride of\\nthe so-called superior classes a pride which supported\\nitself by violence and robbery, and led in the end to\\nthe destruction both of the arts themselves and the\\nStates in v. hich they flourished. The Two Paths, pp.\\n71-73.\\nIMITATION AND FINISH.\\nFinishing means in art simply telling more truth.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 144.\\nYou must not draw all the hairs in an eyelash not\\nbecause it is sublime to generalize them, but because it\\nis impossible to see them. ^vlric^/MC, p. 100.\\nGreek art, and all other art, is fine when it\\nmakes a tiuuCs face as like a niaiis face as it\\ncan.\\nGet that well driven into your heads and don t let\\nit out again at your ])eril.\\nHaving got it well in, you may then farther under", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 51\\nstand, safely, that there is a great deal of secondary\\nwork in pots, and pans, and floors, and carpets, and\\nshawls, and architectural ornament, which ought, es-\\nsentially, to be unlike reality, and to depend for its\\ncharm on quite other qualities than imitative ones.\\nBut all such art is inferior and secondary\u00e2\u0080\u0094 much of it\\nmore or less instinctive and animal, and a civilized\\nhuman creature can only learn its principles rightly, by\\nknowing those of great civilized art first which is\\nalways the representation, to the utmost of its power,\\nof whatever it has got to show made to look as like\\nthe thing as possible.*\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J ?/ie\u00c2\u00abrt, pp. 122, 123.\\niVo tndt/ great man can be named in the arts\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nbut it is that of one who finished to his utmost.\\nTake Leonardo, Michael Angelo, and Raphael for a triad,\\nto begin with. They all completed their detail with\\nsuch subtlety of touch and gradation, that, in a careful\\ndrawing by any of the three, you cannot see where\\nthe pen cil ceased to touch the paper the stroke of it is\\nso tender, that, when you look close to the drawing you\\ncan see nothing you see the effect of it a liitle way\\nback Thus tender in execution and so complete in\\ndetail, that Leonardo must needs draw every several\\nvein in the little agates and pebbles of the gravel\\nunder the feet of the St. Anne in the Louvre.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J7o(/-\\nern Painters, IIL, p. 143.\\nEvery quarter of an inch in Turner s drawings will\\nbear magnifying much of the finer work in them can\\nhardly be traced, except by the keenest sight, until it is\\nmagnified. In his painting of Ivy Bridge, the veins\\nare drawn on tiie wings of a butterfly, not above three\\nlines in diameter and in one of his smaller drawings\\nof Scarborough, in my own possession, the muscle-\\n.shells on the beach are rounded, and some shown as\\nshut, some as open, though none are as large as one of\\nthe* letters of this tvpe and yet this is the man who\\nwas thought to belong to the dashing school, literally\\nbecause most people had not patience or delicacy of\\nThe Fine Arts, too, like the coarse, and every art of Man s Gort-\\ngiven Ficuhy. are to understand that they are t hither not to fth\\nSncl dance, but to speak and work and on the whole, that God A\\nmiffhtv-s Farts such as given us, are the one pabu um which xmU\\nyUw then, any nourishment in this world.-Ccn7^?., Latter-Da j.\\nPamphlets, VIII.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "53 A RUSKIX AXTHOLOGY.\\nsight enough to trace his endless detail. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 142.\\nVeronese often [draws] a finished profile, or any\\nother portion of the contour of a face, with one line,\\nnot afterwards changed. Lectures on Art, p. 35.\\nStrokes by Tintoret or Paul Veronese, which were\\ndone in an instant, and look to an ignorant spectator\\nmerely like a violent dash of loaded color (and are, as\\nsuch, imitated by blundering artists), are, in fact,\\nmodulated by the brush and finger to that degree of\\ndelicacy that no single grain of the color could be taker\\nfrom the touch without injury; and little golden parti-\\ncles of it, not the size of a gnat s head, have important\\nshare anu function in the balances of light in a picture\\nperhaps fifty feet long. Nearly everi/ other rule appli-\\ncable to art has some exception but this. This has ab-\\nsolutely none. All great art is delicate art, and all\\ncoarse art is bad art. Modern Painters, III., p. 5G.\\nWhen once we begin at all to unde^-^tand the hand-\\nling of any truly great executor, such as that of any of\\nthe three great Venetians, of Correggio, or Turner, the\\nawe of it is something greater than can be felt from\\nthe most stupendous natural scenery. For the crea-\\ntion of such a system as a high human intelligence, en-\\ndowed with its ineffably perfect instruments of eye and\\nhand, is a far more appalling manifestation of Infinite\\nPower, than the making either of seas or mountains.\\nTne Two Paths, p. 145.\\nThe object of the great Resemblant Arts is, and al-\\nways has been, to resemble; and to resemble as closely\\nas possible. It is the function of a good portrait to\\nset the man before you in habit as he lived, and I would\\nwe had a few more that did so. It is the function of a\\ngood landscape to set the scene before you in its real-\\nity to make you, if it may be, think the clouds are\\nflying, and the streams foaming. It is the function of\\nthe best sculptor the true Daedalus to make stillness\\nlook like l)re;ithi:ig, and marble look like flesh.\\nYou think all that very MTong. So did I. once; but\\nit was I that was wrong. A long time ago, before ever\\nJ had seen Oxford, I painted a picture of the Lake of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "CARDIXAL TEXETS OF Airr. 5-5\\nComo, for my father. It was not at all like the Lake\\nof Como; but I thought it rather the better for that.\\nMy father differed with me and objected particularly\\nto a boat with a red and yellow awning, which I had\\nput into the most conspicuous corner of my drawino-.\\nI declared this boat to be necessary to the composi-\\ntion. My father not the less objected, that he had\\nnever seen such a boat, either at Como or elsewhere;\\nand suggested that if I would make the lake look a lit-\\ntle more like water, I should be under no necessity of\\nexplaining its nature by the presence of floating objects.\\nI thought him at the time a very simple person for his\\npains; but have since learned, and it is the very gist\\nof all practical matters, which, as professor of line art,\\nI have now to toll you, that the great point in painting\\na lake is to get it to look like water. Anitiut I\\\\nU-\\nllci, pp. TO, SO.\\nThe utmost power of art can only be given in a ma-\\nterial capable of receiving and retaining the influence\\nof the subtlest touch of the human hand. That hand is\\nthe most perfect agent of material power existing in\\nthe universe and its full subtlety can only be shown\\nwhen the material it works on, or with, is entirely\\nyielding. The chords of a perfect instrument will re-\\nceive it, but not of an imperfect one; the softly bend-\\ning point of the hair pencil, and soft melting of color,\\nwill receive it, but not even the chalk or pen point, still\\nless the steel point, chisel, or marble. The Tii^o Ait/is\\np. 1 l:J.\\nOur best finishing is but coarse and blundering work\\nafter all. We may smooth, and soften, and sharpen\\ntill we are sick at heart; but take a good magnifying\\nglass to our miracle of skill, and the invisible edge is a\\njagged saw, and the silky thread a rugged cable, and\\nthe soft surface a granite desert. Let all the ingenuity\\nand all the art of the human race ba brought to bear\\nupon the attainment of the utmost possible finish, and\\nthey could not do what is done in the foot of a fly, or\\nthe film of a bubble. God alone can finish. Modem\\nPainters, IIL, p. i:}-?.\\nAccurately speaking, no good work whatever can be\\nperfect. I believe there has only been one man", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "f4 A n USKIX A yJTHOL G Y.\\nwho would not acknowledge this necessity, and strove\\nill ways to reach perfection, Leonardo; the end of his\\nain effort being merely that he would take ten years\\nto a picture, and leave it unfinished. And therefore, if\\nwe are to have great men working at al), or less men\\ndoing their best, the work will be imperfect, however\\nbeautiful. Of human work none but what is bad can\\nbe perfect, in its own bad way.* Stones of J^enice,\\nIJ., p. 131.\\nIf it were possible for art to give all the truths of\\nnature, it ought to do it. But this is not possible.\\nChoice must always be made of some facts which can\\nbe represented, from among others which must be\\npassed by in silence, or even, in some respects, mis-\\nrepresented. The inferior artist chooses unimportant\\nand scattered tri ths; the great artist chooses the most\\nnecessary first, and afterwards the most consistent with\\nthese, so as to obtain the greatest possible and most\\nharmonious st/m. F^r instance, Rembrandt always\\nchooses to represent the exact force with which the\\nlight on the most illumined part of an object is opposed\\nto its obscurer portions. In order to obtain this, i:)\\nmost cases, not very important truth, he sacrifices the\\nlight and color of five-sixths of *iis picture; and the ex-\\npression of every character of objects which depends\\non tenderness of shape or tint. Hut he obtains his\\nsingle truth, and what picturesque and forcible expres-\\nsion is dependent upon it, with magnu*ieent skill and\\nsubtlety. Veronese, on the contrary, chooses to repre-\\nsent the great relations of visible things to each other,\\nto the heaven above, and to the earth bene-ath them.\\nHe holds it more important to show how a figuro\\nstands relieved from delicate air, or marble wall bcw\\nas a red, or purple, or a white figure, it separates it\\nself, in clear discernibility, from things not red, nor\\npurple, nor white; how infinite daylight shines round\\nit; iiow innumerable veils of faint shadow invest it;\\nhow its blackness and darkness are, in the excess of\\ntheir nature, just as limited and local as its intensity of\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00e2\u0080\u00a2The Elgin marbles are supposed by many persons to be per-\\nfect. In the most important portions they indeed appri lach perfec-\\ntion, but only there. The draperies are unfinished, the hair and\\nwool of the animals are unfinished, and the.entira bas-reliefs of thu\\nfrieze are roughly cut.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 55\\nlight all this, I say, he feels to be more important\\nthan showing merely the exact measure of the spark of\\nsunshine that gleams on a dagger- hilt, or glows on a\\njewel. All this, moreover, he feels to be harmonious,\\ncapable of being joined in one great system of spa-\\ncious truth. And with inevitable watchfulness, inesti-\\nmable subtlety, he unites all this in tenderest balance,\\nnoting in each hair s-breadth of color, not merely what\\nits Tightness or wrongness is in itself, but what its rela-\\ntion is to every other on his canvas. Modern Paint-\\ners, III., p. 52.\\nThe Whole Matter of Finish summed up. I do\\nnot wonder at people sometimes thinking I contradict\\nmyself when they come suddenly on any of the scat-\\ntered passages, in which I am forced to insist on the\\nopposite practical applications of subtle principles of\\nthis kind. It may amuse the reader, and be finally serv-\\niceable to him in showing him how necessary it is to\\nthe right handling of any subject, that these contrary\\nstatements should be made, if I assemble here the prin-\\ncipal ones I remember having brought forward, bearing\\non (his difficult point of precision in execution.\\nFinish, for the sake of added truth, or utility, or\\nbeauty, is noble; but finish for the sake of workman-\\nship, neatness, or polish, ignoble.\\nNo good work whatever can be perfect, and the de-\\nmand for perfection is always a sign of the misunder-\\nstanding of the end of art. The first cause of the\\nfall of the arts in Europe was a relentless requirement\\nof perfection.\\nPerfect finish (finish, that is to say, up to the point\\npossible) is always desirable from the greatest masters,\\nand is always given by them.\\nNow all these passages are perfectly true and, as in\\nmuch more serious matters, the essential thing for the\\nreader is to receive their truth, however little he may\\nbe able to see their consistency. If truths of apparent\\ncontrary character are candidly and rightly received,\\nthey will fit themselves together in the mind without\\nany troul)le. But no truth maliciously received will\\nnourish you, or fit with others. The clue of connec-\\ntion may in this case, however, be given in a word.\\nAbsolute finish is always right finish, inconsistent", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "5G .4. RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwith prudence and j^assion, wrong. The imperative\\ndemand for finish is ruinous, because it refuses better\\nthings than finish. The stopping short of the finish,\\nwhich is honorably possible to human energy, is de-\\nstructive on the other side and not in less degree. Err,\\nof the two, on the side of completion. Modern Paint-\\ners, v., pp. 294-297.\\nDecoration and Conventionalism in Art. There\\nis no existing highest-order art but is decorative. The\\nbest sculpture yet produced has been the decoration of\\na temple front the best painting, the decoration of a\\nroom. Raphael s best doing is merely the wall-coloring\\nof a suite of apartments in the Vatican, and his car-\\ntoons were made for tapestries. Correggio s best doing\\nis the decoration of two small church cupolas at Parma\\nMichael Angelo s, of a ceiling in the Pope s private\\nchapel Tintoret s, of a ceiling and side wall belonging\\nto a charitable society at Venice while Titian and\\nVeronese threw out their noblest thoughts, not even on\\nthe inside, but on the outside of the common brick and\\nplaster walls of Venice.\\nYou will every day hear it absurdly said that room\\ndecoration should be by flat patterns by dead colors\\nby conventional monotonies, and I know not what.\\nNow, just bo assured of this nobody ever yet used\\nconventional art to decorate with, when he could do\\nanything better, and knew that what he did would\\nbe safe. Nay, a great painter will always give you the\\nnatural art, safe or not. Correggio gets a commission\\nto paint a room on the ground floor of a palace at\\nParma any of our people bred on our fine modern\\nprinciples would have covered it with a diaper, or with\\nstripes or flourishes, or mosaic patterns. Not so Cor-\\nreggio: he paints a thick trellis of vine-leaves, with\\noval openings, and lovely children leaping through them\\ninto the room and lovely children, depend upon it,\\nare rather more desirable decorations than diaper, if\\nyou can do them but they are not quite so easily\\ndone.\\nBut if art is to be placed v/here it is liable to injury\\nto wear and tear; or to alteration of its form as, for\\ninstance, on domestic utensils, and armor, and weapons,\\nand dress in which either the oi-nastnent will be worn", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 57\\nout by the usage of the thing, or will be c:i8i isiLo al-\\ntered shape by the play of its folds; then it is wrong to\\nput beautiful and j)erfeet art to such uses, and you v/ant\\nforms of inferior art, such as will be by their simplicity\\nless liable to injury or, by reason of their complexity\\nand continuousness, may show to advantage, however\\ndistorted by the folds they are cast into.\\nThe less of nature it contains, the more degraded is\\nthe ornament, and the fitter for a human place; but, how-\\never far a great workman may go in r.-^f using the higher\\norganisms of nature, he always takes care to retain the\\nmagnificence of natural lines; that is to say, of the in-\\nfinite curves, such as I have analyzed in the fourth\\nvolume of Modern Painters. His copyists, fancying\\nthat they can follow him without nature, miss precisely\\nthe essence of all the work so that even the simplest\\npiece of Greek conventional ornament loses the whole\\nof its value in any modern imitation of it, the finer\\ncurves being always missed.\\nThe animal and bird drawing of the Egyptians is, in\\ntheir fine age, quite magnificent under its conditions\\nmagnificent in two ways first, in keenest perception\\nof the main forms and facts ia the creature and, sec-\\nondly, in the grandeur of line by which their forms\\nare abstracted and insisted on, making every asp, ibis,\\nand vulture a sublime spectre of asp or ibis or vulture\\npower. The way for students to get some of this gift\\nagain [some only, for I believe the fullness of the gift\\nitself to be connected with vital superstition, and with\\nresulting intensity of reverence people were likely to\\nknow something about hawks and ibises, when to kill one\\nwas to be irrevocably judged to death) is never to pass a\\nday without drawing some animal from the life, allow-\\ning themselves the fewest possible lines and colors to do\\nit with, but resolving that whatever is characteristic of\\nthe animal shall in some way or other be shown. T/ie\\nTiro Paths, pp. 55-59.\\nIf the designer of furniture, of cups and vases, of\\ndress patterns, and the like, exercises himself contin-\\nually in the imitation of natural form in some leading\\ndivision of his work then, holding by this stem of life,\\nhe ma} pass down mto all kinds of merely geometi ical", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "58 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nor formal design with perfect safety, and with noble\\nresults. l^ie Two J^/t/u^, p. US.\\nThe first thing we have to ask of the decoration is\\nthat it should indicate strong liking, and that honestly.\\nIt matters not so much what the thing is, as that the\\nbuilder should really love it and enjoy it, and say so\\nplainly. The architect of Bourges Cathedral liked\\nhawthorns so he has covered his porch with hawthorn\\nit is a perfect Niobe of May. Never was such haw-\\nthorn you would try to gather it forthwith, but for\\nfear of being pricked. The old Lombard architects\\nliked hunting so they covered their work with horses\\nand hounds, and men blowing trumpets two yards\\nlong. /Stones of ^iii!r I., p. 5().\\nYou will often hear modern architects defending\\ntheir monstrous ornamentation on the ground that it is\\nconventional, and that architectural ornament ought\\nto be conventionalized. Remember when you hear this,\\nthat noble conventionalism is not an agreement between\\nthe artist and spectator that the one shall misrepre-\\nsent nature sixty times over, and the other believe the\\nmisrepresentation sixty times over, but it is an agree-\\nment that certain means and liinitations being pre-\\nscribed, only that K ind of truth is to be expected\\nwhich is consistent with those means. For instance, if\\nSir Joshua Reynolds had been talking to a friend\\nabout the character of a face, and there had been\\nnothing in the room but a deal table and an ink bottle\\nand no pens Sir Joshua would have dipped his finger\\nin the ink, and painted a portrait on the table with his\\nfinger and a noble portrait too, certainly not delicate\\nin outline, nor representing any of the qualities of the\\nface dependent on rich outline, but getting as much of\\nthe face as in that manner was attainable. That is noble\\nconventionalism, and Egyptian work on granite, or il-\\nluminator s work in glass, is all conventional in the\\nsame sense, but not conventionally false. Leetureson\\nArchitertnrc, p. 80.\\nOld Pieces of Gold or Silver Plate. The way\\nto have a truly noble service of plate, is to keep adding\\nto it, not melting it. At every marriage, and at every\\nbirth, get a new piece of gold or silver if you will, but", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TEN^ETS OF ART. m\\nwith noble workman.ship on it, done for hH time, and\\nput it among your treasures; that is one of the chief\\nthings which gold was made for and made incorruptible\\nfor. Gold has been given us, among other things,\\nthat we might put beautiful work into its imperishable\\nsplendor, and that the artists who have the most wilful\\nfancies may have a material which will drag out, and\\nbeat out, as their dreams require, and will hold itself\\ntogether with fantastic tenacity, whatever rare and\\ndelicate service they set it upon. A Joy For Ever,\\np. 34.\\nVenetian Glass. Our modern glass is exquisitely\\nclear in its substance, true in its form, accurate in its\\ncutting. We are proud of this. We ought to be\\nashamed of it. The old Venice glass was muddy, inac-\\ncurate in all its forms, and clumsily cut, if at all. And\\nthe old Venetian was justly proud of it. For there is\\nthis difference between the English and Venetian work-\\nman, that the former thinks only of accurately match-\\ning his patterns, and getting his curves perfectly true\\nand his edges perfectly sharp, and becomes a mere\\nmachine for rounding curves and sharpening edges,\\nwhile the old Venetian cared not a whit whether his\\nedges were sharp or not, but lie invented a new design\\nfor every glass that he made, and never moulded a\\nhandle or a lip without a new fancy in it. And there-\\nfore, though some Venetian glass is ugly and clumsy\\nenough, when made by clumsy and uninventive work-\\nmen, other Venetian glass is so lovely in its forms that\\nno price is too great for it and we never see the same\\nform in it twice. Stones of Venice, II., p. 108.\\nCut, Spun, and Moulded Glass. All cut glass is\\nbarbarous for the cutting conceals its ductility, and\\nconfuses it with crystal. Also, all very neat, finished,\\nand perfect form in glass is barbarous for this fails in\\nproclaiming another of its great virtues namely, the\\nease with which its light substance can be moulded or\\nblown into any form, so long as perfect accuracy be\\nnot required. In metal, which, even when heated\\nenough to be thoroughly malleable, retains yet such\\nweight and consistency as render it susceptible of the\\nfinest handling and retention of the most delicate form.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "00 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngi oiit precision of workmanship is admissible; but in\\nglass, which when once softened must be blown or\\nmoulded, not hammered, and which is liable to lose,\\nby contraction or subsidence, the fineness of the forms\\ngiven to it, no delicate outlines are to be attempted,\\nbut only such fantastic and fickle grace as the mind of\\nthe workman can conceive and execute on the instant.\\nThe more wild, extravagant, and grotesque in their\\ngracefulness the forms are, the better. No material is\\nso adapted for giving full play to the imagination, but\\nit must not be wrought with refinement or painfulness,\\nstill less with costliness. For as in gratitude we are\\nto proclaim its virtues, so in all honesty we are to con-\\nfess its imperfecdons; and while we triumphantly set\\nforth its transparency, we are also frankly to admit its\\nfragility, and therefore not to waste much time upon\\nit, nor put any real art into it when intended for daily\\nuse. No workman ought ever to spend more than an\\nhour in the making of any glass vessel. /Stones of\\nJ^e/iice, II., p. o!)4.\\nGREAT ART AND GREAT MEN.\\nGreat Art- Work. In the greatest work there is\\nno manner visible. It is at first uninteresting from its\\nquietness the majesty of restrained power only dawns\\ngradually upon us, as we walk towards its horizon.\\nAthena, p. I1 2.\\nIt is the crowning virtue of all great art that, how-\\never little is left of it by the injuries of time, that lit-\\ntle will be lovely. As long as you can see anything,\\nyou can see almost all so much the hand of the\\nmaster will suggest of his soul. Mornings in Flor-\\nctn^e, p. 16.\\nThe difference between great and mean art lies, not\\nin definable methods of handling, or styles of represen-\\ntation, or choices of subjects, but wlioUy in the noble-\\nness of the end to which the effort of the painter is ad-\\ndressed. We cannot say that a painter is great be-\\ncause lie paints boldly, or paints delicately because he\\ngeneralizes or particularizes because he loves detail,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. Gl\\nor because he disdains it. He is great if, by any of\\nthese means, he has hiid open noble truths, or aroused\\nnoble emotions. Jloder/i Painters, III., p. 39.\\nDistinctness in Drawing. The best drawing in-\\nvolves a wonderful perception and expression of indis-\\ntinctness; and yet all noble drawing is separated from\\nthe ignoble by its distinctness, by its fine expression\\nand firm assertion of /Somethin.(y whereas the bad\\ndrawing, without either firmness or fineness, expresses\\nand asserts NiAluiuj. The first thing, therefore, to\\nbe looked for as a sign of noble art, is a clear con-\\nsciousness of what is drawn and what is not; the bold\\nstatement, and frank confession This I know,\\ntJi((t I know not; and, generally speaking, all haste,\\nslurring, obscurity, indecision, are signs of low art, and\\nall calmness, distinctness, luminousness, and positive-\\nness, of high art. Modern Painters, III., p. 54.\\nGkeat Art Provincial. All great art, in the\\ngreat times of art, is procinria/, showing its energy in\\nthe capital, but educated, and chiefly productive, in its\\nown country town. The best works of Correggio are\\nat Parma, but he lived in his patronymic village; the\\nbest works of Cagliari at Venice, but he learned to\\npaint at Verona the best works of Angelico are at\\nRome, but he lived at Fesole: the best works of Luini\\nat Milan, but he lived at _jino. And, with still greater\\nnecessity of moral law, the cities which exercise form-\\ning power on style, are themselves provincial. There\\nis no Attic style, but there is a Doric and Corinthian\\none. There is no Roman style, but there is an Umbri-\\nan, Tuscan, Lombard, and Venetian one. There is no\\nParisian style, but there is a Norman and Burgundian\\none. There is no London or Edinburgh style, but there\\nis a Kentish and Northumbrian one.\\nThe capitals of Europe are all of monstrous and de-\\ngraded architecture. An artist in former ages might\\nbe corrupted by the manners, but he was exalted by the\\nsplendor, of the capital and perished amidst magnifi-\\ncence of palaces but now\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the Board of Works is\\ncapable of no higher skill than drainage, and the British\\nartist floats placidly down the maximum current of the\\nNational Cloaca, to his Dunciad rest, content, virtually,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "63 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthat his life should be spent at one end of a cigar, and\\nhis fame expire at the other. Art of Enqland, pp.\\n109,110.\\nThe Great Masters. I am certain that in the\\nmost perfect human artists, reason does not supersede\\ninstinct, but is added to an instinct as much more divine\\nthan that of the lower animals as the human body is\\nmore beautiful than theirs that a great singer sings\\nnot with less instinct than the nightingale, but with\\nmore only more various, applical)le, and governable;\\nthat a great architect does not build with less instinct\\nthan the beaver or the bee, but with more with an\\ninnate cunning of proportion that embraces all beauty,\\nand a divine ingenuity of skill that improvises all\\nconstruction. The 3Ji/stery of I^ife,\\\\ 111*.\\nThe sight of a great painter is as authoritative as the\\nlens of a camera lucida; he })erceives the form which a\\nphotograph will ratify he is sensitive to the violet or\\nto the golden ray to the last precision and gradation of\\nthe chemist s defining light and intervaled line. Art\\nof Englwid, p. 103.\\nNo great inteUcvtual tlthuj was ccer done hy\\ngreat effort a great thing can only be done by a\\ngreat man, and he does it uutJiout effort. Pre-\\nJlapJtaeHtisin, p. 1\\nThe great men whose lives you would think, by the\\nresults of their work, had been passed in strong emo-\\ntion, have in reality subdued themselves, though capable\\nof the very strongest passions, into a calm as absolute\\nas that of a deeply sheltered mountain lake, which re-\\nflects every agitation of the clouds in the sky, and every\\nchange of the shadows on the hills, but is itself motion-\\nless. Lectures on Art., p. 53.\\nThe inferior mind intently watches its own processes,\\nand dearly values its own produce; the master-mind is\\nintent on other things than itself, and cares little for the\\nfruits of a toil which it is apt to undertake rather as a\\nlaw of life than a means of immortality. It will sing at\\na feast, or retouch an old play, or paint a dark wall, for\\nits daily bread, anxious only to be honest in its fulfil-\\nnient of its pledges or its duty, and careless that future", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 63\\nages will rank it among the gods. Giotto and his\\nWorks, p. 12.\\nIt is a characteristic (as far as I know, quite a uni-\\nversal one) of the greatest masters, that they never\\nexpect you to look at them seem always rather sur-\\nprised if you want to; and not overpleased. Tell them\\nyou are going to hang their picture at the upper end of\\nthe table at the next great City dinner, and that Mr.\\nSo and So will make a speech about it you produce\\nno impression upon them, whatever, or an unfavorable\\none. The chances are ten to one they send you the\\nmost rubbishy thing they can find in their lumber-\\nroom. But send for one of them in a hurry, and tell\\nhim the rats have gnawed a nasty hole behind the par-\\nlor door, and you want it plastered and painted over\\nand he doa 5 you a masterpiece which the world will\\npeep behind your door to look at forever. Mornings\\nin Florence, p. 42.\\nAll great men. not only know their business, but\\nusually know that they know it; and are not only\\nright in their main opinions, but they usually know\\nthat they are right in them; only, they do not think\\nmuch of themselves on that account. Arnolfo knows\\nhe can build a good dome at Florence Albert Diirer\\nwrites calmly to one who had found fault with his work,\\nIt cannot be better done Sir Isaac Newton knows\\nthat he has worked out a problem or two that would\\nhave puzzled anybody else; only they do not expect\\ntheir fellow-men therefore to fall down and worship\\nthem; they have a curious luider-sense of powerless-\\nncss, feeling that the greatness was not in them, but\\nthrouf/Ji them that they could not do or be anything\\nelse than God made them. 3Iodern Painters, III.,\\np. 284.\\nScott writing his chapter or two before breakfast\\nnot retouching, Turner finishing a whole drawing in a\\nforenoon before he goes out to shoot (providing always\\nthe chapter and drawing be good), are instantly to be\\nset above men who confessedly have spent the day over\\nthe work, and think the hours well spent if it has been\\na little mended between sunrise and simset. Indeed,\\nit is no use for men to think to appear great by", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "64 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nworking fast, dashing, and scrawling; the thing they\\ndo must be good and great, cost what time it may\\nbut if it be so, and they have honestly and unaffectedly\\ndone it with no effort, it is probably a greater and bet-\\nter thing than the result of the hardest efforts of others.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 280.\\nThe largest soul of any country is altogether its own.\\nNot the citizen of the world, but of his own city\\nnay, for the best men, you may say, of his own village.\\nPatriot always, provincial always, of his own crag or\\nfield always. A Liddesdale man, or a Tyned;de;\\nAngelico from the rock of Fesole, or Virgil from the\\nMantuan marsh. You dream of National unity\\nyou might as well strive to melt the stars down into one\\nnugget, and stamp them small into coin with one\\nCaesar s face. Art of JEiKjUuid, j). 30.\\nThe Foreseeing and Foreordaining Power of\\nTHE Great Artist. In Turner, Tintoret, and Paul\\nVeronese, the intenseness of perception, first, as to\\nwhat is to be done, and then, of the means of doing it,\\nis so colossal, that I always feel in the presence of\\ntheir pictures just as other peo})le would in that of a\\nsupernatural being. Common talkers use the word\\nmagic of a great painter s power without knowing\\nwhat they mean by it. They mean a great truth.\\nThat power is- magical; so magical, that, well under-\\nstood, no enchanter s work could be more miraculous\\nor more appalliiKj. Modern Painters, IV., p. 78.\\nThe Universality and Realism of the Great\\nArtists. Among the various ready tests of true\\ngreatness there is not any more certain than this dar-\\ning reference to, or use of, mean and little things\\nmean and little, that is, to mean and little minds; but,\\nwhen used by the great men, evidently part of the no-\\nble whole which is authoritatively present before them.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 100.\\nThere is, indeed, perhaps, no greater sign of innate\\nand real vulgarity of mind or defective education than\\nthe want of power to understand the universality of\\nthe ideal truth the absence of sympathy with the\\ncolossal grasp of those intellects, which have in them\\nso much of divine, that nothing is small to them, and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 65\\nnothing large; but vvitli equal and unoffended vision\\nthey take in the sum of tlie world Straw Street and\\nthe seventh heavens in the same instant. Modern\\nPdinters, III., p. 102.\\nIt is a constant law that the greatest men, whether\\npoets or historians, live entirely in their own age, and that\\nthe greatest fruits of their work are gathered out of their\\nown age. Dante paints Italy in the thirteenth cen-\\ntury Chaucer, England in the fourteenth Masaccio,\\nFlorence in the fifteenth Tintoret, Venice in the six-\\nteenth all of them utterly regardless of anachronism\\nand minor error of every kind, but getting always vital\\ntruth out of the vital present.\\nIf it be said that Shakespeare wrote perfect historical\\nplays on siibjects belonging to the preceding centuries,\\nI answer, that they are perfect plays just because there\\nis no care about centuries in them, but a life which all\\nmen recognize for the human life of all time. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 110.\\nAll great art represents something that it sees or\\nbelieves in nothing unseen or uncredited.\\nFor instance, Dante s centaur, Chiron, dividing his\\nbeard with his arrow before he can speak, is a thing\\nthat no mortal would ever have thought of, if he had\\nnot actually seen the centaur do it. They might have\\ncoujposed handsome bodies of men and horses in all\\npossible ways, through a whole life oi pseudo-idealism,\\nand yet never dreamed of any such thing. But the\\nreal living centaur actually trotted across Dante s\\nbrain, and he saw him do it. Modern Painters, III.,\\np. 100.\\nIf the next painter who desires to illustrate the char-\\nacter of Homer s Achilles, would represent him cutting\\npork chops for Ulysses, he would enable the public to\\nunderstand the Homeric ideal better than they have\\ndone for several oonturies. Modern Painters, III.,\\np. 98.\\nBeauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts\\nceases to be enjoyed as beauty, just as light deprived\\nof all shadow ceases to be enjoyed as light. A white\\ncan vns cannot produce an effect of sunshine the painter", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "66 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nmust darken it in some places before lie can make\\nit look luminous in others nor can an uninterrupted\\nsuccession of beauty produce the true effect of beauty\\nit must be foiled by inferiority before its own power\\ncan be developed. Nature has for the most part min-\\ngled her inferior and nobler elements as she mingles\\nsunshine with shade, giving due use and influence to\\nboth, and the painter who chooses to remove the\\nshadow, perishes in the burning desert he has created.\\nThe truly high and beautiful art of Angelico is con-\\ntinually refreshed and strengthened by his frank por-\\ntraiture of the most ordinary features of his brother\\nmonks, and of the recorded peculiarities of imgainly\\nsanctity; but the modern German and Raphaelesque\\nschools lose all honor and nobleness in barber-like ad-\\nmiration of handsome faces, and have, in fact, no real\\nfaith except in straight noses and curled hair. Mod-\\nern Painters, III., p. 50.\\nAs far as I have watched the main powers of human\\nmind, they have risen first from the resolution to see\\nfearlessly, pitifully, and to its very worst, what these\\ndeep colors mean, wheresoever they fall not by any\\nmeans to pass on the other side looking pleasantly up\\nto the sky, but to stoop to the horror, and let the sky,\\nfor the present, take care of its own clouds. However\\nthis may be in mortal matters, with which I have\\nnothing here to do, in my own field of inquiry the fact\\nis so; and all great and beautiful work has come of first\\ngazing without shrinking into the darkness. If, having\\ndone so, the human spirit can, by its courage and faith,\\nconquer the evil, it rises into conceptions of victori-\\nous and consummated beauty. It is then the spirit of\\nthe highest Greek and Venetian Art. If unable to\\nconquer the evil, but remaining in strong, though mel-\\nancholy war with it, not rising into sui)i eme beauty, it\\nis the spirit of the best northern art, typically represent-\\ned by that of Holbein andDiirer. If, itself conquered by\\nthe evil, infected by the dragon breath of it, and at\\nlast brought into captivity, so as to take delight in evil\\nforever, it becomes the spirit of the dark, but still pow-\\nerful sensualistic art, represented typically by that of\\nSalvator. Modern Pointers, V., pp. 225-229.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "CABDINAL TENETS OF ART. 67\\nTHE IMAGINATION IN ART.\\nDisTixcTiox Betweex Fancy and Imaoixation,\\nI am myself now entirely indifferent which word I use;\\nand should say of a work of art that it was well fan-\\ncied, or well invented, or well imagined, with\\nonly some shades of different meaning in the applica-\\ntion of the terms, rather dependent on the matter\\ntreated, than the power of mind involved in the treat-\\nment. I might agree with Sir Piei cie Shafton that\\nhis doublet was well-fancied, or that his figure of speech\\nwas well conceived, and might perhaps reserve the\\nword Imagined for the design of an angel s dress by\\nGiotto, or the choice f a simile by Dante. But such\\ndistinctions fire scarcely more than varieties of cour-\\ntesy or dignitv in the use of words. Modern Paint-\\ners, II., p. 155, Ed. 1888.\\nArt is Fouxded ix Truth, axd Coxsists ix Im-\\nagination. Having learned to represent actual ap-\\npeai ances faithfully, if you have any human faculty of\\nyour own, visionary appearances will take ])lace to you\\nwhich will be nobler and more true than any actual or\\nmaterial appearances; and the realization of these is\\nthe function of every fine art, which is founded abso-\\nlutely, therefore, in truth, and consists absolutely in\\nimagination. Eagle s Nest, p. 91.\\nDesign. If you paint a bottle only to amuse the\\nspectator by showing him how like a painting may be\\nto a bottle, you cannot be considered, in art-philosophy,\\nas a designer. But if you paint the cork flying out of\\nthe bottle, and the contents arriving in an arch at the\\nmouth of a recipient glass, you are so far forth a de-\\nsigner or signer probably meaning to express certain\\nultimate facts respecting, say, the hospitable disposi-\\ntion of the landlord of the house; but at all events\\nrepresenting the bottle and glass in a designed, and\\nnot merely natural manner. Not merely natural nay,\\nm some sense non-natural or supernatural. And all\\ngreat artists show both this fantastic condition of mind\\nin their work, and show thfit it has arisen out of a com-\\nmunicative or didactic purpose. They are the Sign-\\npainters of God. Ariadne, p. 82.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "68 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe Art-Seek AS ax Interpreter of Nature to rs.\\nAlthough, to the sintill, conceited, jmrI affected pninter\\ndisphiying his narrow knowledge and tiny dexterities,\\nour only word may be, Stand aside from between\\nthat nature juid me, yet to the great imaginative\\npainter greater a million times in every faculty of\\nsoul than we-^our word may wisely be, Come between\\nthis nature and me this nature which is too great and\\ntoo wonderful for me temper it for me, interpret it\\nto me let me see with yc-ur eyes, and hear with your\\nears, and have help and strength from your great\\nspirit. JModeru Painters, III., p. 1(51.\\nThe Working of the Minds of Great Men.\\nImagine all that any of these men had seen or heard in\\nthe whole course of their lives, laid up accurately in\\ntheir memories as in vast storehouses, extending, with\\nthe poets, even to the slightest intonations of syllables\\nheard in the beginning of their lives, and, with the\\npainters, down to the minute folds of drapery, and\\nshapes of leaves or stones and over all this unindexed\\nand immeasurable mass of treasure, the imagination\\nbrooding and wandering, but dream-gifted, so as to\\nsummon at any moment exactly such gi oups of ideas\\nas shall justly fit each other this I conct ive to be the\\nreal natui cof the imaginative mind, and this, I believe,\\nit would be oftener explained to us as being, by the\\nmen themselves who possess it, but that they have no\\nidea what ihe state of other persons minds is in com-\\nparison they suppose every one remembers all that he\\nhas seen in the same way, and do not understand how\\nit happens that thoy alone can produce good drawings\\nor great thoughts. Modern Pdinters, IV., p. 40.\\nAssociation of Ideas. Examine the nature of\\nyour own emotion (if you feel it) at the sight of the\\nAlp, and you find all the brightness of that emotion\\nhanging, like dew on gossam.er, on a curious web of\\nsubtle fancy and imperfect knowledge. First, you have\\na vague idea of its size, coupled with wonder at the\\nwork of the great Builder of its walls and foundations,\\nthen an apprehension of its eternity, apathetic sense of\\nits perpetualness, and your own transientness, as of the\\ngrass upon its sides then, and in this very sadness, a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "CARDINAL TENETS OF ART. 69\\nsense of strange companionship with past generations\\nin seeing what they saw.\\nThen, mingled with these more solemn imaginations,\\ncome the understandings of the gifts and glories of the\\nAlps, the fancying forth of all the fountains that well\\nfrom its rocky walls, and strong rivers that are born\\nout of its ice, and of all the pleasant valleys that wind\\nbetween its cliffs, and all the chalets that gleam among\\nits clouds, and happy farmsteads couched upon its\\npastures while togetlier with the thoughts of these,\\nrise strange sympathies with all the unknown of human\\nlife, and happiness, and death, signified by that narrow\\nwhite fiame of the everlasting snow, seen so far in the\\nmorning sky. Jlodent Painters, III., p. 152.\\nExcellent Good I faith. Tell any man, of the\\nslightest imaginative power, that such and such a pic-\\nture is good, and moans this or rhat tell him, for in-\\nstance, that a Claude is good, and that it means trees,\\nand grass, and water; and forthwith, whatever faith,\\nvirtue, humility, and imagination there are in the man,\\nrise up to help Claude, and to declare that indeed it is\\nall excellent good, i faith f and whatever in the\\ncourse of his life he has felt of pleasure in trees and\\ngrass, he will begin to reflect upon and enjoy anew,\\nsupposing all the while it is the picture he is enjoying.\\nModem Painters, III., pp. 153, 154.\\nThe Spirit of Buffoonery. I suppose the chief\\nbar to the action of imagination, and stop to all great-\\nness in this present age of ours, is its mean and shallow\\nlove of jest; so that if there be in any good and lofty\\nwork a flaw, failing, or undipped vulnerable part, where\\nsarcasm may stick or stay, it is caught at, and pointed\\nat, and buzzed about, and fixed upon, and stuiig into, as\\na recent wound is by flies and nothing is ever taken\\nseriously or as it was meant, but always, if it may be,\\nturned the wrong way, and misundei stood and while\\nthis is so, there is not, nor cannot be, any hope of\\nachievement of high things; men dare not open their\\nhearts to us, if we are to broil them on a thorn-fire.\\nModern Painters, II., p. 188, Ed. 1883.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "70 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nSECTION II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\\nChapter I. Painting.\\nNo vain or selfish person can possibly paint, in the\\nnoble sense of the word. Vanity and selfishness are\\ntroublous, eager, anxious, petulant painting can only\\nbe done in calm of mind. Modern Painters, V.,\\np. 211.\\nThe sky is not blue color merely it is l)lue fire\\nand cannot be painted. Modern Pa utters, IV., p. 47.\\nOil-Painting. You have often heard quoted the\\nsaying of Michael Angelo, that oil-painting was only\\nfit for women and children.\\nHe said so, simply because he had neither the skill to\\nlay a single touch of good oil-painting, nor the patience\\nto overcome even its elementary difficulties.\\nOil-painting is the Art of arts it is sculpture, draw-\\ning, and music, all in one, involving the technical dex-\\nterities of those threvi several arts that is to say the\\ndecision and strength of the stroke of the chisel the\\nbalanced distribution of appliance of that force necessary\\nfor gradation in light and shade -and the passionate\\nfelicity of rightly multiplied actions, all unerring,\\nwhich on an instrument produce right sound, and on\\ncanvas, living color. There is no other human skill\\nso great or so wonderful as the skill of fine oil-painting\\nand there is no other art whose results are so absolutely\\npermanent. Music is gone as soon as produced\\nmarble discolors fresco fades glass darkens or de-\\ncomposes painting alone, well guarded, is practically\\neverlasting. Relation between Micltael Aiujelo and\\nTintoret, p. 18.\\nA Beautiful Thing the Work of Ages. The\\nglory of a great picture is in its shame; and the charm", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 71\\nof it, in speaking the pleasure of a great heart, that\\nthere is something better than picture. Also it speaks\\nwith the voices of many: the efforts of thousands dead,\\nand their passions, are in the pictures of their children\\nto-day. Not with the skill of an hour, nor of a life,\\nnor of a century, but with the help of numberless souls,\\na beautiful thing must be done. Laws of Fesole,\\np. 13.\\nThe Best Pictures are Portraits. The best\\npictures that exist of the great schools are all portraits,\\nor groups of portraits, often of veiy simple and nowise\\nnoble persons. You may have much more brilliant\\nand impressive qualities in imaginative pictures you\\nmay have figures scattered like clouds, or garlanded like\\nflowers you may have light and shade, as of a tempest,\\nand color, as of the rainbow but all that is child s\\nplay to the great men, though it is astonishment to us.\\nTheir real strength is tried to the utmost, and as far as\\nI know it is never elsewhere brought out so thoroughly,\\nas in painting one man or woman, and the soul thaf\\nwas in them. Lectures on Art, p. 68.\\nThe highest thing that art can do is to set before you\\nthe true image of the presence of a noble human being.\\nIt has never done more than this, and it ought not to do\\nless. Lectures on Art, p. 27.\\nInvention and Composition. By a truly great in-\\nventor everything is invented no atom of the work is\\nunmodified by his mind and no study from nature,\\nhowever beautiful, could be introduced by him into his\\ndesign without change it would not fit with the rest.\\nFinished studies for introduction are therefore chiefly\\nby Leonardo and Raphael, both technical designers\\nrather than imaginative ones. Modern Painters, V,,\\np. 202.\\nA great composition always has a leading emotional\\npurpose, technically called its motive, to which all its\\nlines and forms have some relation. Undulating lines,\\nfor instance, are expressive of action and would be false\\nin effect if the motive of the picture was one of re-\\npose. Horizontal and angular lines are expressive of\\nrest and strength and would destroy a design whose", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "i2 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\npurpose was to express disquiet and feebleness. Mod-\\nem Pididers, v., p. 184.\\nTake any noble musical air, and you find, on exam-\\nining it, that not one even of the faintest or shortest\\nnotes can be removed without destruction to the whole\\npassage in which it occurs and that every note in the pas-\\nsage is twenty times more beautiful so introduced, than\\nit would have been if played singly on the instrument.\\nPrecisely this degree of arrangement and relation must\\nexist between every touch and line in a great picture.\\nYou ffxay consider the whole as a prolonged musical\\ncomposition its parts, as separate airs connected in\\nthe story its little bits and fragments of color and\\nline, as separate passages or bars in melodies; and down\\nto the minutest note of the whole down to the\\nminutest tourJi if there is one that can be spared\\nthat one is doing mischief. The Ttco Pal/ts, p. 32.\\nRaphael and Holeein compared.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Scholastic learn-\\ning destroy^s Raphael, but it graces him and is a part\\nof him. It all but destroys Mantegna but it graces\\nhim. And it does not hurt Holbein, just because it\\ndoes not grace him never is for an instant a part of\\nhim. It is with Raphael as with some charming young\\ngirl who has a new and beautifully made dress brought\\nto her, which entirely becomes her so much, that in\\na little while, thinking of nothing else, she becomes it\\nand is only the decoration of her dress. But with\\nHolbein it is as if you brought the same dress to a\\nstout fanner s daughter who was going to dine at the\\nHall; and begged her to put it on that she might not\\ndiscredit the company. She puts it on to please you\\nlooks entirely ridiculous in it, but is not spoiled by it\\nremains herself, in spite of it. Ariadne, pp. 89, 90.\\nThe Cartoons of Raphael. The cartoons of\\nRaphael. were, in the strictest sense of the word,\\ncompositions cold arrangements of propriety and\\nagreeableness, according to academical formulas the\\npainter never in any case making the slightest effort to\\nconceive the thing as it must have happened, but only\\nto gather together graceful lines and beautiful faces, in\\nsuch compliance with commonplace ideas of the subject\\nas might obtain for the whole an epic unity, or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 73\\nsome such other form of scholastic perfectness.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 70.\\nThe Doggie in the Sistine Chaprl. The in-\\ntensest form of northern realization can be matched in\\nthe south, when the southerns choose. There are two\\npieces of animal drawing in the Sistine Chapel un-\\nrivalled for literal veracity. The sheep at the well in\\nfront of Zipporah and afterwards, when she is going\\naway, leading lief children, her eldest boy, like every\\none else, has taken his chief treasui e with him, and this\\ntreasure is his pet dog. It is a little sharp-nosed white\\nfox-terrier, full of fire and life but not strong enough\\nfor a long walk. So little Gershom, whose name\\nwas the stranger because his father had been a stranger\\nin a strange land little Gershom carries his white ter-\\nrier under his arm, lying on the top of a large bundle to\\nmake it comfortable. The doggie puts its sharp nose\\nand bright eyes out, above his hand, with a little\\nroguish gleam sideways in them, which means if I\\ncan read rightly a dog s expression that he has been\\nbarking at Moses all the morning, and has nearly put\\nhim out of temper and without any doubt, I can\\nassert to you that there is not any other such piece of\\nanimal painting in the w^orld so brief, intense, vivid,\\nand absolutely balanced in truth; as tenderly drawn as\\nif it had been a saint, yet as humorously as Landseer s\\nLord Chancellor poodle. Ariadne, p. 161.\\nFlorentine Art and Greek Art compared.\\nFlorentine art was essentially Christian, ascetic, ex-\\npectant of a better world, and antagonistic, therefore.\\nto the Greek temper. So that the Greek element, once\\nforced upon it, destroyed it. There was absolute in-\\ncompatibility between them. Modern Painters, V.,\\np. 235.\\nThe Christian painters differed from the Greek in two\\nmain points. They had been taught a faith which put an\\nend to restless questioning and discouragement. All\\nwas at last to be well and their best genius might be\\npeacefully given to imagining the glories of heaven\\nand the happiness of its redeemed. But on the other\\nhand, though suffering was to cease in heaven, it was\\nto be not only endured, but honored upon earth. And", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "74 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nfrom the Crucifixion, down to a beggars lameness, all\\nthe tortures and maladies of men were to be made, at\\nleast in part, the subjects of art. Modern Puinters,Y\\np. 238.\\nPoetry and Painting allied.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Infinite confusion\\nhas been introduced into this subject [the Grand\\nStyle by the careless and illogical custom of opposing\\npainting to poetr^^, instead of regarding poetry as con-\\nsisting in a noble use, whether of colors or words.\\nPainting is properly to be opposed to speaA i/u/ or\\nuiriti/tf/, but not io poefri/. Both painting and speak-\\ning are methods of expression. Poetry is the employ-\\nment of either for the noblest purposes. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 29.\\nSoftness of Touch. You will find in Veronese, in\\nTitian, in Tintoret, in Correggio, and in all the great\\npainters, properly so-called, a pecuhar melting and mys-\\ntery about tlie penciling, sometimes called softness,\\nsometimes freedom, sometimes breadth; but in reality\\na most subtle confusion of colors and forms, obtained\\neither by the apparently careless stroke of the brush,\\nor by careful retouching with tenderest labor; but\\nalways obtained in one way or another. 3Iodern\\nPainters, IV., p. 74.\\nEnglish Painters. I do not speak of living men\\nbut among those who labor no more, in this England of\\nours, since it first had a school, we have had only five\\nreal painters: -Reynolds, Gainsborough, Hogarth,\\nRichard Wilson, and Turner. The Tuoo Paths, p. 137.\\nThe [rural] designs of J. C. Hook are, perhaps, the\\nonly works of the kind in existence which deserve to be\\nmentioned in connection with the pastorals of Words-\\nworth and Tennyson. Modern Painters, V., p. 282.\\nThe Hierarchy of Painters. He who represents\\ndeep thoughts and sorrows, as, for instance, Hunt, in his\\nClaudio and Isabella, and such other works, is of the\\nhighest rank in his sphere and he who represents the\\nslight malignities and passions of the drawing-room, as,\\nfor instance, Leslie, of the second rank he who repre-\\nsents the sports of boys or simplicities of clowns, as\\nWebster or Teniers, of the third rank and he who rep-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 75\\nresents brutalities and vices (for delight in them, and\\nnot for rebuke of them), of no rank at all, or rather of\\na negative rank, holding a certain order in the abyss.\\n3Iodern Painters, III., p. 44.\\nMurillo, of all true painters uhe narrowest, feeblest,\\nand most superficial, [and] for those reasons the most\\npopular.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 77;e Tiro Paths, p. 40.\\nIn such writings and sayings [of the great painters] as\\nwe possess, we may trace a quite curious gentleness and\\nserene courtesy. Rubens letters are almost ludicrous\\nin their unhurried politeness. Reynolds, swiftest of\\npainters, was gentlest of companions so also Velasquez,\\nTitian, and Veronese. 3Iodern. Painters, V., p. 212.\\nThere is perhaps no more popular Protestant pic-\\nture than Salvator s Witch of Endor, of which the\\nsubject was chosen by the painter simply because,\\nunder the names of Saul and the Sorceress he could\\npaint a captain of banditti, and a Neapolitan hag.\\nStones of Venice, II., p. 108.\\nGiotto. The Greeks had painted anything anyhow\\ngods black, horses red, lips and cheeks white; and\\nwhen the Etruscan vase expanded into a Cimabue pic-\\nture, or a Tafi mosaic, still except that the Madonna\\nwas to have a blue dress, and everything else as much\\ngold on it as could be managed there was very little\\nadvance in notions of color. Suddenly, Giotto threw\\naside all the glitter, and all the conventionalism and\\ndeclared that he saw the sky blue, the tablecloth white,\\nand angels, when he dreamed of them, rosy. And he\\nsimply founded the schools of color in Italy Venetian\\nand all.\\nGiotto came from the field, and saw with his simple\\neyes a lowlier worth. And he painted the Madonna,\\nand St. Joseph, and the Christ yes, by all means if\\nyou choose to call them so, but essentially Mamma,\\nPapa, and the Baby. And all Italy threw up its cap\\nOra ha Giotto ilgrido. 3Iorniu(js in Florence, pp.\\n27-30.\\nGiotto, like all the great painters of the period, was\\nmerely a travelling decorator of walls, at so much a\\nday having at Florence a hottega, or workshop, for", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "76 A nUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe production and sale of small tempera pictures.\\nThere were no such things as studios in those days.\\nAn artist s studies were over by the time he was\\neighteen; after that he was a lavoratore, laborer,\\na man who knew his business, and produced certain\\nworks of known value for a known price being\\ntroubled with no philosophical abstractions, shutting him-\\nself up in no wise for the reception of inspirations re-\\nceiving, indeed, a good many, as a matter of course\\njust as he received the sunbeams which came in at his\\nwindow, the light which he worked by; in either case,\\nwithout mouthing about it, or much concerning himself\\nas to the nature of it. Not troubled by critics either\\nsatisfied that his work was well done, and that people\\nwould find it out to be well done but not vain of\\nit, nor m.ore profoundly vexed at its being found\\nfault with, than a good saddler would be by some one s\\nsaying his last saddle was uneasy in the seat. Not, on\\nthe whole, much molested by critics, but generally\\nunderstood by the men of sense, bis neighbors and\\nfriends, and permitted to have his own way with the\\nwalls he had to paint, as being, on the whole, an au-\\nthority about walls receiving at the same time a good\\ndeal of daily encouragement and comfort in the simple\\nadmiration cf .the populace, and in the general sense of\\nhaving done good, and painted what no man could look\\nupon without being the better for it. Giotto and his\\nWorks, p. 22.\\nThe O of Giotto. I have not the slightest\\ndoubt that Giotto drew the circle as a painter naturally\\nwould draw it that is to say, that he set the vellum\\nupright on the wall or panel before him, and then\\nsteadying his arm firmly against his side, drew the cir-\\ncular line with one sweeping but firm revolution of his\\nhand, holding the brush long. Such a feat as this is\\ncompletely possible to a well-disciplined painter s hand,\\nbut uttei-ly impossible to any other; and the circle so\\ndrawn was the most convincing proof Giotto could\\ngive of his decision of eye and perfectness of practice.\\nGiotto and his Works, p. 11.\\nHistorical Painting. Now, historical or simpiv\\nnarrative art is very precious in its proper place and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 77\\nway, but it is never great art until the poetical or im-\\naginative power touches it. M xlerti JPaintO s, III.,\\np. 57.\\nPure history and pure topography are most precious\\nthings in many cases more useful to the human race\\nthan high imaginative work; and assuredly it is in-\\ntended that a large majority of all who are employed\\nin art should never aim at anything higher. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 28.\\nThere does not exist, as far as I know, in the world a\\nsingle example of a good historical picture (that is to\\nsay, of one which, allowing for necessary dimness in\\nart as compared with nature, yet answers nearly the\\nsame ends in our minds as the sight of the real event\\nwould have answered) the reason being, the universal\\nendeavor to get effects instead of facts, already shown\\nas the root of false idealism. Modern Painters, III.,\\np. 109.\\nWhat do you at present mean by historical painting?\\nNow-a-days it means the endeavoring, by the power of\\nimagination, to portray some historical event of past\\ndays. But in the middle ages, it meant representing\\nthe acts of their own days; and that is the only his-\\ntorical painting worth a straw. Of all the wastes of\\ntime and sense which modernism has invented and\\nthey are many none are so ridiculous as this endeavor\\nto represent past history. What do you suppose our\\ndescendants will care for our imaginations of tlie events\\nof former days Suppose the Greeks, instead of repre-\\nsenting their own waniors as they fought at Marathon,\\nhad left us nothing but their imaginations of Egyptian\\nbattles and suppose the Italians, in like manner, in-\\nstead of portraits of Can Grande and Dante, or of Leo\\nthe Tenth and Raphael, had left r.s nothing but im-\\naginary portraits of Pericles and Miltiades? What\\nfools we should have thougiit them how bitterly we\\nshould have been provoked with their folly And that\\nis precisely what our descer.dants will feel towards us,\\nso far as our grand historical and classical schools are\\nconcerned. Lectures on ArcJiitecture, p. 117.\\nConsider, even now, what incalculable treasure is\\nstill left in ancient bas-reliefs, full of every kind of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "78 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nlegendary interest, of subtle expression, of priceless\\nevidence as to the character, feelings, habits, histories,\\nof past generations, in neglected and shattered churches\\nand domestic buildings, rapidly disappearing over the\\nwhole of Europe treasure which, once lost, the labor\\nof all men living cannot bring back again; and then\\nlook at the myriads of men, with skill enough, if they\\nhad but the commonest schooling, to record all this\\nfaithfully, who are making their bread by drawing\\ndances of naked women from academy models, or ideali-\\nties of chivalry fitted out with Wardour fStreet armor,\\nor eternal scenes from Gil Bias, Don Quixote, and the\\nVicar of Wakefield, or mountain sceneries with young\\nidiots of Londoners wearing Highland bonnets and\\nbrandishing rifles in the foregrounds. Pre-Maphaelit-\\nism, p. 10.\\nMarks of the Picturesque. A broken stone has\\nnecessarily more various forms in it than a whole one\\na bent roof has more various curves in it than a\\nstraight one every excrescence or cleft involves some\\nadditional complexity of light and shade, and every\\nstain of moss on eaves or wall adds to tlie delight ful-\\nness of color. Hrnce, in a completely picturesque ob-\\nject, as an old cottage or mill, there are introduced, by\\nvarious circumstances not essential to it, but, on the\\nwhole, generally somewhat detrimental to it as cottage\\nor mill, such elements of sublimity complex light and\\nshade, varied color, undulatory form, and so on as\\ncan generally be found only in noble natural objects,\\nwoods, rocks, or mountains. This sublimity, belonging\\nin a parasitical manner to the building, renders it, in\\nthe usual.sense of the word, picturesque. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 17.\\nThe Picturesque at Home and Abroad. Then\\n[in England] that spirit of trimness. Tlie smooth pav-\\ning-stones; the scraped, hard, even, rutless roads the\\nneat gates and plates, and essence of barder and order,\\nand spikiness and spruceness. Abroad, a country-\\nhouse has some confession of human weakness and\\nhuman fates about it. There are the old grand gates\\nstill, which the mob pressed sore against at the\\nRevolution, and the strained hinges have never gone so", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE (111 A Pf!!( 1 TS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094PAIXTTNG. 70\\nwell since and the broken greyhound on the pillar\\nstill broken better so but the long avenue is grace-\\nfully pale with fresh green, and the courtyard bright\\nwith orange-trees the garden is a little run to waste\\nsince Mademoiselle v/as married nobody cares much\\nabout it and one range of apartments is shut up\\nnobody goes into them since Madame died. But\\nwith us, let who will bo married or die, we neglect\\nnothing. All is polished and precise again next morn-\\ning and whether people are happy or miserable, poor\\nor prosperous, still we sweep the stairs of a Saturday.\\nModern Pdint rs, IV., p. 15.\\nThe Lowkr Picturesque. Even the love for the\\nlower picturesque ought to be cultivated with care,\\nwherever it exists not with any special view to the\\nartistic, but to merely humane education. It will\\nnever really or seriously interfere with practical benevo-\\nlence on the contrary, it will constantly lead, if asso-\\nciated with other benevolent principles, to a truer sym-\\npathy with the poor, and better understanding of the\\nright ways of helping them and, in the present stage\\nof civilization, it is the most important element o|\\ncharacter, not directly moral, \\\\Thich can be cultivated\\nin youth since it is mainly for the want of this feel-\\ning that we destroy so many ancient monuments, in\\norder to erect* handsome streets and shops instead,\\nwhich might just as well have been erected elsewhere,\\nand whose effect on our minds, so far as they have any,\\nis to increase every disposition to frivolity, expense,\\nand display. Modern Pulntevf^, IV., p. 23.\\nBuying Pictures. Nerer buy for yourselves, nor\\ngo to the foreign dealers but let any painter whom you\\nknow be entrusted, when he finds a neglected old\\npicture in an old house, to try if he cannot get it for\\nyou; then, if yoa like it, keep it; if not, send it to the\\nhammer, and you will find that you do not lose money\\non pictures so purchased. Look around you for\\npictures that you really like, and by buying which you\\ncan help some genius yet unperished. A Joy For\\nEver, pp. 62-70.\\nNever grumble, but be glad when you hear of a new\\npicture being bought at a large price. In the long run,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "so A RUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe dearest pictures are always the best bargains\\nand there are sonio pictures which are without\\nprice. You should stand, nationally, at the edge of\\nDover cliffs Shakespeare s and wave blank cheques\\nin the eyes of the nations on the other side of the sea,\\nfreely offered, for such and such canvases of theirs.\\nA Joy For E-ccr, p. Gl.\\nCopies of Pictures. Never buy a copy of a picture,\\nunder any circumstances whatever. All copies are\\nbad because no painter who is worth a straw ever\\nxoill copy. He will make a study of a picture he likes,\\nfor his own use, in his own way; but he won t and\\ncan t copy whenever you buy a copy, you buy so\\nmuch misunderstanding of the original, and encourage\\na dull person in following a business he is not fit for,\\nbesides increasing ultimately chances of mistake and\\nimposture, and iarthering, as directly as money can\\nfarther, the cause of ignorance in all directions. You\\nmay, in fact, consider yourself as having purchased a\\ncertain quantity of mistakes; and, accoi;ding to your\\npowei being engaged in disseminating them.\\nI do not mean, however, that copies should never be\\nmade. A certain number of dull persons should always\\nbe employed by a Government in making the most ac-\\ncurate copies possible of all good pictures these copies,\\nthough artistically valueless, would be historically and\\ndocumentarily valuable, in the event of the destruction\\nof the original picture. The studies also made by great\\nartists for their own use, should be souglit after with\\nthe greatest eagerness; they are often to be bought\\ncheap; and in connection with mechanical copies,\\nwould become very precious: tracings from frescos and\\nother large works are all of great value for though a\\ntracintr is liable to just as many mistakes as a copy, the\\nmistakes in a tracing are of one kind only, which may\\nbe allowed for, but the mistakes of a common copyist\\nare of all conceivable kinds: finally, engravings, in so\\nfar as they convey certain facts about the pictures, are\\noften serviceable and valuable. .4 Joy For Ever,\\np. 61.\\nThe prices now given without hesitation for nearly\\nworthless original drawings by first-rate artists, would", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS. PAINTING. 81\\nobtain fur the misguided buyers, in something like a\\nproportion of ten to one, most precious [colored] copies\\nof drawings which can only be represented at all in en-\\ngraving by entire alteration of their treatment, and\\nabandonme Jt of their finest purposes. I feel this so\\nstrongly, that I have given my best attention, during\\nupwards of ten years, to train a copyist to perfect fi-\\ndelity in rendering the work of Turner. Ariadne,\\np. 1-J7.\\nThe men whose quiet patience and exquisite manual\\ndexterity are at present employed in producing large\\nand costly plates, such as that of the Belle Jardiniere\\nds Florence, by M. Boucher Deduoyers, should be en-\\ntirely released from their servile toil, and employed ex-\\nclusively in producing colored copies, or light drawings,\\nfrom the original work. Tlie same number of hours of\\nlabor, applied with the like conscientious skill, would\\nmultiply precious likenesses of tha real picture, full of\\nsubtle veracities which no steel line could approach,\\nand conveying, to thousands, true knowledge and un-\\naffected enjoyment of painting; while the finished\\nplate lies uncared for in the portfolio of the virtuoso,\\nserving only, so far as it is seen in the print-seller s\\nwindow by the people, to make them think that sacred\\npainting must always be dull, and imnatural. Ari-\\n(ichte. p. 143.\\nThe Picture Dealer. The existence of the mod-\\nern picture dealer is impossible in any city or country\\nwhere art is to prosper; but soine day I hope to ar-\\nrange a bottega f or the St. George s Company, in\\nwhich water-color drawings shall be sold, none being\\nreceived at higher price than fifty guineas, nor at less\\nthan six (Front s old fixed standard for country deal-\\ners,) and at the commission of one guinea to the\\nshop-keeper, paid by the buyer on the understanding\\nthat the work is, by said shopkeeper, known to be good,\\nand warranted as such just as simply as a dealer in\\ncheese or meat answers for the quality of those articles.\\nFors, IV., p. G8.\\nPehambulant Art. Every noble picture is a man-\\nuscript book, of which only one copy exists, or ever\\ncan exist. Arroics of the CViace, p. 59.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "83 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nI had rather see the whole Turner Collection buried,\\nnot merely in the cellars of the National Gallery, but,\\nwith Prospero s staff, fathoms in the earth, than that it\\nshould be the means of inaugurating the fatal custom\\nof carrying great works of art about the roads for a\\nshow. If you must make them educational to the pub-\\nlic, hang Titian s Bacchus up for a vintner s sign, and\\ngive Henry VI. s Psalter for a spelling-book to the\\nBluecoat School; but, at least, hang the one from a\\npermanent post, and chain the other to the boys desks,\\nand do not send them about in caravans to every\\nannual Bartholomew Fair. Arrotrs of the Chace, I.,\\np. 04.\\nIn Picture Galleries. (1.) You may look, with\\ntrust in their being always right, at Titian, Veronese,\\nTintoret, Giorgione, John Bellini, and Velasquez; the\\nauthenticity of the picture being of course established\\nfor you by proper authority.\\n(2.) You may look with admiration, admitting, how-\\never, question of right and wrong, at Van Eyek, Hol-\\nbein, Perugino, Francia, Angelico, Leonardo da Vinci,\\nCorreggio, Vandyck, Rembrandt, Reynolds, Gains-\\nborough, Turner, and the modern Pre-Raphaelites.\\nYou had better look at no other painters than these,\\nfor you run a chance, otherwise, of being led far off\\nthe road, or into grievous faults, by some of the other\\ngreat ones, as Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Rubens\\nand of being, besides, corrupted in taste by the base\\nones, as Murillo, Salvator, Claude, Gaspar Poussin.\\nTeniers, and such others. You may look, however,\\nfor examples of evil, with safe universality of reproba-\\ntion, being sure that everything you see is bad, at\\nDomenichino, the Caracci, Bronzino, and the figure pieces\\nof Salvator. Elements of Drawing., pp. 186, 187.\\nThe Laws of Paintino as fixed as those of\\nChemistry. It is as ridiculous for any one to speak\\npositively about painting who has not given a great\\npart of his life to its study, as it would be for a per-\\nson who had never studied chemistry to give a lecture\\non affinities of elements but it is also as ridiculous\\nfor a person to speak hesitatingly about laws of jiaint-\\ning who has conscientiously given his time to tlieir", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 83\\nascertainment:, as it would he for Mr. Faraday to an-\\nnounce in a dubious manner that iron had an affinity\\nfor oxygen, and to put the question to the vote of his\\naudience whether it had or not. Modern Painters,\\nIII., p. 9.\\nGiven the materials, the limits of time, and the condi-\\ntions of place, there is only one proper method of paint-\\ning. And since, if painting is to be entirely good, the ma-\\nterials of it must be the best possible, and the conditions\\nof time and place entirely favorable, there is only one\\nmannerof entirely good painting. Theso-called styles\\nof artists are either adaptations to imperfections of\\nmaterial, or indications of imperfection in their own\\njiower, or the knowledge of their day. The great\\npainters are like each other in their strength, and di-\\nverse only in weakness. T^mos of Fesole, p. 14.\\nThe World s Greatest Pictures. The pictures\\nthat are most valued are for the most part those by\\nmasters of established renown, which are highly or\\nneatly finished, and of a size small enough to admit\\nof their being placed in galleries or saloons, so as to be\\nmade subjects of ostentation, and to be easily seen by\\na crowd. For the support of the fame and value of such\\npictures, little more is necessary than that they should\\nbe kept bright, partly by cleaning, which is incipient\\ndestruction, and partly by what is called restoring,\\nthat is, painting over, which is of course total destruc-\\ntion. Nearly all the gallery pictures in modern Eu-\\nrope have been more or less destroyed by one or other\\nof these operations, generally exactly in proportion to\\nthe estimation in which they are held and as, originally,\\nthe smaller and more highly finished works of any great\\nmaster are usually his worst, the contents of many of\\nour most celebrated galleries are by this time, in reality,\\nof very small value indeed.\\nOn the other hand, the most precious works of any\\nnoble painter are usually those which have been done\\nquickly, and in the heat of the first thought, on a large\\nscale, for places where there was little likelihood of their\\nbeing well seen, or from patrons from whoin there was\\nlittle prospect of rich remuneration. In general, the best\\nthings are done in this way, or else in the enthusiasm", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "8i A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand pride of accomplishing some great purpose, such as\\npainting a cathedral or a campo-santo from one end\\nto the other, especially when the time lui) been short,\\nand circumstances disadvantageous.\\nWorks thus executed are of course despised, on ac-\\ncount of their quantity, as well as their frequent slight-\\nness, in the places where they exist; and they are too\\nlarge to be portable, and too vast and comprehensive to\\nbe read on the spot, in the hasty temper of the present\\nage. They are, therefore, almost universally neglected,\\nwhitewashed by custodes, shot at by soldiers, suffered\\nto drop from the walls piecemeal in powder and rags by\\nsociety in general; but, which is an advantage nioie\\nthan counterbalancing all this evil, they are not often\\nrestored. What is left of them, however fragmentary,\\nhowever ruinous, however obscured and defiled, is almost\\nalways the real thing, there are no fresh readings\\nand therefore the greatest treasures of art which Europe\\nat tliis moment possesses are pieces of old plaster on\\nruinous brick walls, where the lizards burrow and\\nbask, and which few other living creatures ever ap-\\nproach and torn sheets of dim canvas, in waste corners\\nof churches and mildewed stains, in the shape of human\\nfigures, on the walls of dark chambers, which now and\\nthen an exploring traveller causes to be unlocked by\\ntheir tottering custode, looks hastily round, and retreats\\nfrom in a weary satisfaction at his accomplished duty.\\nStones of Venice, II., pp. 301 870.\\nLuiM. Luini is, perhaps, the best central type of\\nthe highly-trained Italian painter. He is the only man\\nwho entirely united the religious temper which was the\\nspirit-life of art, with the physical power which was its\\nbodily life. He joins the purity and passion of Angelico\\nto the strength of Veronese- the two elements, poised\\nin perfect balance, and are so calmed and restrained,\\neach by the other, that most of us lose tiie sense of\\nboth. The artist does not see the strength by reason\\nof the .chastened spirit in which it is used and the re-\\nligious visionary does not recognize the passion, by\\nreason of (he fi jvr.k human truth with which it is ren-\\ndered. He i; a man ten times greater than Leonardo\\na mighty colorist, while Lec nardo was only a fine\\ndraughtsman in black, staining the chiaroscuro drawing,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "THE GRA PHJC A 1 TS. \u00e2\u0080\u0094FA I NTING. m\\nlike a colored print: he perceived and rendered the\\ndelicatest types of human beauty that have been painted\\nsince the days of the Greeks, while Leonardo depraved\\nhis finer instincts by caricature, and remained to the\\nend of his days the slave of an archaic smile: and he is\\na designer as frank, instinctive, and exhaustless as\\nTintoret, while Leonardo s design is only an agony of\\nscience, admired chiefly because it is painful, and capa-\\nble of analysis in its best accomplishment. Luini has\\nleft nothing behind him that is not lovely but of his\\nlife I believe hardly anything is known beyond rem-\\nnants of tradition which murmur about Lugano and\\nSaronno and which remain ungleaned. Athena,\\np. 119.\\nThe Art or Moulding and Painting Porcelain.\\nOne of the ultimate results^ of such craftsmanship\\nmight be the production of pictures as brilliano as\\npainted glass as delicate as the most subtle water-\\ncolors, and more permanent than tlie Pyramids. Lec-\\ntures on Art, p. 85.\\nPiGMENTvS AND Metiiods OF WoRK. There is not, I\\nbelieve, at this moment, a single question which could\\nbe put respecting pigments and methods, on which\\nthe body of living artists would agree in their\\nanswers. The lives of artists are passed in fruitless\\nexperiments; fruitless, because undirected by experi-\\nence and uncommunicated in their results. Every man\\nhas methods of his own, which he knows to be insuffi-\\ncient, and yet jealously conceals from his fellow-work-\\nmen every colorman has materials of his own, to\\nwhich it is rare that the artist can trust and in the\\nvery front of the majestic advance of chemical science,\\ntheempirical science of the artist has been annihilated,\\nand the days which should have led us to higher perfec-\\ntion are passed in guessing at, or in mourning over,\\nlost processes while the so-called Dark Ages, possess-\\ning no more knowledge of chemistry than a village\\nherbalist does now, discovered, established, and put\\ninto daily practice such methods of operation as have\\nmade their work, this day, the despair of all who look\\nupon it. /Stones of Venice, IIL, p, 40.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "86 A n USKIX A NTHOL OGY.\\nRELIGIOUS PAINTING.-\\nThe religious passion is nearly always vividest when\\nthe art is weakest; and the technical skill only reaches\\nits deliberate splendor when the ecstacy which gave it\\nbirth has passed away forever. Athetia, p. 7(5.\\nNo painter belonging to the purest religious schools\\never mastered his art. Perugino nearly did so but it was\\nbecause he was more rational more a man of the world\\nthan the rest. No literature exists of a high class pro-\\nduced by minds in the pure religious temper. On the\\ncontrary, a great deal of literature exists, produced by\\npersons in that temper, which is markedly, and very\\nfar, below average literary work.\\nThe reason of this I believe to be, that the right faith\\nof man is not intended to give him repose, but to en-\\nable him to do his work. It is not intended that he\\nshould look away from the place he lives in now, and\\ncheer himself with thoughts of the place he is to live in\\nnext, but that he should look stoutly into this world, in\\nfaith that if he does his work thm-oughly here, some\\ngood to others or himself, with which, however, he\\nis not at present concerned, will come of it hereafter.\\nAnd this kind of brave, but not very hopeful or cheer-\\nful faith, I perceive to be always rewarded by clear\\npractical success and splendid intellectual power while\\nthe faith which dwells on the future fades away into\\nrosy mist, and emptiness of musical air. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 225.\\nHas there, then been no true religious ideal\\nHas religious art never been of any service to mankind\\nI fear, on the whole, not. Of true religious ideal, re-\\npresenting events historically recorded, with solemn\\neffort at a sincere and unartificial conception, there ex-\\nist, as yet, hardly any examples. Nearly all good re-\\nligious pictures fali into one or other branch of the false\\nideal already examined, either into the Angeliean\\n(passic.nate ideal) or the Raphaelesque (philosophical\\nideal). But there is one true form of religious art,\\nCompare what is said iu the Introduction on Epochs in Ruskin s\\nart-life.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "IHE GRAPHIC ARTS.-PAINTING. 87\\nneverthelct^s, in the pictures of the passionate ideal\\nwhich represent imaginary beings of another world.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 75.\\nWings and Claws in RELiGiors Art. If j ou were\\nto take away from religious art these two great helps\\nof its\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I must say, on the whole, very feeble\u00e2\u0080\u0094 imagina-\\ntion if you were to take from it, I say, the power of\\nputting wings on shoulders, and claws on fingers and\\ntoes, how wonderfully the sphere of its angelic and\\ndiabolic characters would be contracted Reduced only\\nto the sources of expression in face or movements, you\\nmight still find in good early sculpture very sufficient\\ndevils but the best angels would resolve themselves,\\nI think, into little more than, and not often into\\nso much as, the likenesses of pretty women, with\\nthat grave and (I do not say it ironically) majestic\\nexpression which they put on, when, being very fond\\nof their husbands and children, they seriously think\\neither the one or the other have misbehaved themselves.\\nLot c Meinie^ p. 11\\nArt in the Time of Raphael. In early rlmos (7;-^\\nti us onployed for the displai/ of reUgloKs fxctx\\nnow, relu/iom facts were eniploi/ed for the display\\nof art. The transition, though imperceptible, was\\nconsummate; it involved the entire destiny of painting.\\nIt was passing from the paths of life to the paths of\\ndeath.\\nThe painter had no longer any religious passion to\\nexpress. He could think of the Madonna now very\\ncalmly, with no desire to pour out the treasures of\\nearth ^at her feet, or crown her brows with the golden\\nshafts of heaven. He could think of her as an available\\nsubject for the disphiy of transparent shadows, skilful\\ntints, and scientific foreshortenings as a fair woman,\\nforming, if well painted, a pleasant piece of furniture\\nfor the corner of a boudoir, and best imagined by com-\\nbination of the beauties of the prettiest contadinas.\\nModern Painters, III., p. 08.\\nThe Highest Art no Encourager ok Idolatry or\\nReligion. The highest branches of the fine arts are no\\nencouragers either of idolatry or of religion. No pic-\\nture of Leonardo s or Raphael s, no statue of Michael", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "88 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAngelo s has ever been worshipped, except by accident.\\nCarelessly regarded, and by ignorant persons, there is\\nless to attract in them tlian in commoner v/orks. Care-\\nfully regarded, and by intelligent persons, they instantly\\ndivert the mind from their subject to their art, so that\\nadmiration takes the place of devotion. Effective\\nreligious art, therefore, has always lain, and I believe\\nmust always lie, between the two extremes of barbar-\\nous idol-fashioning on one side, and magnificent crafts-\\nmanship on the other. It consists partly in missal\\npainting, and such book-illustrations as, since the in-\\nvention of printing, have taken its place partly in\\nglass-painting partly in rude sculpture on the outsides\\nof buildings partly in mosaics and partly in the\\nfrescos and tempera pictures which, in the fourteenth\\ncentury, formed the link between this powerful, because\\nimp?rfect, religious art, and the impotent perfection\\nwhich succeeded it.\\nBut of all these branches the most important are\\nthe inlaying and mosaic of the twelfth and thirteenth\\ncenturies, represented in a central manner by [the]\\nmosaics of St. Mai k s. !^to)ics of Ve/dce, II., pp.\\n112, 11.3.\\nAngelico in his Cell at Fiesole. The little cell\\nwas as one of the houses of heaven prepared for him by his\\nmaster. What need had it to be elsewhere? Was not\\nthe Val d Arno, with its olive woods in white blossom,\\nparadise enough for a poor monk or could Christ be\\nindeed in heaven more than here 1 Was he not always\\nwith him? Could he breathe or see, but that Christ\\nbreathed beside him and looked into his eyes Under\\nevery cypress avenue the angels walked he had seen\\ntheir white robes, whiter than tlie dawn, at his bedside,\\nas he awoke in early summer. They had sung with\\nhim, one on each side, when his voice failed for joy at\\nsweet vesper and matin time his eyes were blinded by\\ntheir wings in the sunset, when it sank behind the hills\\nof Luni, 3Iodern Painters, V., p. 306,\\nThe life of Angelico was almost entirely spent in the\\nendeavor 1.o imagine the beings belonging to another\\nworld. By purity of life, habitual elevation of thought,\\nand natural sweetness of disposition, he was enabled to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "THE aUAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 89\\nGxj)ress the saerod affections upon the human counte-\\nnaiu e as no one over did before or since. In order to\\neffect clearer distinction between heavenly beings and\\nthose of this world, he represents the former as clothed\\nin draperies of the pui-est color, crowned with glories of\\nburnished gold and entirely shadowless. With exqui-\\nsite choice of gesture, and disposition of folds of\\ndrapeiy, this un^le of treatment gives perhaps the best\\nidea of spiritual beings which the human mind is capable\\nof forming.. Itis, therefore, a true ideal; bat the mode\\nin which it is arrived at (being so far mechanical and\\ncontradictory of the appearances of nature) necessarily\\nprecludes those who practise it from being complete\\nmasters of their art. It is always childish, but beautiful\\nin its childishness. Modern. Painters, III., p. S 1.\\nThe Religious Art of Italy. As I was correcting\\nthese pages [18()0], there was put into my hand a little\\nwork by a very dear friend Travels and Study in\\nItaly, by Charles Eliot Norton I have not yet been\\nable to do more than glance at it but my impression is,\\nthat by carefidly reading it, together v.ith the essay by\\nthe same writer on the Vita Nuova of Dante, a more\\njust estimate may be formed of the religious art of\\nItaly than by the study of any other books yet existing.\\nAt least, I have seen none in which the tone of thouglit\\nwas at once so tender and so just. Modern Pu tntvrs,\\nv., p. 307.\\nMoses not vet paixted. All the histories of the\\nBible are, in my judgment, yet waiting to be painted.\\nMoses has never been painted; Elijah never; David\\nnever (except as a mere ruddy stripling) Deborah\\nnever; Gideon never; Isaiah never. Modern Paint-\\ners, III., p. 70.\\nModern Religious Akt. In polities, religion is\\nnow a name; in art, a hypocrisy or affectation. Over\\nGerman religious pictures the inscription, See how\\nPious I am, can be read at a glance by any clear-\\nsighted person. Over French and English religious\\npictures, the inscription, See how Impious I am, is\\nequally legible. All sincere and modest art is, among\\nus, profane. Modern Painters, III., p. 277.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "t)0 A Ji USKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nVENICE AND THE VENETIAN PAINTERS.\\nSince the first dominion of men was asserted over\\nthe ocean, three thrones, of mark beyond all others,\\nhave been set upon its sands: the thrones of Tyre,\\nVenice, and England. Of the First of these great\\npowers only the memory remains of the Second, the\\nruin; the Third, whicli inherits their greatness, if it\\nforget their example, may be led tlii ough prouder emi-\\nnence to less pitied destruction.\\nThe exaltation, the sin, and the punishment of Tyre\\nhave been recorded for us, in perhaps the most touch-\\ning words ever uttered by the Prophets of Israel against\\nthe cities of the strangei But we read them as a\\nlov. ly song; and close our ears to the sternness of their\\nwarning for the very depth of the Fall of Tyre has\\nblinded us to its reality, and we forget, as we watch the\\nbleaching of the rocks between the sunshine and tlie\\n.sea, that they were once as in Eden, the Garden of\\nGod.\\nHer successor, like her in perfection of beauty, tliougli\\nless in endurance of dominion, is still left for our be-\\nholding in the final period other decline: a ghost upon\\nthe sands of the sea, so weak so quiet so bereft of\\nall but her loveliness, that we might well doubt, as we\\nwatched her faint refiection in the mirage of the lagoon,\\nwhich was the City, and which the Shadow.\\nI would endeavor to trace the lines of this image\\nbefore it be forever lost, and to record, as far as I may,\\nthe warning which seems to me to be uttered by every\\none of the fast-gaining waves, that beat, like passing\\nbells, against the Stones of Venice. Stones of\\nVenice, I., p. IT).\\nTiiK AprROACfi TO Venice by Sea in the Olden\\nDays. Not but that the aspect of the city itself was\\ngenerally the source of some slight disappointment, for,\\nseen in this direction, its buildings are far less characteris-\\ntic than those of the other great towns of Italy but this\\ninferiority was partly disgui.sed by distance, and more\\nthan atoned for by the strange rising of its walls and\\ntowers out of the midst, as it seemed, of the deep sea,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 91\\nfor it was impossible that the mind or the eye could at\\nonce comprehend the shallowness of the vast sheet of\\nwater which stretched away in leagues of rippling\\nlustre to the north and south, or trace the narrow line\\nof islets bounding it to the east. The salt breeze, the\\nwhite moaning sea-birds, the masses of black weed\\nseparating and disappearing gradually, in knots of\\nheaving shoal, under the advance of the steady tide, all\\nproclaimed it to be indeed the ocean on whose bosom\\nthe great city rested so calmly not such blue, soft,\\nlake-like ocean as bathes the Neapolitan promontoi ies,\\nor sleeps beneath the marble rocks of Genoa, but a sea\\nwith the bleak power of our own northern waves, yet\\nsubdued into a strange spacious rest, and changed from\\nits angry pallor into afield of burnished gold, as the sun\\ndeclined behind the belfry tower of the lonely island\\nchurch, fitly named St. George of the Seaweed. As\\nthe boat drew nearer to the city, the coast which the\\ntraveller had just left sank behind him into one long,\\nlow, sad-colored line, tufted irregularly with briishw^ood\\nand willows but, at what seemed its northern extrem-\\nity, the hills of Arqua rose in a dark cluster of purple\\npyramids, balanced on the bright mirage of the lagoon\\ntwo or three smooth surges of inferior hill extended\\nthemselves about their roots, and beyond these, begin-\\nning with the craggy peaks above Vicenza, the chain of\\nthe Alps girded the whole horizon to the north a wall\\nof jagged blue, here and there slewing through its\\nclefts a wilderness of misty precipices, fading far back\\ninto the recesses of Cadore, and itself rising and break-\\ning away eastward, where the sun struck opposite upon\\nits snow, into mighty fragments of peaked light, stand-\\ning up behind the barred clouds of evening, one after\\nanother, countless, the crown of the Adrian Sea, until\\nthe eye turned back from pursuing them, to rest upon\\nthe nearer burning of the campaniles of Murano, and on\\nthe great city, where it magnified itself alons the waves,\\nas the quick silent pacing of the gondola drew nearer and\\nnearer. And at last, when its walls were reached, and\\nthe outmost of its untrodden streets was entered, not\\nthrough towered gate or guarded rampart, but as a deep\\ninlet between two rocks of coral in the Indian sea;wnen\\nfirst upon the traveller s sight opened the long mnges", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "93 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\n(j\u00c2\u00a3 columned palaces eaeli wilh its black boat moored\\nat the portal each with its image cast down, beneath\\nits feet, upon that green pavement w hich every breeze\\nbroke into new fantasies of rich tessellation when first,\\nat the extremity of the bright vista, the shadowy\\nRialto threw its colossal curve slowly forth from\\nbehind the palace of the Camerlenglii that strange\\ncurve, so delicate, so adamantine, strong as a mountain\\ncavern, graceful as a bow just bent; when first, before\\nits moonlike circumference was all risen, the gondolier s\\ncry, Ah Stall, struck sharp upon the ear, and the\\nprow turned aside under the mighty cornices that half\\nmet over the narrow canal, where the plash of the\\nwater followed close and loud, ringing along the marble\\nby the boat s side and when at last that boat darted\\nforth upon the breadth of silver sea, across which the\\nfront of the Ducal palace, flushed with its sanguine veins,\\nlooks to the snowy dome of Our Lady of Salvation, it was\\nno marvel that the mind should be so deepl} entranced\\nby the visionary charm of a scene so beautiful and so\\nstrange, as to forget the darker truths of its history and\\nits being.\\nAt high water no land is visible for many miles to the\\nnorth or south of Venice, except in the form of small\\nislands crow^ned with towers or gleaming with villages\\nthere is a channel, some three miles wide, between the\\ncity and the mamland, and some mile and a half v/ide\\nbetween it and the sandy breakwater called the Lido,\\nwhich divides the lagoon from the Adriatic, but which\\nis so low as liardly to disturb the impression of the\\ncity s having been built in the midst of the ocean, al-\\nthough the secret of its true position is partly, not yet\\npainfully, betrayed by the clusters of pileh set to mark\\nthe deep-water channels, which andulate far away in\\nspotty chains like the studded backs of huge sea-snakes,\\nand by the quick glittering of the crisped iind crowded\\nwaves that flicker and dance before the strong winds\\nupon the unlifted level of the shallow sea. But the\\nscene is widely different at low tide. A fall ot eighteen\\nor twenty inches is enough to show ground over the\\ngreater part of the lagoon and at i\\\\\\\\^ complete ebb the\\ncity is seen standing in the midst of a dark plain of\\nseaweed, of gloomy green, except only where the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094FAIXTISG. 03\\nlarger branches of the Brenta and its associated streams\\nconverge towards the port of the Lido. Through this\\nsalt and sombre plain the gondola and the fishing-boat\\nadvance by tortuous channels, seldom more than four\\nor feet five deep, and often so choked with slime that\\nthe heavier keels furrow the bottom till their crossing\\ntracks are seen through the clear sea water like the ruts\\nupon a wintry road, and the oar leaves blue gaslies upon\\nthe ground at every stroke, or is entangled among the\\nthick weed that fringes the banks with the weight of its\\nsullen waves, leaning to and fro upon the luicei-tain\\nsway of the exhausted tide. The scene is often pro-\\nfoundly oppressive, even at this day, when every jilot\\nof higher ground bears some fragment of fair building;\\nbut, in order to knowVhat it was once, let the traveller\\nfollow in his boat at evening the windings of some un-\\nfrequented channel far into the midst of the melancholy\\nplain let him remove, in his imagination, the bi ight-\\n?iess of the great city that still extends itself in the\\ndistance, and the walls and towers from the islands that\\nare near and so wait, until the bright investiture and\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0^weet warmth of the sunset are withdrawn from the\\nwaters, and the black desert of their shore lies in its na-\\nkeduess beneath the night, pathless, comfortless, infirm,\\nlost in dark languor and fearful.silence, except where the\\nsalt runlets plash into the tideless pools, or the seabirds\\nflit from their margins with a questioning cry and he will\\nbe enabled to enter in some sort into the horror of\\nheart with which this solitude was anciently chosen by\\nman for his habitation. They little thought, who first\\ndrove the stakes into the sand, and strewed the ocean\\nreeds for their rest, that their children were to be the\\nprinces of that ocean, and their palaces its pi ide and\\nyet, in the great natural laws that rule that soi rowful\\nwilderness, let it be remiembered what strange prepa-\\nlation had been made for the things which no human\\nimagination could have f ofetold, and how the whole ex-\\nistence and fortune of the Venetian nation v/ere antici-\\npated or compelled, by the setting of those bars and\\ndoors to the rivers and the sea. Had deeper currents\\ndivided their islands, hostile navies would again and\\nagain have reduced the rising city into servitude had\\nstronger surges beaten their shores, all the richness and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "94 A RUSKIX AXTHOLGGY.\\nrefinement of the Venetian architectui-o must nave been\\nexchanged for the walls and bulwarks of an ordinary\\nsea-port. Had there been no tide, as in other parts of\\nthe Mediterranean, the narrow canals of the city would\\nhave become noisome, and the marsh in which it was\\nbuilt pestiferous. Had the tide been only a foot or\\neighteen inches higher in its rise, the water-access to\\nthe doors of the palaces would have been impossible\\neven as it is, there is sometimes a little difficulty, at the\\nebb, in landing without setting foot upon the lower and\\nslippery steps and the highest tides sometimes enter\\nthe courtyards, and overflow the entrance halls.\\nAtones of Venice, H., pp. 7-lo.\\nOld Venice like Old Yarmouth. For seven\\nhundred years Venice had more likeness in her to old\\nYarmouth than to new Pall Mall; and you might\\ncome to shrewder guess of what she and her people\\nwere like, by living for a year or two lovingly among\\nthe herring-catchers of Yarmouth Roads, or the boat-\\nmen of Deal or Bo castle, than by reading any lengths\\nof eloquent history. But you are to know also, and\\nremember always, that this amphibious city this Pho-\\ncfea, or sea-dog of towns\u00e2\u0080\u0094 looking with soft human\\neyes at you from the sand, Proteus himself latent in\\nthe salt-smelling skin of her had fields, and plots of\\ngarden here and there; and, far and near, sweet woods\\nof Calypso, graceful with quivering sprays, for woof of\\nnests gaunt with forked limbs for ribs or ships had\\ngood milk and butter from familiarly couchant cows\\nthickets wherein familiar birds could sing and finally\\nwas observant of clouds and sky, as pleasant and useful\\nphenomena. And she had at due distances among her\\nsimple dwellings, stately churches of marble. St.\\nMark s Best,\\nThe Gothic Palaces of Venice. Happily, in the\\npictures of Gentile Bellini, the fresco coloring of the\\nGothic palaces is recorded, as it still remained in his\\ntime not with rigid accuracy, but quite distinctly\\nenough to enable us, by comparing it with the existing\\ncolored designs in the manuscripts and glass of the\\nperiod, to ascertain })recisely what it must have been.\\nThe walls were generally covered with chequers of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 95\\nvery warm color, a russet inclining to scarlet, more or\\nless relieved with white, black, and grey; as still seen in\\nthe only example which, having been executed in\\nmarble, has been jjerfectly preserved, the front of the\\nDucal Palace.\\nOn these russet or crimson backgrounds the entire\\nspace of the series of windows was relieved, for the\\nmost part, as a subdued white field of alabaster and\\non this delicate and veined white were set the circular\\ndisks of purple and green. The arms of the family were\\nof course blazoned in their own proper colors, but I\\nthink generally on a pure azure ground the blue color\\nis still left behind the shields in the CasaPriuli and one\\nor two more of the palaces which are unrestored, and\\nthe blue ground was used also to relieve the sculptures\\nof religious subject. Finally, all the mouldings, capitals,\\ncornices, cusps, and traceries were either entirely\\ngilded or profusely touched with gold.\\nThe whole front of a Gothic palace in Venice may,\\ntherefore, be simply described as a field of subdued\\nrusset, quartered with broad sculptured masses of while\\nand gold these latter being relieved by smaller inlaid\\nfragments of blue, purple, and deep green. ^Stones of\\nVenice, III., pp. 25, 2G.\\nThe Venetian habitually incrusted his work with\\nnacre he built his houses, even the meanest, as if he\\nhad been a shell-fish roughly inside, mother-of-pearl\\non the surface he was content, perforce, to gather the\\nclay of the Brenta banks, and bake it into brick for his\\nsubstance of wall; but he overlaid it with the wealth of\\nocean, with the most precious foreign marbles. You\\nmight fancy early Venice one wilderness of brick, which\\na petrifying sea had beaLen upon till it coated it with\\nmarble at first a dark city washed white by the sea\\nfoam. Stones of Venice, I., p. 268.\\nSuch, then, was that first and fairest Venice which\\nrose out of the barrenness of the lagoon, and the\\nsorrow of her people a city of graceful arcades and\\ngleaming walls, veined with azure and warm with gold,\\nand fretted with white sculpture like frost upon forest\\nbranches turned to marble. Stones of Venice, II.,\\np. lU.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "96 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nA Golden City. A city of marble, did I say? nay,\\nrather a golden city, paved with emerald. For truly,\\nevery pinnacle and turret glanced or glowed, overlaid\\nwith gold, or bossed with jasper. Beneath, the unsullied\\nsea drew in deep breathing, to and fro, in eddies of\\ngreen wave. Deep-hearted, majestic, terrible as the\\nsea the men of Venice moved in sway of power and\\nwar pure as her pillars of alabaster, stood her mothers\\nand maidens from foot to brow, all noble, walked her\\nknights the low bronzed gleaming of searrusted armor\\nshot angrily under their blood-red mantle-folds. Fear-\\nless, faithful, patient, impenetrable, implacable every\\nword a fate sate her senate. In hope and honor, lulled\\nby flowing of v/ave around their isles of sacred .sand,\\neach with his name written and the cross graved at his\\nside, lay her dead. A wonderful piece of world.\\nRather, itself a world. It lay along the face of the\\nwaters, no larger, as its captains saw it from their\\nmasts at evening, than a bar of sunset that could not\\npass away but, for its power, it must have seemed to\\nthem as if they were sailing in the expanse of heaven,\\nand this a great planet, whose orient edge widened\\nthrough ether. Modem Pabtters, V., p. 308.\\nThe Venice of Bvron. The Venice of modern\\nfiction and drama is a thing of yesterday, a mere efllor-\\nescence of decay, a stage dream which the first rtty of\\ndaylight must dissipate into dust. No prisoner, whose\\nname is worth remembering, or whose sorrow desert ed\\nsympathy, ever crossed that Bridge of Sighs, which\\nis the centre of the Byronic ideal of Venice; no\\ngreat merchant of Venice ever saw that Rialto under\\nwhich the traveller now passes with breathless interest\\nthe statue which Byron makes Faliero address as of one\\nof his great ancestors was erected to a soldier of fortune\\na hundred and fifty years after Faliero s death and the\\nmost conspicuous parts of the city have been so entirely\\naltered in the course of the last three centuries, that if\\nHenry Dandolo or Francis Foscari could be summoned\\nfrom their tombs, and stood each on the deck of his galley\\nat the entrance of the Grand Canal, that renowned en-\\ntrance, the painter s favorite subject, the novelist s fa-\\nvorite scene, where the water first nai ov s liy tiie stciis", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC AnTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094PAIXTING. 97\\nof the Chuvcli of La Salute the mighty Doges would\\nnot know in what spot of the world they stood, would\\nliterally not recognize one stone of the great city, for\\nwhose sake, and by whose ingratitude, their gray hairs\\nhad been brouglit down with bitterness to the grave.\\nThe remains of t/iei? Venice lie hidden behind the\\nciunbrous masses v/hich were the delight of the nation\\nin its dotage hidden in ma^iy a grass-grown court, and\\nsilent pathway, and lightless canal, where the slow\\nwaves have sapped their foundations for five hundred\\nyears, and must soon prevail over them forever.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nj! ^fones of Venice, II., p.\\nVenick, 23rd Jim e. [1871.]\\nModern Venice. My letter will be a day or two\\nlate, I fear, after all for I can t wiite this morning,\\nbecause of the accursed whistling of the dirty steam-\\nengine of the omnibus for Lido, waiting at the quay of\\nthe Ducal Palace for the dirty population of Venice,\\nwhich is now neither fish nor flesh, neither noble nor fish-\\nerman cannot afford to be rowed, nor has strength nor\\nsense enough to row itself but su)okes and spits up and\\ndown the piazzetta all day, and gets itself dragged by a\\nscreaming kettle to Lido next morning, to sea-bathe it-\\nself into capacity for more tobacco. 7u: rs, I., p. 250.\\nThe Sanity and Strength of the Venetian\\nCharacter. [The Venetians were] always quarrelling\\nwith the Pope. Their religious liberty came, like their\\nbodily health, from that wave-training; for it is one\\nnotable effect of a life passed on shipboard to destrov\\nweak beliefs in appointed forms of religion. A\\nsailor may be grossly superstitious, but his supersti-\\ntions will be connected with amulets and omens, not\\ncast in systems. He must accustom himself, if he\\nprays at all, to pray anywhere and anyhow. Candle-\\nsticks and incense not being portable into tlie maintop,\\nhe perceives those decorations to be, on the whole, in-\\nessential to a maintop mass. Sails must be set and\\ncables bent, be it never so strict a saint s day, and it is\\nfound that no harm comes of it. Absolution on a lee-\\nshoi e must be had of the breakers, it appears, if at all,\\nand they give it plenary and brief, without listening\\nto confession.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "98 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nIt is enough for the Florentine to know how to use\\nhis sword and to ride. We Venetians, also, must be\\nable to use our swords, and on ground which is none of\\nthe steadiest but, besides, we must be able to do near-\\nly everything that hands can turn to rudders, and\\nyards, and cables, all needing workmanly handling and\\nworkmanly knowledge, from captain as well as from\\nmen. To drive a nail, lash a spar, reef a sail rude\\nwork this for noble hands; but to be done sometimes,\\nand done well, on pain of death. All which not only\\ntakes mean pride out of us, and puts nobler pride of\\npower in its stead; l)ut it tends partly to soothe, partly\\nto chasten, partly to employ and direct, the hot Italian\\ntemper, and make us every way greater, calmer, and\\nhappier. Modern Painters, V., pp. 235, 236.\\nThe Religion of Venice. The Venetians were\\nt\\\\\\\\Q last believing Ac\\\\\\\\oo\\\\ oi\\\\ti\\\\\\\\y The Venetian re-\\nligion was true. Not only true, but one of tlie main\\nmotives of their lives. For one profane picture\\nby great Venetians you will find ten of sacred subjects\\nand those, also, including their grandest, most labored,\\nand most beloved works. Tintoret s power culminates\\nin two great religious pictures: the Crucifixion and\\nthe Paradise. Titian s in the Assumption, the Peter\\nMartyr, and Presentation of the Virgin. Veronese s in\\nthe Marriage in Cana. Modern Painters, V., pp.\\n240, 242.\\nThe decline of lier [Venice s] political prosperity\\nwas exactly coincident with that of domestic and\\nindividual religion. The most curious phenomenon in\\nall Venetian history is the vitality of religion in private\\nlife, and its deadness in public policy. Amidst the enthu-\\nsiasm, chivalry, or fanaticism of the other states of Eu-\\nrope, Venice stands, from first to last, like a masked stat-\\nue; her coldness impenetrable, her exertion only aroused\\nby the touch of a secret spring. That spring was her\\ncommercial interest this the one motive of all her im-\\nportant political acts, or enduring national animosities.*\\nYears after tliis was written, Raskin admitted that he was wrong\\nin the matter. Venice, he says in his later note. is superficially\\nand apparently commercial: at heart jiassionately heroic and relig-\\nious; precisely the reverse of modeiii England, who is .superficially\\nand apparently religious; and at lieart entirel.y infidel, cowardly,\\nand dishonest. \u00e2\u0080\u0094aSYijucs of V(^nice. Iidrodmtory Chcvpiers. 1879.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 99\\nShe could forgive insults to her honor, but never rival-\\nship in her commerce; she calculated the glorv of her\\nconquests by their value, and estimated their justice\\nby their facility.\\nVenice may well call upon us to note with reverence,\\nthat of all the towers which are still seen rising like a\\nbranchless forest from her islands, there is but one\\nwhose office was other than that of summoning to\\nprayer, and that one was a watch-tower only from\\nfirst to last, while the palaces of the other cities of\\nItaly were lifted into sullen fortitudes of rampart, and\\nfringed with forked battlements for the javelin and the\\nbow, the sands of Venice never sank under the weight\\nof a war tower, and her roof terraces were wreathed\\nwith Arabian imagery, of golden globes suspended on\\nthe leaves of lilies. /Sfo/zes of Yemce, pp. lS)- 24.\\nVenetian Painting. The great splendor of the\\nVenetian school arises from their having seen and held\\nfrom the beginning this great fact that shadow is as\\nmuch color -as hght, often much more. In Titian s\\nfullest red the lights are pale rose-color, passing into\\nwhite the shadows warm deep crimson. In Veronese s\\nmost splendid orange, the lights are pale, the shadows\\ncrocus color; and so on. Lectures on Art, p. 88.\\nThe Pride of Venetian Landscape. The worst\\npoint we have to note respecting the spirit of Venetian\\nlandscape is its pride.\\nThe Venetian possessed, and cared for, neither fields\\nnor pastures. Being delivered, to his loss, from all the\\nwholesome labors of tillage, he was also shut out from\\nthe sweet wonders and charities of the earth, and from\\nthe pleasant natural history of the year.\\nNo simple joy was possible to him. Only stateliness\\nand power; high intercourse with kingly and beautiful\\nhumanity, proud thoughts, or splendid pleasures\\nthroned sensualities, and ennobled appetites. Modern\\nPainters, V., pp. 239, 240.\\nReligion in the Art of Titian. The religion of\\nTitian is like that of Shakespeare occult behind his\\nmagnificent equity.\\nIt had been the fashion before his time to make the\\nMagdalen always y^ung and beautiful her, if no one", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "100 A nUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nelse, even the rudest painters flattered her repentanee\\nwas not thought perfect unless she had lustrous hair\\nand lovely lips. Titian first dared to doubt the ro-\\nmantic fable, and reject the nai iovmess of sentimental\\nfaith. He saw that it was possible for plain women to\\nlove no less than beautiful ones; and for stout persons\\nto repent as well as those more delicately made. It\\nseemed to him that the Magdalen would have received\\nher pardon not the less quickly because her wit wa,s\\nnone of the readiest and would not have been re-\\ngarded with less compassion by her Master because her\\neyes were swollen, or her dress disordered.\\nTitian could have put issues of life and death into\\nthe face of a man asking the way nay, into the back\\nof him, if he had so chosen. He has put a whole\\nscheme of dogmatic theology into a row of bishops\\nbacks at the Louvre. Modern Painters, V., p. 248.\\nBreadth and Realism of Venetian Art. The\\nVenetian mind, we have said, and Titian s especially,\\nas the central type of it, was wholly realist, universal,\\nand manly.\\nIn this breadth and realism, the painter saw that sen-\\nsual passion in man was, not only a fact, but a Divine\\nfact the human creature, though the highest of the\\nanimals, was, nevertheless, a perfect animal, and his\\nhap{)iness, health, and nobleness depended on the due\\npower of every animal passion, as well as the cultiva-\\ntion of every spiritual tendency.\\nHe thought that every feeling of the mind and\\nheart, as well as every form of the body, deserved\\npainting. Also to a painter s true and highly trained\\ninstinct, the human body is the loveliest of all objects. I\\ndo not stay to trace the reasons why, at Venice, the\\nfemale body could be found in more perfect beauty\\nthan the male; but so it was, and it becomes the princi-\\npal subject therefore, both with Giorgione and Titian.\\nThey painted it fearlessly, with all right and natural\\nqualities never, however, representing it as exercising\\nany overpowering attractive influence on man but\\nonly on the Faun or Satyr.\\nYet they did this so majestically that I am perfectly\\ncertain no untouched Venetian picture ever yet excited\\none base thought (otherwise than in base persons any-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.-PAINTING. 101\\nthing may do so) while in the greatest studies of the\\nfemale body by the Venetians, all other characters are\\noverborne by majesty, and the form becomes as pure as\\nthat of a Greek statue. Modern Painters, V., p. 249.\\nThe Pictures of Tintoret in^ the Scuola di San\\nRocco, Venice. The number of valuable pictures is\\nfifty-two arranged on the walls and ceilings of three\\nrooms, so badly lighted, in consequence of the admirable\\narrangements of the Renaissance architect, that it is\\nonly in the early morning that some of the pictures can\\nbe seen at all, nor can they ever be secii but imper-\\nfectly. They were all painted, however, for their places\\nin the dark, and, as compared with Tintoret s other\\nworks, are therefore, for the most part, nothing more\\nthan vast sketches, made to produce, under a certain\\n.degree of shadow, the effect of finished pictures. Their\\ntreatment is thus to be considered as a kind of scene-\\npainting differing from ordinary scene-painting only\\nin this, that the effect aimed at is not that of a\\nnatural scene but a 2mrfert picture. They differ in\\nthis respect from all other existing works for there is\\nnot, as far as I know, any other instance in which a\\ngreat master has consented to work for a room plunged\\ninto almost total obscurity. It is probable that non^ but\\nTintoret would have undertaken the task, and most\\nfortunate that he was forced to do it. For in this\\nmagnificent scene-painting we have, of course, more\\nwonderful examples, both of his handling, and knowl-\\nedge of eft ect, than could ever have been exhibited in\\nfinished pictures while the necessity of doing much\\nwith few strokes keeps his mind so completely on the\\nstretch throughout the work (while yet the velocity of\\nproduction prevented his being wearied), that no other\\nseries of his works exhibits powers so exalted. On the\\nother hand, owing to the velocity and coarseness of\\nthe painting, it is mo-. e liable to injury thri)iigh drought\\nor damp; and, as the walls have been for years con-\\ntinually running down with rain, and what little sun\\ngets into the place contrives to fall all day right on one\\nor other of the pictures, they are nothing but wrecks of\\nwhat they were and the ruins of paintings originally\\ncoarse are not likely ever to be attractive to the public\\nmind. Twenty or thirty years ago they were taken", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "102 .4 BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndown to be retouched but the man to whom the task\\nwas committed providentially died, and only one of\\nthem was spoiled. 1 have found traces of his work\\nupon another, but not to an extent very seriously de-\\nstructive. The rest of the sixty-two, or, at any rate, all\\nthat are in the upper room, appear entirely intact.\\n/Stones of Venice, III., pp. 340, 341.\\nYoung Ruskin s first Visit to tiik Scuola di\\nSan Rocco in Venice. When we came away, Hard-\\ning said that he felt like a whipped schoolboy. 1, not\\nhaving been at school so long as he, felt only that anew\\nworld was opened to me, that I had seen that day the\\nArt of Man in its full majesty for the first time and\\nthat there was also a strange and precious gift in my-\\nself enabling me to recognize it, and therein ennobling,\\nnot crushing mo. Modern Painters, II., p. 256, Ixe-\\nmsed Ed., 1883.\\nTintoret s Massacre of the Innocents. The\\nscene is the outer vestibule of a palace, the slippery\\nmarble floor is fearfully barred across by sanguine\\nshadows, so that our eyes seem to become bloodshot\\nand strained with strange horror and deadly vision a\\nlake of life before them, hke the burning seen of the\\ndoomed Moabite on the water that came by the way\\nof Edom a huge flight of stairs, without parapet, de-\\nscends on the left; down this rush a crowd of women\\nmixed with the murderers; the child in the arms of\\none has been seized by the limbs, she hurls herself over\\nthe edge, and fidls head down-most, dragging the child\\nout of the grasp by her weight she will be dashed\\ndead in a second two others are farther in flight, they\\nreach the edge of a deep river the water is beat into a\\nhollow by the force of their plunge close to us is the\\ngreat struggle, a heap of the mothers entangled in one\\nmortal writhe with each other and the swords, one of\\nthe murderers dashed down and crushed beneath them,\\nthe sword of another caught by the blade and dragged\\nat by a woman s naked hand the youngest and fairest\\nof the women, her child jnsr torn away from a death\\ngrasp and clasped to her breast with the grip of a steel\\nvice, falls backwards helplessly over the heap, right on\\nthe sword points; all knit together and hurled down in\\none hopeless, frenzied, furious aliandonment of body", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 103\\nand soul in the effort to save. Their slirieksiinsj in our\\nears till the marble seems rending around us, but far\\nback, at the bottom of the stairs, there is sometiiing in the\\nshadow like a heap of clothes. It is a woman, sitting\\nquiet quite quiet still as any stone, she looks down\\nsteadfastly on her dead child, hud along on the floor\\nbefore her, and her hand is pressed softly upon her\\nbrow. Modern Painters, II., p. 375.\\nThe Last Judgment, ev Tintoret. By Tin-\\ntoret only has this unmanageable event been grappled\\nwith in its verity, not typically nor symbolically, but\\nas they may see it who shall not sleep, but be changed.\\nOnly one ti aditional circumstance he has received with\\nDante and Michael Angelo, the boat of the condemned;\\nbut the impetuosity of his mind bursts out even in the\\nadoption of this image, he has not stopped at the scowl-\\ning ferryman of the one nor at the sweeping blow and\\ndemon dragging of the other, but, seized Hylas-like by\\nthe limbs, and tearing up the earth in his agony, the\\nvictim is dashed into his destruction; nor is it the slug-\\ngish Lethe, nor the fiery lake that bears the cursed\\nvessel, but the oceans of the earth and the waters of\\nthe firmament gathered into one white, ghastly cataract,\\nthe river of the wrath of God, roaring down into the\\ngulf where the world has melted with its fervent heat,\\nchoked with the ruin of nations, and the limbs of its\\ncorpses tossed out of its whirling, like water-wheels.\\nBat-like, out of the holes and caverns and shadows of\\nthe ear^h, the bones gather, and the clay-heaps heave,\\nrattling and adhering into half-kneaded anatomies, that\\ncrawl, and startle, and struggle up among the putrid\\nweeds, with the clay clinging to their clotted hair, and\\ntheir heavy eyes sealed by the earth darkness yet, like\\nhis of old who went his way unseeing to Siloam Pool\\nshaking off one by one the dreams of the prison-house,\\nhardly hearing the clangor.of the trumpets of the armies\\nof G(k1, blinded yet more, as they awake, by the white\\nlight of the new Heaven, until the great vortex of the\\nfour winds bears up their bodies to the judgment seat\\nthe firmament is all full of them, a very dust of human\\nsouls, that drifts, and floats, and falls in the intermina\\nble, inevitable light the bright clouds are darkened\\nwith them as witli thick snow, currents of atom life ia", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "104 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOay.\\nthe arteries of heaven, now soaring up slowly, farther,\\nand higher, and higher still, till the eye and the thought\\ncan follow no farther, borne up, wingless, by their in-\\nward faith and by the angel powers invisible, now\\nhurled in countless drifts of horror before the breath of\\ntheir condemnation. Modern Pamters, II., p. 377.\\nVeronese s Mastiffs. Two mighty brindled mas-\\ntiffs, and beyond them, darkness. You scarcely see\\nthem at first, against the gloomy green. No other sky\\nfor them, poor things. They are gray themselves,\\nspotted witli black all over; their multitudinous dog-\\ngish vices may not be washed out of them are in\\ngrain of nature. Strong thewed and sinewed, how-\\never no blame on them as far as bodily strength may\\nreach their heads coal-black, with drooping ears and\\nfierce eyes, bloodshot a little. Wildest of beasts per-\\nhaps they would have been, by nature. But between\\nthem stands the spirit of their human Love, dove-\\nwinged and beautiful, the resistless Greek boy, golden-\\nquivered his glowing breast and limbs the only light\\nupon the sky purple and pure. He has cast his chain\\nabout the dogs necks, and holds it in his strong right\\nhand, leaning proudly a little back from them. They\\nwill never break looje. Modirii Pidnters,N p. 277.\\nVenetian Art perished. By reason of one great,\\none fatal fault; recklessness in aim. Wholly noble\\nin its sources, it was wholly unworthy in its purposes.\\nThe Assumption is a noble picture, because Titian\\nbelieved in the Madonna. But he did not paint it to\\nmake anyone else believe in her. He painted it be-\\ncause he enjoyed rich masses of red and blue, and faces\\nflushed with sunlight.\\nOther men used their effete faiths and mean facul-\\nties with a high moral purpose. The Venetian gave\\nthe most earnest faith, and the lordliest faculty, to gild\\nthe shadows of an ante-chamber, or heighten the splen-\\ndors of a holiday.\\nI know not how far in humility, or how far in bitter\\nand hopeless levity, the great V^enetians gave their art\\nto be blasted by the sea-winds or Wcisted by the worm.\\nI know not whether in sorrowful obedience, or in\\nwanton compliance, they fostered the folly, and en-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 105\\nriched the luxury of their age. This only I know, that\\nin proportion to the greatness of their power was the\\nshame of its desecration and the suddenness of its fall.\\nThe enchanter s spell, woven by centuries of toil, was\\nbroken in the weakness of a moment; and swiftly, and\\nutterly, as a rainbow vanishes, the radiance and the\\nstrength faded from the wings of the Lion. 3Ioder)i\\nPainters, V., Part IX., chap. 3, i^ i-ssmi.\\nTHE DUTCH MASTERS.\\n[From Modern Painters, V., Part IX., Chap. Xl.}\\nNo Religion in Dutch Art. So far as I can hear\\nor read, this is an entirely new and wonderful state of\\nthings achieved by the Hollanders. The human being\\nnever got wholly quit of the terror of spiritual being\\nbefore. Persian, Egyptian, Assyrian, Hindoo, Chinese,\\nall kept some dim, appalling record of what they\\ncalled gods. Farthest savages had and still have\\ntheir Gieat Spirit, or, in extremity, their feather idols,\\nlarge-eyed but here in Holland we have at la.-^t got\\nutterly done with it all. Our only idol glitters dimly,\\nin tangible shape of a pint pot, and all the incense offered\\nthereto, comes out of a small censer or bowl at the end\\nof a pipe,\\nPaul Potter. You will find that the best Dutch\\npainters do not care about the people, but about the\\nlustres on them. Paul Potter, their best herd and\\ncattle painter, does not care even for sheep, but only\\nfor wool regards not cows, but cowhide.\\nRrsKiN AND THE DiTCiiMEN. No effort of faucy\\nwill enable me to lay hold of the temper of Teniers or\\nWouvermans, any more than I can enter into the feel-\\nings of one of the lower animals. I cannot see why\\nthey painted what they are aim.ing at what they\\nliked or disliked. All their life and work is the same\\ni-ort of mystery to me as the mind of my dog when he\\nrolls on carrion.\\nArticles in Oil Paint. A Dutch picture is, in\\nfact, merely a Florentine table more finely touched it", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "106 A R US KIN A NTHOL OGY.\\nhas its regular ground of slate, and its mother-of-pearl\\nand tinsel put in with equal precision and perhaps\\nthe fairest view one can take of a Dutch painter is,\\nthat he is a respectable tradesman furnishing well-made\\narticles in oil paint.\\nCuYP. Cuyp can, indeed, paint sunlight, the best\\nthat Holland s sun can show he is a man of large natural\\ngift, and sees broadly, nay, even seriously. A brewer\\nby trade, he feels the quiet of a summer afternoon, and\\nhis work will make you marvelously drowsy. It is\\ngood for nothing else that I know of: strong; but un-\\nhelpful and unthoughtful. Nothing happens in his pic-\\ntures, except some indifferent person s asking the way\\nof somebody else, who, by their cast of countenance,\\nseems not likely to know it. For farther entertain-\\nment perhaps a red cow and a white one or puppies at\\nplay, not playfully; the man s heart not going even with\\nthe puppies. Essentially he sees nothing but the shine\\non the flaps of their ears.\\nRubens. Rubens was an honorable aild entirely\\nwell-intentioned man, earnestly industrious, sinnple and\\ntemperate in habits of life, high-bred, learned, and dis-\\ncreet. His affection for his mother w as great his\\ngenerosity to contemporary artists unfailing. He is a\\nhealthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased Animal\\nwithout any clearly perceptible traces of a soul, except\\nwhen he paints his children.\\nTeniers. Take a picture by Teniers, of so ,s quar-\\nrelling over their dice it is an entirely clever picture\\nso clever that nothing in its kind has ever been done\\nequal to it but it is also an entirel} base and evil\\npicture. It is an expression of delight in the prolonged\\ncontemplation of a vile thing, and delight in that is an\\nunmannered, or immoral quality. Crovyn of\\nWild Olive, Lect. I., p. 40.\\nTHE CLASSICAL SCHOOL.\\nThe Classical Spirit. The school is generally to\\nbe characterized as that of taste and restraint. As the\\nschool of taste, everything is, in its estimation, beneath", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 107\\nit, so as to be tasted or tested not above it, to be\\nthankfully received. Nothing was to be fed upon as\\nbread; but only palated as a dainty. The spirit has\\ndestroyed art since the close of the sixteenth century,\\nand nearly destroyed French literature, our English\\nliterature being at the same time severely depressed,\\nand our education, (except in bodily strength) rendered\\nnearly nugatory by it, so far as it affects common-place\\nminds. It is not possible that the classical spirit should\\never take possession of a mind of the highest order.\\nClaude. Claude had a fine feeling for beauty of\\nform and considerable tenderness of perception.\\nHe first set the pictorial sun in the pictorial heaven.\\nHis aerial effects are unequalled. Their character ap-\\npears to me to arise rather from a delicacy of bodily\\nconstitution in Claude, than from any mental sensibil-\\nity such as they are, they give a kind of feminine\\ncharm to his work, which partly accounts for its wide\\ninfluence. To whatever the character may be traced,\\nit renders hiua incapable of enjoying or painting any-\\nthing energetic or terrible. Hence the weakness of his\\nconceptions of rough sea.\\nHe had sincerity of purpose. That is to say, so far\\nas he felt the truth, he tried to be true but he never\\nfelt it enough to sacrifice sujjposed propriety, or habit-\\nual method to it. His seas are the most beautiful\\nin old art. He had hardly any knowledge of\\n})hysical science. There is no other sentiment traceable\\nin his work than this weak dislike to entertain the con-\\nception of toil or suffering. Ideas of relation, in the\\ntrue sense, he has none nor ever makes an effort to\\nconceive an event in its probable circumstances, but\\nfills his foregrounds with decorative figures, using com-\\nmonest conventionalism to indicate the subject he in-\\ntends. We may take two examples, merely to show\\nthe general character of such designs of his.\\nSt. George and the Dragon. The scene is a beauti-\\nful opening in woods by a river side, a pleasant foun-\\ntain springs on the right, and the usual rich vegetation\\ncovers the foreground. The dragon is about the size\\nof ten bramble leaves, and is being killed by the re-\\nmains of a lance, barely the thickness t)f a walking-\\nstick, in his throat, curling his tail in a highly offensive", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "108 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand threatening manner. St. George, notwitlistandin^^,\\non a prancing horse, bi-andishes his sword, at about\\nthirty yards distance from the offensive animal.\\nA semicircuh^r shelf of rocks encircles the foneground,\\nby which the theatre of action is divided into pit and\\nboxes. Some women and children having descended\\nunadvisedly into the pit, are helping each other out of\\nit again, with marked precipitation. A prudent per-\\nson of rank has taken a front seat in the boxes crosses\\nhis legs, leans his head on his hand, and contemplates\\nthe proceedings with the air of a connoisseur. Two\\nattendants stand in graceful attitudes behind him, and\\ntwo more walk away under the trees, conversing on\\ngeneral subjects.\\nLarge admiration of Claude is wholly impossible in\\nany period of national vigor in art. He may by such\\ntenderness as he possesses, and by the very fact of his\\nbanishing painfulness, exercise considerable influence\\nover certain classes of minds but this influence is al-\\nmost exclusively hurtful to them.\\nNevertheless, on account of such small sterling quali-\\nties as they possess, and of their general pleasantness,\\nas well as their importance in the history of art, genu-\\nine Claudes must always possess a considerable value,\\neither as drawing-room ornaments or museum relics.\\nThey may be ranked with fine pieces of China manu-\\nfacture, and other agreeable curiosities, of which the\\nprice depends on the rarity rather than the merit, yet\\nalways on a merit of a certain low kind Modern,\\nPainters, V,, pp. 263-2G9.\\nNicoLO PoussiN. Poussin s landscapes, though\\nmore limited in material, are incomparably nobler than\\nClaude s. It would take considerable time to enter into\\naccurate analysis of his strong but degraded mind and\\nbring us no reward, because whatever he has done has\\nbeen done better by Titian. His peculiarities are,\\nwithout exception, weaknesses, induced in a highly in-\\ntellectual and inventive mind by Iteing fed on medals,\\nbooks, and bassi-relievi instead of nature, and by the\\nwant of any deep sensibility. His best works are his\\nBacchanalian revels, always brightly wanton and wild,\\nfull of frisk and fire but they are coarser than Titian s,\\nand infinitely less beautiful.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "THE ORAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 109\\nHis want of sensibility permits liim to paint frightful\\nsubjects, without feeling any true horror.\\nHis battle pieces are cold and feeble his religious\\nsubjects wholly nugatory, they do not excite him\\nenough to develop even his ordinary powers of rnvQW-\\niionZ-Modern rainters, V., pp. 2()3-2Tl.\\nLANDSCAPE.\\nEducation amidst country possessing architectural re-\\nmains of some noble kind, I believe to be wholly essen-\\ntial to tlie progress of a landscape artist. Modern\\nrainters, V., p. 322.\\nTlie first man who entirely broke through the con-\\nventionahty of his time, and painted pure landscape, was\\nMasaccio, but he died too young to effect the revolu-\\ntion of winch his genius was capable. It was left for\\nother men to accomplish, namely, for Correggio and\\nTitian. These two painters were the first who relieved\\nche foregrounds of their landscape from the grotesque,\\nj^uaint, and crowded formalism of the early painters\\nand gave a close approximation to the forms of nature\\nin i\\\\\\\\\\\\-ng^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Lectures on Architecture, p. 88.\\nHuman Interest in Landscape. All true land-\\nscape, whether simple or exalted, depends primarily for\\nits interest on connection with humanity, or with spirit-\\nual powers. Banisli your heroes and nymphs from the\\nclassical landscape\u00e2\u0080\u0094 its laurel shades will move you no\\nmore. Show that the dark clefts of the most romantic\\nmountain are uninhabited and untraversed it will\\ncease to be romantic. If from Veronese s Mar-\\ni-iage in Cana we remove the architecture and the gay\\ndre^sses, we shall not in the faces and hands remaining,\\nfind a satisfactory abstract of the picture. But try it\\nthe other way. Take out the faces leave the draperies,\\nand how then Put the fine dresses and jewelled gir-\\ndles into the best group you can paint them with all\\nVeronese s skill: will they satisfy you J/o(/t^;7i\\nPcmiters, V., p. 21G.\\nA Modern French Emotional Landscape. You\\nmay paint a modern French emotional landscape with", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "110 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\na pail of whitewash and a pot of gas-tar in ten minutes,\\nat the outside. You put seven or eight streaks of the\\nplaster for your sky, to begin with; then you put in a\\ni-ow of bushes with the gas-tar, then you rub the ends\\nof them into the same shapes upside down you put\\nthree or four more streaks of white, to intimate tlie\\npresence of a pool of water and if you finish off with a\\nlog that looks something like a dead body, your picture\\nwill have the credit of being a di ;est of a whole novel\\nof Gaboriau, and lead the talk of the season. Art of\\nEnglcmd, p. 90.\\nIn Miss Greena way s Child-Land. There are no\\nrailroads in it, to carry the children away with, are\\nthere? no tunnel or pit mouths to swallow them up, no\\nleague-long viaducts no blinkered iron bridges 1 There\\nare only wiiiding brooks, wooden foot-bridges, and\\ngrassy hills without any holes cut into them\\nAgain there are no parks, no gentlemen s seats\\nwith attached stables and offices no rows of model\\nlodging-houses! no charitable institutions! It seems\\nas if none of these things which the English mind now\\nrages after, possess any attraction whatever for this\\nunimpressionable person. She is a graceful Gallio\\nGallia gratia plena, and cares for none of those things.\\nAnd more wonderful still there are no gasworks\\nno waterworks, no mowing machines, no sewing ma-\\nchines, no telegraph poles, no vestige, in fact, of science,\\ncivilization, economical arrangements, or commei cial\\nenterprise! Art of En f /land, pp. 68, 69.\\nThe Native Country of Salvator. We are ac-\\ncustomed to hear the south of Italy spoken of as a\\nbeautiful country. Its mountain forms are graceful\\nabove others, its sea-bays exquisite in outline and hue\\nbut it is only beautiful in superficial aspect. In closer\\ndetail it is wild and melancholy. Its forests are sombre-\\nleafed, labyrinth-stemmed; the carubbe, the olive, lau-\\nrel, and ilex, are alike in that strange feverish twist-\\ning of their branches, as if in spasms of half human\\npain Avernus forests one fears to break their\\nboughs, lest they should cry to us from their rents\\nthe rocks they shade are of ashes, or thrice-molten\\nlava; iron sponge, whose every pore has been filled", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "THE GUAPlUa ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. Ill\\nwith fire. Silent villages, earthquake-shaken, without\\ncommerce, without industry, without knowledge, with-\\nout hope, gleam in white ruin from hillside to hillside\\nfar-winding wrecks of immemorial walls surround the\\ndust of cities long forsaken: the mountain streams\\nmoan through the cold arches of their foundations,\\ngreen with weed, and rage over the heaps of their fallen\\ntowers. Far above, in thunder-blue serration, stand the\\neternal edges of the angry Apennine, dark with rolling\\niiupendence of volcanic cloud. Modern Painters, V.,\\np. 257.\\nSalvator had not the sacred sense the sense of\\ncolor; all the loveliest hues of the Calabrian air were\\ninvisible to him; the sorrowful desolation of the Cala-\\nbrian villages unfelt. He saw only what was gross\\nand terrible the jagged peak, the splintered tree, the\\nflowerless bank of grass, and wandering weed, prickly\\nand pale. His temper confirmed itself in evil, and\\nbecame more and more fierce and morose though not,\\nI believe, cruel, ungenerous, or lascivious. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 258.\\nTURNER.\\nTurner painted the labor of men, their sorrow, and\\ntheir death [he] only momentarily dwells on\\nanything els(i than ruin. Modern Painters, V., pp.\\n356, 357.\\nTurner appears never to have desired, from any one,\\n.care in favor of his separate works. The only thing he\\nwould say sometimes was, Keep them together. He\\nseemed not to mind how much they were injured, if\\nonly the record of the thought were left in them, and\\nthey were kept in the series which would give the key to\\ntheir meaning. .Modern Painters, V., p. 359.\\nTurner may be beaten on his own ground so may\\nTintoret, so may Shakespeare, Dante, or Homer but\\nmy heliefia that all these first-rate men are lonely men\\nthat the pai-ticular work they did was by them done\\nfor ever in the best way and that this work done by\\nTurner among the hills, joining the most intense appre-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "112 A RUSK JN ANTHOLOGY.\\nciation of all tenderness with delight in all magnitude,\\nand memory for all detail, is never to be rivalled, or\\nlooked upon in similitude again. Modern Pidnfers,\\nIV., p. 322.\\nA single dusty roll of Turner s brush is more truly\\nexpressive of the infinitude of foliage than the niggling\\nof Hobima could have rendered his canvas, if he had\\nworked on it till doomsday.\\nHe could not paint a cluster of leaves better than\\nTitian but he could a bough, much more a distant mass\\nof foliage. No man ever before painted a distant tree\\nrightly, or a full-leaved branch rightly. All Titian s\\ndistant branches are ponderous flakes, as if covered\\nwith sea-weed, while Veronese s and Raphael s are con-\\nventional, being exquisitely ornamental arrangements of\\nsmall perfect leaves. Modern Painters, V., p. 52.\\nTurner s Opinion of Skies. He knew the colors\\nof the clouds over the sea, from the Bay of Naples to\\nthe Hebrides; and- being once asked where, in Europe,\\nwere to be seen the loveliest skies, answered instantly,\\nin the Isle of Tlianet. Where, therefore, and in\\nthis very town of Margate, he lived, when he chose to\\nbe quit of London, and yet not to travel. Fors, I.,\\np. 128.\\nTurner and ixis Opponents. They had deliberately\\nclosed their eyes to all nature, and had gone on inquir-\\ning, Where do you put your brown tree A vast\\nrevelation was made to them at once [by Turner s\\ncolor style], enough to have dazzled any one; but to\\nthem, light unendurable as incomprehensible. They\\ndid to the moon complain, in one vociferous, unani-\\nmous, continuous Tu whoo. Shrieking rose from all\\ndark places at the same instant, just the same kind of\\nshrieking that is now raised against thePre-Raphaelites.\\nThose glorious old Arabian Nights, how true they are\\nMocking and whispering, and abuse loud and low\\nby turns, from all the black stones beside the road, when\\none living soul is toiling up the hill to get the golden\\nwater. Mocking and whispering, that he may look\\nback, and become a black stone like themselves. Pre-\\nllcqjhaelitism, p. 39.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 113\\nThe Port-holes of the Ship. Turner, in his early\\nlife, was sometimes good-natured, and would show peo-\\nple what he was about. He was one day making a\\ndrawing of Plymouth harbor, v/ith some ships at the\\ndistance of a mile or two, seen against the light. Hav-\\ning shown this drawing to a naral officer, the naval\\nofficer observed with surprise, and objected with very\\njustifiable indignation, that the ships of the line had nc\\nport-holes. No, said Turner, certainly not. If yoi\\nwill walk up to Mount Edgecumbe, and look at th**\\nships against the sunset, you will find you can t see th?\\nport-holes. Well, but, said the naval officer, stiP\\nindignant, you know the port-holes are there. Yes,\\nsaid Turner, I know that well enough but my busi-\\nness is to draw what I see, and not what I know ii/\\nthere Eagles JVc^f, p. 81.\\nEach Work must be studied Separately. Two\\nworks of his, side by side, destroy each other to a dead\\ncertainty, for each is so vast, so complete, so demand-\\nant of every power, so sufficient for every desire of the\\nmind, that it is utterly impos?ible for two to be compre-\\nhended together. Each must have the undivided in-\\ntellect, and each is destroyed by the attraction of the\\nother; and it is the chief power and might of these\\npictures, that they are works for the closet and the\\nheart works to be dwelt upon separately and devotedly,\\nand then chiefly when the mind is in it highest tone,\\nand desirous of a beauty which may be food for its\\nimmortality. It is the very stamp and essence of the\\npurest poetry, that it can only be so met and under-\\nstood and that the clash of common interests, and the\\nroar of the selfish world, must be hushed about the\\nheart, before it can hear the still, small voice, wherein\\nrests the power communicated from the Holiest.\\nArroics of the CJutce, I., p. 35.\\nVarious Judgments and Anecdotes of Turner.\\nTurner differed from most men in this that he was\\nalways willing to take anything to do that came in lii^s\\nway. He did not shut himself up in a garret to pro-\\nduce unsaleable works of high art, and starve, or lose\\nhis senses. He hired himself out every evening to\\nwash in skies in Imlian ink, on other people s drawings,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "114 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nas many as he could, at half-a-crown a-night, getting\\nhis supper into the bargain. What could 1 have done\\nbetter? he said afterwards: it was first-rate prac-\\ntice.\\nThere does not exist such a thing as a slovenly draw-\\ning by Turner. He never let a drawing leave\\nhis hands without having made a step in advance, and\\nhaving done better in it than he had ever done before\\nand there is no important drawing of the period which\\nis not executed with a ^Jc/^/^dif^regard of time and price,\\nand which was not, even then, worth four or five times\\nwhat Turner received for it.\\nWhat Turner did in contest with Claude, he did with\\nevery other then-known master of landscape, each in\\nhis turn. He challenged and vanquished, each in his\\nown peculiar field, Vandevelde on the sea, Salvator\\namong rocks, and Cuyp on lowland rivers and, having\\ndone this, set himself to paint the natural scenery of\\nskies, mountains, and lakes, which, until his time, had\\nnever been so much as attempted.\\nHe thus, in the extent of his sphere, far surpassed\\neven Titian and Leonardo, the great men of the earlier\\nschools. In their foreground work neither Titian nor\\nLeonardo could be excelled but Titian and Leonardo\\nwere thoroughly conventional in all hut their fore-\\ngi ounds. Turner was equally great in all the elements\\nof landscape, and it is on him, and on his daring addi-\\ntions to the received schemes of landscape art, that all\\nmodern landscape has been founded. You will never\\nmeet any truly great living landscape painter who will\\nnot at once frankly confess his obligations to Turner,\\nnot, observe, as having copied him, but as having been\\nled by Turner to look in nature for what he would\\notherwise either not have discerned, or discerning, not\\nhave dared to represent.\\nTurner, therefore, was the first man who presented\\nus with the t[/pe of perfect landscape art and the\\nrichness of that art, with which you are at present sur-\\nrounded, and which enables you to open your walls as\\nit were into so many windows, through which you can\\nsee whatever has charmed you in the fairest scenery of\\nyour country, you will do well to remember as Tur-\\nnercsqxe.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 115\\nThis man, this Turner, of whom you have known so\\nlittle while he was living among you, will one day take\\nhis place beside Shakespeare and Verulam, in the an-\\nnals of the light of England.\\nYes beside Shakespeare and Yerulam, a third star\\nin that central constellation, round which, in the astron-\\nomy of intellect, all other stars make their circuit. By\\nShakespeare, humanity was unsealed to you by Veru-\\nlam the princijyles of nature and by Turner, her\\naspect.\\nI knew him for ten years, and during that time had\\nmuch familiar intercourse with him. I never once\\nheard him say an unkind thing of a brother artist,\\niievev. once heard liiin fnd a fault with another\\nman s work. I could say this of no other artist whom\\nI have ever known.\\nWhen Turner s picture of Cologne was exhibited in\\nthe vear 1826, it was hung between two portraits, by\\nSir Thomas Lawrence, of Lady Wallscoui t, and Lady\\nRobert Manners.\\nThe sky of Turner s picture was exceedingly bright,\\nand it had a most injurious effect on the color of the\\ntwo portraits. Lawrence naturally felt mortified, and\\ncomplained openly of the position of his pictures. You\\nare aware that artists were at that time permitted to\\nretouch their pictures on the walls of the Academy.\\nOn the morning of the opening of the exhibition, at the\\nprivate view, a friend of Turner s who had seen the\\nCologne in all its splendor, led a group of expectant\\ncritics up to the picture. He started back from it in\\nconsternation. The golden sky had changed to a dun\\ncolor. He ran up to Turner, who was in another part\\nof the room. Turner, what have you been doing to\\nyour picture? Oh, muttered Turner, in a low\\nvoice, poor Lawrence was so unhappy. It s only\\nlamp black. It ll all wash off after the exhibition\\nHe had actually passed a wash of lamp black in water-\\ncolor over the whole sky, and utterly spoiled his picture\\nfor the time, and so left it through the exhibition, lest\\nit should hurt Lawrence s.\\nImagine what it was for a man to live seventy years\\nin this hard world, with the kindest heart and the\\nnoblest intellect of his time, and never to meet with a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "116 A R USKIN ANTHOLOG F.\\nsingle word or ray of sympathy, until he felt himself\\nsinking into the grave. From the time he knew his\\nti ue greatness all the world was turned against him\\nhe held his own but it could not be without roughness\\nof bearing, and hardening of the temper, if not of the\\nheart. No one understood him, no one trusted him,\\nand every one cried out against him. Imagine, any of\\nyou, the effect upon your own minds, if every voice\\nthat you heard from the human beings around you\\nwere raised, year after year, through all your lives,\\nonly in condemnation of your efforts, and denial of\\nyour success. Lectures on ArcJiitecture, III., pp.\\n95-103.\\nEmerson and Turner. No modern person has\\ntruer instinct for heroism than [Mr. Emerson]: nay, he\\nis the only man I know of, among all who ever looked\\nat books of mine, who had nobleness enough to under-\\nstand and believe the story of Turner s darkening his\\nown picture that it might not take the light out of\\nLawrence s. The level of vulgar English temper is\\nnow sunk so far below the power of doing such a thing,\\nthat I never told the story yet, in general society, with-\\nout being met by instant and obstinate questioning of\\nits truth, if not by quiet incredulity. But men with\\nthe pride of the best blood of England can believe\\nit and Mr. Emerson believes it. Fors, I., p. 365.\\nTurner s Kindness. One of the points in Turner\\nwhich increased the general falseness of impression\\nrespecting him was a curious dishke he had to appear\\nkind. Drawing, with one of his best friends, at the\\nbridge of St. Martin s, the friend got into great difficul-\\nty over a colored sketch. Turner looked over him a\\nlittle while, then said, in a grumbling way I haven t\\ngot any paper I like let me try yours. Receiving a\\nblock book, he disappeared for an hour and a half.\\nReturning, he threw the book down, with a growl, say-\\ning I can t make anything of your paper. There\\nwere three sketches on it, in throe distinct states of\\nprogress, showing the process of coloring from begin-\\nning to end, and clearing up every difficulty which his\\nfriend had got into. 3Iodern Painters, V., p. 369.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "THE ORAPIUV AUTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 117\\nThis one fact I now record joyfully and solsmnly,\\nthat, having known Turner for ten years, and tliat dur-\\n\\\\\\\\v^ the period of his life when the briglitest qualities of\\nhis mind were, in many respects, diminished, and when\\nhe was suffering most from the evil speaking of the\\nworld, I never heard him say one depreciating word of\\nliving man, or man s woi k I never saw him look an\\nunkind or blameful look; I never knew him let pass,\\nwithout some sorrowful remonstrance, or endeaver a*\\nmitigation, a blameful word spoken by another.\\nModern Pahiters, V., p. (3(j(J.\\nTURNER AND THE SPLUGEN DRAWING\\n[Shortly after his recovery from the most serious\\nillness of his life, in the Spring of 187S, Professor\\nRiiskin was presented, by his friends with Turner s\\nPass of the Spliigen, a drawing which he had cov-\\neted for years, and Vv^hich he says has mainly directed\\nall his practical study of mountain forms, and all his\\ngeological researches. The drawing was purchased at\\nthe Novar sale, the idea of the presentation having\\nbeen taken from Professor Ruskin s Notes on his\\nTurner Drawings, wherein lie gave a graphic and\\nsprightly report of the origin of the Spliigen, and\\nhis own share in getting Turner the commission.\\nIn 1840-41 Turner had been in Switzerland making\\nsketches, and in the winter of 1841-42, having re-\\nturned to London, he went to picture dealer -Griffith,\\nwith fifteen of these, and left them with him, offering\\nto realize ten if buyers could be found. He also took\\nto Griffith four realized sketches in order to show his\\nhand. Let Professor Ruskin continue the story]\\nSo he went to Mr. Griffith of Norwood. I loved\\nyes, loved, Mr. Griffith; and the happy hours he got\\nfor me! (I was introduced to Turner on Mr. Griffith s\\ngarden-lawn.) He was the only person whom Turner\\nminded at that time. But my father could not bear\\nhim. So there were times, and times.\\nOne day, then, early in 1842, Turner brought the\\nfour [sign] drawings above-named, [The Pass of the\\nSpliigen, Mont Righi (morning), Mont Righi (evening),", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "118 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand Lake Lucerne] and the fifteen sketches in a roll in\\nhis pocket, to Mr. Griffith (in Waterloo Place, where\\nthe sale-room was).\\nI have no reason to doubt the substantial accuracy\\nof Mr. Griffith s report of the first conversation. Says\\nMr. Turner to Mr. Griffith, What do you think you\\ncan get for sucii things as these\\nSays Mr. Griffith to Mr. Turner: Well, perhaps,\\ncommission included, eighty guineas each.\\nSays Mr. Turner to Mr. Griffith, Ain t they\\nworth more?\\nSays Mr. Griffith to Mr. Turner, (after looking\\ncuriously into the execution, whichj you will please\\nnote, is rather what some people would call hazy)\\nThey re a little diii erent from your usual style\\n(Turner silent, Griffith does not push the point) but\\nbut yes, they are worth more, but I could not get\\nmore. (Question of intrinsic value, and political\\neconomy in Art, you see, early forced on my attention).\\nSo the bargain was made that if Mr. Griffith could\\nsell ten drawings the four signs [or specimens] to\\nwit, and six others for eighty guineas each. Turner\\nwould make the six others from such of the fifteen\\nsketches as the purchasers chose, and Griffith should\\nhave ten per cent, (mt of the eight hundred total (Tur-\\nner had expected a thousand, I believe).\\nSo then Mr. Griffith thinks over the likely persons\\nto get commissions from, out of all England, for ten\\ndrawings by Turner and these not quite in his usual\\nstyle, too, and he sixty-five years old reputation also\\npretty nearly overthrown finally, by lilackirooirs\\nMiKjdzhto a hard thing enough but the old man\\nmust be pleased, if possible! So Griffith did his best.\\nHe sent to Mr. Munro of Novar, Turner s old com-\\npanion in travel he sent to Mr. Windus of Totten-\\nham; he sent to Mr. Bicknell of Heme Hill he sent\\nto my fatlier and me.\\nMr. Windus of Tottenham came first, and at once\\nsaid the style was changed, he did not quite like it.\\n(He was right, mind you, he knew his Turner, in style).\\nHe would not have any of these drawings. I, as\\nFors would have it, came next; but my father was\\ntravelling for orders, and I had no authority to do any-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 119\\nthing. The Spliigen Pass I saw in an instant to be the\\nnoblest Alpine drawing Turner had ever till then made\\nand the red Righi, such a piece of color as had never\\ncome nil/ way before. I wrote to my father, saying I\\nwould fain have that Spliigen Pass, if he were home in\\ntime to see it, and give me leave. Of more than one\\ndrawing I had no hope, for my father knew the worth\\nof ei ditv jj; nine as.\\n[After some talk and bargaining two of the sketches\\ngot ordered and three of the finished drawings were\\npurchased]. And not tliat^ said Turner, shaking\\nhis fist at the Pass of the Spliigen but said no more\\nI came and saw the Pass of the Spliigen again, and\\nheard how things were going on, and I knew well why\\nTurner had said, And not that.\\nThe next day Munro of Novar came again and he\\nalso knew why Turner had said not that, and made\\nup his mind; and bought the Pass of the Spliigen.\\nAt last my father came home. I had not the way\\nof explaining my feelings to him somehow, any more\\nthan Cordelia to her father nevertheless, he knew\\nthem enough to say I might have one of the sketches\\nrealized. He went with me, and chose with me, to\\nsuch end, the original of the Ehrenbreitstein.\\n[By hard coaxing, John got his father to promise\\nhim one more drawing; on condition that it turned out\\nwell. Turner set to work on nine pictures and finished\\nthem. John s conditional Lucerne turned out well,\\nand was purchased by the indulgent father].\\nFour or five years ago [continues Mr. Ruskin] Mr.\\nVokins knows when, I haven t the date handy here he\\ncame out to me, saying he wanted a first- rate Turner\\ndrawing, had I one to spare?\\nWell, I said, I have none to spare, yet I have a\\nreason for letting one first-rate one go, if you give me\\na price.\\nWhat will you take\\nA thousand pounds.\\nMr. Vokins wrote me the cheque in Denmark Hill\\ndrawing-room (my old servant, Lucy Tovey, bringing\\npen and ink), and took the Lucerne. Lucy, amazed\\nand sorrowful, put the drawing into his carriage.\\nI wished to get (had Turner, for one drawing, his", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "120 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nown original price for the whole ten, and thus did.\\nNotes on his Turner Drawings Epilogue, pp.\\n71-75.\\nTurner Unappreciated by the Public. I spent\\nthe ten strongest years of my life (from twenty to\\nthirty), in endeavoring to show the excellence of the\\nwork of the man whom I believed, and rightly believed,\\nto be the greatest painter of the schools of England\\nsince Reynolds. I had then perfect faith in the power\\nof every great truth or beauty to prevail vUtimately,and\\ntake its right place in usefulness and honor and 1\\nstrove to bring the painter s work into this due place,\\nwhile the painter was yet alive. But he knew, better\\nthan I, the uselessness of talking about what people\\ncould not see for themselves. He always discouraged\\nme scornfully, even when he thanked me and he died\\nbefore even the superficial effect of my work was visi-\\nble. I went on, however, thinking I could at least be of\\nuse to the public, if not to him, in proving his power.\\nMy books got talked about a little. The prices of mod-\\nern pictures, generally, rose, and I was beginning to take\\nsome pleasure in a sense of gradual victory, when, for-\\ntunately or unfortunately, an opportunity of perfect\\ntrial undeceived me at once, and for ever. The Trustees\\nof the National Gallery commissioned me to arrange\\nthe Turner drawings there, and permitted me to prepare\\nthree hundred examples of his studies from nature, for\\nexhibition at Kensington. At Kensington they were\\nand are placed for exhibition but they are not ex\\nhibited, f.^r the room in which they hang is always\\nempty. The Mystery of Life, p. 105.\\nThe Rest is Silence, The account of gain and\\nloss, of gifts and gratitude, between Turner and his\\ncountrymen, was for ever closed. lie could only be\\nleft to his quiet death at Chelsea the sun upon his\\nface they to dispose a length of funeral through Lud-\\ngate, and bury, with threefold honor, his body in St.\\nPaul s, his pictures at Charing Cross, and his purposes\\nin Chancery. Modern Painters, III., p. 7.\\nTurner s Slave Ship. I think the noblest sea\\nthat Turner has ever painted, and if so, the noblest\\ncertainly ever painted by man, is that of the Slave", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARIK-PAINTING. 1?1\\nShip, the chief Academy picture of the ExhibitiDii of\\n18-iO. It is a sunset on the Atlantic, after prolonged\\nstorni but the storm is partially lulled, and the torn\\nand streaming rain-clouds are moving in scarlet lines to\\nlose themselv es in the hollow of the night. The whole\\nsurface of sea included in the picture is divided into\\ntwo ridges of enormous swell, not high nor local, but a\\nlow, broad heaving of the whole ocean, hke the lifting\\nof its bosom by deep-drawn breath after the torture of\\nthe storm. Between tliese two ridges the fire of the\\n.sunset fails along the trough of the sea, dyeing it with\\nan awful but glorious light\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the intense and lurid\\nsplendor which burns like gold and bathes like blood.\\nAlong this fiery path and valley, the tossing waves by\\nwhich the swell of the sea is restlessly divided lift\\nthemselves in dark, indefinite, fantastic forms, each\\ncasting a faint and ghastly shadow behind it along the\\nillumined foam. They do not rise everywhere, but\\nthree or four together in wild groups, fitfully and fu-\\nriously, as the linder-strength of the swell compels or\\npermits them, leaciiig between them treacherous spaces\\nof level and whirling water, now lighted with green and\\nlamp-like fire, now tiashing back the gold of the declin-\\ninii sun, now fearfully dyed from above with theundis-\\ntinguishable images of the burning clouds, which fall\\nupon them in fiakes of crimson and scarlet, and give to\\ntlie reckless waves the added motion of tlieir own fiery\\nflying. Purple and blue, the lurid shadows of the hol-\\nlow breakers are cast upon the mist of the night, which\\nleathers cold and low, advancing like the shadow of\\ndeath upon the guilty* ship as it labors amidst the\\nlightning of the sea, its thin masts written upon the sky\\nin lines of blood, girded with condemnation in that fear-\\nful hue which signs the sky with horror and mixes its\\nnaming flood with the sunlight, and, cast far along the\\ndesolate heave of the sepulchral waves, incarnadines\\ntlie multitudinous sea.\\nI believe if I were reduced to rest Turner s immor-\\ntality upon any single work, I should choose this. Its\\ndaring conception, ideal in the highest sense of the\\nword, is based on the purest truth, and wrought out\\nShe is a Slaver, throwing her slaves overboard. The near sea is\\nencumbered with corpses.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "122 A RVSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwith the concentrated knowledge of a life its color is\\nabsolutely perfect, not one false or morbid hue in any\\npart or line, and so modulated that every square inch of\\ncanvas is a perfect composition its drawing as accu-\\nrate as fearless; the ship buoyant, bending, and full of\\nmotion its tones as true as they are wonderful and\\nthe whole picture dedicated to the most sublime of\\nsubjects and impressions (completing thus the perfect\\nsystem of all truth, which we have shown to be formed\\nby Turner s works) the power, majesty, and death-\\nfulness of the open, deep, illimitable sea. Moden\\nPainters, II., p. 140.\\n[In the University Magazine for May, 1878, Mr\\nW. H. Harrison, the friend and literary counsellor o/\\nRuskin in his boyhood, gives a whimsical anecdote o\\nTurner. He say.s:\\nI used to meet Turner at the table of Mr. Ruskin\\nihe father of the art critic. The first occasion was s\\new days after the appearance of a notice in the\\nAt/iencBum, of a picture of Turner s, which was there-\\nm characterized as Eggs and Spinach. This stuck\\nin the great painter s throat, and as we were returning\\ntogether, ia Mr. Ruskin s carriage. Turner ejaculated\\nthe obnoxious phrase every five minutes. I told him\\nthat if i had attained to his eminence in art, I should\\nnot care a rush for what anyone siid of me. But the\\nonly reply 1 could get was Eggs and Spinach.\\nThe best Life of Turner is by Walter Thornbury.\\nOn Epochs in his Art Life consult the Introduction\\n(pp. 7-9) to Notes by Mr. Ruskin on his Drawings,\\nthe Late J. M. W. Turner; also Modern Painters,\\nI., pp. 190-201), and Pre-Raphaelitism, pp. 28-48.\\nChapter VIII. of ihe Laws of Fcsol?, describes\\nTurner s method of laying his colors. Mr. Ruskin has\\nhad made by his draughtsman, Mr. Wm. Ward, fac-\\nsimile copies of Turner s paintings which he thinks\\nnearly equiil to the originals. They are for sale by\\nMr, Ward at 2 Church Terrace, Richmond, Surrey].", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 133\\nCOLOR.\\nColor is the type of love. Modern Painters, V.,\\np. 342.\\nColor, generally, but chiefly the scarlet, used with the\\nhyssop, in the Levitical law, is the great sanctifying\\nelement of visible beauty inseparably connected with\\npurity and life. Modern. Painters, V., p. 341.\\nThe Loveliest Colors. The loveliest colors ever\\ngranted to human sight those of morning and even-\\ning clouds before or after rain are produced on mi-\\nnute particles of finely-divided water, or perhaps some-\\ntimes, ice.\\nThere are no colors, either in the nacre of shells, or\\nthe plumes of birds and insects, which are so pure as\\nthose of clouds, opal, or flowers.\\nNo diamond shows color so pure as a dewdrop.\\nJjectiires on Art, p. 110.\\nTo color perfectly is the rarest and most precious\\n(technical) power an artist can possess. There have\\nbeen only seven supreme colorists among the true\\npainters whose works exist (namely, Giorgione, Titian,\\nVeronese, Tintoret, Correggio, Reynolds, and Turner)\\nbut the names of great designers, including sculptors,\\narchitects, and metal-workers are multitudinous.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 342.\\nForm before Color. Abstract color is of far\\nless importance than abstract form that is to say, if\\nit could rest in our choice whether we would carve like\\nPhidias (supposing Phidias had never used color), or\\narrange the colors of a shawl like Indians, there is no\\nquestion as to which power we ought to choose. The\\ndifference of rank is vast there is no way of estimat-\\ning or measuring it. Modern Painters, V., p. 341.\\nColor and Form. The man who can see all the\\ngrays, and reds, and purples in a peach, will paint the\\npeach rightly round, and rightly altogether but the\\nman who has only studied its roundness, may not see\\nits purples and grays, and if he does not, will never\\nget it to look like a peach so that great power over", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "124 A Ji i^i^l ^LS AXTHOLOGY.\\ncolor is alwtiys a sign of large general art-intellect.\\nTo color well requires real talent and earnest study,\\nand to color perfectly is the rarest and most precious\\npower an artist can possess. 3Iodern Painters, IV.,\\np. 07.\\nThe Interdependence of Colors. In giving an ac-\\ncount of anything for its own sake, the most important\\npoints are those of form. Nevertheless, the form of\\nthe object is its owa attribute; special, not shared\\nwith other things. An error in giving an account of\\nit does not necessarily involve wider error. But its\\ncolor is partly its own, partly shared with other things\\nround it. The hue and power of all broad sunlight is\\ninvolved in the color it has cast upon this single thing;\\nto falsify that color, is to misrepresent and break the\\nharmony of the day also, by what color it bears, this\\nsingle object is altering hues all round it reflecting its\\nown into them, displaymg them by opposition, softening\\nthem by repetition one falsehood in color in one place,\\nimplies a thousand in the neighborhood. Hence, there\\nare peculiar penalties attached to falsehood in color,\\nand peculiar rewards granted to veracity in it.\\nModern Pttiiitcn^, V., p. 345.\\nThe Saoredness of Color. The fact is, we none\\nof us enough appreciate the nobleness and sacredness of\\ncolor. Nothing is more common than to hear it spoken\\nof as a subordinate beauty nay, even as the mere\\nsource of a sensual pleasure and we might almost be-\\nlieve that we were daily among men who\\nCould strip, for aught the prospect yields\\nTo them, their verdure from the fields\\nAnd take the radiance from the clouds\\nWith which the sun his setting shrouds.\\nBut it is not so. Such expressions are used for the\\nmost part in thoughtlessness and if the speakers would\\nonly take the pains to imagine what the world and their\\nown existence would become, if the blue were taken\\nfrom the sky, and the gold from the sunshine, and the\\nverdure from the leaves, and the crimson from the\\nblood which is the life of man, the flush from the cheek,\\nthe darkness from the eye, the radiance from the hair\\nif they could but see for an instant, white human crea-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE ORAFHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 FAINTING. 125\\ntures living in a white world they would soon feel\\nwhat they owe to color. The fact is, that, of all God s\\ngifts to the sight of man, color is the lioliest, the most\\ndivine, the most solemn. We speak rashly of gay color,\\nand sad color, for color cannot at once be good and\\ngay. All good color is in some degree pensive, the love-\\nliest is melancholy, and the purest and most thoughtful\\nminds are those which love color the most. Stones vj\\nVenice, II., p. 145.\\nChiaroscuro and Color Incompatible. In our\\nmodern art we have indeed lost sight of one great\\nprinciple which regulated that of the Middle Ages,\\nnamely, that chiaroscuro and color are incompatible in\\ntheir highest degrees. Wherever chiaroscuro enters,\\ncolor must lose some of its brilliancy. There is no\\nshade m a rainbow, nor in an opal, nor in a piece of\\nmother-of-pearl, nor in a well-designed painted window;\\nonly various hues of perfect color. Giotto and Ills\\nWorks, p. 20.\\nColors Wet. Every color, wet, is twice as brilliant\\nas it is when dry and when distances are obscui ed by\\nmist, and bright colors vanish from the sky, and gleams\\nof sunshine from the earth, the foreground assumes all\\nits loveliest hues, the grass and foliage revive into their\\nperfect green, and every sunburnt rock glows into an\\nixgai^.^Modern Pxihdcrs, IV., p. 263.\\nA drop of water, while it subdues the hue of a green\\nleaf or blue flower into a soft grey, and shows itself\\ntherefore on the grassor the dock-leaf as a lustrous dim-\\nness, enhances the force of all warm colors, so that you\\nnever can see what the color of a carnation or a wild\\nrose really is till you get the, dew on it. A^ t of Eng-\\nland, p. iOO.\\nWhv we like a Rose. Perhaps few people have\\never asked themselves why they admire a rose so much\\nmore than all other flowers. If they consider, they\\nwill find, first, that red is, in a delicately gradated\\nstate, the loveliest of all pure colors and secondly, that\\nin the rose there is no shado w, except what is com-\\nposed of color. x\\\\ll its shadows are fuller in color than\\nits lights, owing to the translucency and reflective\\npower of its leave.-.;, Modern Painters, III., p. 57.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "126 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nMountain Colors the most Tender. In some\\nsense, a person who has never seen the rose-color of\\nthe rays of dawn crossing a blue mountain twelve or\\nfifteen miles away, can hardly be said to know what\\ntenderness in color means at all bright tendei ness he\\nmay, indeed, see in the sky or in a flower, but this\\ngrave tenderness of the far-away-hill purples he cannot\\nconceive. .Modern Pointers, IV., p. 371.\\nLove of BRKiirr Color will return to us. Our\\nreprobation of bright color is, I think, for the most part,\\nmere affectation, and must soon be done av/ay with.\\nVulgarity, dulness, or impiety, will indeed always ex-\\npress themselves through art in brown and grey, as\\nin Rembrandt, Caravaggio, and Salvator but we are\\nnot wholly vulgar, dull, or impious nor, as moderns,\\nare we necessarily obliged to continue so in any wise.\\nOur greatest men, whotlier sad or gay, still delight, like\\nthe great men of all ages, in brilliant hues. The color-\\ning of Scott and Byron is full and pure that of Keats\\nand Tennyson rich even to excess. Modern Painters,\\nIII., p. 281.\\nAbsence of Color-Sense in the Greeks. AGreek\\nwould have regarded the a[)ple-blossom simply with the\\neyes of a Devonshire farmer, as bearing on the probable\\nprice of cider, and would have called it red, cerulean^,\\npurple, white, hyacinthine, or generally aglaos, agree-\\nable,, as happened to suit his verse.\\nAgain we have seen how fond the Greek was of\\ncomposing his paradises of rather damp grass but\\nthat in this fondness for grass there was always an\\nundercurrent of consideration for his horses and the\\ncharacters in it which pleased him most were its depth\\nand freshness; not its color. Modern. Painters, III.,\\np. 24-1.\\nTurner as a Colorist. Claude and Cuyp had\\npainted th? ^w^shine, Turner alone the sun color.\\nNote, with respect to this matter, that the peculiar\\ninnovation of Turner was the perfection of the color\\nchord by means of scarlet. Other pointers had ren-\\ndered the golden tones, and the blue tones, of sky;\\nTitian esj eciallv the last, in perfectness. F ut none had", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094l\\\\-\u00c2\u00b1rsriNG. 137\\ndared to paint, none seem to have seen, the scarlet\\nand purple.\\nNor was it only in seeing this color in vividness\\nwhen it occurred in full light, that Turner differed from\\npreceding painters. His most distinctive innovation as\\na colorist was his discovery of the scarlet .\u00e2\u0080\u00a2shadow.\\nTrue, there is a sunshine whose light is golden, and\\nits shadow gray but there is another sunshine, and\\nthat the purest, whose light is white, and its shadow\\nscarlet. This was the essentially offensive, inconceiv-\\nable thing, which he could not be believed in. There was\\nsome ground for the increduhty, because no color is\\nvivid enough to express the pitch of light of pure white\\nsunshine, so that the color given without the true in-\\ntensity of light looks false. Nevertheless, Turner\\ncould not but report of the color truly. I must in-\\ndeed be lower in the key, but that is no reason why I\\nshould be false in the note. Here is sunshine which\\nglows even when subdued it has not cool shade, but\\nkery shade. llodern. Painters, V., pp. 338-341.\\nThe Chinese and Hindoos as Colorists. The great\\nmen never know how or why they do things. They\\nhave no rules cannot comprehend the nature of rules\\ndo not, usually, even know, in v/hat they do, what is best\\nor what is worst to them it is all the same something\\nthey cannot help saying or doing one piece of it as\\ngood as another, and none of it (it seems to them)\\nworth much.\\nAnd this is the reason for the somewhat singular, but\\nvery palpable truth that the Chinese, and Indians, and\\nother semi-civilized nations, can color better than we do,\\nand that an Indian shav/1 or Chinese vase are still, in in-\\nvention of color, inimitablt by us. It is their glorious\\nignorance of all rules that does it the .pure and true in-\\nstincts have play, and do their work instincts so subtle,\\nthat the least warping or compression breaks or blunts\\nthem and the moment we begin teaching people any\\nrules about color, and make them do this or that, we\\ncrush theinstinct generally forever. Hence, hitherto, it\\nhas been an actual necessity, in order to obtain power of\\ncoloring, that a nation should be half-savage everybody\\ncould color in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries\\nbut we were ruled and legalized into grey in the fif-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "128 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nteenth; only a little salt simplicity of their sea na-\\ntures at Venice still keeping their precious shell-fishy\\npurpleness and power and now that is gone and no-\\nbody can color anywhere, except the Hindoos and Chi-\\nnese but that need not be so, and will not be so long for,\\nin a little while, people will find out their mistake, and\\ngive up talking about rules of color, and then everybody\\nwill color again, as easily as they now talk. 3Ioder)i\\nPainters, III., pp. 104-107.\\nSalvatok and Fra Angelico. It will be found\\nthat so surely as a painter is irreligious, thoughtless, or\\nobscene in disposition, so surely is his coloring cold,\\ngloomy, and valueless. The opposite poles of art in\\nthis respect are Fra Angelico and Salvator Rosa of\\nwhom the one was a man who smiled seldom, wept\\noften, prayed constantly, and never harbored an im-\\npure thought. His pictures are simply so many pieces\\nof jewelry, the colors of the draperies l)eing perfectly\\npure, as various as those of a painted window, chas-\\ntened only by paleness, and relieved iipc^n a gold ground.\\nSalvator was a dissipated jester and satirist, a man\\nwho spent his life in masquing and revelry. But his\\npictures are full of horror, and their color is for the\\nmost part gloomy grey. Stones of Venice, 11., p. 14(5.\\nDead Color. The law concerning color is very\\nstrange, very noble, in some sense almost awful. In\\nevery given touch laid on canvas, if one grain of the\\ncolor is inoperative, and does not take its full part in\\nproducing the hue, the hue will be imperfect. The grain\\nof color which does not work is dead. It infects all about\\nit with its death. It must be got quit of, or the touch is\\nspoiled. We acknowledge this instnictively in our\\nuse of the phrases dead color, killed color, foul\\ncolor. Those words are, in some sort, literally true.\\nIf more color is put on than is necessary, a heavy\\ntouch when a light one would have been enough, the\\nquantity of color that was not wanted, and is overlaid\\nby the rest, is as dead, and it pollutes the rest. There\\nwill be no good in the touch.\\nThe art of painting, properly so called, consists in\\nlaying on the least possible color that will produce the\\nrequired result, and this measurement, in all tli ul(i", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 129\\nmate, that is to say, the principal, operations of color-\\ning, is so delicate that not one human hand in a million\\nlias the required lightness. The final touch of any\\npainter properly so named, of Correggio Titian\\nTurner or Reynolds would be always quite invisible\\nto any one watching the progress of the work, the films\\nof hue being laid thinner than the depths of the grooves\\nin mother-of-pearl. The work may be swift, apparent-\\nly careless, nay, to the painter himself almost uncon-\\nscious. Great painters are so organized that they do\\ntheir best work without effort; but analyze the touches\\nafterwards, and you will find the structure and depth of\\nthe color laid mathematically demonstrable to be of\\nliterally infinite fineness, the last touches passing away at\\ntheir edges by untraceable gradation. The very es-\\nsence of a master s work may thus be removed by a\\npicture-cleaner in ten minutes. The Two Paths,\\np. 143.\\nFive Laws of Color. 1. All good color is gra-\\ndated. A blush rose (or, better still, a blush itself), is\\nthe type of rightness in arrangement of pure hue.\\n2. All harmou ies of color dejjend for their vita lity on\\nthe action andhelpf id operation of every 2:)article of\\ncolor they contain. 3. The final particles of color\\nnecessary to the completeness of a color harmony\\nare always infinitely small; either laid by immeas\\nurably subtle touches of the pencil, or produced\\nby portions of the coloring substance, however dis-\\ntributed, which are so absolutely small as to become\\nat the intended distance infinitely so to the eye.\\n4. JVo color harmony is of }u(/h order unless it in-\\nvolves indescribahle tints. It is the best possible sign\\nof a color when nobody who sees it knows what to call\\nit, or how to give an idea of it to any one else. Even\\namong simple hues the most valuable are those which\\ncannot be defined the most precious purples will look\\nbrown beside pure purple, and purple beside pure\\nbrown; and the most precious greens will be called blue\\nif seen beside pure green, and green if seen beside\\npure blue. 5. The finer the eye for color, the less it\\nnu ll require to [/ratify it intensely. But that little\\nmust be supremely good and pure, as the finest notes of\\na great singer, which are so near to silence. And a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "130 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngreat colorist will make even the absence of color lovely,\\nas the fading of the perfect voice makes silence sacred.\\nT/ie Two Paths, p. 150.\\nPRE-RAPHAELITISM.\\nTrue Pre-Raphaelite Work and its Imitations.\\nThe true work represents all objects exactly as they\\nwould appear in nature, in the position and at the dis-\\ntances which the arrangement of the picture supposes.\\nThe faise work represents them with all their details, as\\nif seen through a microscope. Modern Painter s,W\\np. 93.\\nThe Giottesque and the Pre-Rapiiaelite Move-\\nments Similar. The Giottesque movement in the\\nfourteenth, and Pre-Raj)haelite movement in the nine-\\nteenth centuries, are precisely similar in bearing and\\nmeaning: both being the protests of vitality against\\nmortality, of spirit against letter, and truth against\\ntradition and both, which is the more singular, literally\\nlinks in one unbroken chain of feeling for exactly as\\nNiecola Pisano and Giotto were helped by the classical\\nsculptures discovered in their time, the Pre-Raphaelites\\nhave been helped by the works of Niecola and Giotto at\\nPisa and Florence and thus the fiery cross of truth has\\nbeen delivered from spirit to spirit, over the dust of\\nintervening tjenerations. Giotto and his Works,\\np. 17.\\nThe Union of Expression and Finish. The per-\\nfect unison of expression, as the painter s main purpose,\\nwith the full and natural exertion of his pictorial power\\nin the details of the WQrk, is found only in the old Pre-\\nRaphaelite periods, and in the modern Pre-Raphaelite\\nschool. In the works of Giotto, Angelico, Orcagna,\\nJohn Bellini, and one or two more, these two conditions\\nof high art are entirely fulfilled, so far as the knowl-\\nedge of those days enable them to be fulfilled and in\\nthe modern Pre-Raphaelite school they are fulfilled\\nnearly to the uttermost. Hunt s Light of the World is,\\nI believe, the most perfect instance of expressional\\npurpose with technical power, which the world has yet\\nproduced. Modern Painters, III., p. 46.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 PAINTING. 131\\nRossETTi s Annunciation, Mii.lais s Blind\\nGirl, and Burxe-Jones s Marriage Dance.\\nConsider how the pious persons who had always been\\naccustomed to see their Madonnas dressed in scrupu-\\nlously folded and exquisitely falling robes of blue, with\\nedges embroidered in gold to find them also, sitting\\nunder arcades of exquisitest architecture by Bernini\\nand reverently to observe them receive the angel s mes-\\nsage with their hands folded on their breasts in the\\nmost graceful positions, and the missals they had been\\npreviously studying laid open on their knees. Consider,\\nI repeat, the shock to the feelings of all these delicately\\nminded persons, on being asked to conceive a Virgin\\nwaking from her sleep on a pallet bed, in a plain room,\\nstartled by sudden words and ghostly presence which\\nshe does not comprehend, and casting in her mind wliat\\nmanner of salutation this should be.\\nAgain, consider, with respect to the second picture,\\nhow the learned possessors of works of established\\nreputation by the ancient masters, classically cata-\\nlogued as landscapes with figures; and who held it\\nfor eternal, artistic law, that such pictures should either\\nconsist of a rock, with a Spanish chestnut growing out\\nof the side of it, a:nd three banditti in helmets and big\\nfeathers on the top, or else of a Corinthian temple,\\nbuilt beside an arm of the sea; with the queen of\\nSheba beneath, preparing for embarkation to visit\\nSolomon the whole properly toned down with amber\\nvarnish imagine the first consternation, and final\\nwrath, of these cognoscenti, at being asked to con-\\ntemplate, deliberately, and to the last rent of her ragged\\ngown, and for principal object in a finished picture, a\\nvagrant who ought at once to have been sent to the\\nworkhouse and some really green grass and blue flow-\\ners, as they may actually any day be seen on an English\\ncommon-side.\\nAnd, filially, let us imagine, if imagination fail us not,\\nthe far more wide and weighty indignation of the public,\\naccustomed always to see its paiiitings of marriages elab-\\norated in Christian propriety nd splendor with a\\nbishop officiating, assisted by a dean and an arch-\\ndeacon the modesty of the bride expressed by a veil\\nof the most expensive Valenciennes, and the robes of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "132 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe bridesmaids designfd by the perfeetest of Parisian\\nartists, and looped up with stuffed robins or other such\\ntender rarities; think with what sense of hitherto un-\\nheard of impropriety, the British public must have re-\\nceived a picture of a marriage, in which the bride was\\nonly crowneil with flowers at which the bridesmaids\\ndanced barefoot and in which nothing was known,\\nor even conjecturable, respecting the bridegroom, but\\nhis love! The lliree (Uilors of Pre-RaphaeUtisrn.,\\nNineteenth Century, 1878.*\\n:j[ Prof. Ruskin s chief words on the Pre Raphaehtes will be found\\nin the following books chronologieallv arranged-\\nArrowa of the Vhace, I., pp. GG-Sl Pvp-RdplKu-litiam (1851); Lectures\\non Architecture and Painthu/- HI I8:)3); Art of Eiigl(Ui(HlSS:i).\\nSee also the Edinburgh ]i itiii ss. Mnn-h S. 18.58. The Nineteenth\\nCentury, for November and lieifiiilier, 18?8, contains articles by\\nEu.skin on The Three Colors ol I re-Raphaelitism. J", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ENGRAVING, ETC. 133\\nSECTION II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\\nChapter II. Engraving Illumination, Etc.\\nEngraving. Engraving is, in brief torms, the Ari,\\nof Scratch. To engrave is, in final strictness, to\\ndecorate a surface with furrows. Cameos, in accurat-\\nest terms, are minute sculptures, not engravings. A\\n})loughed field is the purest type of such art and is,\\non hilly land, an exquisite piece of decoration. ^Iri-\\nadne, pp. 21-2o.\\nIn metal engraving, you cut ditches, fill them with\\nink, and press your paper into them. In wood engrav-\\ning, you leave ridges, rub the tops of them with ink,\\nand stamp them on your paper.\\nThe instrument with which the substance, whether\\nof the wood or steel, is cut away, is the same. It is a\\nsolid ploughshare, which, instead of throwing the earth\\naside, throws it up and out, producing at first a simple\\nravine, or furrow, in the wood or metal, which you can\\nwiden by another cut, or extend by successive cuts.\\nSince, then, in wood printing, you print from the\\nsurface left solid and, in metal printing, from the\\nhollows cut into it, it follows that if you put few\\ntouches on wood, you draw, as on a slate, with white\\nlines, leaving a quantity of black; but if you put few\\ntouches on metal, you draw with black lines, leaving a\\nquantity of white.\\nNow the eye is not in the least offended l)y quantity\\nof white, but is, or ought to be, greatly saddened and\\noffended by quantity of black. Hence it follows that\\nyou must never put little work on wood. You must\\nnot sketch upon it. You may sketch on metal as much\\nas you please. Ariadne, p. 40.\\nThe Ancient and the Modern Styles of Engrav-\\ning.- The essential difference between these men", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "134 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\n[Diii-er and the artists of the Renaissance] and t he\\nmoderns is that these central masters cut their line\\nfor the most part with a single furrow, giving it depth\\nby force of hand or wrist, and retouching, not in the\\nfurroio itself, but vnth others beside it\\n[The Modern school deepens its] lines in successive\\ncuts. The instant consequence of the introduction of\\nthis method is the restriction of curvature you cannot\\nfollow a complex curve again with precision through its\\nfurrow. If you are a dextrous ploughman, you can\\ndrive your plough any number of times along the sim-\\nple curve. But you cannot repeat again exactly\\nthe motions which cut a variable one. You may retouch\\nit, enei-gize it, and deepen it in parts, but you cannot\\ncut it all through again equally. And the retouch-\\ning and energizing in parts is a living and intel-\\nlectual process but the cutting all through, equally,\\na mechanical one. The difference is exactly such\\nas that between the dexterity of turning oat two simi-\\nlar mouldings from a lathe, and carving them with the\\nfree hand, like a Pisan sculptor. And although splen-\\ndid intellect, and subtlest sensibility, have been spent\\non the production of some modern plates, the mechan-\\nical element introduced by their manner of execution\\nalways overpowers both nor can any plate of con-\\nsunnnate value ever be produced in the modern\\nmethod. Ariadne, pp. 75, 76.\\nBlake and Rembrandt. In expressing conditions\\nof glaring and flickering light, Blake is greater than\\nRembrandt.- J^ ler/tents of Uravliaj, p. 190.\\nEngravers Themselves have Destroyed their\\nCraft. Engravers complain that photography and\\ncheap woodcutting have ended their finer craft. No\\ncomplaint can be less grounded. They themselves de-\\nstroyed their own craft, by vulgarizing it. Content in\\ntheir beautiful mechanism, they ceased to learn and to\\nfeel, as artists; they put themselves under the order of\\npublishers and printsellers they worked indiscrimi-\\nnately from whatever was put into their hands from\\nBartlett as willingly as from Turner, and from Mul-\\nready as carefully as from Raphael. Ariadne, p. 71).", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ENGRAVING, ETC. 135\\nEngraving the Grammar of Painting.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The ex-\\ncellence of a beautiful engraving is primai ily in the\\nuse of these resources [dots and net-work of lines] to\\nexhibit the qualities of the original picture, with de-\\nlight to the eye in the method of translation; and. the\\nlanguage of engraving, when once yoa begin to under-\\nstand it, is, in these respects, so fertile, so ingenious,\\nso ineffably subtle and severe in its grammar, that you\\nmay quite easily make it the subject of your life s in-\\nvestigation, as you would the scholarship of a lovely\\nliterature.\\nBut in doing this, you would withdraw, and neces-\\nsarily withdraw, your attention from the higher quali-\\nties of art, precisely as a grammarian, who is that, and\\nnothing more, loses command of the matter and sub-\\nstance of thought. And the exquisitely mysterious\\nmechanisms of the engi-aver s method have, in fact,\\nthus entangled the intelligence of the careful draughts-\\nman of Europe so that since the final perfection of\\nthis translator s power, all the men of finest patience\\nand finest hand have stayed content with it the sub-\\ntlest draughtsmanship has perished from the canvas,*\\nand sought more popular praise in this labyrinth of dis-\\nciplined language, and more or less dulled or degraded\\nthought. And, in sum, I know no cause more direct\\nor fatal, in the destruction of the great schools of\\nEuropean art, than the perfectness of modern line en-\\ngraving. Ariad Me, p. 08.\\nIlluminated Manuscripts. Perfect illumination is\\nonly writing made lovely the moment it passes into\\npicture-making it has lost its dignity and function.\\nFor pictures, small or great, if beautiful, ought not to\\nbe painted on leaves of books, to be worn with service;\\nand pictures, small or great, not beautiful, should be\\npainted nowhere. Lectures on Art, p. 96.\\nA well-written book is as much pleasanter and more\\nbeautiful than a printed one as a picture is than an en-\\ngraving: and there are many forms of the art of illu-\\nmination which were only in their infancy at the time\\nAn effort has lately been made in France, by IMeissi mier, Gerijme,\\nand their school, to recover it, with marvelous collateral skill of en-\\ngravers. The etching of Gcrome s Louis XYI. and Moliere is one of\\nthe completest pieces of skilful mechanism ever put on metal.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "K:!6 A IWSKLY ANTHOLOaV.\\n.when the wooden blocks of Germany abolished the art\\nof scripture, and of which the revival will be a neces-\\nsary result of a proper study of natural history. Iwrs,\\nIII., p. 54.\\nPainted Glass Windows. In the case of windows,\\nthe points which we have to insist upon are, the trans-\\nparency of the glass and its susceptibility of the most\\nbrilliant colors jaid therefore the attempt to turn\\npainted Vv indows into pretty pictures is one of the most\\ngross and ridiculous barbarisms of this pre-eminently\\nbarbarous century. The true perfection of a painted\\nwindow is to be serene, intense, brilliant, like flaming\\njewelry full of easily legible and quaint subjects, and\\nexquisitely subtle, yet simple, in its harmonies. In a\\nword, this perfection has been consummated in the de-\\nsigns, never to be surpassed, if ever again to be ap-\\nproached by human art, of the French windows of the\\ntwelfth and thirteenth centuries. Stones of Venice,\\nII., pp. 395, 396.\\nThe value of hue in all illuminations on painted glass\\nof fine periods depends primarily on the expedients\\nused to make the colors palpitate and fluctuate; in-\\nequality of brilliancy being the condition of brilliancy,\\njust as inequality of accent is the condition of power\\nand loveliness in sound. The skill with which the\\nthirteenth century illuminators in books, and the Indians\\nin shawls and carpets, use the minutest atoms of color\\nto gradate other colors, and confuse the eye, is the first\\nsecret in their gift of splendor: associated, however,\\nwith so many other artifices which are quite instinctive\\nand unteachable, that it is of little use to dwell upon\\nthem. Delicacy of organization in the designer given,\\nyou will soon have all, and without it, nothing. TJie\\nTwo Paths, p. 150.\\nWooD-Crxs. The execution of the plumage in\\nBewick s birds is the most masterly thing ever yet done\\nin wood-cutting Elements of Drawing, p. 190.\\nNow calculate or think enough to feel the impos-\\nsibility of calculating the number of wood-cuts used\\ndaily for our popular prints, and how many men are\\nnight and day cutting 1,050 square holes to the square\\ninch, as the occupation of their manly life. And Mrs.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ENGRAVING, ETC. 13?\\nBeecher Stowe and the North Americans fancy they\\nhave aboHshed slavery Ariadne, p. 55.\\nA wood-cut never can be so beaiitifiil or good a\\nthing as a painting, or hne engraving. But in its own\\nseparate and useful way, an excellent thing, because,\\npractised rightly, it exercises in the artist, and suni-\\nmons in you, the habit of abstraction that is to say,\\nof deciding what are the essential points in the things\\nyou see, and seizing these. Ariadne, p. 58.\\nIf we were at this moment to come across a Titian\\nwood-cut, or a Diirer wood-cut, we should not like it\\nthose of us at least who are accustomed to the cheap\\nwork of the day. We don t hke, and can t like, that\\nlong; but when we are tired of one bad cheap thing,\\nwe throw it aside and buy another bad cheap thing;\\nand so keep looking at bad things all our lives. Now,\\nthe very men who do all that quick bad work for us\\nare capable of doing perfect work. Only, perfect work\\ncan t be hui-ried, and therefore it can t be cheap beyond\\na certain point. ^1 Joy For Ever, p. 30.\\nWhile no entirely beautiful thing can be represented\\nin a wood-cut, every form of vulgarity or unpleasant-\\nness can be given to the life and the result is, that,\\nespecially in our popular scientific books, the mere\\neffort to be amusing and attractive leads to the publi-\\ncation of every species of the abominable. No micro-\\nscope can teach the beauty of a statue, nor can any\\nwood-cut represent that of a nobly bred human form;\\nbut only last term we saw the whole Ashmolean So-\\nciety held in a trance of rapture by the inexplicable\\ndecoration of the posteriors of a flea; and I have\\nframed for you here, around a page of the scientific\\njournal which styles itself, Knowledge, a collection\\nof wood-cuts out of a scientific survey of South Amer-\\nica, presenting collectively to you, in designs igno-\\nrantly drawn and vilely engraved, yet with the pecu-\\nliar advantage belonging to the cheap wood-cut, what-\\never, through that fourth part of the round world, from\\nMexico to Patagonia, can be found of savage, sordid,\\nvicious, or ridiculous in humanity, without so much as\\none exceptional indication of a graceful form, a true", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "138 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOG Y.\\ninstinct, or a cultivable capacity. Art of England,\\np. 74.\\nEtching. Etching is an indolent and blundering\\nmethod at the best. Ariadne, p. 100.\\nIf you ever happen to meet with the two volumes of\\nGrimm s German Stories, which were illustrated\\n[by Cruikshank] luigago, pounce upon them instantly;\\nthe etchings in them are the finest things, next to\\nRembrandt s, that, as far as I know, have been done\\nsince etching was invented. Kknients of Drcnobuj,\\np. 189.\\nFlaxmak s Outlines to Dante. Flaxman s out-\\nlines to Diinte contain, I think, examples of almost\\nevery kind of falsehood and feebleness which it is pos-\\nsible for a trained artist, not base in thought, to commit\\nor admit, both in design and execution. Elemods of\\nDraicing, p. IDl.\\nCaricature. No teaching, no hard study, will ever\\nenable other people to equal, in their several ways, the\\nworks of Leech or Cruikshank whereas, the power of\\npure drawing is communicable, within certain limits, to\\nevery one who has good sight and industry. 1 do not, in-\\ndeed, know how far, by devoting the attention to points\\nof character, caricaturist skill may be laboriously at-\\ntained but certainly the power is, in the masters of the\\nschool, innate from their childhood. Modem Paint-\\nere., IV., p. 413.\\nPunch. The definite and every year more em-\\nphatic assertion [of the laws of Beauty] in the pages ol\\nPunch is the ruling charm and most legitimate pride\\nof the immortal periodical. Day by day the search for\\ngrotesque, ludicrous, or loathsome subject which de-\\ngraded the caricatures in its original, the Charivari,\\nand renders the dismally comic journals of Italy the mere\\nplagues and cancers of the State, became, in our English\\nsatirists, an earnest comparison of the things which were\\ngraceful and honorable, with those which were grace-\\nless and dishonest, in modern life. Gradually the kind\\nand vivid genius of John Leech, capable in its brightness\\nof finding pretty jest in everything, but capable in its\\ntenderness also of rejoicing in the beauty of every-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ENGRAVING, ETC. 139\\nthing, softened and illumined with its loving wit the en-\\ntire scope of English social scene the graver power of\\nTenniel brought a steady tone and law of morality into\\nthe license of political contention; and finally the acute,\\nhighly trained, and accurately physiological observation\\nof Du Maurier traced for us, to its true origin in vice\\nor virtue, every order of expression in the mixed circle\\nof metropolitan rank and wealth and has done so\\nwith a closeness of delineation the like of which has\\nnot been seen since Holbein, and deserving the most re-\\nspectful praise in that, whatever power of satire it\\nmay reach by the selection and assemblage of telling\\npoints of character, it never degenerates into carica-\\nture. Art of England, p. 79.\\nThe Animal Drawings of John Lewis. Rubens,\\nRembrandt, Snyders, Tintoret, and Titian, have all, in\\nvarious ways, drav/n wild beasts magnificently but\\nthey have in some sort humanized or demonized them,\\nmaking them either ravenous fiends or educated beasts,\\nthat would draw cars, and had respect for hermits.\\nThe sullen isolation of the brutal nature the dignity\\nand quietness of the mighty limbs the shaggy moun-\\ntainous power, mingled with grace, as of a flowing\\nstream the stealthy restraint of strength and wrath\\nin every soundless motion of the gigantic frame all\\nthis seems never to have b )en seen, much less drawn,\\nuntil Lewis drew and himself engraved a series of ani-\\nmal subjects, now many years ago. rre-Haphael-\\nitisnt, p. 20.\\nRaphael and Rembrandt as Chiakoscurists.\\nYou probably have been beguiled, before now, into ad-\\nmiring Raphael s Transfiguration, in which everybody s\\nfaces and limbs are half black and into supposing\\nRembrandt a master of chiaroscuro, because he can\\npaint a vigorous portrait with a black dab under the\\nnose\\nBoth Raphael and Rembrandt are masters, indeed\\nbut neither of them masters of light and shade, in treat-\\nment of which the first is always false, and the second\\nalways vulgar. The only absolute masters of light and\\nshade are those who never make you think of light and\\nshade, more than Nature herself does.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "140 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nIt will be twenty years, however, at least, before you\\ncan so much as see the finer conditions of shadow in\\nmasters of that cahbre. Laics of Fesole, p. 117.\\nGusTAVE DoRE. Thank you for sending me your\\nfriend s letter about Gustave Dore; he is wrong, how-\\never, in thinking there is any good in those illustrations\\nof Elaine. I had intended to speak of them afterwards,\\nfor it is to my mind quite as significant almost as\\nawful a sign of what is going on in the midst of us,\\nthat our great English poet should have suffered his\\nwork to be thus contaminated, as that the lower Evan-\\ngelicals, never notable for sense in the arts, should have\\ngot their Bibles dishonored. Those Elaine illustrations\\nare just as impure as anything else that Dore has done;\\nbut they are also vapid, and without any one merit\\nwhatever in point of art. The illustrations to the\\nContes Drolatiques are full of power and invention\\nbut those to Elaine are merely and simply stupid\\ntheatrical betises, with the taint of the charnel-house\\non them besides. Letter to Thos. Dixon, Time and\\nTide,^. 71.\\nStamped Paper for Water-Colors. From all I\\ncan gather respecting the recklessness of modern paper\\nmanufacture, my belief is, that though you may still\\nhandle an Albert Diirer engraving, two hundred years\\nold, fearlessly, not one-half of that time will have passed\\nover your modern water-colors, before most of them\\nwill be reduced to mere white or brown rags and\\nyour descendants, twitching them contemptuously into\\nfragments between finger and thumb, will mutter\\nagainst you, half in scorn and half in anger, Those\\nwretched nineteenth century people they kept vapor-\\ning and fuming about the world, doing what they\\ncalled business, and they couldn t make a sheet of paper\\nthat wasn t rotten. I am inclined to think, my-\\nself, that water-color ought not to be used on paper at\\nall, but only on vellum, and then, if properly taken\\ncare of, the drawing would be almost imperishable.\\nStill, paper is a much more convenient material for\\nrapid work and it is an infinite absurdity not to se-\\ncure the goodness of its quality, when we could do so\\nwithout the slightest trouble. Among the many favors", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "THE GRAPHIC ARTS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ENGRAVING, ETC. 141\\nwhich I am going to ask from our paternal government\\nwhen we get it, will be that it will supply its little\\nboys with good paper. You have nothing to do but to\\nlet the government establish a paper manufactory, un-\\nder the superintendence of any of our leading chemists,\\nwho should be answerable for the safety and complete-\\nness of all the processes of the manufacture. The\\ngovernment stamp on the corner of your sheet of\\ndrawing-paper, made in the perfect way, should cost\\nyou a shilling, which would add something to the rev-\\nenue and when you bought a water-color drawing for\\nfifty or a hundred guineas, you would have merely to\\nlook in the corner for your stamp, and pay your extra\\nshilling for the security that your hundred guineas\\nwere given really for a drawing, and not for a colored\\nrag. A Joy I ^or Ever, pp. 31, 32.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "143 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOG F\\nSECTION III.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ARCHITECTURE.\\nTrue architecture is a thing which puts its builders\\nto cost not which pays them dividends. True\\nerchiteeture is built by the man who wants a house for\\nhimself, and builds it to his own liking, at his own cost;\\nnot for his own gain, to the liking of other people.\\nMrs, 1., p. 280.\\nEvery great national architecture has been the re-\\nsult and exponent of a great national religion. You\\ncan t have bits of it here, bits there you must have it\\neverywhere, or nowhere. It is not the monopoly of a\\nclerical company it is n*ot the exponent of a theolog-\\nical dogma it is not the hieroglyphic writing of an\\ninitiated priesthood; it is the manly language of a\\npeople inspired by resolute and common purpose, and\\nrendering resolute and common fidelity to the legible\\nlaws of an undoubted God. (Jroum of Wild Olive,\\nLecture, II., p. 53.\\nArchitecture is the work of nations but we cannot\\nhave nations of great sculptors. Every house in every\\nstreet of every city ought to be good architecture, but\\nwe cannot have Flaxman or ThoJ waldsen at work upon\\nit. Your business as an architect, is to calculate\\nonly on the co-operation of inferior men. to think for\\nthem, to indicate for them such expressions of your\\nthoughts as the weakest capacity can comprehend and\\nthe feeblest hand can execute. This is the definition\\nof the purest architectural absti actions. They are the\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2deep and laborious thoughts of the greatest men, put\\ni. to such easy letters that they can be written by the\\nsimplest. Theij are exjyressions of the mind of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "AJn. IIJTECTUEE. 14:5\\nmanhood bi/ i/ie /tandu of chihlltvod. Stones of\\nVenice, p. 241.\\nYou cannot have good architecture merely by ask-\\ning people s advice on occasion. All good architecture\\nis the expression of national life and character; and it\\nis produced by a prevalent and eager national taste, or\\ndesire for beauty. (Jroirn of Wild Olive, Led. II.,\\np. 45.\\nEvery man has, at some time of his life, personal\\ninterest in architecture. He has influence on the de-\\nsign of some public building; or he has to buy, or\\nbuild, or alter his own house. It signifies less whether\\nthe knowledge of other arfp. be general or not; men\\nmay live without buying pictures or statues: but, in\\narchitecture, all must in some ay commit themselves;\\nthey mxist do mischief, and waste their money, if they\\ndo not know how to turn it to account. Stones of\\nVenice, I., p. 8.\\nSculpture not subordinate to Architecture.\\nDo you think the man who designed the procession on\\nthe portal of Amiens was the subordinate workman\\nthat there was an architect over him, restraining him\\nwithin certain limits, and ordering of him his bishops\\nat so much a mitre, and his cripples at so much a\\ncrutch Not so. Here, on this sculptured shield,\\nrests the Master s hand; this is the centre of the Mas-\\nter s thought from this, and in subordination to this,\\nwaved the arch and sprang the pinnacle. Having\\ndone this, and being able to give human expression\\nand action to tho stone, all the rest the rib, the niche,\\nthe foil, tho shaft were mere toys to his hand\\nand accessories to his conception: and if once you\\nalso gain the gift of doing this, if once you can carve\\none fronton such as you have here, I tell you, you\\nwould be able so far as it depended on your inven-\\ntion to scatter cathedrals over England as fast as\\nclouds rise from its streams after summer rain. The\\nTwo Paths, pp. 89, 90.\\nA great architect must be a great scidptor or\\npainter. This is a universal law. No person who is\\nnot a great sculptor or painter ca7i be an architect. If", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "144 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhe is not a sculptoi- or painter, lie can only be a huildet.\\nThe three greatest architects hitherto known in the\\nworld were Phidias, Giotto, and Michael Angelo; with\\nall of whom, architecture was only their play, sculpture\\nand painting their wovk.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Lectut-es on Arehitecture,\\np. G5.\\nThe So-called Five Ordeus of Ahciiitecture.\\nFive orders [of architecture] There is not a side\\nchapel in any Gothic cathedral but it has fifty orders,\\nthe worst of them better than the best of the Greek\\nones, and all new and a single inventive human soul\\ncould create a thousand orders in an hour. Stones of\\nVenice, III., p. 100.\\nNovelty in Architecture. The very essence of a\\nStyle, properly so-called, is that it should be practised\\nfo7 ages, and applied to all purposes; and that so long\\nas any given style is in practice, all that is left for in-\\ndividual imagination to accomplish must be within the\\nscope of that style, not in the invention of a new one.\\nThe Two Paths, \\\\x^\\\\.\\nThe Crystal Palace. I have received, with the\\nrespects of the author, a pamphlet on the Crystal\\nPalace which tells me, in its first sentence, that the\\nCrystal Palace is a subject which every cultivated\\nEnglishman has at heart in its second, that the Crys-\\ntal Palace is a household word, and is the loftiest\\nmoral triumph of the world and in its third, that the\\nPalace is declining, it is said- verging towards decay,\\nI have not heard anything for a long time which has\\nmore pleased me and beg to assure the author of the\\npamphlet in question that I never get up at Heme Hill\\nafter a windy night without looking anxiously towards\\nNorwood in the hope that the loftiest moral triumph\\nof the world may hare been blown away. Fors, H.,\\np. 415.\\nThe Castles of the Middle Ages. Nothing can\\nbe more noble or interesting than the true thirteenth or\\nfourteenth century castle, when built in a difficult posi-\\ntion, its builder taking advantage of every inch of\\nground to gain more room, and of every irregularity of\\nsurface for purposes of outlook and defence; so that the\\ncastle sate its rock as a strong rider sits his horse", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 145\\nfitting its limbs to every writhe of the flint beneath it;\\nand fringing the nionntain ])romontory far into the sky\\nwith the wild crests of its fantastic battlements. Of\\nsuch castles we can see no more. Arrows of the Chacc,\\nI., p. 146.\\nThe Ekglish Cottage. If you think over the\\nmatter you will find that you actually do owe, and\\nought to owe, a great part of your pleasure in all cot-\\ntage scenery, and in all the inexhaustible imagery of\\nliterature which is founded upon it, to the conspicuous-\\nness of the cottage roof to the subordination of the\\ncottage itself to its covering, which leaves, in nine cases\\nout of ten, really more roof than anything else. It is,\\nindeed, not so much the whitewashed walls nor the\\nflowery garden nor the rude fragments of stones set\\nfor steps at the door nor any other picturesqueness of\\nthe building which interests you, so much as the grey\\nbank of its heavy eaves, deep-cushioned with green\\nmoss and golden stonecrop. Lectures on Architect-\\nure, p. 25.\\nBrick and Terra-Cotta in Architecture. Just\\nas many of the finest works of the Italian sculptors\\nwere executed in porcelain, many of the best thoughts\\nof their architects are expressed in brick, or in the\\nsofter material of terra-cotta and if this were so in\\nItaly, where there is not onecity from whose towers we\\nmay not descry the blue outline of Alp or Apennine, ever-\\nlasting quarries of granite or marble, how much more\\nought it to be so among the fields of England I believe\\nthat the best academy for her architects, for some half\\ncentury to come, would be the brick-field for of this\\nthey may rest assured, that till they know how to use\\nclay, they will never know how to use vaaxhlQ.-^ Stones\\nof Venice, II., p. 200.\\nMedium-sized Blocks best for Buildings. The\\ninvention of expedients for the raising of enormous\\nstones has always been a characteristic of partly sav-\\nage or corrupted races. A block of marble not larger\\nthan a cart with a couple of oxen could carry, and a\\ncross-beam, with a couple of pulleys raise, is as large as\\nshould generally be used in any building. The employ-\\nment of large masseiJ is sure to lead to vulgar exhibi-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "146 A R USKiyf A NTHOL G T.\\ntions of g^eometrical arrangement, and to draw away\\nthe attention from the sculpture. In general, rocks\\nnaturally break into such pieces as the human beings\\nthat have to build with them can easily lift, and no\\nlarger should be sought for. Aratra Pentelici, p. 97.\\nLet not Art be too Common or Familiar. Nor\\ndo I hold it usually an advantage to art, in teaching,\\nthat it should be common, or constantly seen. In be-\\ncoming intelligibly and kindly beautiful, while it remains\\nsolitary and unrivalled, it has a greater power. West-\\nminster Abbey is more didactic to the English nation,\\nthan a million of popular illustrated treatises on archi-\\ntecture.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^4 ?Y \u00c2\u00ab(7 e, p. 2(5.\\nPermanent Homes. I believe that the wandering\\nhabits which have now become almost necessary to our\\nexistence, lie more at the root of our bad architecture\\nthan any other character of modern times. \\\\ye always\\nlook upon our houses as mere temporary lodgings.\\nLectures on Architecture, p. 55.\\nThe one point you may be assured of is, that your\\nhappiness does not at all depend on the size of your house\\n(or, if it does, rather on its smallness than large-\\nness) but depends entirely on your having peaceful\\nand safe possession of it on your habits of keeping it\\nclean and in order on the materials of it being trust-\\nworthy, if they are no more than stone and turf and\\non your contentment with it, so that gradually you may\\nmend it to your mind, day by day, and leave it to your\\nchildren a better house than it was.\\nTo your children, and to theirs, desiring for them\\nthat they may live as you have lived and not strive to\\nforget you, and stammer when any one asks who\\nvou were, because, forsooth, thev have become fine\\nfolks by your help.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i=ons-, 1., pp. 280, 281.\\nA House suited to You. But I mean to make\\nmoney, and have a better and better house every ten\\nyears.\\nYes, I know you do.\\nIf you intend to keep that notion, I have no word\\nmore to say to you. Fare you not well, for you can-\\nnot but as you may.\\nBut if you have sense, and feeling, determine what", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE.. 147\\nsort of a house will be fit for you determine to work\\nfor it to get it and to die in it, if tiie Lord will.\\nWhat sort of house will be tit for me? but of\\ncourse the biggest and finest I can get will be fittest\\nAgain, so says the Devil to you and if you believe\\nhim, iie will find you fine Jodgings enough for rent.\\nBut if you don t believe him, consider, I repeat, what\\nsort of house will be fit for you\\nFit but what do you mean by fit\\nI mean, one that you can entirely enjoy and manage\\nbut which you will not be proud of, except as you make\\nit charming in its modesty. If you are proud of it, it\\nis un^A for you better than a man in your station of\\nlife can by simple and sustained exertion obtain; and\\nit should be rather under such quiet level than above,\\nAshesteil was entirely fit for Walter Scott, and Walter\\nScott was entirely happy there. Abbotsford was fit\\nalso for S7r Walter Scott and had he been content\\nwith it, his had been a model life. But he would fain\\nstill add field to field and died homeless. Fors,\\\\\\\\.,\\np. 298.\\nRound every raiiroad station, out of the once quiet\\nfields, there bursts up first a blotch of brick-fields, and\\nthen of ghastly houses, washed over with slime into\\nmiserable fineries of cornice and portico. A gentleman\\nwould hew for himself a log hut, and thresh for him-\\nself a straw bed, before he would live in such. Ai\\nroifis of the Chace., II., p. 98.\\nThe AhcuiTectuke of Cities. All lovely archi-\\ntecture was designed for cities in cloudless air for\\ncities in which piazzas and gardens opened in bright\\npopulousness and peace cities built that men might\\nlive happily in them, and take delight daily in each\\nother s presence and powers. But our cities, built in\\nblack air, which, by its accumulated foulness, first ren-\\nders all ornam.ent invisible in distance, and then chokes\\nits interstices with soot cities v/hich are mere crowded\\nmasses of store, and warehouse, and counter, and are\\ntherefore to the rest of the world what the larder and\\ncellar are to a private house cities in which the\\nobject of men is not life, but labor; arid in which all\\nchief magnitude of edifice is to enclose machinery; cities", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "148 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nin which the streets are not the avenues for the pass-\\ning and procession of a happy people, but the drains\\nfor the discharge of a tormented mob, in which the\\nonly object in reaching any spot is to be transferred to\\nanother in which existence becomes mere transition,\\nand every creature is only one atom in a drift of\\nhuman dust, and current of interchanging particles,\\ncirculating here by tunnels under ground, and there by\\ntubes in the air for a city, or cities, such as this, no\\narchitecture is possible nay, no desire of it is possible\\nto their inhabitants. Lectures on Architecture,\\np. 137.\\nIt does not matter how many beautiful public build-\\nings you possess, if they are not supported by, and in\\nharmony with, the private houses of the town. Neither\\nthe mind nor the eye will accept a new college, or a\\nnew hospital, or a new institution, for a city. It is the\\nCanonga-te, and the Princes Street, and the High\\nStreet that are Edinburgh. Do not think that you\\ncan have good architecture merely by paying for it. It\\nis not by subscribing liberally for a large building once\\nin forty years that you can call up architects and in-\\nspiration. It is only by active and sympathetic atten-\\ntion to the domestic and every day work which is done\\nfor each of you, that you can educate either yourselves\\nto the feeling, or your builders to the doing, of what is\\ntruly great.\\nWell but, you will answer, you cannot feel interested\\nin architecture: you do not care about it, and cannot\\ncare about it. I know you cannot. About such archi-\\ntecture as is built now-a-days, no mortal ever did or\\ncould care. You do not feel interested in hearing the\\nsame thing over and over again why do you suppose\\nyou can feel interested in seeing the same thing over\\nand over again, were that thing even the best\\nand most beautiful in the world Lectures on Ar-\\nchitecture, p. 11.\\nSuburban Architecture. An English clergyman,\\na master of this University, a man not given to senti-\\nment, but of middle age, and great practical sense, told\\nme that he never could enter London from his coun-\\ntry parsonage but with closed eyes, lest the sight of the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "AUCmrECTURE.. 149\\nblocks of houses which the raih oad intersected in the\\nsuburbs should unfit him, by the horror of it, for his\\nday s work. To have any right morality, happi-\\nness, or art in any country where the cities are thus\\nbuilt, or thus, let me rather say, clotted and coagidated\\nspots of a dreadful mildew spreading by patches and\\nblotches over the countiy they consume. You must\\nhave lovely cities, crystalized, not coagulated, into\\nform limited in size, and not casting out the scum and\\nscurf of them into an encircling eruption of shame, but\\ngirded each with its sacred pomosrium, and with gar-\\nlands of gardens full of blossoming trees, and softly\\nguided streams. Lectures on Art, p. 79.\\nBlackfriar s Bridge. Asa Greek put human life\\ninto his pillars and produced the caryatid and an\\nEgyptian lotos life into his pillars, and produced the\\nlily capital so here, either of them would have put some\\ngigantic or some angelic life into those colossal sockets.\\nHe would perhaps have put vast winged statues of\\nbronze, folding their wings, and grasping the iron rails\\nwith their hands; or monstrous eagles, or serpents\\nholding with claw or coil, or strong four-footed animals\\ncouchant, holding with the paw, or in fierce action,\\nholding with teeth. Thousands of grotesque or of\\nlovely thoughts would have risen before him, and the\\nbronze forms, animal or human, would have signified,\\neither in symbol or in legend, whatever might be\\ngracefully told respecting the pui poses of the work and\\nthe districts to which it conducted. Whereas, now,\\nthe entire invention of the designer seems to have ex-\\nhausted itself in exaggerating to an enormous size a\\nweak form of iron nut, and in conveying the informa-\\ntion upon it, in large letters, that it belongs to the Lon-\\ndon, Chatham, and Dover Railway Company.\\nAthena, p. 138.\\nCathedrals. All the great thirteenth-century\\ncathedrals in France have been destroyed, within my\\nown memory, only that architects might charge com-\\nmission for putting up false models of them in tlieii\\nplace. Fors, I., p. 71.\\nNothing is more unseemly than that a great multi-\\ntude should find its way out and in, as ants and wasps", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "150 A R US KIN A NTH OLOGY.\\ndo, through holes; and nothing more undignified than\\nthe paltry doors of many of our English cathedrals,\\nwhich look as if they were made, not for the open\\negress, but for the surreptitious drainage of a stagnant\\ncongregation Besides, the expression of the church door\\nshould lead us, as far as possible, to desire at least the\\nwestern entrance to be single, partly because no man of\\nright feeling would willingly lose the idea of unity and\\nfellowship in going up to worship, which is suggested\\nby the vast single entrance; partly because it is at the\\nentrance that the most serious words of the building\\nare always addressed, by its sculptures or inscriptions,\\nto the worshipper; and it is well, that these words\\nshould be spoken to all at once, as by one great voice,\\nnot broken up into weak repetitions over minor doors.\\nStones of Venice, I., p. 179.\\nAn English Cathedral. Let us go together up\\nthe more retired street, at the end of which we can see\\nthe pinnacles of one of the towers, and then through\\nthe low grey gateway, with its battlemented top and\\nsmall latticed window in the centre, into the inner\\nprivate-looking road or close, where nothing goes in but\\nthe carts of the tradesmen who supply the bishop and\\nthe chapter, and where there are little shaven grass-\\nplots, fenced in by neat rails, before old-fashioned\\ngroups of somewhat diminutive and excessively trim\\nhouses, with little oriel and bay windows jutting out\\nhere and there, and deep wooden cornices and eaves\\npainted cream color and white, and small porches to\\ntheir doors in the shape of cockle-shells, or little,\\ncrooked, thick, indescribable wooden gables warped a\\nlittle on one side; and so forward till we come to\\nlarger houses, also old-fashioned but of red brick, and\\nwith gardens behind them, and fruit walls, which show\\nhere and there, among the nectarines, the vestiges of\\nan old cloister arch or shaft, and looking in front on\\nthe cathedral square itself, laid out in rigid divisions of\\nsmooth grass and gravel walk, yet not uncheerful, es-\\npecially on the sunny side where the canon s children\\nare walking with their nurserymaids. And so, taking\\ncare not to tread on the grass, we will go along the\\nStraight walk to the west front, and there stand for a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 151\\ntime, looking up at its deep-pointed porches and the\\ndark pkices between their pillars where there were\\nstatues once, and where the fragments, here and there,\\nof a stately figure are still left, which has in it the like-\\nness of a king, perhaps indeed a king on earth, perhaps\\na saintly king long ago in heaven and so higher and\\nhigher up to the great mouldering v.all of rugged\\nsculpture and confused arcades, shattered, and grey,\\nand grisly with heads of dragons and mocking fiends,\\nworn by the rain and swirling winds into yet un-\\nseemlier shape, and colored on their stony scales by\\nthe deep russet-orange lichen, melancholy gold and so,\\nhigher still, to the bleak towers, so far above that the\\neye loses itself among the bosses of their traceries,\\nthough they are rude and strong, and only sees like a\\ndrift of eddying black points, now closing, now scatter-\\ning, and now settling suddenly into invisible places\\namong the bosses and flowers, the crowd of restless\\nbirds that fill the whole square with that strange\\nclangor of theirs, so harsh and yet so soothmg, like the\\ncries of birds on a solitary coast between the cliffs and\\nsea. Stones of Vcvice. II., pp. 67, 68.\\nThe Materials of the Sculptor-Akciiitect.\\nFrom visions of angels, down to the least important\\ngesture of a child at play, whatever may be conceived\\nof Divine, or beheld of Human, may be dared or\\nadopted by you: throughout the kingdom of anisnal\\nlife, no creature is so vast, or so minute, that you can-\\nnot deal with it, or bring it into service the lion and\\nthe crocodile will couch about your shafts the moth\\nand the bee v/ill sun themselves upon your flowers for\\nyou, the fawn will leap; for you, the snail be slow for\\nyou, the dove smooth her bosom and the hawk spread\\nher wings toward the south. All the wide world of\\nvegetation blooms and bends for you the leaves trem-\\nble that you may bid them be still under the marble\\nsnow the thorn and the thistle, which the earth casts\\nforth as evil, are to you the kindliest servants no dy-\\ning petal, nor drooping tendril, is so feeble as to have\\nno more help for you no robed pride of blossom so\\nkingly, but it will lay aside its purple to receive at\\nyour hands the pale immortality. Is there anything in", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "153 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncommon life too mean in common things too trivial\\nto be ennobled by your touch I As there is nothing in\\nlife, so there is nothing in lifelessness which has not its\\nlesson for you, or its gift and when you are tired of\\nwatching the strength of the plume, and the tenderness\\nof the leaf, you may walk down to your rough river\\nshore, or into the thickest markets of your thoroughfares,\\nand there is not a piece of torn cable that will not twine\\ninto a perfect moulding there is not a fragment of\\ncast-away matting, or shattered basket-work, that will\\nnot work into a chequer or capital. Yes: and if you\\ngather up the very sand, and break the stone on which\\nyou tread, among its fragments of all but invisible\\nshells you will find forms that will take their place, and\\nthat proudly, among the starred traceries of your vault-\\ning; and you, who can crown the mountain with its\\nfortress, and the city with its towers, are thus able also\\nto give beauty to ashes, and worthiness to dust. The\\nTiro Paths, pp. 95, 96.\\nEuropean Architecture in general. All Eu-\\nropean architecture, bad and good, old and new, is de-\\nrived from Greece througli Rome, and colored and per-\\nfected from the East. The history of Architecture is\\nnothing but the tracing of the various modes and direc^\\ntions of this derivation. Understand this, once for all:\\nif you hold fast this great connecting chie, you may\\nstring all the types of successive architectural inven-\\ntion upon it like so many beads. The Doric and the\\nCorinthian orders are the roots, the one of all Roman-\\nesque, massy-capitaled buildings Norman, Lombard,\\nByzantine, and what else you can name of the kind\\nand the Corinthian of all Gothic, Early English, Frenclif\\nGerman and Tuscan. Now observe those old Greeks\\ngave the shaft Rome gave the arch the Arabs\\npointed and foliated the arch. The shaft and arch, the\\nframe-work and strength of architecture, are from the\\nrace of Japheth the spirituality and sanctity of it from\\nIsmael, Abraham, and Shem. Stones of Venice, I.,\\np. 27.\\nThe Roman, the Lombard, and the Arabian\\nStyles. The work of the Lombard was to give hardi-\\nhood and system to the enervated body and enfeebled", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "AnCHITECTUnE. 153\\nmind of Christondoiii that of the Arab was to punish\\nidolatry, and to proclaim the spirituality of worship.\\nThe Lombard covered every church which he built\\nwith the sculptured representations of bodily exercises\\nhuntini and war. The Arab banished all imagina-\\ntion of creature form from his temples, and proclaimed\\nfrom their minarets, There is no god but God.\\nOpposite in their character and mission, aliKe in their\\nmagnificence of energy, they came from the North\\nand from the South, the glacier torrent and the lava\\nstream: they met and contended over the wreck of the\\nRoman empire and the very centre of the struggle,\\nthe point of pause of both, the dead water of the oppo-\\nsite eddies, charged with embayed fragments of the\\nRoman wreck, is Venice.\\nThe Ducal Palace of Venice contains the three ele-\\nments in exactly equal proportions the Roman, Lom-\\nbard, and Arab. It is the central building of the\\nworld.\\nThe lava stream of the Arab, even after it ceased to\\nflow, warmed the whole of the northern air and the\\nhistory of Gothic architecture is the history of the re-\\nfinement and spiritualization of Northern work under\\nits influence. Stones of Venice, L, pp. 27, 30, 33.\\nThe Lombard of early times seems to have been ex-\\nactly what a tiger would be, if you could give him love\\nof a joke, vigorous imagination, strong sense of justice,\\nfear of hell, knowledge of northern mythology, a stone\\nden, and a mallet and chisel; fancy him pacing up and\\ndown m the said den to digest his dinner, and striking\\non the wall, with a new fancy in his head, at every\\nturn, and you have the Lombardic sculptor.\\nThe Lombard animals are all (dive, and fiercely\\nalive too, all impatience and spring the Byzantine\\nbirds peck idly at the fruit, and the animals hardly\\ntouch it with their noses. The einquecento birds in\\nVenice hold it up daintily, like train-bearers the birds\\nin the earlier Gothic peck at it hungrily and naturally;\\nbut the Lombard beasts gripe at it like tigers, and\\ntear it off with writhing lips and glaring eyes.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "154 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nGOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.\\nA Gothic cathedral is properly to be defined as a\\npiece of the most magnificent associative sculpture, ar-\\nranged on the noblest principles of building, for the\\nservice and delight of multitudes and the proper defi-\\nnition of architecture, as distinguished from sculpture,\\nis merely the art of designing sculpture for a particu-\\nlar place, and placing it there on the best principles of\\nbuilding.\\nHence it clearly follows, that in modern days we\\nhave r\\\\o architects. The term architecture is not\\nso much as understood by us. Lectvres on Archi-\\ntectm-e, pp. 65, 00.\\nModern arcliitects decorate the tops of their build-\\nmgs. Mediaeval ones decorated the bottom. It is not\\nputting ornament high that is wrong but it is cutting\\nit too fine to be seen, wherever it is. This is the\\ngreat modern mistake.\\nNow the Gothic builders placed their decoration on\\na precisely contrary principle, and on the only rational\\nprinciple. All their best and most delicate work they\\nput on the foundation of the building, close to the spec-\\ntator, and on the upper parts of the walls they put\\nornaments large, bold, and capable of being plainly\\nseen at the necessary distance. Lectures on Archi-\\ntecture, pp. 43, 45.\\nGothic Architecture not the Work of the\\nClergy. Good architecture is the work of good and\\nbelieving men therefore, you say, at least some people\\nsay, Good architecture must essentially have been\\nthe work of the clergy, not of the laity. No a\\nthousand times no good architecture has always been\\nthe work of the commonalty, of the clergy. What,\\nyou say, those glorious cathedrals the pride of\\nEurope did their builders not form Gothic architect-\\nure No they corrupted Gothic architecture.\\nGothic was formed in the baron s castle, and the\\nburgher s street. It was formed by the thoughts, and\\nhands, and powers of free citizens and soldier kings.\\nBy the monk it was used as an instrument for the aid", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 155\\nof his superstition when that superstition became a\\nbeautiful madness, and the best hearts of Europe vain-\\nly dreamed and pined in the cloister, and vainly\\nraged and perished in the crusade through that fury\\nof perverted faith and wasted war, the Gothic rose also\\nto its loveliest, most fantastic, and, finally, most fool-\\nish dreams and, in those dreams, was lost. Crown\\nof Wild Olive, Lect. II., p. 53.\\nThe flamboyant traceries that adorn the fagade of\\nRouen Cathedral had once their fellows in every win-\\ndow of every house in the market-place the sculptures\\nthat adorn the porches of St. Mark s had once their\\nmatch [in kind] on the walls of every palace on the\\nGrand Canal; and the only difference between the\\nchurch and the dwelling-house was, that there existed\\na symbolical meaning in the distribution of the parts of\\nall buildings meant for worship, and that the painting\\nor sculpture was, in the one case, less frequently of\\nprofane subject than in the other. iStones of Yodce,\\nII., p. 103.\\nThe French Cathedrals. As examples of Gothic,\\nranging from the twelfth to the fourteenth century, the\\ncathedrals of Chartres, Rouen, Amiens, Rheims, and\\nBourges, form a kind of cinque-foil round Notre Dame\\nof Paris, of which it is impossible to say which is the\\nmore precious petal but any of those leaves would be\\nworth a complete rose of any other country s work ex-\\ncept Italy s. Nothing else in art, on the surface of the\\nround earth, could represent any one of them, if de-\\nstroyed, or be named as of any equivalent value.\\nArroics of the Chace, I., p. 151.\\nThe Gothic Style not derived from Vegetation.\\nI have before alluded to the strange and vain sup-\\nposition, that the original conception of Gothic archi-\\ntecture had been derived from vegetation from the\\nsymmetry of avenues, and the interlacing of branches.\\nIt is a supposition which never could have existed for\\na moment in the mind of any person acquainted with\\nearly Gothic; but, however idle as a theory, it is most\\nvaluable as a testimony to the character of the per-\\nfected style. It is precisely because the reverse of\\nthis theory is the fact, because the Gothic did not arise", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "156 A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nout of, but develop itself into, a resemblance to vege-\\ntation, that this resemblance is so instructive as an\\nindication of the temper of the builders. It was no\\nchance suggestion of the form of an arch from the\\nbending of a bough, but a gradual and continual dis-\\ncovery of a beauty in natural forms which could be\\nmore and more perfectly transferred into those of stone,\\nthat influenced at once the heart of the people, and the\\nform of the edifice. The Gothic architecture arose in\\nmassy and mountainous strength, axe-hewn, and iron-\\nbound, block heaved upon block by the monk s enthu-\\nsiasm and the soldier s force and cramped and stanch-\\nioned into such weight of grisly wall, as might bury the\\nanchoret in d;irkness, and beat back the utmost storm\\nof battle, suffering by the same narrow crosslet the\\npassing of the sunbeam, or of the arrow. Gradually, as\\nthat monkish enthusiasm became more thoughtful, and\\nas the sound of war became more and more intermit-\\ntent beyond the gates of the convent or the keep, the\\nstony pillar grew slender and the vaulted roof grew\\nlight, till they had wreathed themselves into the sem-\\nblance of the summer woods at their fairest and of\\nthe deaa field-flowers, long trodden down in blood, sweet\\nmonumental statues were set to bloom for ever, beneath\\nthe porch of tlie temple, or the canopy of the tomb.\\nStones of Yen ire II., p. 201.\\nThe True Sources of Gothic ARcriiTECTURE.\\nThe true gable, as it is the simplest and most natural,\\nso I esteem it the grandest of roofs whether rising in\\nridgy darkness, like a gi*ey slope of slaty mountains,\\nover the precipitous walls of the northern cathedrals, or\\nstretched in burning breadth above the white and square-\\nset groups of the southern architecture. B\u00c2\u00abt this dif-\\nference between its slope in the northern and southern\\nstructure is a matter of far greater importance than is\\ncommonly supposed, and it is this to which I would\\nespecially direct the reader s attention.\\nOne main cause of it, the necessity of throwing off\\nsnow in the north, has been a thousand times alluded\\nto another I do not remember having seen noticed,\\nnamely, that rooms in a roof are comfortably habitable\\nin the north, which are painful sotto phytnhi in Italy;\\nand that there is iu wet climates a natural tendency in", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 157\\nall men to live as high as possible, out of the damp and\\nmist. These two causes, together with accessible\\nquantities of good timber, have induced in the north a\\ngeneral steep pitch of gable, which, when rounded or\\nsquared above a tower, becomes a spire or turret and\\nthis feature, worked out with elaborate decoration, is\\nthe key-note of the whole system of aspiration, so called,\\nwhich the German critics have so ingeniously and falsely\\nascribed to a devotional sentiment pervading tlie North-\\nern Gothic I entirely and boldly deny the whole\\ntheory our cathedrals were for the most part built by\\nwordly people, who loved the world, and would have\\ngladly staid in it for ever whose best hope was the\\nescaping hell, which they thought to do by building\\ncathedrals, but who had very vague conceptions of\\nHeaven in general, and very feeble desires respecting\\ntheir entrance therein and the form of the spired\\ncathedral has no more intentional reference to Heaven,\\nas distinguished from the flattened slope of the Greek\\npediment, than the steep gable of a Norman house has,\\nas distinguished from the flat roof of a Syrian one.\\nThere is, however, in the north an animal activity\\nwhich materially aided the svstem of buildiny; bcijun in\\nmere utility an animal life, naturally expressed in\\nerect work, as the languor of the south in reclining or\\nlevel work. Imagine the difference between the action\\nof a man urging himself to his work in a snow storm,\\nand the inaction of one laid at his length on a sunny\\nbank among cicadas and fallen olives, and you will have\\nthe key to a whole group of sympathies which were\\nforcefully expressed in the architecture of both; remem-\\nbering always that sleep would be to the one luxury,\\nto the other death.\\nAnd to the force of this vital instinct we have far-\\nther to add the influence of natural scenery; and chiefly\\nof the groups and wildernesses of the tree which is to the\\nGerman mind what the olive or palm is to the southern,\\nthe spruce fir. The eye which has once been habituated\\nto the continual serration of the pine forest, and to the\\nmultiplication of its infinite pinnacles, is not easily\\noffended by the repetition of similar forms, nor easily\\nsatisfied by the simplicity of flat or massive outlines,\\niStones of Venice, I., pp. 154-156,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "158 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe Poetry of Gothic Terms. These [Greek]\\npediments, and stylobates, and architraves never ex-\\ncited a single pleasurable feeling in you never will, to\\nthe end of time. They are evermore dead, lifeless, and\\nuseless, in art as in poetry, and though you built as\\nmany of them as there are slates on your house-roofs,\\nyou will never care for them. They will only remain\\nto later ages as monuments of the patience and pliability\\nwith which the people of the nineteenth century saci i-\\nficed their feelings to fashions, and their intellects to\\nforms. But on the other hand, that strange and thrill-\\ning interest with which such words strike you as are in\\nany wise connected with Gothic architecture as for in-\\nstance, Vault, Arch, Spire, Pinnacle, Battlement, Bar-\\nbican, Porch, and myriads of such others, words ever-\\nlastingly poetical and powerful wherever they occur\\nis a most true and certain index that the things\\nthemselves are delightful to you, and will ever continue\\nto be so. Lectures on Architecture, p. 35.\\nThe Gothic Porch. You know how the east winds\\nblow through those unlucky couples of pillars [of the\\nGreek portico], which are all that your architects find\\nconsistent with due observance of the Doric order.\\nThen, away with these absurdities; and the next house\\nyou build, insist upon having the pure old Gothic porch,\\nv. alled in on both sides, with its pointed arch enti-ance\\nand gable roof above. Under that, you can put down\\nyour umbrella at your leisure, and, if you will, stop a\\nmoment to talk with your friend as you give him the\\nparting shake of the hand. And if now and then a\\nwayfarer found a moment s rest on a stone seat on each\\nside of it, I believe you would find the insides of your\\nhouses not one whit the less comfortable. Lectures\\non Architecture, p. 37.\\nThe Gothic Arch. There is a farther reason for\\nour adopting the pointed arch than its being the strong-\\nest form; it is also the most beautiful form in which a\\nwindow or door-head can be built. Not the most beau-\\ntiful because it is the strongest but most beautiful,\\nbecause its form is one of those which, as we know by\\nits fi-equent occurrence in the work of nature around", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 159\\nUS, has been appointed by the Deity to be an everlas^\\ning source of pleasure to the human mind.\\n(rather a branch from any of the trees or flowers to\\nwhich the earth owes its principal beauty. You will\\nfind that every one of its leaves is terminated, more or\\nless, in the form of the pointed arch and to that form\\nowes its grace and character. Lectures on Architect-\\nure, p. 18.\\nHow TO TELL Good Gothic. First. Look if the\\nroof rises in a steep gable, high above the walls. If it\\ndoes not do this, there is something wrong; the building\\nis not quite pure Gothic, or has been altered.\\nSecondly. Look if the principal windows and doors\\nhave pointed arches with gables over them. If not\\npointed arches, the building is not Gothic.\\nThirdly. Look if the arches are cusped, or apertures\\nfuhated.\\nFourthly. If the building meets all the first three\\nconditions, look if its arches in general, whether of win-\\ndows and doors, or of minor ornamentation, are carried\\non true shafts lolth bases and capitals. If they are,\\nthen the building is assuredly of the finest Gothic style.\\nStones of Venice, II., pp. 227, 228.\\nTo TELL WHETHER A PlECE OF PuKE GoTlIIC BE\\nALSO Masterly Architecture. [For a building] may\\nbe very pure Gothic, and yet, if a copy, or originally\\nraised by an ungiftedbuildei very bad architecture.\\nFirst. See if it looks as if it had been built by\\nstrong men if it has the sort of roughness, and large-\\nness, and nonchalance, mixed in places with the ex-\\nquisite tenderness which seems always to be the sign-\\nmanual of the broad vision, and massy power of men\\nwho can see past the work they are doing, and betray\\nhere and there something like disdain for it. If the\\nbuilding has this character, it is much already in its\\nfavor; it will go hard but it proves a noble one. If it\\nhas not this, but is altogether accurate, minute, and\\nscrupulous in its workmanship, it must belong to either\\nthe very best or the very worst of schools the very\\nbest, in which exquisite design is wrought out with un-\\ntiring and conscientious care, as in the Giottesque", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "160 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nGothic; or the very worst, in which mechanism has\\ntaken the place of design.\\nSecondly. Observe if it be irregular, its different\\nparts fitting themselves to different purposes, no one\\ncaring what becomes of them, so that they do their\\nwork. If one part always answers accurately to\\nanother part, it is sure to be a bad building and the\\ngreater and more conspicuous the irregularities, the\\ngreater the chances are that it is a good one.\\nThirdly. Observe if all the traceries, capitals, and\\nother ornaments are of perpetually varied design. If\\nnot, the work is assuredly bad.\\nLastly. Head the sculpture. Preparatory to read-\\ning it, you will have to discover whether it is legible\\n(and, if legible, it is nearly certain to be worth reading).\\nOn a good building, the sculpture is ahoai/s so set, and\\non such a scale, that at the ordinary distance from\\nwhich the edifice is seen, the sculpture shall be thorough-\\nly intelligible and interesting. In order to accomplish\\nthis, the uppermost statues will be ten or twelve feet\\nhigh, and the upper ornamentation wiU be colossal, in-\\ncreasing in fineness as it descends, till on the founda-\\ntion it will often be wrought as if for a precious cabi-\\nnet in a king s chamber but the spectator will not\\nnotice that the upper sculptures are colossal. He will\\nmerely feel that he can see them plainly, and make\\nthem all out at his ease. Stones of Venice, II., pp.\\n229, 230.\\nEgyptian and Greek buildings stand, for the most\\npart, by their own weight and mass, one stone passively\\nincumbent on another: but in the Gothic vaults and\\ntraceries there is a stiffness analogous to that of the\\nbones of a limb, or fibres of a tree an elastic tension\\nand communication of force from part to part, and also\\na studious expression of this throughout every visible\\nline of the building. And, in like manner, the Greek\\nand Egyptian ornament is either mere surface engrav-\\ning, as if the face of the wall had been stamped with a\\nseal, or its lines are flowing, lithe, and luxuriant in\\neither case, there is no expression of energy in frame\\nwork of the ornament itself. But the Gothic ornatnent\\nstands out in prickly independence, and fros;y fortitude,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 131\\njutting into crockets, anil freezing into pinnacles; here\\nstarting up into a monster, tiiere germinating into a\\nblossom anon knitting itself into a branch, alternately\\nthorny, bossy, and bristly, or writhed into every form\\nof nervous entanglement but, even when most grace-\\nful, never for an instant languid, always quickset; err-\\ning, if at all, ever on the side of bruscmerie. Stones\\nof Venice, If., p. 203.\\nRenaissance Architecture. Raised at once into\\nall the magnificence of which it was capabie by Michael\\nAngelo, then taken up by men of real intellect and im-\\nagination, such as Scamozzi, Sansovino, Inigo Jones,\\nand Wren, it is impossible to estimate the extent of its\\ninfluence en the European mind and that the more, be-\\ncause few persons are concerned with painting, and, of\\nthose few, the larger number regard it with slight at-\\ntention but all men are concerned with architecture,\\nand have at some time of their lives serious business\\nwith it. It does not much matter that an individual\\nloses two or three hundred pounds in buying a bad pic-\\nture, but it is r.o be regretted that a nation should lose\\ntwo or three hundred thousand in raising a ridiculous\\nbuilding. Nor is it merely wasted wealth or distem-\\npered conception which we have to regret in this Renais-\\nsance architecture: but we shall find in it partly the\\nroot, partly the expression, of certain dominant evils of\\nmodern times over-sophistication and ignorant classic-\\nalism the one destroying the healthfulness of general\\nsociety, the other rendering our schools and universi-\\nties useless to a large number of the men who pass\\nthrough them.\\nNow Venice, as she was once the most religious, was\\nin her fall the most corrupt, of European states and as\\nshe was in her strength the centre of the pure currents\\nof Christian architecture, so she is in her decline the\\nsource of the Renaissance. It was the originality and\\nsplendor of the Palaces of Vicenza and Venice which\\ngave this school its eminence in the eyes of Europe; and\\nthe dying city, magnificent in her dissipation, and graceful\\nin her follies, obtained wider woiship in her decrepitude\\nthan in her youth, and sank from tlie midst of her ad-\\nmirers into the grave. /i it nes of Venice, I., p. 38.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "162 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nRenaissance architecture is the school which has con-\\nducted men s inventive and constructive faculties from\\nthe Grand Canal to Gower Street from the marble shaft,\\nand the lancet arch, and the wreathed leafage, and the\\nglowing and melting harmony of gold and azurt, to the\\nsquare cavity in the brick wall. /Stones of Venice,\\nIII., p. (3.\\nIf vre think over this matter a little, we shall soon\\nfeel that in those meagre lines there is indeed an ex-\\npression of aristocracy in its v/orst characters coldness,\\nperfectness of training, incapability of emotion, want of\\nsympathy with the weakness of lower men, blank,\\nhopeless, haughty self-sufficiency. All these characters\\nare written in the Renaissance architecture as plainly\\nas if they were graven on it in words. For, observe,\\nall other architectures have something in them that\\ncommon men can enjoy; some concession to the simpli-\\ncities of humanity, some daily bread for the hungei-\\nof the multitude. Quaint fancy, rich ornament, bright\\ncolor, something that shows a sympathy with men of\\nordinary minds and hearts and this wrought out at\\nleast in the Gothic, with a rudeness showing that the\\nworkman did not mind exposing his own ignorance if\\nhe could please others. But the Renaissance is exactly\\nthe contrary of all this. It is rigid, cold, inhuman; in-\\ncapable of glowing, of stooping, of conceding for an in.\\nstant. Whatever excellence it has is refined, high-\\ntrained, and deeply erudite a kind which the architect\\nwell knows no common mind can taste. He proclaims\\ntons aloud. You cannot feel my work unless you\\nstudy Vitruvius. I will give you no gay color, no\\npleasant sculpture, nothing to make you happy; for I\\nam a learned man. All the pleasure you can have in\\nanything I do is in its proud breeding, its rigid formal-\\nism, its peifect finish, its cold tranquillity. I do not\\nwork for the vulgar, only for the men of the academy\\nand the court. Here was an architecture that\\nwould not shrink, that had in it no submission, no\\nmercy. The proud princes and lords rejoiced in it. It\\nwas full of insult to the poor in its every line. It\\nwould not be built of the materials at the poor man s\\nhand it would not roof itself with thatch or shinjrle.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. \\\\(Si\\nand black oak beams; it would not wall itself with\\nrough stone or brick; it would not pierce itself with\\nsmall windows where they were needed it would not\\nniche itself, wherever there was room for it, in the\\nstreet corners. It would be of hewn stone ;it would have\\nits windows and its doors, and its stairs and its pillars,\\nin lordly order, and of stately size it would have its\\nwings and its corridors, and its halls and its gardens, as\\nif all the earth were its own. And the rugged cottages of\\nthe mountaineers, and the fantastic streets of the labor-\\ning burgher were to be thrust out of its way, as of a\\nlower species. Stones of Venice, III., pp. iYl, 63.\\nI have not grasp enough of thought to embrace the\\nevils which have resulted among all the orders of Eu-\\nropean society from the introduction of the renaissance\\nschools of building, in turning away the eyes of the be-\\nholder from natural beauty, and reducing the workman\\nto the level of a machine. In the Gothic times, writing,\\npainting, carving, casting it mattered not what were\\nall works done by thoughtful and happy men and the\\nillumination of the volume, and the carving and casting\\nof wall and gate, employed, not thousands, but millions,\\nof true and noble artists over all Christian lands. Men\\nin the same position are now left utterly without intel-\\nlectual power or pursuit, and, being unhappy in their\\nwork, they rebel against it; hence one of the worst\\nforms of Unchristian Socialiism, Lertares on Archl-\\ntectto e, p. 7().\\n[Ruskin s first work on Architecture tlie Seven\\nLamps, is so immature and flat in style (as he says him-\\nself in the preface to edition of 1 S8()\u00e2\u0080\u0094 being overlaid with\\ngilding, and overshot too splashiiy and cascade-fashion\\nwith gushmg of words and so entirely devoid of the\\nbrilliant and epigrammatic paragraphs that make the in-\\nterest of his later works, tliat it seems best to give a brief\\nsummary of the noteworthy portions of its contents\\nratiier than quote from it at length. In regard to the\\ntitle Prof. Ruskin states, in one of his prefaces, that he\\nhas always had a suspicion of the number seven for\\nwhen he wrote his Seven Lamps he had great difliculty\\nin preventing them from becoming eight or nine on his\\nhands. By the word lamp he is understood to mean", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "164 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntlie inner spirit, or principle, whieli both inspired and is\\nembodied in various works of architecture. The Lain[)\\nof 8acrih(!e, tlie Lamp of Truth, of Beauty, Power, Lite,\\nMemory, Obedience under these lieadings are grouped\\nhis thoughts. Ornament, he says, cannot be overcliarged,\\nif it be good and m its place. All beautiful designs are\\ntaken from n ttuivil objects. Power in architecture is ob-\\ntaine d bj^ increase of magnituile in a building sublimity\\nis attained l)y mass, deep glooms and shadows, and vast\\nareas of towering wall-surface on whicii the sunshine\\nmay sleep in noble strength. Don t place the decorations\\nof a temple on a shop-front in a place where rest is for-\\nbidden, so is beauty. Do not forge golden ploughshares,\\nbind ledgers with cnaniei, nor ihrash witli sculptured\\nflails. It is proper that railroad stations si lould be built\\nin a severe and simple style, because the people wliojiass\\nthrough them have no time for the contemplation of\\nelaborate and beautiful sculptures. It is a la\\\\\\\\ of architect-\\nural proportion that one large or principal object shall be\\nharmonized with a number of smaller or inferior ones\\nthe pinnacles of a cathedral are eini)loyed chiefly to fur-\\nnisli the third term to the spire anti tower.\\nNo one may dare to toucli sculpture witli color unless\\nhe be a Tintoret or Giorgione. The lovely and mellow\\ntones of the natural stones are preferable to color laid on\\nby an inferior hand. Color in nature is arranged on an\\nentirely separate system from form, or anatomy the\\nspots of tlie leopard, tlie stripes of the zebra, or tlie\\nplumage of a bird are independent of the muscular lines\\nof their bodies. So in architecture, color must be visibly\\nindependent of form a column should never be painted\\nwith vertical lines, but crosswise\\nThe life of good architecture consists in its freedom\\nfrom a distressing mechanical regularity or symmetry\\nthe old master-architects purposely broke up llie regu-\\nlarity of their arches and columns by deft adjustments\\nto the irregularities of the walls and otlicr architectural\\nmasses.\\nIn vital carving, a masculine toucli is often shown by\\nrough handling all carving is good v hi -h is (\\\\oni} with\\nenjoyment and zest all carving bad v.liich is done as\\nan enforced task.\\nTo this summary of tlie Seven Lamps may be added\\na few words from the preface to the 1^73 edition of tlie\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Stones of Venice No book of mine, says Prof.\\nRuskin, lias had so niucli inlluence on art as the\\nStones of Venice; but this influence lias been pos-\\nsessed only by tiie third pnrt of it. the ivip.aining two-\\nthirds having been resolutely ignored by tlie British\\npublic. And. as a physician would in most cases ratlier\\nhear that his patieiit luul thrown all of his medicine out\\nof the window, than that he had sent word to his apothe-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "ARCHITECTURE. 165\\ncary to leave out two of its three ingredients, so I would\\nrather, for ray own part, that no architects had ever con-\\ndescended to adopt one of the views suggested iii this\\nbook, than that any slioukl have made the partial use of\\nit which has mottled our manufactory chimneys with\\nblack and red brick, dignified oiu- banks and drapers\\nshops with Venetian tracery, and pinched our parish\\nchurches into dark and slipjx ry arrangements for the\\nadvertisement of cheap colored glass and pantiles.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "166 A liUSKJN ANTHOLOGY.\\nSECTION IV.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SCULPTURE.\\nCurlyle s general symbol of the best attainments of\\nnorthern religious sculpture three whale-cubs com-\\nbined by boiling. Pleasures of l^ngland, p. 9.\\nNo great sculptor, from the beginning of art to the\\nend of it, has ever carved, or ever will, a deceptive\\ndrapery. He has neither time nor will to do it. His\\nmason s lad may do that if he likes. A man who can\\ncarve a limb or a face never finishes inferior parts, but\\neither with a hasty and scornful chisel, or with such grave\\nand strict selection of their lines as you know at once\\nto be imaginative, not imitative. Mornitjgs in Flor-\\nence, p. 17.\\nFrom the Elgin marbles down to the lightest tendril\\nthat curls round a capital in the thirteenth century,\\nevery piece of stone that has been touched by the hand\\nof a master, becomes soft with under-life, not resem-\\nbling nature merely in skin-texture, nor in fibres of\\nleaf, or veins of flesh but in the broad, tender, un-\\nspeakably subtle undulation of its organic form. Lect-\\nures on Art, p. 114.\\nThe sculpture on your friend s house unites in effect\\nwith that on your own. The two houses form one\\ngrand mass far grander than either separately much\\nmore if a third be added and a fourth much more if\\nthe whole street if the whole city join in the solem:i\\nharmony of sculpture. Your separate possessions of\\npictures and prints are to you as if yon sang pieces of\\nmusic with your single voices in your own houses. But\\nyour architecture would be as if you all sang together in\\none mjghty choir. T^ectures on Architecture, p. 55.\\nPortrait Sculpture Third-rate Work. Portrait\\nsculpture, which is nothing more, is always third-rate", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 16T\\nwork, even when produced by men of geniu:;; nor\\ndoes it in the least require men of genius to pro-\\nduce it. To paint a portrait, indeed, implies the very\\nhighest gifts of painting but any man, of ordinary\\np;(tience and artistic feeling, can carve a satisfactory\\ninist Arati a Pentelici, p. 41.\\nThe Choir of the Cathedral of Amiens. Wood-\\ncarving was the Pieard s joy from his youth up, and, so\\nfar as I know, there is nothing else so beautiful cut out\\nof the goodly trees of the world.\\nSweet and young-grained wood it is oak, trained\\nand chosen for such work, sound now as four hundred\\nyears since. Under the carver s hand it seems to cut\\nlike clay, to fold like silk, to grow like living branches,\\nto leap like living flame. Canopy crowning canopy, pin-\\nnacle piercing j^innacle it shoots and wreaths itself\\ninto an enchanted glade, inextricable, imperishable,\\nfuller of leafage than any forest, and fuller of story\\nthan any book. Bible of Amiens, p. 93.\\nThe two great Schools of Sculpture. The con-\\nditions necessary for the production of a perfect school\\nof sculpture have only twice been met in the history of\\nthe world, and then for a short time nor for short\\ntime only, but also in narrow districts, namely, in the\\nvalleys and islands of Ionian Greece, and in the strip of\\nland deposited by the Arno, between the Apennine\\ncrests and the sea.\\nAll other schools, except these two, led severally by\\nAthens in the fifth century before Christ, and by Flor-\\nence in the fifteenth of our own era, are imperfect and\\nthe best of them are derivative these two are consum-\\nmate in themselves, and the origin of what is best in\\nothers. And so narrow is the excellence even of\\nthese two exclusive schools, that it cannot be said of\\neither of them that they represented the entire human\\nform. The Greeks perfectly drew, and perfectly\\nmoulded the body and limbs but there is, so far as I\\nam aware, no instance of their representing the face as\\nwell as any great Italian. On the other hand, the\\nItalian painted and carved the face insuperably but I\\nbelieve there is no instance of his having perfectly rep-\\nresented the body, which, by command of his religion, it", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "108 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbecame his pride to despise, and his safety to mortify.\\nAratru PcitteUci, pp. 117, 118.\\nNiccoLA PisANo s PuLPiT. Behold between the\\ncapitals of the pillars and the sculptured tablets there\\nare interposed live cusped arches, the hollow beneath\\nthe pulpit showing dark through their foils. You have\\nseen such eusped arches before, you think\\nYes, gentlemen, you have but the Pisans had not\\nAnd that intermediate layer of the pulpit means the\\nchange, in a word, foi all Europe, from the Parthenon\\nto Amiens Cathedral. For Italy it means the rise of\\nher Gothic dynasty it means the duomo of Milan in-\\nstead of the temple of Paestum. Yal I/Arno,\\np. 14.\\nSculpture and the Drama. Of the two mimetic\\narts, [sculpture and the drama] the drama being more\\npassionate, and involving conditions of greater excite-\\nment and luxury, is usually in its excellence the sign of\\nculminating strength in the people while a fine sculpt-\\nure, requiring always submission to severe law, is an\\nunfailing proof of their being in early and active pro-\\ngress. There is no instance of fine sculpture being\\nproduced by a nation either torpid, weak, or in de-\\ncadence. Their drama may gain in grace and wit\\nbut their sculpture, in days of decline, is cdirays base.\\nAratra Podelici, p. 28.\\nThe Apollo BELvinEUE. Thefallof Greece was in-\\nstant when her gods again became fables. The Apollo\\nBelvidere is the work of a sculptor to whom Apollon-\\nism is merely an elegant idea on which to exhibit his\\nown skill. He does not himself feel for an instant that\\nthe handsome man in the unintelligible attitude, with\\ndrapery hung over his left arm, as it would be hung to\\ndry over a clothes-line, is the Power of the Sun.\\nAriadne, p. 92,\\nNothing but Life must de sculptured.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 All de-\\nlight in mere incidental beauty, which painting often\\ntriumphs in, is wholly forbidden to sculpture; for in-\\nstance, in painting tlie branch of a tree, you may\\nrightly represent and enjoy the lichens and moss on it,\\nbut a sculptor must not touch one of them they are\\ninessential to the tree s life he must give the flow and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 169\\nbending of the branch only, else he does not enough see\\nPallas in it.\\nOr to take a higher instance, here is an exquisite\\nlittle painted poem, by Edward Frere; a cottage in-\\nterior, one of the thousands which within the last two\\nmonths have been laid desolate in unhappy France.\\nEvery accessory in the painting is of value the fire-\\nside, the tiled floor, the vegetables lying upon it, and\\nthe basket hanging from the roof. But not one of\\nthese accessories would have been admissible in sculpt-\\nure. You must carve nothing but what has life.\\nWhy 1 you probably feel instantly inchned to ask\\nme.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You see the principle we have got, instead of being\\nblunt or useless, is such an edged tool that you are\\nstartled the moment I apply it. Must we refuse\\nevery pleasant accessory and picturesque detail, and\\npetrify nothing but living creatures 1 Even so I\\nwould not assert it on my own authority. It is the\\nGreeks who say it, but whatever they say o^f^sculpture,\\nbe assured, is true.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^4r\u00c2\u00ab^m Pentelici, p. 73.\\nSculpture in its Relation to the Life of the\\nWorkman.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Understand this clearly. You can teach\\na man to draw a straight line, and to cut one to strike\\na curved line, and to carve it and to copy and carve\\nany number of given lines or forms, with admirable\\nspeed and perfect precision and you find his work per-\\nfect of its kind but if you ask him to think about any\\nof those forms, to consider if he cannot find any better\\nin his own head, he stops his execution becomes hesi-\\nlatin he thinks, and ten to one he thinks wrong ten\\nto oife he makes a mistake in the first touch he gives to\\nhis work as a thinking being. But you have made a\\nman of him for all that. He was only a machine before,\\n^n animated tool. .i j i\\nGo forth again to gaze upon the old cathedral tront,\\nwhere you have smiled so often at the fantastic igno-\\nrance of the old sculptors: examine once more those\\ndcrly goblins, and formless monsters, and stern statues,\\n/matomiless and rigid but do not mock at them, for\\nthey are signs of the life and liberty of every workman\\nwho struck the stone a freedom of thought, and rank\\nin scale of being, such as no laws, no charters, no char-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "1 70 AH USKIN A NTHOL OGY.\\nities can secure but which it must be the first aim of\\nall Europe at this day to regain for her children.\\nStones of Venice, II., pp. 162, 163,\\nThe Duomo of Pisa and the Crystal Palace.\\nIn the vault of the apse of the Duomo of Pisa, was a\\ncolossal image of Christ, in colored mosaic, bearing to\\nthe temple, as nearly as possible, the relation which the\\nstatue of Athena bore to the Parthenon; and in the\\nsame manner, concentrating the imagination of the\\nPisan on the attributes of the God in whom he be-\\nlieved.\\nIn precisely the same position with respect to the\\nnave of the building, but of larger size, as proportioned\\nto the three or four times greater scale of the whole, a\\ncolossal piece of sculpture was placed by English de-\\nsigners, at the extremity of the Crystal Palace, in pre-\\nparation for their solemnities in honor of the birthday\\nof Christ, in December, 1867 or 1868.\\nThat piece of sculpture was the face of the clown in\\na pantomime, some twelve feet high from brow to chin,\\nwhich face, being moved by the mechanism which is\\nour pride, every half minute opened its mouth from ear\\nto ear, showed its teeth, and revolved its eyes, the\\nforce of these periodical seasons of expression being in-\\ncreased and explained by the illuminated inscription\\nunderneath Here we are again.\\nWhen it is assumed, and with too good reason, that the\\nmind of the English populace is to be addressed, in the\\nprincipal Sacred Festival of its year, by sculpture such as\\nthis, I need scarcely point out to you that the hope is\\nabsolutely futile of advancing their intelligence by col-\\nlecting within this building, (itself devoid absolutely of\\nevery kind of art, and so vilely constructed that those\\nwho traverse it are continually in danger of falling over\\nthe cross-bars that bind it together) examples of sculpt-\\nure filched indiscriminately from the past work, bad\\nand good, of Turks, Greeks, Romans, Moors, and Chris-\\ntians, miscolored, misplaced, and misinterpreted here\\nthrust into unseemly corners, and there mortised to-\\ngether into mere confusion of heterogeneous obstacle\\npronouncing itself hourly more intolerable in weariness,\\nmitil any kind of relief is sought from it in steam", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 171\\nwheelbarrows or cheap toysliops and most of all in\\nbeer and meat, the corks and the bones being dropped\\nthrough the chinks in the damp deal flooring of the Eng-\\nlish Fairy Palace. Aratra Pentelici, p. 40.\\nTerra Cotta Work. You must put no work into\\nit requiring niceness in dimension, nor any so elaborate\\nthat it would be a great loss if it were broken, but as\\nclay yields at once to the hand, and the sculptor can do\\nanything with it he likes, it is a material for him to\\nsketch with and play with to record his fancies in,\\nbefore they escape him and to express roughly, for\\npeople who can enjoy such sketches, what he has not\\ntime to complete in marble. The clay, being ductile,\\nlends itself to all softness of line being easily frangi-\\nble, it would be ridiculous to give it sharp edges, so\\nthat a blunt and massive rendering of graceful gesture\\nwill be its natural function but as it can be pinched,\\nor pulled, or thrust in a moment into projection which\\nit would take hours of chiselling to get in stone, it will\\nalso properly be used for all fantastic and grotesque\\nform, not involving sharp edges. Therefore, what is\\ntrue of chalk and charcoal, for painters, is equally true\\nof clay, for sculptors they are all most precious mate-\\nrials for true masters, but tempt the false ones into fatal\\nlicense and to judge I ightly of terra cotta work is a\\nfar higher reach of skill in sculpture-criticism than to\\ndistinguish the merits of a finished statue. Aratra\\nPentelici, p. 100.\\nThe Tombs of the Doges Tomaso Mocenigo and\\nAndrea Vendramin in Venice. Like all the lovely\\ntombs of Venice and Verona, it is a sarcophagus with a\\nrecumbent figure above, and this figure is a faithful but\\ntender portrait, wrought as far as it can be without\\npainfulness, of the doge as he lay in death. He wears\\nhis ducal robe and bonnet his head is laid slightly\\naside upon his pillow his hands are simply crossed as\\nthey fall. The face is emaciated, the features large,\\nbut so pure and lordly in their natural chiselling, that\\nthey must have looked like marble even in their anima-\\ntion. They are deeply worn away by thought and\\ndeath; the veins on the temples branched and starting;\\nthe skin gathered in sharp folds the brow high-arched", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "172 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nand shaggy the eye-ball magnificently large the curve\\nof the lips just veiled by the light moustache at the\\nside the beard short, double, and sharp-pointed all\\nnoble and quiet the vi^hite sepulchral dust marking like\\nlight the stern angles of the cheek and brow.\\nIn the choir of the same church, St. Giov. and Paolo,\\nis another tomb, that of the Doge Andrea Vendramin.\\nThis doge died in 1748, after a short reign of two\\nyears, the most disastrous in the annals of Venice. He\\ndied of a pestilence which followed the ravage of the\\nTurks, carried to the shores of the lagoons. He died,\\nleaving Venice disgraced by sea and land, with the\\nsmoke of hostile devastation rising in the blue distances\\nof Friuli and there was raised to him the most costly\\ntomb ever bestowed on her monarchs.\\nThe tomb is pronounced by Ciogndra the very cul-\\nminating point to which the Venetian arts attained by\\nministry of the chisel.\\nTo this culminating point, therefore, covered with\\ndust and cobwebs, I attained, as I did to every tomb of\\nimportance in Venice, by the ministry of such ancient\\nladders as were to be found in the sacristan s keeping.\\nI was struck at first by the excessive awkwardness and\\nwant of feeling in the fall of the hand towards the spec-\\ntator, for it is thrown off the middle of the body in\\norder to show its fine cutting. Now the Mocenigo\\nhand, severe and even stiff in its articulations, has its\\nveins finely drawn, its sculptor having justly felt that\\nthe delicacy of the veining expresses alike dignity and\\nage and birth. The Vendramin hand is far more labori-\\nously cut, but its blunt and clumsy contour at once\\nmakes us feel that all the care has been thrown away, and\\nwell it may be, for it has been entirely bestowed in cut-\\nting gouty wrinkles about the joints. Such as the hand\\nis, I looked for its fellow. At first I thought it had\\nbeen broken off, but, on clearing away the dust, I saw\\nthe wretched effigy had only 07ie hand, and was a mere\\nblock on the inner side. The face, heavy and disagree-\\nable in its features, is made monstrous by its semi-\\nficulpture. One side of the forehead is wrinkled elabo-\\nrately, the other left smooth; one side only of the\\ndoge s cap is chased; one cheek only is finished, and\\nthe other blocked out and distorted besides finally, the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 173\\normine robe, which is elaborately imitated to its utmost\\nlock of hair and of ground hair on the one side, is\\nblocked out only on the other it having been supposed\\nthroughout the work that the effigy was only to be\\nseen from below, and from one side.\\nIt was indeed to be so seen by nearly every one and I\\ndo not blame I should, on the contrary, have praised\\nthe sculptor for regulating his treatment of it by its\\nposition; if that treatment had not involved, first, dis-\\nhonesty, in giving only half a face, a monstrous mask,\\nwhen we demanded true portraiture of the dead and,\\nsecondly, such utter coldness of feeling, as could only\\nconsist with an extreme of intellectual and moral degra-\\ndation. Who, with a heart in his breast, could have\\nstayed his hand as he drew the dim lines of the old\\nman s countenance unmajestic once, indeed, but at\\nleast sanctified by the solemnities of death could have\\nstayed his hand, as he reached the bend of the grey\\nforehead, and measured out the last veins of it at so\\nmuch the zecchin\\nBut now, reader, comes the very gist and point of\\nthe whole matter. This lying monument to a dishon-\\nored doge, this culminating pride of the Renaissance art\\nof Venice, is at least veracious, if in nothing else, in its\\ntestimony to the character of its sculptor. lie was\\nbanished from Venice for forgery in 1187.\\nStones of Venice, I., pp. 39-43.\\nSt. Mark s. A sea-borne vase of alabaster full of\\nincense of prayers and a purple manuscript floor,\\nwalls, and roof blazoned with the scrolls of the gospel.\\nDeucalion, p. 84.\\nA multitude of pillars and white domes, clustered in\\nto a long low pyramid of colored light a treasure-heap,\\nit seems, partly of gold, and partly of pal and mother-\\nof-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great vaulted\\nporches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with sculpt-\\nure of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as ivory,\\nsculpture fantastic and involved, of palm-leaves and\\nlilies, and grapes and pomegnxnates, and birds clinging\\nand fluttering among the branches, all twined together\\nin an endless network of buds and plumes; and, in the\\nmidst of it, the solemn forms of angels, sceptred, and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "174 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nrobed to the feet, and leaning to each other across the\\ngates, their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the\\ngolden ground through the leaves beside them, inter-\\nrupted and dim, like the morning light as it faded back\\namong the branches of Eden, when first its gates were\\nangel-guarded long ago. And round the walls of the\\nporches tliei e are set pillars of variegated stones, jas-\\nper and porphyry, and deep-green serpentine spotted\\nv/ith flakes of snow, and marbles, that iialf refuse and\\nhalf yield to the sunshine, Cieopatra-like, their bluest\\nveins to kiss the shadow, as it steals back from them,\\nrevealing line after line of azure undulation, as a reced-\\ning tide leaves the waved sand their capitals rich with\\ninterwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, and drifting\\nleaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all be-\\nginning and ending in the Cross and above them, in\\nthe broad archivolts, a continuous chain of language\\nand of life angels, and the signs of heaven, and the\\nlabors of men, each in its appointed season upon the\\nearth and above these, another range of glittering pin-\\nnacles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet\\nflowers a confusion of delight, amidst which the\\nbreasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their\\nbreadth of golden strength, and the St. Mark s Lion,\\nlifted on a blue-field covered with stars, until at last, as\\nif in ecstasy, the crests of the arches break into a mar-\\nble foam, and toss themselves far into the blue sky in\\nflashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if the break-\\ners on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they\\nfell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and\\namethyst.\\nThe interior is lost in deep twilight, to which the\\neye must be accustomed for some moments before\\nthe form of the building can be traced and then there\\nopens before us a vast cave, hewn out into the form of a\\nCross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars.\\nRound the domes of its roof the light enters only\\nthrough narrow apertures like large stars; and here\\nand there a ray or two from some far away casement\\nwanders into the darkness, and casts a narrow phos-\\nphoric stream upon the waves of marble that heave and\\nfall in a thousand colors along the floor. What else\\nthere is of light is from torches, or silver lamps, burn-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 175\\ning eoasolossly in the recesses of the chapels the roof\\nslieeted with gold, and the polished walls covered with\\nalabaster, give back at every curve and angle some fee-\\nble gleaming to the flames and the glories round the\\nheads of the sculptured saints flash out upon us as we\\npass them, and sink again into the gloom. Under foot\\nand over head, a continual succession of crowded im-\\nagery, one picture passing into another, as in a dream\\nforms beautiful and terrible mixed together dragons\\nand serpents, and ravening beasts of prey, and graceful\\nbirds that in the midst of them drink from running\\nfountains and f ^ed fr om vases of crystal the passions\\nand pleasures of human life symbolized together, and\\nthe mystery of its redemption for the mazes of inter-\\nwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at last\\nto the Cross, lifted and carved in every place and upon\\nevery stone.\\nThe very first requisite for true judgment of St.\\nMark s, is the perfection of that color-faculty which\\nfew people ever set themselves seriously to find out,\\nwhether they possess or not. For it is on its value\\nas a piece of perfect and unchangeable coloring, that\\nthe claims of this edifice to our respect are finally\\nrested and a deaf man might as well pretend to pro-\\nnounce judgment on the merits of a full orchestra, as\\nan architect trained in the composition of form only, to\\ndiscern the beauty of St. Mark s. While the\\nburghers and barons of the North were building their\\ndark streets and grisly castles of oak and sandstone, the\\nmerchants of Venice were covering their palaces with\\nporphyry and gold and at last, when her mighty paint-\\ners had created for her a color more priceless than gold\\nor porphyry, even this, the richest of her treasures, she\\nlavished upon walls whose foundations were beaten by\\nthe sea and the strong fide, as it runs beneath the\\nRialto, is reddened to this day by the reflection of the\\nfrescoes of Giorgione.\\nThe whole edifice is to be regarded less as a temple\\nwherein to pray, than as itself a Book of Common\\nPrayer, a vast illuminated missal, bound with alabaster\\ninstead of parchment, studded with porphyry pillars in-\\nstead of jewels, and written within and without in\\nletters of enamel and gold.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "1T6 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nIt would be easier to illustrate a crest of Scottish\\nmountain, with its purple heather and pale harebells at\\ntheir fullest and fairest, or a glade of Jura forest, with\\nits floor of anemone and moss, than a single portico of\\nSt. Uark s.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of Venice, II., pp. 70-98.\\nIt seems to me that the English visitor never realizes\\nthoroughly what it is that he looks at in the St. Mark s\\nporches: its glittering confusion in a style unexampled,\\nits bright colors, its mingled marbles, produce on him\\nno real impression of age, and its diminutive size\\nsciircely any of grandeur. It looks to him almost like\\na stage-scene, got up solidly for some sudden festa. No\\nmere guide-book s passing assertion of date this cen-\\ntury or the other can in the least make him even con-\\nceive, and far less feel, that he is actually standing be-\\nfore the very shafts and stones that were set on their\\nfoundations here while Harold the Saxon stood by the\\ngrave of the Confessor under the fresh-raised vaults of\\nthe first Norman Westminster Abbey, of which now a\\nsingle arch only remains standing. He cannot, by any\\neffort, imagine that those exquisite and lace-like sculpt-\\nures of twined acanthus every leaf-edge as sharp\\nand fine as if they were green weeds fresh springing in\\nthe dew, by the Pan-droseion were, indeed, cut and\\nfinished to their perfect grace while the Norman axes\\nwere hewing out rough zigzags and dentils round the\\naisles of Durham and Lindisfarne. Beyond all\\nmeasure of value as a treasury of art, it is also, beyond\\nall our other volumes, venerable as a codex of religion.\\nJust as the white foliage and birds on their golden\\nground are descendants, in direct line, from the ivory\\nand gold of Phidias, so the Greek pictures and inscrip-\\ntions, whether in mosaic or in sculpture, throughout\\nthe building, record the unbroken unity of spiritual in-\\nfluence from the Father of Light or the races whose\\nown poets had said We also are his offspring down\\nto the day when all their gods, not slain, but changed into\\nnew creatures, became the types to them of the mightier\\nChristian spirits; and Perseus became St. George, and\\nMars St. Michael, and Athena the Madonna, and Zeus\\ntheir revealed Father in Heaven.\\nIn all the history of human mind, there is nothing so", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "SCULPTURE. 177\\nwonderful, nothing so eventful, as this spiritual change.\\nSo inextricably is it interwoven with the most divine,\\nthe most distant threads of human thought and effort,\\nthat v. hile none of the thoughts of St. Paul or the vis-\\nions of St. John can be understood without our under-\\nstanding first the imagery familiar to the Pagan wor-\\nship of the Greeks on the other hand, no understand-\\ning of the real purport of Greek religion can be securely\\nreached without watching the translation of its myths\\ninto the message of Christianity. Arroics of the\\nChace, I., pp. 158, 159.\\nThroughout the whole fagade of St. Mark s, the capi-\\ntals have only here and there by casualty lost so much\\nas a volute or an ancanthus leaf, and whatever remains\\nis perfect as on the day it was set in its place, mel-\\nlowed and subdued only in color by time, but white\\nstill, clearly white and gray, still softly gray its\\nporphyry purple as an Orleans plum, and the serpentine\\nas green as a greengage. Note alf-o, that in this through-\\nout perfect decorated surface there is not a loose joint.\\nArrows of the Chace, II., p. 163.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "PART II.\\nSOCIAL PHILOSOPHY.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "Some treasures are heavy with human tears, as an ill\\nstored harvest ivith untimely rain.\\nRusKiN, Unto This Last, p. 39.\\nUnless opinions favorable to democracy and to aristoc-\\nracy, to property and to equality, to cooperation and to\\ncompetition, to luxury and to abstenence, to sociality and\\nto individuality, to liberty and discipline, and all the\\nother standing antagonisms of practical life, are expressed\\nwith equal freedom, and enforced and defended toith equal\\ntalent and energy, there is no chalice of both elements ob-\\ntaining their due.\\nJohn Stoart Mill.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nPART II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY.\\nCHAPTER I.\\nEcois^oMic Canons.\\nPolitical Economy is not itself a science, but a\\nsystem of conduct founded on the sciences, and\\nimpossible, except under certain conditions of moral\\nculture. Which is only to say, that industry,\\nfrugality, and discretion, the three foundations of\\neconomy, are moral qualities, and cannot be at-\\ntained without moral discipline: a flat truism, the\\nreader may think, thus stated, yet a truism which\\nis denied both vociferously, and in all endeavor, by\\nthe entire populace of Europe who are at present\\nhoi: eful of obtaining wealth by tricks of trade, with-\\nout industry.\\nThe study which lately in England has been called\\nPolitical Economy is in reality nothing more than\\nthe investigation of some accidental phenomena of\\nmodern commercial operations, nor has it been\\ntrue in its investigation even of these. Mimera\\nFiilveris, p. 11, 19.\\nAmong the delusions which at different periods\\nhave possessed themselves of the minds of large\\nmasses of the human race, perhaps the most curious\\ncertainly the least creditable is the modern soi-\\ndisant science of political economy, based on the\\nidea that an advantageous code of social action naay\\nbe determined irrespectively of the influence of\\nsocial affection.\\nObserve, I neither impugn nor doubt the conclu-\\n(181)", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "182 A liUSKIJSr ANTHOLOGY.\\nsions of the science, if its terms are accepted. I aiu\\nsimjily uninterested in them, as I should be in tliose\\nof a science of gymnastics which assumed that men\\nhad no skeletons. It might be shown, on that\\nsupposition, that it would be advantageous to roll\\nthe students up into pellets, flatten them into cakes,\\nor stretch them into cables and that when these\\nresults were effected, the re-insertion of the skeleton\\nwould be attended with various inconveniences to\\ntheir constitution. The reasoning might be admir-\\nable, the conclusions true, and the science deficient\\nonly in aiJijlicability. Modern political economy\\nstands on a precisely similar basis. Assuming, not\\nthat the human being has no skeleton, but that it\\nis all skeleton, it founds an ossifiant theory of j^ro-\\ngress on this negation of a soul and having shown\\nthe utmost that may be made of bones, and con-\\nstructed a number of interesting geometrical figures\\nwith death s-heads and humeri, successfully proves\\nthe inconvenience of the reappearance of a soul\\namong these corpuscular structures. I do not deny\\nthe truth of this the\u00c2\u00bbory I simply deny its applica-\\nbility to the present phase of the world. U7ito This\\nLast, p. 14.\\nThe real science of political economy, which has\\nyet to be distinguished from the bastard science, as\\nmedicine from witchcraft, and astronomy from as-\\ntrology, is that which teaches nations to desire and\\nlabor for the things that lead to life and which\\nteaches them to scorn and destroy the things that\\nlead to destruction. Unto This Last, p. 66.\\nPolitical economy (the economy of a State, or of\\ncitizens) consists simply in the production, preserva-\\ntion, and distribution, at fittest time and place, of\\nuseful or pleasurable things. The farmer who cuts\\nhis hay at the right time the shipwright who\\ndrives his bolts well home in sound wood the\\nbuilder who lays good bricks in well-tempered mor-\\ntar the housewife who takes care of her furniture\\nin the parlor, and guards against all waste in her\\nkitchen and the singer who rightly disciplines, and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY. 183\\nnever overstrains her voice are all political econo-\\nmists in the true and final sense adding continu-\\nally to the riches and well-being of the nation to\\nwhich they belong.\\nBut mercantile economy, the economy of jnerces\\nor of pay, signifies the accunn;lation, in the\\nhands of individuals, of legal or moral claim upon,\\nor power over, the labor of others every such\\nclaim implying precisely as much poverty or debt\\non one side, as it implies riches or right on the other.\\nIt does not, therefore, necessarily involve an addi-\\ntion to the actual property, or well-being, of the\\nState in which it exMs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Unto Tliis Last, p. 33.\\nThe Production of Good Mex axd Women\\nTHE OB.JECT OB^ True ECONOMY.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This is the ob-\\nject of all true policy and true economy utmost\\nmultitude of good men on every given space of\\nground impei-atively always, good, sound, honest\\nmen, not a mob of white-faced thieves. Athena,\\np.Ul.\\nA little group of wise hearts is better than a wil-\\nderness full of fools.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 CrotWi of Wild Olive, Lect.\\nIII., p. 83.\\nIt is strange that men always praise enthusiasti-\\ncally any person who, by a momentary exertion,\\nsaves a life but praise very hesitatingly a person\\nwho, by exertion and self-denial prolonged through\\nyears, creates one. We give the crown ob civem\\nservatum Avhy not ob civem natum Born,\\nI mean, to the full, in sovil as well as body. Eng-\\nland has oak enough, I think, for both chaplets.\\nUnto This Last, p. 77.\\nThe Function of Labor in National Life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIt is physically impossible that true religious knowl-\\nedge, or pure morality, should exist among any\\nclasses of a nation who do not Avork with their\\nhands for their bread.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^o?-.S III., p. 349.\\nA Money-Making Mob.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A nation cannot last as\\na money-making mob it cann t with impunity,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nit cannot with existence.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 goon despising literature.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "184 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndespising science, despising art, despising nature,\\ndespising compassion, and concentrating its soul on\\nPence. Sesame and Lilies, p. 54.\\nVitality and Decay in Nations. The customs\\nand manners of a sensitive and highly-trained\\nrace are always Vital that is to say, they are or-\\nderly manifestations of intense life, like the habitual\\naction of the fingers of a musician. The customs\\nand manners of a vile and rude race, on the con-\\ntrary, are conditions of decay they are not, prop-\\nerly speaking, habits, but incrustations not re-\\nstraints, or forms of life but gangrenes, noisome,\\nand the beginnings of death. Munera Pulderis,\\np. 1)0.\\nAn Honest Man is the Noblest Work of\\nGod. I have sometimes heard Pope condemned for\\nthe lowness, instead of the height of his standard\\nHonesty is indeed a respectable virtue but how\\nmuch higher may uien attain Shall nothing more\\nbe asked of us than that we be honest?\\nFor the present, good friends, nothing. It seems\\nthat in our aspirations to be more than that, we\\nhave to some extent lost sight of the propriety of be-\\ning so much as that. Unto This Last, p. 7.\\nWhenever in my writings on Political Economy, I\\nassume that a little honesty or generosity, or what\\nused to be called virtue may be calculated up-\\non as a human motive of action, people always\\nanswer me, saying, You must not calculate on\\nthat: that is not in human nature: you must not\\nassume anything to be common to men but acquisi-\\ntiveness and jealousy no other feeling ever has\\ninfluence on them, except accidentally, and in mat-\\nters out of the way of business. Sesame and\\nLilies, p. 30.\\nFight Avill you and pull other people s houses\\ndown while I am to be set to build your liarracks,\\nthat you may go smoking and spitting about all\\nday, with a cock s conjb on your head, and spurs to\\nyour heels? (1 observe, by the Avay, the Italian", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rniLOSOPHY. 185\\nsoldiers have now got cocks tai/s on their heads,\\ninstead of cocks com1 s.) Lay down the law to me\\nin a wi|?,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 will you? and tell nie the house I have\\nbuilt is XOT niineV and take luy dinner from\\nme, as a fee for that opinion Build, my man,\\nbuild, or dig, one of the two and then eat your\\nhonestly earned meat, thankfully, and let other\\npeople alone, if you can t telp them.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ or.^, II.,\\np. 300.\\nDKFixiTloy OP Currency. The currency of any\\ncountrj^ consists of every document acknowledging\\ndebt, which is transferable in the countr}\\\\ Munera\\nPalmris, p. 59.\\niNFLATlOJf OF C URREXCY.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Government may\\nat any time, with i^erfect justice, double Its issue of\\ncoinage, if it gives every man who had ten pounds\\nin his pocket, another ten jjounds, and every man\\nwho had ten pence, another ten i)ence for it thus\\ndoes not make any of them richer it merely di-\\nvides their counters for them into twice the number.\\nBut if it gives the newly-issued coins to other people,\\nor keeps them itself, it simply robs the former hold-\\ners to jjreeisely that extent. AtJiena, p. 93.\\nIf ten men are cast away on a rock, with a thou-\\nsand pounds in their pockets, and there is on the\\nrock neither food nor shelter, their money is worth\\nsimply nothing for nothing is to be had for it if\\nthey build ten huts, and recover a cask of biscuit\\nfrom the wreck, then their thousand pounds, at its\\nmaximum value, is Avorth ten huts and a cask of\\nbiscuit. If they make their thousand pounds into\\ntwo thousand by writing new notes, their two thou-\\nsand pounds are still only Avortli ten huts and a\\ncask of hiseuit.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Athe7ia, p. 91.\\nThe lowered value of money is often (and this is a\\nvery curious case of economical back current) indi-\\nCcited, not so much by a rise in the price of goods, as\\nby a fall in that of labor. The household lives as\\ncomfortably as it did on a hundred a year, but the\\nmaster has to work half as hard again to get it.\\nThis increase of toil is to an active nation often a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "iS(j A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nkind of phiy men go into it as into a violent game\\nfatliers of families die quicker, and the gates of or-\\nphan asylums are choked with applicants distress\\nand crime spread and fester through a thousand\\nsilent channels but there is no commercial or ele-\\nmentary convulsion no chasm opens into the abyss\\nthrough the London clay no gilded victim is asked\\nof the Guards the Stock-Exchange falls into no\\nhysterics and the old lady of Threadneedle street\\ndoes not so much as ask for My fan, Peter.\\nArrows of the Chace, II., p. 45.\\nGold Coin.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every bit of gold found in Australia,\\nso long as it remains uncoined, is an article offered\\nfor sale like any other but as soon as it is coined\\ninto pounds, it diminishes the value of every pound\\nwe have now in our pockets.\\nThe Avaste of labor in obtaining the gold, though\\nit cannot be estimated by help of any existing data,\\nmay be understood in its bearing on entire economy\\nby supposing it limited to transactions between tAvo\\npersons. If two farmers in Australia have been ex-\\nchanging corn and cattle with each other for yearr.,\\nkeei:)ing their accounts of reciprocal debt in any\\nsimple way, the sum of the possessions of either\\nwould not be diminished, though the part of it\\nwhich was lent or borroAved Avere only reckoned by\\nmarks on a stone, or notches on a tree and the\\none counted himself accordingly, so many scratches,\\nor so many notches, better than the other. But it\\nAvould soon be seriously diminished if, discoA ering\\ngold in their fields, each resoh^ed only to accept\\ngolden counters for a reckoning and accordingly,\\nwhenever he Avanted a sack of corn or a cow, Avas\\nobliged to go and wash sand for a Aveek before he\\ncould get the means of giving a receijDt for them.\\nMunera Pulveris, pp. 60, 63.\\nThe Nature of Intrinsic Value. Intrinsic\\nA alue is the absolute power of anything to support\\nlife. A sheaf of Avheat of giA en quality and Aveight\\nhas in it a measurable power of sustaining the sub-\\nstance of the body a cubic foot of pure air a fixed", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PEILOSOrffT. 187\\npower of sustaining its warmth and a cluster of\\nllowers of p:iven beauty a fixed power of enlivening\\nor animating the senses and heart. Mimera Pul-\\notris, p. 24.\\nThe economist, in saying that his science takes no\\naccount of the qualities of pictures, merely signifies\\nthat he cannot conceive of any quality of essential\\nbadness or goodness existing in i^ictures and that\\nhe is incapable of investigating the laws of wealth\\nin such articles. Which is the fact. But, being in-\\ncapable of defining intrinsic value in pictures, it\\nfollows that he must be equally helpless to define\\nthe nature of intrinsic value in painted glass, or in\\npainted pottery, or in patterned stuffs, or in any\\nother national produce requiring true huiuan in-\\ngenuity. Nay, though capable of conceiving the\\nidea of intrinsic value with respect to beasts of bur-\\nden, no economist has endeavored to state the gen-\\neral principles of National Economy, even with\\nregard to the horse or the ass. And, in fine, the\\nmodern political economists have been, without ex-\\nception, incapable of apprehending the nature of\\nintrinsic value at all-\\nWhen, in the winter of 1851, I was collecting ma-\\nterials for my work on Venetian architecture, three\\nof the pictures of Tintoret on the roof of the School\\nof St. Roch were hanging down in ragged fragments,\\nmixed with lath and plaster, round the apertures\\nmade by the fall of three Austrian heavy shot. The\\ncity of Venice was not, it appeared, rich enough to\\nrepair the damage that winter and buckets were\\nset on the floor of the upper room of the school to\\ncatch the rain, which not only fell directly through\\nthe shot holes, but found its way, owing to the gen-\\nerally pervious state of the roof, through many of\\nthe canvases of Tintoret s in other parts of the\\nceiling.\\nIt was a lesson to me, as I have just said, no less\\ndirect than severe for I knew already at that time\\n(though I have not ventured to assert, until recently\\nat Oxford,) that tlie pictures of Tintoret in Venice\\nwere accurately the most precious articles of wealth", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "188 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nill Euroije, being the best existing productions of\\nhuman industry. Now at the time that three of\\nthem were thus fluttering in moist rags from the\\nroof they had adorned, the shops of the Rue Rivoli\\nat Paris were, in obedience to a steadily-increasing\\npublic Demand, beginning to show a steadily-in-\\ncreasing Supply of elaborately-finished and colored\\n(ithograjDhs, representing the modern dances of de-\\nlight, among which the cancan has since taken a\\nilistinguished place.\\nThe labor employed on the stone of one of these\\nlithograiihs is very much more than Tintoret was in\\nthe habit of giving to a liicture of average size.\\nConsidering labor as the origin of value, therefore,\\nthe stone so highly wrought would be of greater\\nvalue than the picture and since also it is capable\\nof producing a large number of immediately salea-\\nble or exchangeable impressions, for which the\\ndemand is constant, the city of Paris naturally\\nsupposed itself, and on all hitherto believed or\\nstated principles of political economy, was, infi-\\nnitely richer in the possession of a large number of\\nthese lithographic stones, (not to speak of countless\\noil pictures and marble carvings of similar char-\\nacter), than Venice in the possession of those rags of\\nmildewed canvas, flaunting in the south Avind and\\nits salt rain. And, accordingly, Paris provided\\n(without thought of the expense) lofty arcades of\\nshops, and rich recesses of innumerable private\\napartments, for the protection of these better treas-\\nures of hers from the weather.\\nYet, all the while, Paris was not the richer for\\nthese jjossessions. Intrinsically, the delightful lith-\\nographs were not wealth, but polar contraries of\\nwealth. She was, by the exact quantity of labor\\nshe had given to jiroduce these, sunk below, instead\\nof above, absolute Poverty. They not only were\\nfalse Riches\u00e2\u0080\u0094 they were true Debt, Avhich had to be\\npaid at last\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and the present aspect of the Rue\\nRivoli shows in what manner.\\nAnd the faded stains of the Venetian ceiling, all\\nthe while, were absolute and inestimable wealth.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 189\\nUseless to their possessors as forgotten treasure in\\na buried city, they had in them, nevertheless, the\\nintrinsic and eternal nature of wealth; and Venice,\\nstill possessing the ruins of them, was a rich city;\\nonly, the Venetians had not a notion sufficiently\\ncorrect even for the very common purpose of in-\\nducing them to put slates on a roof, of what was\\nmeant hy yveei\\\\th. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Munei-a Puloeris, pp. 6-8.\\nWEALTH.\\nWealth is the possession of the valuable by\\nTHE VALIANT.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 C/wto This Last, p. 69.\\nThe study of Wealth is a pi ovince of natural\\nscience it deals with the essential properties of\\nthings.\\nThe study of Money is a province of commercial\\nscience it deals v,^ith conditions of engagement\\nand exchange.\\nThe study of Riches is a province of moral sci-\\nence it deals with the due relations of men to\\neach other in regard of material possessions: and\\nwith the just laws of their association for purjposes\\nof labor. Munera Pulveris, p. 24.\\nOne mass of money is the outcome of action which\\nhas created, another, of action which has annihi-\\nlated, ten times as much in the gathering of it;\\nsuch and such strong hands have been paralyzed,\\nas if they had been numbed by nightshade; so\\nmany strong men s courage broken, so many pro-\\nductive operations hindered; this and the other\\nfalse direction given to labor, and lying image of\\nprosperity set vip, on Dura plains dug into seven-\\ntiuies-heated furnaces. That which seems to be\\nwealth may in verity be only the gilded index of\\nfai -reaching ruin; a wrecker s handful of coin\\ngleaned from the beach to which he has beguiled\\nan argosy; a camp-follower s bundle of rags un-\\nwrapped from the breasts of goodly soldiers dead;\\nthe [)urchase-pieces of potter s fields, wherein shall", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "190 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbe buried together the citizen and the stranger.\\nUnto This Last, p. 39.\\nThere is ko WsAiiTH but Life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Life, inchiding\\nall its po Avers of love, of joy, and of admiration.\\nThat country is the richest which nourishes the\\ngreatest number of noble and happy human be-\\nings; that man is richest who, having perfected the\\nfunctions of his own life to the utmost, has also\\nthe widest helpful influence, both personal, and by\\nmeans of his possessions, over the lives of others.\\nU7ito This Last, p. 83.\\nThe True Veins of Wealth.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Since the essence\\nof wealth consists in power over men, will it not\\nfollow that the nobler and the more in number the\\npersons are over whom it has power, the greater\\nthe wealth Perhaps it may even appear after\\nsome consideration, that the persons themselves\\nare the wealth that these pieces of gold with which\\nwe are in the habit of guiding them, ai e, in fact,\\nnothing more than a kind of Byzantine harness or\\ntrappings, very glittering and beautiful in barbaric\\nsight, wherewith we bridle the creatures; but that\\nif these same living creatures could be guided with-\\nout the fretting and jingling of the Byzants in their\\nmouths and ears, they might themselves be more\\nvaluable than their bridles. In fact, it may be dis-\\ncovered that the true veins of wealth are purple^\\nand not in Rock, but in Flesh\u00e2\u0080\u0094 perhaps even that\\nthe final outcome and consummation of all wealth\\nis in the producing as many as possible full-\\nbreathed, bright-eyed, and happy-hearted human\\ncreatures. Unto This Last, p. 41.\\nWealth as Power.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Since the essence of wealth\\nconsists in its authority over men, if the apparent\\nor nominal wealth fail in this power, it fails in es-\\nsence; in fact, ceases to be wealth at all. It does\\nnot appear lately in England, that our authority\\nover men is absolute. The servants show some dis-\\nposition to rush riotously upstairs, under an im-\\npression that their wages are not regularly paid.\\nWe should augur ill of any gentleman s projjerty", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rniLO SOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. IGl\\nto whom this happened every other day in his\\ndrawing-room.\\nSo also, the power of our wealth seems limited as\\nrespects the comfort of the servants, no less than\\ntheir quietude. The persons in the kitchen appear\\nto be ill-dressed, squalid, half-starved. One cannot\\nhelp imagining that the riches of the establishment\\nmust be of a very theoretical and documentary\\ncharacter. Unto This Last, p. 41.\\nLABOR.\\nThe beginning of all good law, and nearly the\\nend of it, is in these two ordinances,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 That every\\nman shall do good work for his bread; and sec-\\nondly, That every man shall have good bread for\\nhis work. Fors, I., p. 141.\\nTo succeed to my own satisfaction in a manual\\npiece of work, is life, to me, as to all men; and it\\nis only the i^eace which comes necessarily from\\nmanual labor which in all time has kept the hon-\\nest country people patient in their task of main-\\ntaining the i-ascals who live in towns. Fors, II,,\\np. 306.\\nLabor is the contest of the life of man Avith an\\nopposite. Literally, it is the quantity of Lapse,\\nloss, or failure of human life, caused by any effort.\\nIt is usually confused with effort itself, or the appli-\\ncation of power (opera); but there is much effort\\nwhich is merely a mode of recreation, or of pleas-\\nure. The most beautiful actions of the human\\nbody, and the highest results of the human intelli-\\ngence, are conditions, or achievements, of quite un-\\nlaborious, nay, of recreative, effort. But labor\\nis the suffering in effort. It is the negative quan-\\ntity, or quantity of de-feat, which has to be counted\\nagainst every Feat, and of defect which has to be\\ncounted against every Fact, or Deed of men. In\\nbrief, it is that quantity of our toil which we die\\nin. Mtmera Fuloeris, p. 49.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "192 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThere is one fixed idea in the mind of every Euro-\\npean progressive poHtician, at this time; namely,\\nthat by a certain apphcation of Financial Art, and\\nby the erection of a certain quantity of new build-\\nings on a colossal scale, it will be possible for soci-\\nety hereafter to pass its entire life in eating, smok-\\ning, harlotry, and talk; without doing anything\\nwhatever with its hands or feet of a laborious char-\\nacter.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For^, II., p. 236.\\nA happy nation may be defined as one in which\\nthe husband s hand is on the i^lough, and the house-\\nwife s on the needle; so in due time reaping its\\ngolden harvest, and shining in golden vesture\\nand an unhappy nation is one which, acknowledg-\\ning no use of plough nor needle, will assuredly at\\nlast find its storehouse empty in the famine, and its\\nbreast naked to the cold.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Two Paths, p. 121.\\nGood Work ill-paid or not taid at all.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nGenerally, good, useful work, whether of the hand\\nor head, is either ill-paid, or not paid at all. I\\ndon t say it should be so, but it always is so. Peo-\\nple, as a rule, only pay for being amused or being\\ncheated, not for being served. Five thousand a\\nyear to your talker, and a shilling a day to your\\nfighter, digger, and thinker, is the rule. None of\\nthe best head work in art, literature, or science, is\\never paid for. How much do you think Homer got\\nfor his Iliad or Dante for his Paradise only bitter\\nbread and salt, and going up and down other peo-\\nple s stairs. Crown of Wild Olive, Lect. II., p. 35.\\nWages not always determined by Competi-\\ntion. I pay my servants exactly what wages I\\nthink necessary to make them comfortable. The\\nsum is not determined at all by competition; but\\nsometimes by my notions of their comfort and de-\\nserving, and sometimes by theirs. If I were to be-\\ncome penniless to-morrow, several of them would\\ncertainly still serve me for nothing.\\nIn both the real and supposed cases the so-called\\nlaw of vulgar ijolitical economy is absolutely set\\nat defiance. But I cannot set the law of gravita-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PniLOSOrHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANON S. 193\\ntiou at defiance, nor determiue that in my house I\\nwill not allow ice to melt, when the temperature is\\nabove thirty-two degrees. A true law outside of\\nmy house, will remain a true one inside of it. It is\\nnot, therefore, a law of Nature that wages are de-\\ntermined by competition. Munera Pulveris-, p. 10.\\nEmploymkxts. There being three great classes of\\nmechanical powers at our disposal, namely vital\\nor muscular power; natural mechanical power\\nof wind, water, and electricity; and (e) artificially\\nproduced mechanical power, it is the first princi-\\nple of economy to use all available vital power\\nfirst, then the inexpensive natural forces, and only\\nat last to have recourse to artificial jjower. And\\nthis, because it is always better for a man to work\\nwith his own hands to feed and clothe himself, than\\nto stand idle while a machine works for him; and\\nif he cannot, by all the labor healthily possible to\\nhim, feed and clothe himself, then it is better to use\\nan inexpensive machine as a windmill or Avater-\\nmill than a costly one like a steam-engine, so long\\nas we have natural force enough at our disposal.\\nThe principal point of all to be kept in view\\nis, that in every idle arm and shoulder throughout\\nthe country there is a certain quantity of force,\\nequivalent to the force of so much fuel; and that\\nit is mere insane waste to dig for coal for our force,\\nwhile the vital force is unused; and not only un-\\nused, but, in being so, corrui^ting and polluting\\nitself. We waste our coal, and sjjoil our humanity\\nat one and the same instant. Then, in employ-\\ning all the muscular power at our disposal we are\\nto make the employments we choose as educational\\nas possible. For a wholesome human employment\\nis the first and best method of education, mental as\\nwell as bodily.\\nThe next great principle of employment is, that\\nwhenever there is pressure of poverty to be met, all\\nenforced occupation should be directed to the pro-\\nduction of useful articles only, that is to say, of\\nfood, of simple clothing, of lodging, or of the means", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "194 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nof conveying, distributing, and preserving these.\\nMen cannot live on ribands, or buttons, or\\nvelvets, or by going quickly from place to place;\\nand every coin spent in useless ornament, or use-\\nless motion, is so much withdrawn from the na-\\ntional means of life. One of the most beautiful\\nuses of railroads is to enable A to travel from the\\ntown of X to take away the business of B in the\\ntown of Y; while, in the meantime, B travels from\\nthe town of Y to take away A s business in the town\\nof X. But the national wealth is not increased by\\nthese operations.\\nAnd lasth^: Since for every idle person, some one\\nelse must be working somewhere to provide him\\nwith clothes and food, and doing, therefore, double\\nthe quantity of work that would be enough for his\\nown needs, it is only a matter of pure justice to\\ncompel the idle person to work for his maintenance\\nhimself. Athena, pp. 9G-99.\\nRICHES.\\nThe first of all English games is making money.\\nThat is an all-absorbing game; and we knock each\\nother down oftener in playing at that than at foot-\\nball, or any other roughest sport; and it is abso-\\nlutely without purpose; no one who engages heart-\\nily in that game ever knows why. Croion of Wild\\nOlive, Lect. I., p. 21.\\nAnd I can tell you, the poor vagrants by the road-\\nside suffer now quite as mvich from the bag-baron,\\nas ever they did from the crag-baron. Bags and\\ncrags have just the same result on rags. Croivn of\\nWild Olive, Lect. I., p. 39.\\nThe guilty Thieves of Europe, the real sources of\\nall deadly war in it, are the Capitalists that is to\\nsay, people who live by percentages on the labor of\\nothers; instead of by fair wages for their own.\\nFors, I., p. 97.\\nFor, during the last eight hundred years, the up-\\nper classes of Europe have been one large Picnic", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 195\\nParty. Most of tlieiu liave been religious also; and\\nin sitting clown, by companies, upon the green\\ngrass, in parks, gardens, and the like, have con-\\nsidered themselves commanded into that position\\nby Divine authority, and fed with bread from\\nHeaven of which they duly considered it proper\\nto bestow the fragments in support, and the tithes\\nin tuition, of the poor. Fors, I., p. 25.\\nThere will be always a number of men who Avould\\nfain set themselves to the accumulation of wealth\\nas the sole object of their lives. Necessarily, that\\nclass of men is an uneducated class, inferior in in-\\ntellect, and more or less cowardly. It is physically\\nimpossible for a well-educated, intellectual, or\\nbrave man to make money the chief object of his\\nthoughts; as physically impossible as it is for him\\nto make his dinner the principal object of them.\\nCrown of Wild Olive, Lect. I., p. 26.\\nThere is a working class strong and happy\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\namong both rich and poor; there is an idle class\\nweak, Avicked, and miserable among both rich and\\npoor. And the worst of the misunderstandings\\narising between the two orders come of the unlucky\\nfact that the wise of one class habitually contem-\\nplate the foolish of the oilxer.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Crown of Wild Olivet\\nLect. I., p. 19.\\nLowly Pleasures.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 What is chiefly aeeded in\\nEngland at the present day is to show the quan-\\ntity of jileasure that may be obtained by a con-\\nsistent, Avell-administered competence, modest, con-\\nfessed, and laborious. We need examples of people\\nwho, leaving Heaven to decide whether they are to\\nrise in the world, decide for themselves that they\\nwill be happy in it, and have resolved to seek not\\ngreater wealth, but simpler pleasure; not higher\\nfortune, but deeper felicity; making the first of\\npossessions, self-possession; and honoring them-\\nselves in the harmless pride and calm pursuits of\\npeace. Unto This Last, p. 89.\\nMoney is a strange kind of seed; scattered, it is\\npoison; but set, it is bread: so that a man M hom", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "196 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nGod has appointed to be a sower must bear as\\nlightly as he may the burden of gold and of pos-\\nsessions, till he find the proper places to sow them\\nin.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, III., p. 124.\\nInequalities of Wealth. As diseased local de-\\ntermination of the blood involves depression ol\\nthe general health of the system, all morbid local\\naction of riches will be found ultimately to involve\\na weakening of the resources of the body politic.\\nUnto This Last, p. 35.\\nInequalities of wealth justly established, benefit\\nthe nation in the course of their establishment;\\nand, nobly used, aid it yet more by their existence.\\nThat is to say, among every active and well-gov-\\nerned people, the various strength of individuals,\\ntested by full exertion and specially applied to vari-\\nous need, issues in unequal, but harmonious results,\\nreceiving reward or authority according to its class\\nand service; while in the inactive or ill-governed\\nnation, the gradations of decay and the victories\\nof treason work out also their own rugged systen\\nof subjection and success: and substitute, for the\\nmelodious inequalities of concurrent power, the in-\\niquitous dominances and depressions of guilt and\\nmisfortune. Unto TJiis Last, p. 38.\\nAVhkre does the Rich Man get his Means of\\nLiving? Well, for the point in question then, as\\nto means of living the most exemplary manner of\\nanswer is simply to state how I got my own, or\\nrather how my father got them for me. lie and his\\npartners entered into Avhat your cori-espondent\\nmellifluously styles a mutually benf ficent part-\\nnership, with certain laborers in Spain. These\\nlaborers produced from the earth annually a cer-\\ntain number of bottles of wine. These productions\\nwere sold by my father and his partners, who kept\\nnine-tenths, or thereabouts, of the price themselves,\\nand gave one-tenth, or thereabouts, to the laborers.\\nIn whicli state of nnitual beneficeiice my father and\\nhis partners naturally became rich, and the laborers\\nas naturally remained poor. Then my good father", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 197\\ngave all his money to me (who never did a stroke\\nof work in my life worth my salt, not to mention\\nmy dinner).\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Arrotos of the Chace, II., p. 73.\\nMoney A^^D its Uses. You will find that wher-\\never and Avhenever men are endeavoring to make\\nmoney hastily, and to avoid the labor which Prov-\\nidence has appointed to be the only source of hon-\\norable profit; and also wherever and whenever\\nthey permit themselves to spend it luxuriously,\\nwithout reflecting how far they are misguiding the\\nlal)or of others; there and then, in either case,\\nthey are literally and infallibly causing, for their\\nown benefit or their own pleasure, a certain annual\\nnumber of human deaths; that, therefore, the choice\\ngiven to every man born into this world is, simply,\\nAvhether he will be a laborer or an assassin; and\\nthat whosoever has not his hand on the Stilt of the\\nplough, has it on the Ililt of the dagger. The Two\\nPaths, p. 130.\\nThe Upper Classes.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The upper classes, broad-\\nly speaking, are always originally composed of\\nthe best-bred (in the merely animal sense of the\\nterm), the most energetic, and most thoughtful, of\\nthe population, who either by strength of arm\\nseize the land from the rest, and make slaves of\\nthem, or bring desert laud into cultivation, over\\nAvhich they have therefore, within certain limits,\\ntrue personal right; or by industry, accumulate\\nother i^roperty, or by choice devote themselves to\\nintellectual pursuits, and, though poor, obtain an\\nacknowledged sui:)eriority of position, shown by\\nbenefits conferred in discovery, or in teaching, or\\nin gifts of art. This is all in the simple course of\\nthe law of nature.\\nThe office of the upper classes, then, as a body, is\\nto keep order among their inferiors, and raise them\\nalways to the nearest level with themselves of which\\nthose inferiors are capable. So far as they are thus\\noccupied, they are invariably loved and reverenced\\nintensely by all beneath them, and reach, them-\\nselves, the highest types of human power and\\nbeauty. Time and Tide, pp. 93, 94.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "198 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nHow far is it lawful to suck a portion of the soul\\nout of a great many persons, in order to put the ab-\\nstracted psychical quantities together, and make\\none very beautiful or ideal soul We live,\\nwe gentlemen, on delicatest prey, after the manner\\nof weasels that is to say, we keep a certain num-\\nber of clowns digging and ditching, and generally\\nstupefied, in order that we, being fed gratis, may\\nhave all the thinking and feeling to ourselves. Yet\\nthere is a great deal to be said for this. A highly\\nbred and trained English, French, Austrian or Ital-\\nian gentleman (mvich more a lady) is a great pro-\\nduction a better j^roduction than most statues\\nbeing beautifully colored as well as shaped, and\\nplus all the brains a glorious thing to look at, a\\nwonderful thing to talk to and you cannot have\\nit, any more than a pyramid or a church, but by\\nsacrifice of much contributed life. And it is, per-\\nhaps, better to build a beautiful human creature\\nthan a beautiful dome or steeple, and more delight-\\nful to look xip reverently to a creature far above\\nus, than to a wall only the beautiful human crea-\\nture will have some duties to do in return duties\\nDf living belfry and raujpart. Sesame and Lilies,\\np. 53.\\nThe Opportunities and Power of the Rich.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nYou may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of\\nthe English laborers, and say to them, as they stoop\\nto its waving, Subdue this obstacle that has baffled\\nour fathers; put away this plague that consumes\\nour children water these dry places, plough these\\ndesert ones; carry this food to those who are in\\nhunger carry this light to those who are in dark-\\nness carry this life to those who are in death or\\non the other side you may say to her laborers\\nHere am I; this power is in my hand; come,\\nbuild a mound here for me to be throned upon, high\\nand wide come, make crowns for my head, that\\nmen may see them shine from far away come,\\nweave tapestries for my feet, that I may tread softly\\non the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that\\nI may be gay; and sing sweetly to me, that I may", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 109\\nslumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor.\\nAnd better than such an honorable death, it were\\nthat the day had perished wherein we were born,\\nand the night in which it was said, There is a child\\nconceived.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. Joy For Ever, p. 83.\\nIt is nothing to give pension and cottage to the\\nwidow who has lost her son; it is nothing to give\\nfood and medicine to the workman who has broken\\nhis arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness.\\nBut it is something to use your time and strength\\nto war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness\\nof mankind; to keej:) the erring workman in your\\nservice till you have niade him an unerring one;\\nand to direct your fellow-merchant to the oppor-\\ntunity which his dulness would have lost.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Joi\\nFor Ever, pp. 81, 82.\\nYou would be indignant if you saw a strong man\\nwalk into a theatre or a lecture-room, and, calndy\\nchoosing tlie best place, take his feeble neighbor by\\nthe shoulder, and tvirn him out of it into the back\\nseats, or the street. You would be equally indig-\\nnant if you saw a stout fellow thrust himself up to\\na table where some hungry children Avere being fed,\\nand reach his arm over their heads and take their\\nbread from them. But you are not the least indig-\\nnant if when a man has stoutness of thought and\\nswiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-\\narmed only, has the much greater gift of being\\nlong-headed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you think it perfectly just that he\\nshould use his intellect to take the bread out of the\\nmouths of all the other men in the town who are of\\nthe same trade with him; or use his breadth and\\nsweep of sight to gather some branch of the com-\\nmerce of the country into one great cobweb, of\\nwhich he is himself to be the central spider, making\\nevery thread vibrate with the points of his claws,\\nand commanding every avenue with the facets of\\nhis eyes. You see no injustice in this.\\nBut there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of\\nwhich honorable men will at no very distant period\\ndisdain to be guilty.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. Joy For Ever, pp. 80, 81.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "200 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nAdvicr to Rich Wordlixqs Is the earth only\\nan hospital Play, if you care to play, on the floor\\nof the hospital dens. Knit its straw into what\\ncrowns i^lease you; gather the dust of it for treas-\\nure, and die rich in that, clutching at the black\\nmotes in the air Avith your dying hands; and yet,\\nit may be well with you. But if this life be no\\ndream, and the world no hospital; if all the peace\\nand power and joy you can ever win, must be won\\nnow; and all fruit of victory gathered here, or\\nnever;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 will you still, throughout the puny totality\\nof your life, weary yourselves in the fire for vanity?\\nIf there is no rest which remaineth for you, is there\\nnone you might presently take was this grass of\\nthe earth made green for your shroud only, not\\nfor your bed and can you never lie down upon it,\\nbut only under it? The heathen, to whose creed\\nyou have returned, thought not so. They knew\\nthat life brought its contest, but they expected from\\nit also the crown of all contest No proud one no\\njewelled circlet flaming through Heaven above the\\nheight of the unmerited throne; only some few\\nleaves of wild olive, cool to the tired brow, through\\na few years of peace. It should have been of gold,\\nthey thought; but Jupiter was poor; this Avas the\\nbest the god could give them. Seeking a greater\\nthan this, they had known it a mockery. Not in\\nwar, not in Avealth, not in tyranny, was there any\\nhappiness to be found for them only in kindly\\npeace, fi-uitful and free. The wreath was to be of\\nloild olive, mark you the tree that grows care-\\nlessly, tufting the rocks with no vivid bloom, no\\nverdure of branch; only with soft snow of blossom,\\nand scarcely fulfilled fruit, mixed with grey leaf and\\nthorn-set stem; no fastening of diadem for you but\\nwith such sharp embroidery But this, such as it\\nis, you may win while yet you live; type of grey\\nhonor and sweet rest. Crotonof Wild Olive, Preface,\\np. 15.\\nThe Eidolon or Phantasm op Wealth. A\\nman s power over his property is at the widest\\nrange of it, fivefold; it is power of Use, for himself,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 201\\nAdministration, to others, Ostentation, Destruc-\\ntion, or Bequest and possession is in use only,\\nwhich for each man is sternly limited; so that such\\nthingvS, and so much of them as he can use, are, in-\\ndeed, well for him, or Wealth; and more of them, or\\nany other things, are ill for him, or lUth. Plunged\\nto the lips in Orinoco, he shall drink to his thirst-\\nmeasure; more, at his peril with a thousand oxen\\non his lands, he shall eat to his hunger-measure;\\nmore, at his jjeril. He cannot live in two houses at\\nonce; a few bales of silk or wool will suffice for the\\nfabric of all the clothes he can ever wear, and a few\\nbooks will probably hold all the furniture good for\\nhis brain. Beyond these, in the best of us but nar-\\nrow, capacities, we have but the power of adminis-\\ntering, or m\u00c2\u00ab/-administering, wealth (that is to say,\\ndistributing, lending, or increasing it); of exhibit-\\ning it (as in magnificence of retinue or furniture),\\nof destroying, or, finally, of bequeathing it. And\\nAvith multitudes of rich men, administration degen-\\nerates into curatorship; they merely hold their\\nproperty in charge, as Trustees, for the benefit of\\nsome person or persons to whom it is to be delivered\\nupon their death; and the position, explained in\\nclear terms, would hardly seem a covetable one.\\nWhat would be the probable feelings of a youth,\\non his entrance into life, to whom the career hoped\\nfor him Avas proposed in terms such as these You\\nmust work unremittingly, and with your utmost\\nintelligence, during all your available years, you\\nwill thus accumulate wealth to a large amount;\\nbut you must touch none of it, beyond what is\\nneedful for your support. Whatever sums you\\ngain, beyond those required for your decent and\\nmoderate maintenance, and whatever beautiful\\nthings you may obtain possession of, shall be prop-\\nerly taken care of by servants, for whose mainte-\\nnance you Avill be charged, and whom you will\\nhave the trouble of superintending, and on your\\ndeath-bed you shall have the f)Ower of determining\\nto whom the accumulated pro^oerty shall belong,\\nor to what purposes be applied.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "202 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe labor of life, under such conditions, would\\nprobably be neither zealous nor cheerful; yet the\\nonly difference between this position and that of the\\nordinary capitalist is the power which the latter\\nsuj^poses himself to possess, and which is attributed\\nto him by others, of spending his money at any\\nmoment. This pleasure, taken in the imagination\\nof power to x aTt ivith that loith which toe have no in-\\ntention of parting, is one of the most curious, though\\ncommonest forms of the Eidolon, or Phantasm of\\nWealth. But the political economist has nothing\\nto do with this idealism, and looks only to the prac-\\ntical issue of it namely, that the holder of wealth,\\nin such temper, may be regarded simply as a\\nxnechanical means of collection; or as a money-\\nchest with a slit in it, not only receptant but suc-\\ntional, set in the j^ublic thoroughfare chest of\\nwhich only Death has the key, and evil Chance the\\nliistribution of the contents. Munera Pulveris, pp.\\n36, 37.\\nLarge Fortunes can not Honestly be made\\nBY One Man. No man can become largely rich by\\nhis personal toil.* The work of his oAvn hands,\\nAvisely directed, will indeed always maintain him-\\nself and his family, and make fitting provision for\\nhis age. Btit it is only by the discovery of some\\nmethod of taxing the labor of others that he can be-\\ncome opulent. Every increase of his capital enables\\nhim to extend this taxation more widely that is, to\\ninvest larger funds in the maintenance of laborers,\\nto direct, accordingly, vaster and yet vaster masses\\nof labor, and to appropriate its profits.\\nLarge fortunes cannot honestly be made by the\\nwork of one man s hands or head. If his work bene-\\nfits multitudes, and involves position of high trust,\\nit may be (I do not say that it is) expedient to re-\\nward him with great Avealth or estate but fortune\\nof this kind is freely given in gratitude for benefit,\\nBy his art he may but only when its produce, or the sight\\nor hearing of it, beeoiiies a sul).ieet of dispute, so as to enable\\ntlie artist to tax the labor of umltitudes highly, in exchange for\\nhis own.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rillLOSOrilY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 203\\nnot as repayment for labor. Also, men of peculiar\\ngenius in any art, if the public can enjoy the pro-\\nduct of their genius, may set it at almost any price\\nthey choose but this, I will show you when I come\\nto speak of art, is unlawful on their part, and ruin-\\nous to their own powers.\\nSuch fortunes as are now the prizes of commerce\\ncan be made only in one of three ways\\n1. By obtaining command over the labor of mul-\\ntitudes of other men, and taxing it for our own\\nprofit.\\n3. By treasure-ti ove,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 as of mines, xiseful vege-\\ntable products, and the like,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in circumstances put-\\nting them under our own exclusive control.\\n3. By speculation (commercial gambling).\\nThe two first of these means of obtaining riches\\nare, in some forms and within certain limits, lawful,\\nand advantageous to the State. The third is en-\\ntirely detrimental to it for in all cases of profit\\nderived from speculation, at best, what one man\\ngains another loses; and the net result to the State\\nis zero (pecuniarily), with the loss of the tijne and\\ningenuity spent in the transaction besides the dis-\\nadvantage involved in the discouragement of the\\nlosing party, and the corrupted moral natures of\\nboth. This is the result of speculation at its best.\\nAt its worst, not only B. loses what A. gains (having\\ntaken his fair risk of such loss for his fair chance of\\ngain), but C. and D., who never had any chance at\\nall, are drawn in by B. s fall, and the final result is\\nthat A. sets up his carriage on the collected sum\\nwhich was once the means of living to a dozen fami-\\nlies. Time and Tide, p. 61.\\nNoblesse oblige.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This ought to be the first\\nlesson of every rich man s political code. Sir,\\nhis tutor should early say to him, you are so\\nplaced in societj^^t may be for your misfortune,\\nit must be for your trial that you are likely to be\\nmaintained all your life by the labor of other men.\\nYou will have to make shoes for nobody, but some\\none will have to make a great many for you. You\\nwill have to dig ground for nobody, but some one", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "204 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nwill have to dig through every summer s hot\\nday for you. You will build houses and make\\nclothes for no one, but many a rough hand must\\nknead clay, and many an elbow be crooked to the\\nstitch, to keep that body of yours warm and fine.\\nNow remember, whatever you and yoiar work may\\nbe worth, the less your keep costs, the better. It\\ndoes not cost money only. It costs degradation.\\nYou do not merely employ these people. You also\\ntread upon them. It cannot be helped; you have\\nyour place, and they have theirs; but see that you\\nti ead as lightly as f)ossible, and on as few as i50S-\\nsible. What food, and clothes, and lodging you\\nhonestly need, for your health and ijeace, j^ou may\\nrighteously take. See that you take the plainest\\nyou can serve yourself with that you waste or\\nwear nothing vainly; and that you emply no man\\nin furnishing you with any useless luxury. Time\\nand Tide, p. 89.\\nRiches a Form op Strength.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I do not coun-\\ntenance one whit, the common socialist idea of di-\\nvision of property; division of property is its de-\\nstruction; and with it the destruction of all hope,\\nall industry, and all justice it is simply chaos a\\nchaos towards Avhich the believers in modern j^olit-\\nical economy are fast tending, and from which I\\nam striving to save them. The rich man does not\\nkeep back meat from the poor by retaining his\\nriches; but by basely using them. Riches are a\\nform of strength; and a strong man does not injure\\nothers by keeping his strength, but by using it in-\\njuriously. The socialist, seeing a strong man op-\\npress a weak one, cries out Break the strong\\nman s arms; but I say, Teach him to use them\\nto better purpose. The fortitude and intelligence\\nwhich acquire riches are intended, by the Giver of\\nboth, not to scatter, nor to give away, but to em-\\nploy those riches in the service of mankind; in\\nother words, in the redemption of the erring and\\naid of the weak that is to say, there is first to be\\nthe Work to gain money; then the Sabbath of use", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOFHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 205\\nfor it the Sabbath, whose hiw is, not to lose life,\\nbut to save. Unto This Last, p. 84.\\nYet, in some fai--away and yet undreamt-of hour,\\nI can even imagine that England may cast all\\nthoughts of possessive wealth back to the barbaric\\nnations among whom they first arose; and that,\\nwhile the sands of the Indus and adamant of Gol-\\nconda may yet stiffen the housings of the charger,\\nand flash from the turban of the slave, she, as a\\nChristian mother, may at last attain to the virtues\\nand the treasures of a Heathen one, and be able to\\nlead forth her Sons, saying, These are my Jew-\\nels. I77zto This Last, p. 42.\\nCapital. The best and simplest general type of\\ncapital is a well-made ploughshare. Now, if that\\nploughshare did nothing but beget other plough-\\nshares, in a polypous manner, however the great\\ncluster of polypous plough might glitter in the sun,\\nit would have lost its function of capital. It be-\\ncomes true capital only by another kind of splen-\\ndor, when it is seen, splendescere sulco, to\\ngrow bright in the furrow; rather with diminution\\nof its substance, than addition, by the noble fric-\\ntion. And the true home question, to every cap-\\nitalist and to every nation, is not, how many\\njjloughs have you? but, where are your fur-\\nrows not ho,w quickly will this caj^ital repro-\\nduce itself? but, what will it do during re-\\nproduction? What substance will it furnish,\\ngood for life what work construct, protective of\\nlife if none, its own reproduction is useless if\\nworse than none, (for capital may destroy life as\\nwell as supi^ort it), its own reproduction is worse\\nthan useless. Unto This Last, p. 78.\\nIf, having certain funds for supporting labor at\\nmy disposal, I pay men merely to keeji my ground\\nin order, my money is, in that function, spent once\\nfor all; but if I pay them to dig iron out of my\\nground, and work it, and sell it, I can charge rent\\nfor the ground, and percentage both on the manu-\\nfacture and the sale, and make my capital profita-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "206 A RUSEIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nble in these three bye-ways. The greater part ol\\nthe profitable investment of capital, in the present\\nday, is in operations of this kind, in which the pub-\\nlic is persuaded to buy something of no use to it, on\\nproduction, or sale, of which, the capitalist may\\ncharge percentage; the said jiublic remaining all\\nthe while under the persuasion that the percentages\\nthus obtained are real national gains, whereas, they\\nare merely filchings out of partially light pockets,\\nto swell heavy ones. Crown of Wild Olwe, Preface,\\np. 8.\\nIf I were to put a turnpike on the road Avhere it\\npasses my own gate, and endeavor to exact a shil-\\nling from every passenger, the jjublic would soon\\ndo away with my gate, without listening to any plea\\non my part that it was as advantageous to them,\\nin the end, that I should spend their shillings, as\\nthat they themselves should. But if, instead of\\nout-facing them with a turnijike, 1 can only per-\\nsuade them to come in and buy stones, or old iron,\\nor any other useless thing, out of my ground, I may\\nrob them to the same extent, and be, moreover,\\nthanked as a public benefactor, and promoter of\\ncommercial prosperity. Grown of Wild Olive, Pref\\nace, p. 9.\\nOrigin of Riches aivd Poverty. Suppose that\\nthree men formed a little isolated republic, and\\nfound themselves obliged to separate in order to\\nfarm different pieces of land at some distance from\\neach other along the coast; each estate furnishing\\na distinct kind of produce, and each more or less in\\nneed of the material raised on the other. Suppose\\nthat the third man. in order to save the time of all\\nthree, undertakes simply to superintend the trans-\\nference of commodities from one farm to the other;\\non condition of receiving some sufficiently remun-\\nerative share of every parcel of goods conveyed, or\\nof some other parcel received in exchange for it.\\nIf this carrier or messenger always brings to each\\nestate, from the other, what is chiefly wanted, at\\nthe right time, the operations of the two farmers", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL r III LO SOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EGONOMIG CANONS. 207\\nwill ^o ou prosperously, and the largest i^ossible re-\\nsult in i)roduce, or wealth, will be attained by the\\nlittle coininunity. But suppose no intercourse be-\\ntween the land-owners is possible, except through\\nthe travelling agent; and that, after a time, this\\nagent, watching the course of each man s agricul-\\nture, keeps back the articles with which he has been\\nentrusted, until there comes a period of extreme ne-\\ncessity for them, on one side or other, and then ex-\\nacts in exchange for them all that the distressed\\nfarmer can spare of other kinds of produce; it is\\neasy to see that by ingeniously Avatching his oppor-\\ntunities, he might possess himself regularly of the\\ngreater i:)art of the superfluous j^roduce of the two\\nestates, and at last, in some year of severest trial or\\nscarcity, purchase both for himself, and maintain\\nthe former jjroprietors thenceforward as his laborers\\nor his servants.\\nThis would be a case of commercial wealth ac-\\nquired on the exactest principles of modern political\\neconomy. But, it is manifest that the wealth\\nof the State, or of the three men considered as a\\nsociety, is collectively less than it would have been\\nhad the merchant been content with juster profit.\\nThe operations of the two agriculturists have been\\ncramped to the utmost; and the continual limita-\\ntions of the supply of things they wanted at critical\\ntimes, together with the failure of courage conse-\\nquent on the prolongation of a struggle for mere\\nexistence, without any sense of permanent gain,\\nmust have seriously diminished the effective results\\nof their labor; and the stores finally accumulated\\nin the merchant s hands will not in anywise be of\\nequivalent value to those which, had his dealings\\nbeen honest, Avould have filled at once the granaries\\nof the farmers and his own. Unto This Last, pp.\\n37, 38.\\nAgain, let us imagine a society of peasants, living\\non a river-shore, exposed to destructive inundation\\nat somewhat extended intervals and that each\\npeasant possesses of this good, but imperilled,\\nground, more than he needs to cultivate for imme-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "208 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndiate subsistence. We will assume fartlier (and\\nwitli too great probability of justice), that the\\ngreater part of theui indolently keep in tillage just\\nas much land as suj^plies them with daily food\\nthat they leave their children idle, and take no pre-\\ncautions against the rise of the stream. But one of\\nthem, (we will say but one, for the sake of greater\\nclearness) cultivates carefully all the ground of his\\nestate; makes his children work hard and healthily;\\nuses his spare time and theirs in building a rampart\\nagainst the river; and, at the end of some years,\\nhas in his storehouses lai ge reserves of food and\\nclothing, in his stables a well-tended breed of cat-\\ntle, and around his fields a wedge of wall against\\nflood.\\nThe torrent rises at last sweeps away the har-\\nvests, and half the cottages of the careless peasants,\\nand leaves them destitute. They naturally come\\nfor help to the provident one, whose fields are un-\\nwasted, and whose granaries are full. He has the\\nright to refuse it to tliem no one disputes this\\nright. But he will probably not refuse it; it is not\\nhis interest to do so, even were he entirely selfish\\nand cruel. The only question with him will be on\\nwhat terms his aid is to be granted.\\nClearly, not on terms of mere charity. To main-\\ntain his neighbors in idleness would be not only his\\nruin, but theirs. He will require work from them,\\nin exchange for their maintenance; and, whether\\nin kindness or cruelty, all the Avork they can give.\\nNot now the three or four hours they were wont\\nto spend on their own land, but the eight or ten\\nhours they ought to have spent. But how will he\\napply this labor? The men are now his slaves;\\nnothing less, and nothing more. On pain of starva-\\ntion, lie can force them to work in the manner, and\\nto the end, he chooses. And it is by his wisdom\\nin this choice that the worthiness of his mastership\\nis proved, or its vunvorthiness. Evidently, he must\\nfirst set them to bank out the water in some tem-\\nporary way, and to get their ground cleansed and\\nresown; else, in any case, their continued mainte-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOrnr^ECONOMIG CANONS. 209\\nnance will be impossible. That done, and while he\\nhas still to feed them, suppose he makes them raise\\na secure rampart for their own ground against all\\nfuture flood, and rebuild their houses in safer\\nplaces, with the best material they can find; being\\nallowed time out of their working hours to fetch\\nsuch material from a distance. And for the food\\nand clothing advanced, he takes security in land\\nthat as much shall be returned at a convenient\\nperiod.\\nWe may conceive this security to be redeemed,\\nand the debt paid at the end of a few years. The\\nprudent peasant has sustained no loss; hut is no\\nricher than he taas, and has had all his trouble for\\nnothing. But he has enriched his neighbors materi-\\nally; bettered their houses, secured their land, and\\nrendered them, in worldly matters, equal to him-\\nself. In all rational and final sense, he has been\\nthroughout their true Lord and King.\\nWe will next trace his probable line of conduct,\\npresuming his object to be exclusively the increase\\nof his own fortune. After roughly recovering and\\ncleansing the ground, he allows the ruined peas-\\nantry only to build huts upon it, such as he thinks\\nprotective enough from the weather to keep them\\nin working health. The rest of their time he occu-\\npies, first in pulling down, and rebuilding on a\\nmagnificient scale, his own house, and in ad-ding\\nlarge dependencies to it. This done, in exchange\\nfor his continued supply of corn, he buys as much\\nof his neighbors land as he thinks he can super-\\nintend the management of; and makes the former\\nowners securely embank and protect the ceded por-\\ntion. By this arrangement, he leaves to a certain\\nnumber of the peasantry only as much ground as\\nwill just maintain them in their existing numbers;\\nas the population increases, he takes the extra\\nhands, who cannot be maintained on the narrowed\\nestates, for his own servants; employs some to cul-\\ntivate the ground he has bought, giving them of its\\nproduce merely enough for subsistence; with the\\nsurplus, which, under his energetic and careful", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "210 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nsuperintendence, will be large, he maintains a train\\nof servants for state, and a body of workmen, wliom\\nlie educates in ornamental arts. He now can sj^len-\\ndidly decorate his house, lay out its grounds mag-\\nnificently, and richly supply his table, and that\\nof his household and retinue. And thus, Avithout\\nany abuse of right, we should find established all\\nthe phenomena of poverty and riches, which (it is\\nsupposed necessarily) accompany modern civiliza-\\ntion. In one part of the district, we should have\\nunhealthy land, miserable dwellings, and half-\\nstarved poor; in another, a well-ordered estate,\\nwell-fed servants, and refined conditions of highly\\neducated and luxurious life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Munera Pulmris, pp-\\n115-17.\\nWar and National Taxation.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Everybody in\\nFrance who is got any money is eager to lend it to\\nM. Thiers at five per cent. No doubt, but who is to\\nIjay the five per cent.\\nThe i: eople who have got no money to lend pay\\nit; the daily worker and producer pays it unfor-\\ntunate William. And the people who are\\nto get their five \\\\)eY cent, out of hinia and roll him\\nand suck him, the sugar-cane of a William that\\nhe is, how should they but think the arrangement\\na glorious one for the nation\\nSo there is great acclaina and triumphal proces-\\nsion of financiers and the arrangement is made;\\nnamely, that all the poor laboring persons in\\nFrance are to pay the rich idle ones five per cent,\\nannually, on the sum of ei.i;hty millions of sterling\\npounds, until further notice.\\nBut this is not all, observe. Sweet William is not\\naltogether so soft in his rind that you can crush\\nhim without some sufficient machinery you must\\nhave your army in good order, to justify public\\nconfidence; and you must get the expense of that,\\nbesides your five per cent., out of ambrosial AVil-\\niiam. He must pay the cost of his own roller.\\nNow, therefore, see briefly what it all comes to.\\nFirst, you spend eighty millions of money in fire-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rniLOSOniY\u00e2\u0080\u0094ECONOMIG CANONS. 211\\nworks, doing no end of damage in letting them\\noff.\\nThen you borrow money to pay the firework-\\nmaker s bill, from any gain-loving persons who\\nhave got it.\\nAnd then, dressing your baihff s men in new red\\ncoats and cocked hats, you send them drumming\\nand trumpeting into the fields, to take the peasants\\nby the throat, and make them pay the interest on\\nwhat you have borrowed, and the expense of the\\ncocked hats besides.\\nThat is financiering, my friend-s, as the mob of\\nthe money-makers understand it. And they under-\\nstand it well. For that is what it ahvays comes to\\nfinally; taking the peasant by the throat. He imist\\npay_ for \\\\re only can. Food can only be got out of\\nthe ground, and all these devices of soldiership, and\\nlaw, and arithmetic, are but ways of getting at last\\ndown to him, the furrow-driver, and snatching the\\nvoots from him as he digs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ ors, I., pp- 10:5-1( .5.\\nCapitalists, when they do not know what to do\\nwith their money, persuade the peasants, in various\\ncountries, that the said peasjints want guns to shoot\\neach other with. The peasants accordingly borrow\\nguns, out of the manufacture of which the cap-\\nitalists get a percentage, and men of science much\\namusement and credit. Then the peasants shoot a\\ncertain number of each other, until they get tired;\\nand burn each other s homes down in various\\nplaces. Then they put the guns back into towers,\\narsenals, etc., in ornamental patterns; (and the\\nvictorious party put also some ragged fiags in\\nchurches). And then the capitalists tax both, an-\\nnually, ever afterwards, to pay interest on the loan\\nof the guns and gunpowder. And that is what\\ncapitalists call knowing Avhat to do with their\\nmoney; and what commercial men in general call\\npractical as opposed to sentimental Political\\nEconomy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^l/itweJ ^i Pulveris, p. 15.\\nA CivTr,T/J :P Nation.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This, in Modern Europe,\\nconsists essenti.illy f (A), a mass of half-taught, li^-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "212 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncontented, and mostly penniless populace, calling it-\\nself the people; of (B) a thing which it calls a govern-\\nment meaning an api^aratus for collecting and\\nspending money; and (C) a small number of capi-\\ntalists, many of them rogues, and most of them\\nstupid persons, who have no idea of any object of\\nhuman existence other than money-making, gamb-\\nling, or champagne-bibbing. A certain quantity of\\nliterary men, saying anything they can get paid to\\nsay, of clergymen, saying anything they have been\\ntaught to say, of natural philosophers, saying any-\\nthing that comes into their heads, and of nobility,\\nsaying nothing at all, combine in disguising the ac-\\ntion, and perfecting the disorganization, of the mass;\\nbut with respect to practical business, the civilized\\nnation consists broadly of mob, mon y-collecting\\nmachine, and cai^italist.\\nNow when this civilized mob wants to sjjend\\nmoney for any profitless or mischievous purposes,\\nfireworks, illuminations, battles, driving about\\nfrom place to place, or what not, being itself pen-\\nniless, it sets its money-collecting machine to bor-\\nrow the sum needful for these amusements from the\\ncivilized capitalist.\\nThe ciA ilized capitalist lends the money, on con-\\ndition that, through the money-collecting machine,\\nhe may tax the civilized mob thenceforAvard for\\never. The civilized mob spends the money foi-th-\\nwith, in gunpowder, infernal machines, masquerade\\ndresses, new boulevards, or anything else it has set\\nits idiotic mind on for the moment; and appoints\\nits money-collecting machine to collect a daily tax\\nfrom its children, and children s children, to be paid\\nto the capitalists from whom it had received the ac-\\ncommodation, thenceforAvard for ever.\\nThat is the nature of a National Debt.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, III.,\\np. 237.\\nA National Debt, like any other, may be honest-\\nly incurred in case of need, and honestly paid in due\\ntime. But if a man should be ashamed to borrow,\\nmuch more should a people and if a father holds", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PniLOSOrilY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CAXONS. 213\\nit his hum)!- to provide for his children, and would\\nbe ashamed to borrow from them, and leave, with\\nhis blessing, his note of hand, for his grandchildren\\nto pay, much more should a nation be ashamed to\\nl)orrow, in any case, or in any manner; and if it\\nborrow at all, it is at least in honor bound to bor-\\nrow from living men, and not indebt itself to itsow^i\\nunborn brats. If it can t provide for them, at least\\nlet it not send their cradles to the pawnbroker, and\\npick the pockets of their first breeches.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, III.,\\np. 47.\\nAn Income Tax the only just one.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In true\\njustice, the only honest and wholly right tax is one\\nnot merely on income, but property; increasing in\\npercentage as the property is greater. And the\\nmain virtue of such a tax is that it makes publicly\\nknown what every man has, and how he gets it.\\nFor every kind of Vagabonds, high and low, agree\\nin their dislike to give an account of the way they\\nget their living; still less, of how much they have\\ngot sewn up in their breeches. It does not, how-\\never, matter much to a country that it should know\\nhow its poor Vagabonds live; but it is of vital mo-\\nment that it should know how its rich Vagabonds\\nlive.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, I., p. 98.\\nWhy the weekly Bills are doubled.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nweekly bills are double, because the greater part of\\nthe labor of the people of England is spent unpro-\\nductively; that is to say, in producing iron plates,\\niron guiis, gunpowder, infernal machines, infernal\\nfortresses floating about, infernal fortresses stand-\\ning still, infernal means of mischievous locomotion,\\ninfernal lawsuits, infernal parliamentary elocution,\\ninfernal beer, and infernal gazettes, magazines,\\nstatues, and pictures. Calculate the labor spent in\\nproducing these infernal articles annually, and put\\nagainst it the labor spent in producing food The\\nonly wonder is, that the weekly bills are not tenfold\\ninstead of double. For this poor housewife, mind\\nyou, cannot feed her children with any one, or any\\nquantity, of these infernal articles. Children can", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "214 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nonly be fed with divine articles. Their another can\\nindeed get to London cheajj, but she has no business\\nthere; she can buy all the morning s news for a half-\\npenny, but she has no concern with theui; she can\\neee Gustave Dora s pictures (and she had better see\\nthe devil), for a shilling; she can be carried through\\nany quantity of fdthy streets on a tramway for\\nthreepence; but it is as much as her life s worth to\\nwalk in them, or as her modesty s worth to look into\\na print shoiD in them. Nay, let her have but to go\\non foot a quarter of a mile in the West End, she\\ndares not take her purse in her pocket, nor let her\\nlittle dog follow her. These are her privileges and\\nfacilities, in the capital of civilization. But none of\\nthese will bring meat or flour into her own village.\\nFar the contrary The sheep and corn which the\\nfields of her village produce are carried away from\\nit to feed the makers of Armstrong guns. And her\\nweekly bills are double. Fors, I., p. 418.\\nPOVERTY.\\nAmong the various characteristics of the age in\\nwhich we live, as compared with other ages of this\\nnot yet veri/ experienced world, one of the most\\nnotable appears to me to be the just and wholesome\\ncontempt in which we hold poverty. Joy For Ecer,\\np. 7.\\nThe mistake of the best men through generr.,fion\\nafter generation, has been that great one of think-\\ning to help the poor by almsgiving, and by preach-\\ning of patience or of ho^je, and by every other\\nmeans, emollient or consolatory, except th one\\nthing which God orders for them, justice. Unto\\nThis Last, p. 45.\\nYe sheep without shepherd, it is not the pasture\\nthat has been shut from you, but the presence.\\nMeat perhaps your right to that may be plead-\\nable but other rights have to be i^leaded first.\\nClaim your crumbs from the table, if you will; but", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHlLOSOrHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094ECONOMIG CANONS. 215\\nclaim them as children, not as dogs claim your\\nright to be fed, but claim more loudly your right to\\nbe holy, perfect, and pure.\\nStrange words to be used of working people\\nWhat holy without any long robes nor anoint-\\ning oils; these rough-jacketed, rough-worded per-\\nsons set to nameless and dishonored service\\nPerfect these, with dim eyes and cramped limbs,\\nand slowly wakoning minds? Pure! these, with\\nsensual desire and grovelling thought; foul of body,\\nand coarse of soul? It may be so; nevertheless,\\nsuch as they are, they are the holiest, perfectest,\\npurest persons the earth can at present show. They\\nmay be what you have said but if so, they yet are\\nholier than we, Avho have left them thus. TJnto\\nThis Last, y 85.\\nSix thousand years of weaving, and have we\\nlearned to Aveave Might not every naked Avail\\nhave been purple Avith tapestry, and eA-ery feeble\\nIjreast fenced Avith sweet colors from the cold?\\nAVhat have Ave done Our fingers are too feAv, it\\nseems, to tAvist together some poor coA^eiing for our\\nbodies. We set our streams to Avork for us, and\\nchoke the air Avith fire, to turn our spinning-Avheels\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094and,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 are we yet clothed i Are not the streets of\\nthe capitals of Europe foul Avith the sale of cast\\nclouts and rotten rags Is not the beauty of your\\nsweet children left in wretchedness of disgrace,\\nAvhile, Avith better honor, nature clothes the brood\\nof the bird in its nest, and the suckling of the Avolf\\nin her den And does not every Avinter ssnoAV robe\\nAvhat you have not robed, and shroud Avhat you\\nhave not shrouded and every winter s Avind bear\\nup to heaA^en its AA-asted souls, to Avitness against\\nyou hereafter, by the voice of their Christ,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I Avas\\nnaked, and ye clothed me not \u00e2\u0080\u0094Mystery of Life,\\npp. 124, 125.\\nThe ant and the mothhaA^e cells for each of their\\nyoung, but our little ones lie in festering heaps, in\\niiomes that consume them like graves; and night\\nby night from the corners of our streets, rises up", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "216 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe cry of the homeless I was a stranger, and y*\\ntook me not in. Mystery of Life, p. 126.\\nThe little Girl with large Shoes. One day\\nin November, 1873, at Oxford, as I was going in at\\nthe private door of the University galleries, to give\\na lecture on the Fine Arts in Florence, I was hin-\\ndered for a moment by a nice little girl, whipping\\na top on the pavement. She was a very nice little\\ngirl; and rejoiced wholly in her whip, and top; but\\ncould not iniiict the reviving chastisement with all\\nthe activity that was in her, because she had on a\\nlarge and dilaijidated pair of woman s shoes, which\\nprojected the full length of her own little foot be-\\nhind it and before; and being securely fastened to\\nher ankles in the manner of mocassins, admitted,\\nindeed, of dextei-ous glissades, and other modes of\\nprogress quite sufficient for ordinary purposes; but\\nnot conveniently of all the evolutions proper to the\\npursuit of a whipping-top.\\nThere were some worthy people at my lecture,\\nand I think tlie lecture was one of my best. It\\ngave some really trustworthy information al)out\\nart in Florence six hundred years ago. But all the\\ntime I was speaking, I knew that nothing spoken\\nabout art, either by myself or other people, could\\nbe of the least use to anybody there. For their\\nprimary business, and mine, was with art in Ox-\\nford, now; not Avith art in Florence, then; and art\\nin Oxford now was absolutely dependent on our\\npower of solving the question^which I knew that\\nmy audience would not even allow to be proposed\\nfor solution Why have our little girls lai ge\\nshoes \u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 130.\\nThe Savoyard Cottac4E.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 On a green knoll\\nabove that plain of the Arve, between Cluse and\\nBonneville, there was, in the year 1860, a cottage,\\ninhabited l)y a Avell-doing family man and wife,\\nthree children, and the grandmother. I call it a\\ncottage, but in truth, it was a large chimney on the\\nground, wide at the bottom, so that the family\\nmight live round the fire; lighted by one smalj", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIllLO ^ornY\u00e2\u0080\u0094ECOl^OUIO CANONS. 2lT\\nbroken wiiulow, and entered by an unclosing; door.\\nThe family, I say, was well-doing; at least it was\\nho[)e{ ul and cheerful; the wife health} the children,\\nfor Savoyards, pretty and active, but the husband\\nthreatened with decline, from exposure under the\\ncliffs of the Mont Vergi by day, and to draughts\\nbetween every plank of his chimney in the frosty\\nnights.\\nWhy could he not jjlaster the chinks asks the\\npractical reader. For the same reason that your\\nchild cannot wash its face and hands till you have\\nAvashed them many a day for it, and will not wash\\nthem when it can, till you force it.\\nI passed this cottage often in my walks, had its\\nwindoAv and door mended; sometimes mended also\\na little the meal of sour bread and broth, and\\ngenerally got kind greeting and smile from the face\\nof young or old; which greeting, this year, narrowed\\nitself into the half-recognizing stare of the elder\\nchild, and the old woman s tears; for the father and\\nmother were both dead, one of sickness, the other\\nof sorrow. It happened that I passed not alone,\\nbut with a companion, a practised English joiner,\\nwho, while these people were dying of cold, had\\nbeen employed from six in the morningto six in the\\nevening, for two months, in fitting, without nails,\\nthe panels of a single door in a large house in Lon-\\ndon. Three days of his work taken, at the right\\ntinse, from fastening the oak panels with useless\\n]irecision, and applied to fasten the larch timbers\\nv/ith decent strength, would liave saved these Sa-\\nvoyards lives. He would have been maintained\\nequally; (I suppose him equally paid for his work\\nby the owner of the greater house, only the work not\\nconsumed selfishly on his own walls;) and the two\\npeasants, and eventually, probably their children,\\nsaved. Muncra Pulveris. pp. 131-123.\\nLabor axd Capital.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The landlord, usurer, or\\nlabor-master, does not, and cannot, himself con-\\nsume all the means of life he collects. He gives\\nthem to other persons, whom he employs in his own", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "218 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbehalf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Towers of champagne; jockeys; footmen;\\njewellers; builders; painters; musicians, and the\\nlike. The diversion of the labor of these persons\\nfrom the production of food to the production of\\narticles of luxury is very frequently, and, at the\\npresent day, very grievously, a cause of famine.\\nBut when the luxuries are produced, it becomes a\\nquite separate question who is to have them, aiid\\nwhether the landlord and capitalist are entirely to\\nmonopolize the music, the painting, the architec-\\nture, the hand-service, the horse-service, and the\\nsparkling champagne of the world.\\nAnd it is gradually, in these days, becoming man-\\nifest to the tenants, borrowers, and laborers, that\\ninstead of paying these large sums into the hands\\nof the landlords, lenders, and employers, that they\\nmay purchase music, painting, etc.; the tenants,\\nborrowers, and workers, had better buy a little\\nmusic and painting for themselves That, for in-\\nstance, instead of the capitalist-emi)loyer s paying\\nthree hundred pounds for a full-length portrait of\\nhimself, in the attitude of investing his capital, the\\nunited workmen had better themselves pay the\\nthree hundred pounds into the hands of the ingen-\\nious artist, for a painting, in the antiquated man-\\nner of Lionaj do or Raphael, of some subject more\\nreligiously or historically interesting to them; and\\nlilaced where they can alwaj S see it. And again,\\ninstead of paying three hundred pounds to the\\nobliging landlord, that he may buy a box at the\\nopera with it, whence to study the refinements of\\nmusic and dancing, the tenants are beginning to\\nthink that they may as well keep their rents partly\\nto themselves, and therewith pay some Wandering\\nWillie to fiddle at their own doors; or bid some\\ngrey-haired minstrel\\nTune, to please a peasant s ear,\\nThe harp a king had loved to hear.\\nAnd similarly the dwellers in the hut of the field,\\nand garret of the city, are beginning to think that,\\ninstead of paying half-a-crown for the loan of half", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPIIY-EGONOMIG CANONS. -210\\na fireplace, they had better keep their half-crown in\\ntheir pockets till they can buy for themselves a\\nwhole one.\\nThese are the views which are gaining ground\\namong the poor; and it is entirely vain to endeavor\\nto repress them by equivocations. They are founded\\non eternal laws; and although their recognition\\nwill long be refused, and their promulgation, re-\\nsisted as it will be, partly by force, partly by false-\\nhood, can only take place through incalculable\\nconfusion and misery, recognized they must be\\neventually; and with these three ultimate results:\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094that the usurer s trade will be abolished utterly;\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094that the employer will be paid justly for his super-\\nintendence of labor, but not for his capital; and\\nthe landlord paid for his superintendence of the\\ncultivation of land, when he is able to direct it\\nwisely that both he, and the employer of mechan-\\nical labor, will be recognized as beloved masters, if\\nthey deserve love, and as noble guides when they\\nare capable of giving discreet guidance; but neither\\nwill be permitted to establish themselves any mort\\nas senseless conduits, through which the strength\\nand riches of their native land are to be poui-ed\\ninto the cup of the fornication of its Babylonian\\ncity of the VX in.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, III., pp. 90, 91.\\nThe Laborer s Pension. \u00e2\u0080\u0094A laborer serves his\\ncountry with a spade, just as a man in the middle\\nranks of life serves it with a sw^ord, pen, or lancet;\\nif the service is less, and therefore the wages during\\nhealth less, then the reward, when health is broken,\\nmay be less, but not, therefore, less honorable; and\\nit ought to be quite as natural and straightforward\\na matter for a laborer to take his pension from\\nhis parish, because he has deserved well of his\\nparish, as for a man in higher rank to take his\\npension from his country, because he has deserved\\nAvell of his country. If there be any disgrace in\\ncoming to the parish, because it may imply im-\\nprovidence in early life, much more is there dis.\\ngrace in coming to the government; since improvi-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "220 A RU8KIN AN T HO LOO Y.\\ndeuce is far less justifiable in a liiglily educated\\nthan in an imperfectly educated man; and far less\\njustifiable in a high rank, where extravagance\\nmust have been luxury, than in a low rank, where\\nit may only have been comfort. So that the real\\nfact of the matter is, that j)eople will take alms\\ndelightedly, consisting of a carriage and footmen,\\nbecause those do not look like alms to the peoi^le\\nin the street; but they will not take alms consisting\\nonly of bread and water and coals, because every-\\nbody would understand what those meant. Mind,\\nI do not want any one to refuse the carriage who\\nought to have it; but neither do I want them to\\nrefuse the coals. A Joy For Ever, pp. 92, 93.\\nAmerican Slavery axd Exglish.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There are\\ntwo rocks in mid-sea, on each of which, neglected\\nequally by instructive and commercial powers, a\\nhandful of inhabitants live as they may. Two\\nmerchants bid for the two properties, but not in\\nthe same terms. One bids for the people, buys\\nthem, and sets them to work, under pain of scourge;\\nthe other bids for the rock, buys it, and throws the\\ninhabitants into the sea. The former is the Ameri-\\ncan, the latter the English method, of slavery;\\nmuch is to be said for, and something against,\\nboth. Tlie fact is that slavery is not a politi-\\ncal iiistitution at all, hut an inherent, natural, and\\neternal inheritance of a large portion of the human\\nrace to whom, the more you give of their own free\\nwill, the more slaves they will make themselves.\\nMiinera Pulveris, pp. 108, 109.\\nEXECUTIOJfS OF THE PoOR AT SHEFFIELD.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 As I\\nam securely informed, from ten to twelve public\\nexections of entirely innocent persons take place\\nin Sheffield, annually, by crushing the persons\\ncondemned under large pieces of sandstone thrown\\nat them by steam-engines; in order that the moral\\nimprovement of the public may be secured, by\\nfurnishing them with carving-knives sixjjence a\\ndozen cheaper than, without these executions\\nwould be possible.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i ^or.s, IV., p. 138.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 221\\nWORKINGMEN.\\nWhen we get to the bottom of the matter, Ave\\nfind the inhabitants of this earth broadly divided\\ninto two great masses; the peasant paymasters\\nspade in hand, original and imperial producers of\\nturnips; and, waiting on them all round, a crowd\\nof polite persons, modestly expectant of turnips,\\nfor some too often theoretical service. Fors, I.,\\np. 144.\\nAdvice to Worki^gmk;;.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You are to do good\\nwork, whether you live or die. Mind your\\nown business with your absohite heart and soul;\\nbut see that it is a good business first. That it is\\ncorn and sweet pease you are producing, not gun-\\npowder and arsenic. But what are we to do\\nagainst powder and peti oleum, then What men\\nmay do; not what poisonous beasts may. If a\\nwretch sjjits in your face, will you answer by\\nspitting in his if he throw vitrioj at you, will you\\ngo to the apothecary for a bigger bottle? Fors, I.,\\np. 99.\\nLabor should be paid at a fixed Rate.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nnatural and right system respecting all labor is,\\nthat it should be paid at a fixed rate, but the good\\nworkman employed, and the bad workman unem-\\nI loyed. The false, unnatural, and destri;ctive\\nsystem is when the bad workman is allowed to offer\\nhis work at half-price, and either take the place of\\nthe good, or force him by his competition to work\\nfor an inadequate sum. Unto This Last, p. 14.\\nWork of Head and Hand compared.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There\\nmust be work done by the arms, or none of us could\\nlive. There must be work done by the brains, or\\nthe life we get would not be worth having. And\\nthe same men cannot do both. There is rough work\\nto be done, and rough men must do it; there is\\ngentle work to be done, and gentlemen must do it;\\nand it is physically impossible that one class should\\ndo, or divide, the work of the other. And it is of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "222 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nno use to try to conceal this sorrowful fact Toy Hue\\nwords, and to talk to the workman about tlie lion-\\norahleness of manual labor, and the dignity of\\nhumanity. That is a grand old proverb of Saneho\\nPanza s, Fine words butter no parsnips; and I\\ncan tell yovi that, all over England just now, you\\nworkmen are buying a great deal too much butter\\nat that dairy. Rough work, honorable or not, takes\\nthe life out of us; and the man who has been heav-\\ning clay out of a ditch all day, or driving an ex-\\npress train against the north wind all night, or\\nholding a collier s helm in a gale on a lee-shore, or\\nwhirling white hot iron at a furnace mouth, that\\nman is not the same at the end of his day, or night,\\nas one who has been sitting in a quiet room, with\\neverything comfortable about him, reading books,\\nor classing butterflies, or painting pictures. If it is\\nany comfort to you to be told that the rough work\\nis the more honorable of the two, I should be sorry\\nto take that much of consolation from you; and in\\nsome sense I need not. The rough work is at all\\nevents real, honest, and, generally, though not\\nalways, useful; while the fine work is, a great deal\\nof it, foolish and false as well as fine, and therefore\\ndishonorable; but when both kinds are equally\\nwell and worthily done, the head s is the noble\\nAvork, and the hand s the ignoble. Crown of Wild\\nOlive, Lect. I., p. 30.\\nThe Commune of 71.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Ouvrier and petroleuse;\\nthey are gone their way to their death. But for\\nthese, the Virgin of France shall yet unfold the\\noriflamme above their graves, and lay her blanched\\nlilies on their smirched dust. Yes, and for these,\\ngreat Charles shall rouse his Roland, and bid him\\nput ghostly trump to lip, and breathe a point of\\nwar; and the helmed Pucelle shall answer with a\\nwood-note of Domremy; yes, and for these the\\nLouis they mocked, like his Master, shall raise his\\nholy hands, and prayGrod s peace. Fors, I., p. 106.\\nMasters. The masters cannot bear to let any\\nopportunity of gain escape them, and fi*a,ntically", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL FIIILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 223\\nrush at every gap and breach in the walls of For-\\ntune, raging to be rich, and affronting with im-\\npatient covetousness, every risk of ruin; while the\\nmen prefer three days of violent labor, and three\\ndays of drunkenness, to six days of moderate work\\nand Avise rest. There is no way in which a prin-\\ncii)al, who really desires to help his workmen, may\\ndo it more effectually than by checking these dis-\\norderly habits both in himself and them; keeping\\nhis own business operations on a scale which will\\nenable him to pursue them securely, not yielding to\\ntemptations of precarious gain. Unto This Last,\\np. 14.\\nThe hospitality of the inn need not be less con-\\nsiderate or true because the inn s master lives in his\\noccupation. Even in these days, I have had no\\nmore true or kind friend than the now dead Mrs.\\nEisenkraemer of the old Union Inn at Chamouni;\\nand an innkeeper s daughter in the Oberland taught\\nme that it was still possible for a Swiss girl to bo\\nrefined, imaginative, and pure-hearted, though she\\nwaited on her father s guests, and though these\\nguests were often vulgar and insolent English trav-\\nellers. For she had been bred in the rural districts\\nof happy olden days. Fors, II., p. 241.\\nSupply and Demand.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There maybeall manner\\nof demands, all manner of supplies. The true po\\nlitical economist regulates these; the false politioal\\neconomist leaves them to be regulated by (not\\nDivine) Providence. For, indeed, the largest final\\ndemand anywhere reported of, is that of hell; and\\nthe supply of it (by the broad-gaugeline) would be\\nvery nearly equal to the demand at this day, unle??\\nthere were here and there a swineherd or two who\\nwho could keep his loigs out of sight of the lake.\\nArrows of the Chace, II., p. 96.\\nI had the honor of being on the committee under\\nthe presidentship of the Lord Mayor of London, for\\nthe victualling of Paris after her surrender. It be-\\ncame, at one period of our sittings, a question of\\nvital importance at what moment the law of demaad", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "224 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand supply would come into operation, and what\\nthe operation of it would exactly be the demand,\\non this occasion, being very urgent indeed; that of\\nseveral millions of people within a few hours of\\nutter starvation, for any kind of food whatsoever.\\nNevertheless, it was admitted, in the course of\\ndebate, to be probable that the divine principle of\\ndemand and supjjly might find itself at the eleventh\\nhour, and some minutes over, in want of carts and\\nhorses; and we ventured so far to interfere with\\nthe divine principle as to provide carts and horses,\\nwith haste which i3roved, happily, in time for the\\nneed; but not a moment in advance of it. It was\\nfarther recognized by the committee that the divine\\nprinciple of demand and supply Avould commence\\nits operations by charging the poor of Paris twelve-\\npence for a penny s worth of whatever they wanted;\\nand would end its operations by offering them\\ntwelve-pence worth for a jienny of whatever they\\ndidn t want. Whereupon it was concluded by the\\ncommittee that the tiny knot, on this special occa-\\nsion, was scarcely dignus tr/ndiae, by the divine\\nprinciple of demand and supply and that we would\\nventure, for once, in a profane manner, to provide\\nfor the poor of Paris what they wanted, when they\\nwanted it. Which, to the value of the sums en-\\ntrusted to us, it will be remembered we succeeded\\nin doing.\\nBut the fact is that the so-called law, which\\nwas felt to be false in this case of extreme exigence,\\nis alike false in cases of less exigence. It is false\\nalways, and everywhere. Nay, to such an extent\\nis its existence imaginary, that the vulgar econom-\\nists are not even agreed in their account of it for\\nsome of them mean by it, only that prices are regu-\\nlated by the relation between demand and supply,\\nwhich is partly true and others mean that the\\nrelation itself is one with the process of which it is\\niinwise to interfere; a statement which is not only,\\nas in the above instance, untrue; but accurately the\\nreverse of the truth: for all wise economy, political\\nor domestic, consists in the resolved maintenance", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 225\\nof a given relation between supply and deniand,\\nother than the instinctive, or (directly) natural,\\n^ue.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Manera Pulveris, pp. 9, 10.\\nON CO-OPERATION.*\\nWhile, on the one hand, there can be no ques-\\ntion but that co-operation is better than unjust\\nand tyrannous mastership, there Is very great room\\nfor doubt whether it be better than a just and be-\\nnignant mastership.\\nAt present you every one of you speak, and\\nact, as if there were only one alternative; namely,\\nbetween a system in which profits shall be divided\\nin due proportion among all; and the present one,\\nin which the workman is paid the least wages he\\nwill take, under the pressui-e of competition in the\\nlabor-market. But an intermediate method is\\nconceivable; a method which appears to be more\\nprudent, and in its ultimate results more just, than\\nthe co-operative one. An arrangement may be\\nsupijosed, and I have good hope also may one day\\nbe effected, by which every subordinate shall be\\npaid sufficient and regular wages, according to his\\nrank; by Avliich due provision shall be made out of\\nthe profits of the business for sick and superannu-\\nated workers; and by which the master being held\\nresponsible, as a minor king or governor, for the\\nconduct as loell as the comfort of all those under his\\nrule, shall, on that condition, be permitted to re-\\ntain to his own use the surplus profits of the busi-\\nness, which the fact of his being its master may be\\nassumed to prove that he has organized by superior\\nintellect and energy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 T/we and Tide, p. 12.\\nBrantwood, Conlston, Lancashire, August, 1879.\\nDkar Mr. IIOLYOAKE I am not able to write you\\na pretty letter to-day, being sadly tired, but am\\nvery heartily glad to be remembered by you. But\\nCompare Purt U., Chapter IV.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "226 A E US KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nit utterly silences me that you should waste youi\\ntime and energy in wi iting Histories of Co-opera\\ntion anywhere as yet. My dear Sir, you might ai\\nwell write the history of the yellow spot in an egg-\\nin two volumes. Co-operation is as yet in an\\ntrue sense as impossible as the crystallization ol\\nThames mud. The one calamity which I per-\\nceive or dread for an Englishman is his becoming a\\nrascal and co-operation among rascals if it were\\npossible would bring a curse. Every year sees\\nour workmen more eager to do bad work and rob\\ntheir customers on the sly. All political movement\\namong such animals I call essentially fermentation\\nand putrefaction not co-operation. Ever affec-\\ntionately yours, J. IlvsKi::fi.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Arrows of the Chace,\\nII., pp. 77, 78.\\nThe cure of a little village near Bellinzona, to\\nwhom I had expressed wonder that the peasants\\nallowed the Ticino to flood their fields, told me that\\nthey would not join to build an eft ectual embank-\\nment high up the valley, because everybody said\\nthat would help his neighbors as much as him-\\nself. So every proprietor built a bit of low em-\\nbankment about his own field; and the Ticino, as\\nsoon as if had a mind, SAvept away and swallowed\\nall ui) together. Unto Tlris Last, p. 76.\\nTRADE.\\nThe Function of the Merchant in a State.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI believe one of the worst symptoms of modern\\nsociety to be, its notion of great inferiority, and\\nungentlemanliness, as necessarily belonging to the\\ncharacter of a tradesman. I believe tradesmen\\nmay be, ought to be\u00e2\u0080\u0094 often are\u00e2\u0080\u0094 more gentlemen\\nthan idle and useless people and I believe that\\nart may do noble work by recording in the hall\\nof each trade, the services which men belonging\\nto that trade have done for their country, both\\nl^reserving the portraits, and recording the import-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL FHILO SOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC OANOWS. 227\\nant incidents in the lives, of those who made ^reat\\nadvances in commerce and civilization.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 xi Juy For\\nEver, p. 78.\\nThe wonder has always been great to me, that\\nheroism has never been supposed to be in anywise\\nconsistent with the practice of supplyin i- people\\nwith food, or clothes; but rather with that of quar-\\ntering- oneself upon them for food, and stripping\\nthem of their clothes. Spoiling of armor is an\\nheroic deed in all ages; but the selling of clothes,\\nold, or new, has never taken any color of magna-\\nnimity. Yet one does not see why feeding the hun-\\ngry and clothing the naked should ever become\\nbase businesses, even when engaged in on a large\\nscale. If one could contrive to attach the notion\\nof conquest to them anyhow? so that, supposing\\nthere were anywhere an obstinate race, Avho re-\\nfused to be comforted, one might take some pride\\nin giving them compulsory comfort; and as it were\\noccupying a country with one s gifts, instead of\\none s armies If one could only consider it as\\nmuch a victory to get a barren field sown, as to get\\nan eared field stripj^ed; and contend who should\\nbuild villages, instead of who should cai-ry them.\\nAre not all forms of heroism conceivable in doing\\nthese serviceable deeds You doubt who is strong-\\nest It might be ascertained by push of spade, as\\nwell as i3ush of sword. Who is wisest? There\\nare witty things to be thought of in planning other\\nbusiness than campaigns. Who is bravest There\\nare always the elements to fight with, stronger\\nthan men; and nearly as merciless. The only ab-\\nsolutely and unapproachably heroic element in the\\nsoldier s work seems to be that he is paid little for\\nit and regularly while you traffickers, and ex-\\nchangers, and others occupied in presumably\\nbenevolent business, like to be paid much for it\\nand by chance. I never can make out how it is\\nthat a knight-errant does not exj^ect to be paid for\\nhis trouble, but a pedlar-errant always does; that\\npeople are willingto take hard knocks for nothing,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "228 A BUSKIN ANTIIOLOaY.\\nbut never to sell ribands cheap; that they are\\nready to go on fervent crusades to recover the tomb\\nof a buried God, never on any travels to fulfil the\\norders of a living God; that they will go anywhere\\nbarefoot to preach their faith, but must be well\\nbribed to practise it, and are perfectly ready to give\\nthe Gospel gratis, but never the loaves and fishes.\\nIf you choose to take the matter up on any such\\nsoldierly principle, to do your commerce, and your\\nfeeding of nations, for fixed s.ilaries; and to be as\\nI)articular about giving people the best food, and\\nthe best cloth, as soldiers are about givdng them the\\nbest gunpowder,, 1 could carve something for you on\\nyour exchange worth looking at. But I can only\\nat ijresent suggest decorating its frieze with pendant\\npurses; and making its pillars broad at the base\\nfor the sticking of hiW^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Croion of Wild Olive,\\nLect. II., pp. 57-59.\\nPhilosophically, it does not, at first sight, apjiear\\nreasonable (many writers have endeavoi ed to prove\\nit unreasonable), that a peacealile and rational\\nperson, whose trade is buying and selling, should\\nbe held in less honor than an unpeaceable and\\noften irrational, person, whose trade is slaying.\\nNevertheless, the consent of mankind has always,\\nin spite of the philosoijhers, given precedence to\\nthe soldier.\\nAnd this is right.\\nFor the soldier s trade, verily and essentially, is\\nnot slaying, but being slain. This, without well\\nknowing its OAvn meaning, the world honors it for.\\nA bravo s trade is slaying; but the world has never\\nrespected bravos more than merchants the reason\\nit honors the soldier is, because he holds his life at\\nthe service of the State. U)ito This Last, pp. 23, 24.\\nThe merchant s function (or manufacturer s, for\\nin the broad sense in which it is here used the word\\nmust be understood to include both) is to provide\\nfor the nation. It is no more his function to get\\nprofit for himself out of that jjro vision than it is a\\nclergyman s function to get his stipend. The sti-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY-ECONOMIC CANONS. 229\\npend is a due and necessary adjunct, but not the\\nobject, of his life, if he be a true ciergynian, any\\nmore than his fee (or honorarium) is the object of\\nlife to a true physician. Neither is his fee the\\nobject of life to a true merchant. All three, if true\\nmen, have a Avork to be done irrespective of fee\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to\\nbe done even at any cost, or for quite the contrary\\nof fee; the pastor s function being to teach, the\\nphysician s to heal, and the merchant s, as I have\\nsaid, to provide. That is to say, he has to under-\\nstand to their very root the qualities of the thing\\nhe deals in, and the means of obtaining or produc-\\ning it; and he has to apply all his sagacity and\\nenergy to the producing or obtaining it in perfect\\nstate, and distributing it at the cheapest possible\\nprice where it is most needed.\\nAnd because the production or obtaining of any\\ncommodity involves necessarily the agency of many\\nlives and hands, the merchant becomes in the\\ncourse of his business the master and governor of\\nlarge masses of men in a more direct, though less\\nconfessed way, than a military officer or pastor;\\nso that on hiin falls, in great part, the responsibil-\\nity for the kind of life they lead and it becomes\\nhis duty, not only to be always considering how\\nto produce wdiat he sells in the purest and cheapest\\nforms, but how to make the various employments\\ninvolved in the production, or transference of it,\\nmost beneficial to the men employed.\\nSupposing the captain of a frigate saw it right,\\nor were by any chance obliged, to place his own\\nson in the position of a common sailor; as he would\\nthen treat his son, he is bound always to treat every\\none of the men under him. So, also, supposing\\nthe master of a manufactory saw it right, or were\\nby any chance obliged, to place his own son in the\\nposition of an ordinary workman; as he would\\nthen treat his son, he is bound always to treat\\nevery one of his men. This is the only effective,\\ntrue, or practical Rule which can be given on this\\npoint of political economy.\\nAnd as the captain of a ship is bound to be the last", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "230 A BUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nman to leave his ship in case of wreck, and to share\\nhis hist crust with the sailoi S in case of famine, so\\nthe manufacturer, in any commercial crisis or dis-\\ntress, is bound to take the siiffering of it with his\\nmen, and even to take more of it for himself than\\nhe allows his men to feel; as a father would in a\\nfamine, shipwreck, or battle, sacrifice himself for\\nhis son.\\nAll which sounds very strange the only real\\nstrangeness in the matter being, nevertheless, that\\nit should so sound. For all this is true, and that\\nnot partially nor theoretically, but everlastingly\\nand practically. Unto This Last, p. 28.\\nPeople will find that commerce is an occupation\\nwhich gentlemen will every day see more need to\\nengage in, rather than in the businesses of talking\\nto men, or slaying them; that, in true commerce, as\\nin true preaching, or true fighting, it is necessary\\nto admit the idea of occasional voluntary loss;\\nthat sixpences have to be lost, as well as liv^es, under\\na sense of duty; that the market may have its\\nmartyrdoms as well as the pulj^it; and trade its\\nheroisms as well as war. Unto This Last, p. 35.\\nConsidering the materials dealt Avith, and the\\ncrude state of art knowledge at the time, I do not\\nknoAv that any more wide or effective influence in\\nl)ublic taste was ever exercised than that of the\\nStaffordshire manufacture of pottery under William\\nWedgwood, and it only rests with the manufacturer\\nin every other business to determine whether he\\nwill, in like manner, make his wares educational\\ninstruments, or mere drugs of the market. You all\\nshould be, in a certain sense, authors you must,\\nindeed, first catch the public eye, as an author\\nmust the public ear; but once gain your audience,\\nor observance, and as it is in the writer s power\\nthenceforward to publish Avhat will educate as it\\namuses so it is in yours to publish what will edu-\\ncate as it adorns. The Two Paths, p. 76.\\nThe Making and Selling op bad GIoods.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My\\n4ieighbor sells me bad meat I sell him in return", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CAlSfONS, 231\\nflawed iron. We neither of vis get one Jitoni of pe-\\ncuniary advantage on the whole transaction, but\\nwe both suffer xinexj)ected inconvenience; my men\\nget scurvy, and his cattle-truck runs off the rails.\\nMunera Pulveris, p. 87.\\nYou drive a gambler out of the gambling-room\\nwho loads dice, but you leave a tradesmen in flour-\\nishing business, who loads scales For observe, all\\ndishonest dealing is loading scales. What does it\\nmatter whether I get short weight, adulterate sub-\\nstance, or dishonest fabric The fault in the fabric\\nis incomparably the worst of the two. Crown of\\nWild Olive, Lect. II., p. 37.\\nNo form of theft is so criminal as this none so\\ndeadly to the State. If you break into a man s\\nhouse and steal a hundred pounds worth of plate,\\nhe knows his loss, and there is an end (besides that\\nyou take your risk of punishment for your gain,\\nlike a man). And if you do it bravely and openly,\\nand habitually live by such inroad, you may retain\\nnearly every moral and manly virtue, and become\\na heroic rider and reiver, and hero of song. But if\\nyou swindle me out of twenty shillings worth of\\nquality, on each of a hundred bargains, I lose my\\nhundred pounds all the same, and I get a hundred\\nuntrustworthy articles besides, Avhich will fail me\\nand injure me in all manner of ways, when I least\\nexpect it; and you, having done your thieving\\nbasely, are corrupted by the guilt of it to the very\\nheart s core.\\nThis is the first thing, therefore, which your gen-\\neral laws must be set to punish, fiercely, immiti-\\ngably, to the utter prevention and extinction of it,\\nor there is no hope for you. No religion that ever\\nwas preached on this earth of God s rounding, ever\\nproclaimed any salvation to sellers of bad goods.\\nFor light weights and false measures, or for proved\\nadulteration or dishonest manufacture of ai-ticle,\\nthe penalty should be simply confiscation of goods\\nand .sending out of the countiy. The kind of person\\nwho desires prosperity by such practices, could not", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "232 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbe made to emigrate too speedily. Time and\\nTide, pp. 57, 58.\\nNo SUCH Thi^^g as a just Cheap]vess.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There is\\nno such thing as a just or real cheapness.\\nWhen you obtain anything yourself for half-price,\\nsomebody else must always have paid the other\\nhalf.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^y^ of England, p. 72.\\nWhenever we buy, or try to buy, cheajj goods\\ngoods offered at a price which we know cannot be\\nremunerative for the labor involved in them, we\\nare stealing somebody s labor. Don t let us mince\\nthe matter. I say, in plain Saxon, Stealing\\ntaking from him the proper reward of his work,\\nand putting it into our own pocket. You know\\nwell enough that the thing could not have been\\noffered you at that price, unless distress of some\\nkind had forced the i^roducer to part with it. You\\ntake advantage of this distress, and you force as\\nmuch out of him as you can under the circum-\\nstances. The old barons of the middle ages used,\\nin general, the thumb-screw, to extort property;\\nwe moderns use, in preference, hunger or domestic\\naffliction but the fact of extortion remains pre-\\ncisely the same. Whether we force the man s\\nproperty from him by pinching his stomach, or\\npinching his fingers, makes some difference ana-\\ntomically; moi-ally, none whatsoever: we use a\\nform of torture of some sort in order to make him\\ngive up his property; we use, indeed, the man s own\\nanxieties, instead of the rack; and his immediate\\nperil of starvation, instead of the pistol at the head;\\nbut otherwise we differ from Front-de-Bceuf, or\\nDick Turpin, merely in being less dexterous, more\\ncowardly, and more cruel. The Two Paths, p. 127.\\nTrade as it is, and Trade as it should be.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It\\nis very curious to watch the efforts of two shoi\\nkeepers to ruin each other, neither having the least\\nidea that his ruined neighbor must eventually be\\nsupported at his own expense, Avith an increase of\\npoor rates; and that the contest between them is\\nnot in reality which shall get everything for him-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PniLOSOPHY-ECONOMIG CANONS. 2;Ja\\nself, but which shall first take upon himself and his\\ncustomers the gratuitous maintenance of the other s\\nfamily. A Joy For Ever, p. 90.\\nSin sticks so fast between the joinings of the\\nstones of buying and selling, that to trade in\\nthings, or literally cross-give them, has warped\\nitself, by the instinct of nations, into their worst\\nword for fraud; and trader, traditor, and\\ntraitor are but the same word. For which\\nsimplicity of language there is more reason than\\nat first appears for as in true commerce there is\\nno profit, so in true commerce there is no sale.\\nThe idea of sale is that of an interchange between\\nenemies respectively endeavoring to get the better\\none of another; but commerce is an exchange be-\\ntM-een friends; and there is no desire but that it\\nshould be just, any more than there would be\\nbetween membei-s of the same family. Munera\\nPulveris, pp. 81, 82.\\nMiddlemen in Trade.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Here s my publisher,\\ngets tenpence a dozen for his cabbages; the con-\\nsumer pays threepence each. That is to say, you\\npay for three cabbages and a half, and the middle-\\nman keejjs two and a half for himself, and gives\\nyou one.\\nSuppose yovi saw^ this financial gentleman, in\\nbodily presence, toll-taking at your door that\\nyou bought three loaves, and saw him pocket two,\\nand pick the best crust off the third as he handed\\nit in; that you paid for a pot of beer, and saw him\\ndi ink two-thirds of it, and hand j^ou over the pot\\nand sops ^would you long ask, then, what w as to\\nbecome of him? Fors, III., p. 309.\\nPay as you go. In all wise commerce, payment,\\nlarge or small, should be over the counter. If you\\ncan t pay for a thing, don t buy it. If you can t\\nget paid for it, dont sell it. So, you will have calm\\ndays, drowsy nights, all the good business you have\\nnow, and none of the bad. Fors, I., p. 362.\\nFree Trade. The distances of nations are njeas-\\nured, not by seas, but by ignorances; and their", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "234 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndivisions determined, not by dialects, but by enmi-\\nties. Munera Piilveris, p. 79.\\nIt Avill be observed tliat I do not admit even the\\nidea of reciprocity. Let other nations, if they like,\\nkeep their ports shut; every wise nation will throw\\nits own open. It is not the opening them, but a\\nsudden, inconsidei-ate, and blunderingly experi-\\nmental manner of opening them, which does the\\nharm. If you have been protecting a manufacture\\nfor long series of years, you must not take protec-\\ntion off in a moment, so as throw every one of its\\noperatives at once out of employ, any more than\\nyou must take all its wrappings off a feeble child at\\nonce in cold weather, though the cumber of them\\nmay have been radically injuring its health. Little\\nby little, you must I estore it to freedom and to air.\\nWhen trade is entirely free, no country can\\nbe competed with in the articles for the production\\nof which it is naturally calculated; nor can it com-\\npete with any other in the production of articles\\nfor which it is not naturally calculated. Tuscany,\\nfor instance, cannot compete with England in steel,\\nnor England with Tuscany in oil. They must ex-\\nchange their steel and oil. Which exchange should\\nbe as frank and free as honesty and the sea-winds\\ncan make it. Competition, indeed, arises at first,\\nand sharply, in order to prove which is strongest in\\nany given manufacture possible to both; this point\\nonce ascertained, competition is at an end. Unto\\nThis Last, pp. 56, 57.\\nExcha:n^ge. There are in the main two great\\nfallacies which the rascals of the world rejoice in\\nmaking its fools proclaim The first, that by con-\\ntinually exchanging, and cheating each other on\\nexchange, two exchanging persons, out of one pot,\\nalternating with one kettle, can make their two\\nfortunes. That is the principle of Trade. The\\nsecond, that Judas s bag has become a juggler s, in\\nwhich, if Mr. P. deposits his pot. and waits awhile,\\nthere Avill come out two pots, both full of broth;\\nand if Mr. K. deposits his kettle, and Avaits awhile,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 235\\nthere will come out two kettles, both full of fish\\nThat is the principle of Interest. Fors, II., p. 267.\\nOne man, by sowing and reaping, turns one\\nmeasure of corn into two measures. That is Profit.\\nAnother by digging and forging, turns one spade\\ninto two spades. That is Profit. But the man who\\nhas two measures of coi*n wants sometimes to dig;\\nand the man who has two spades wants sometimes\\nto eat They exchange the gained grain for the\\ngained tool; and both are the better for the ex-\\nchange; but though there is much advantage in\\nthe transaction, there is no Pro^^. Nothing is con-\\nstructed or produced. Pro^^, or material gain,\\nis attainable only by construction or by discovery;\\nnot by exchange. AVhenever material gain follows\\nexchange, for every plus there is a precisely equal\\nminus-\\nUnhappily for the progress of the science of Politi-\\ncal Economy, the ^?\u00c2\u00ab6 quantities, or if I may be al-\\nlowed to coin an awkward plural the 2)hises, make\\na very positive and venerable appearance in the\\nworld, so that every one is eager to learn the science\\nwhich produces results so magnificent, whereas the\\nminuses have, on the other hand, a tendency to re-\\ntire into back streets, and other places of shade,\\nor even to get themselves wholly and finally put\\nout of sight in graves which renders the algebra\\nof this science peculiar, and difficultly legible a\\nlarge number of its negative signs being written by\\nthe account-keeper in a kind of red ink, which\\nstarvation thins, and makes strangely pale, or even\\nquite invisible ink, for the present.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 C/;ito This Last,\\npp. 71, 72.\\nDefinition op Property. A man s Property,\\nthe possession proper to him, his own, rightly\\nso called, and no one else s on any pretence of theirs\\nconsists of (A) The good things, (B) Which he\\nhas honestly got, (C) And can skilfully use. That\\nis the A B C of Property.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors. III., p. a09.\\nThe Spending, or Consumption op Wealth.\\nIt is because of this (among many other such errors)", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "236 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthat I have fearlessly declared, your so-called\\nscience of Political Economy to be no science; be-\\ncause, namely, it has omitted the study of exactly\\nthe most important branch of the business the\\nstudy of spending. For spend you must, and as\\nmuch as you make, ultimately. You gather corn\\nwill you bury England under a heap of grain; or\\nwill you, when you have gathered, finally eat?\\nYou gather gold will you make your house-roofs\\nof it, or pave your streets with it Crown of\\nWild Olive, Lect. II., p. 60.\\nThere is not one person in a million who knows\\nwhat a million means; and that is one reason\\nthe nation is always ready to let its ministers spend\\na million or two in cannon, if they can show they\\nhave saved twopence-halfpenny in tape. Bugle s\\nNest, p. 23.\\nA certain quantity of the food produced by the\\ncountry is paid annually by it into the squire s\\nhand, in the form of rent, privately, and taxes,\\npublicly. If he uses this food to support a food-\\nproducing population, he inci*eases daily the\\nstrength of the country and his own; but if he uses\\nif to support an idle population, or one producing\\nmerely trinkets in iron, or gold, or other rubbish,\\nhe steadily weakens the country, and debases him-\\nself.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, II., p. 343.\\nUnnecessary Luxury is Waste. If a school-\\nboy goes out in the morning with five shillings in\\nhis pocket, and comes home at night penniless\\n(having spent his all in tarts), principal and interest\\nare gone, and fruiterer and baker are enriched. So\\nfar so good. But suppose the schoolboy, instead,\\nhas bought a book and a knife; principal and in-\\nterest are gone, and bookseller and cutler are en-\\nriched. But the schoolboy is enriched also, and\\nmay help his schoolfellows next day with knife and\\nbook, instead of lying in bed and incurring a debt\\nto the doctor. A Joy For Ever, p. 103.\\nThe beggared Millionaire.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The spending of\\nthe fortune in extravagance, has taken a certain", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL FIIILOSOPIIY\u00e2\u0080\u0094ECONOMW CANONS. 237\\nnumber of years (suppose ten), and during that\\ntime 1,000,000 dollars worth of work has been done\\nby the people, who have been paid that sum for it.\\nWhere is the product of that work By your own\\nstatement, wholly consumed; for the man for whom\\nit has been done is now a beggar. You have given\\ntherefore, as a nation, 1,000,000 dollars worth of\\nwork, and ten years of time, and you have pro-\\nduced, as ultimate result, one beggar Excellent\\neconomy, gentlemen; and sure to conduce, in due\\nsequence, to the production of more than one beg-\\ngar. \u00e2\u0080\u0094J. Joy For Ever, \\\\y. 102.\\nThe Expenditures op the Rich.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When Mr.\\nGreg so pleasantly showed in the Contemporary\\nRemew how benevolent the rich were in drinking\\nchampagne, [on the (false) theory that expediture\\nof money for luxuries is a help to the poor in\\nreality (says Ruskin), the nation is so much the\\npoorer for every penny spent in indulgence of use-\\nless luxury,] and how wicked the poor were in drink-\\ning beer, you will find that in Fors of vol. iii, p. 85,\\nI requested him to supply the point of economical\\ninformation which he had inadvertently overlooked\\nhow the champagne-drinker had got his cham-\\npagne. The poor man, drunk in an ungraceful\\nmanner though he be, has yet w^orked for his beer\\nand does but drink his Avages. I asked, of course,\\nfor complete parallel of the two cases what work\\nthe rich man had done for his sparkling beer; and\\nhow it came to pass that he had got so much higher\\nwages, that he could put them, unblamed, to that\\nbenevolent use. To which question, you observe,\\nMr. Grag has never ventured the slightest answer.\\n^Fors, IV., p. 49.\\nWisK Consumption the difficult Thing.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nConsumption absolute is the end, crown, and per-\\nfection of production; and wise consumption is a\\nfar more difficult art than wise production. Twen-\\nty people can gain money for one who can use it;\\nand the vital question, for individual and for\\nnation, is, never how much do they make? but", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "238 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nto what purpose do they spend \u00e2\u0080\u0094Z7\u00c2\u00ab^o This\\nLast, p. 77.\\nThe final object of political economy is to get\\ngood njethod of consumption, and great quantity\\nof consumption: in other words, to use everything,\\nand to use it nobly Tt matters, so far as\\nthe laborer s immediate profit is concerned, not an\\niron filing whether I employ him in growing a\\npeach, or forging a bombshell; but my probable\\nmode of consumj)tion of those articles matters seri-\\nously. Admit that it is to be in both cases un-\\nselfish, and the difference, to him, is final, whether\\nwhen his child is ill I Avalk into his cottage and\\ngive it the peach, or drop the shell down his\\nchimney, and blow his roof off. Unto This Last,\\npp. 80, 82.\\nLAND.\\nThere are two theories on the subject of land now\\nabroad, and in contention; both false:\\nThe first is that by Heavenly law, there have\\nalways existed, and must continue to exist, a cer-\\ntain number of hereditarily sacred persons, to whom\\nthe earth, air, and water of the world belong, as\\npersonal property; of which earth, air and water\\nthese persons may, at their pleasure, permit, or for-\\nbid the rest of the human race to eat, breathe, or to\\ndrink. This theory is not for many years longer\\ntenable. The adverse theory is that a division of\\nthe land of the world among the mob of the world\\nwould immediately elevate the said mob into sacred\\npei sonages; that houses would then build them\\nselves, and corn grow of itself; and that everybody\\nwould be able to live without doing any work for\\nhis living. This theory would also be found highly\\nuntenable in practice. Sesame and Lilies, p. 51.\\nPossession of land implies the duty of living on\\nit, and by it, if thei-e is enough to live on; then,\\nhaving got one s own life from it by one s own", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL r II LLo Si )i iIY^ECONOMIG CANONS. 239\\nlabor or Nvise superiutentlence of labor, if there i\u00c2\u00ab\\nmore land than is enough for one s self, the duty\\nof making it fruitful and beautiful for as many\\nmore as can live on it.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV., p. 378.\\nRext.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Rent is an exaction, by force of hand, for\\nthe maintenance of squires. Fors, II., p. 220.\\nThe rents of our lands [in Utopia], though they\\nWill be required from the tenantry as strictly as\\nthose of any other estates, will differ from common\\nrents primarily in being lowered, instead of raised,\\nin proportion to every inqjrovement made by the\\ntenant; secondly, in that they will be entirely used\\nfor the benefit of the tenantry themselves, or better\\nculture of the estates, no money being ever taken\\nby the landlords unless they earn it by their own\\npersonallabor. Fors, III., p. 41.\\nYou lease your tenants an orchard of crab-trees\\nfor so much a year; they leave you, at the end of\\nthe lease, an orchard of golden pippins. Supposing\\nthey have paid you their rent regularly, you have\\nno right to anything more than w hat you lent\\nthem crab-trees, to wit. You. must pay them for\\nthe better trees which by their good industry they\\ngive you back, or, which is the sanje thing, previ-\\nously reduce their rent in proportion to the im-\\nprovement in apples. The exact contrary, you\\nobserve, of your present modes of proceeding.\\nJust so, gentlemen; and it is not imj^robable that\\nthe exact contrary in many other cases of your\\npresent modes of proceeding will be found by you,\\neventually, the proper one, and more than that, the\\nnecessary one. Fo7 s, II., p. 2G2.\\nThe most wretched houses of the poor in London\\noften pay ten or fifteen per cent, to the landlord;\\nand I have known an instance of sanitary legisla-\\ntion being hindered, to the loss of many hundreds\\nof lives, in order that the rents of a nobleman,\\nderived from the necessities of the poor, might not\\nbe diminished. I felt this evil so strongly that\\nI bought, in the Avorst part of London, one freehold", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "240 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand one leasehold i^ropej-ty, consisting of houses\\ninhabited by the lowest j^oor; in order to try what\\nchange in their comfort and habits I could effect\\nby taking only a just rent, but that flruily. The\\nhouses of the leasehold pay me five per cent.; the\\nfamilies that used to have one room in them have\\nnow two; and are more orderly and hopeful besides;\\nand there is a surplus still on the rents they pay,\\nafter I have taken my five per cent., with which,\\nif all goes well, they will eventually be able to buy\\ntwelve years of the lease from me. The freehold\\npays three per cent., Avith similar results in the\\ncomfort of the tenant. This is merely an example\\nof what might be done by firm State action in such\\nmatters. Ti/ne and Tide, p. 99.\\nRailroads.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Going by railroad I do not consider\\nas travelling at all; it is merely being sent to a\\nplace, and very little different from becoming a\\nparcel; the next step to it would of coui se be tele-\\ngraphic transport, of which, however, I suppose it\\nhas been truly said by Octave Feuillet,\\nil aurait des gens assez betes pour trouver 9a amusant.\\nA man who really loves travelling would as soon\\nconsent to i^ack a day of happiness into an hour of\\nrailroad, as one who loved eating Avould agree, if\\nit were possible, to concentrate his dinner into a\\nlii\\\\\\\\.~ Modern Painters, III., pp. 319, 320.\\nA Railway Traveller. A person carried in an\\niron box by a kettle on wheels.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ or^, II., p. 103.\\nRusKi.v s PERSONAL UsE OF RAILROADS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My Cor-\\nrespondent doubts the sincerity of my abuse of\\nrailroads because she suspects I use them. I do so\\nconstantly, my dear lady; few men more. I use\\neverything that comes Avithin reach of me. If the\\ndevil were standing at my side at this moment, I\\nshould endeavor to make some use of him as a\\nlocal black. The wisdom of life is in preventing\\nall the evil we can; and using what is inevitable,\\nto the best jjurpose. I use my sicknesses, for the\\nwork I despise in health; my enemies, for study of\\nthe philosophy of benediction and malediction;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 241\\nand railroads, for whatever I find of help in them\\nlooking always hopefully forward to the day\\nwhen their embankments will be ploughed down\\nagain, like the camps of Rome, into our English\\nfields. But I am perfectly ready even to construct\\na railroad, when I think one necessary; and in the\\nopening chapter of Manera Pulveris my correspon-\\ndent will find many proper uses for steam-machin-\\nery siDecifled. What is required of the members of\\nSt. George s Company is, not that they should\\nnever travel by railroads, nor that they should\\nabjure machinery; but that they should never\\ntravel unnecessarily, or in wanton haste; and that\\nthey should never do Avith a machine what can be\\ndone with hands and arms, while hands and arms\\nare \\\\d\\\\e.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 333.\\nFrom Co:?fiSTON to ULVERSTo:yE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The town of\\nUlverstone is twelve miles from me, by four miles\\nof mountain road beside Coniston lake, three\\nthrough a pastoral valley, five by the seaside. A\\nhealthier or lovelier walk would be difficult to find.\\nIn old times, if a Coniston peasant had any busi-\\nness at Ulverstone, he walked to Ulverstone; spent\\nnothing but shoe-leather on the road, drank at the\\nstreams, and if he spent a couple of batz when he\\ngot to Ulverstone, it was the end of the world.\\nBut now, he would never think of doing such a\\nthing He first walks three miles in a contraiy\\ndirection, to a railroad station, and then travels by\\nrailroad twenty-four miles to Ulverstone, paying\\ntwo shillings fare. Dui ing the twenty-four miles\\ntransit, he is idle, dusty, stupid; and either more\\nhot or cold than is pleasant to him. In either case\\nhe drinks beer at two or three of the stations, passes\\nhis time, betvveen them, with anybody he can find,\\nin talking without having anything to talk of; and\\nsuch talk always becomes vicious. He arrives at\\nUlverstone, jaded, half drunk, and otherwise de-\\nmoralized, and three shillings, at least, iworer than\\nin the morning. Of that sum, a shilling has gone\\nfor beer, threepence to a railway shareholder,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "242 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthreepence in coals, and eighteenpence has been\\nspent in employing strong men in the vile mechani-\\ncal work of making and driving a machine, instead\\nof his own legs, to carry the drunken lout. The\\nresults, absolute loss and demoralization to the\\npoor, on all sides, and iniquitous gain to the rich.\\nFancy, if you saw the railway officials actually em-\\nployed in carrying the countryman bodily on their\\nbacks to Ulverstone, what you would think of the\\nbusiness And because they waste ever so much\\niron and fuel besides to do it, you think it a profita-\\nble one \\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II.. p. 338.\\nLet the Nation ow^^ its Railroads.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Neither\\nroad, nor railroad, nor canal should ever pay divi-\\ndends to anybody. They should pay their working\\nexpenses and no more. All dividends are simply a\\ntax on the traveller and the goods, levied by the\\nperson to whom the road or canal belongs, for the\\nright of passing over his property. And this right\\nshould at once be purchased by the nation, and the\\noriginal cost of the roadway be it of gravel, iron,\\nor adamant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 at once defrayed by the nation, and\\nthen the whole work of the carriage of persons or\\ngoods done for ascertained prices, by salaried offi-\\ncers, as the carriage of letters is done now.\\nI believe, if the votes of the proprietors of all\\nthe railroads in the kingdom were taken eti masse,\\nit would be found that the majority would gladly\\nreceive back their original capital, and cede their\\nright of revising prices of railway tickets. And\\nif railway i^roperty is a good and wise investment\\nof capital, the public need not shrink from taking\\nthe whole off their hands. Let the public take it.\\n(I, for one, who never held a rag of railroad scrip\\nin my life, nor ever willingly travelled behind an\\nengine where a horse could pull me, will most gladly\\nsubscribe my proper share for such purchase ac-\\ncording to my income.) Then let them examine\\nwhat lines pay their working expenses and what\\nlines do not, and boldly leave the unpaying embank-\\nments to be white over Avith sheep, like Roman", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY -EfJOXOMIG CANONS. 24:^\\ncamps, take np the working lines on sound prin-\\nciples, pay their drivers and pointsmen well, keep\\ntheir cari lages clean and in good repair, and make\\nit as wonderful a thing for a train, as for an old\\nmail-coach, to be behind its time; and the sagacious\\nBritish public will very soon find its pocket heav-\\nier, its heart lighter, and its passages pleasanter\\nthan any of the three have been for many a daj\\nArrofos of the Chace, II., p. S3.\\nA railroad company is merely an association of\\nturnpike-keepers, who make the tolls as high as\\nthey can, not to mend the roads with, bvit the\\npocket. The public will in time discover this, and\\ndo away with turnpikes on railroads, as on all\\nother pu bile- ways \u00e2\u0080\u0094J/\u00c2\u00abJif c/ Pulveris, p- 106.\\nMACHINERY.\\nA spider may perhaps be rationally proud of his\\nown cobweb, even though all the fields in the\\nmorning are covered Avith the like, for he made it\\nhimself but suppose a machine spun it for him Y\\nA Joy For Ecer, p. 139.\\nHark, says an old Athenian, according to Aris-\\ntophanes, how the nightingale has filled the thii k-\\nets with honey (meaning, Avith music as sweet).\\nIn Yorkshire, your steam-nightingales fill the woods\\nwith Buzz; and for four miles round are audible,\\nsummoning yoiT to your pleasure, I suppose, my\\nfree-l)orn?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 FO/-.S-, I., p. ;3t)0.\\nIModern Utopianism imagines that the world is to\\nbe stubbed by steam, and human arms and legs to\\nbe eternally idle; not perceiving that thus it Avould\\nreduce man to the level of his cattle indeed, who\\ncan only graze and gore, but not dig It is indeed\\ncertain that advancing knowledge will guide us to\\nless painful methods of human toil; but in the true\\nUtopia, man will rather harness himself, Avith his\\noxen, to his plough, than leave the deA il to driA e\\nit.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV., p. :5(S1.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "244 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAs all noble sight is with the eyes that Grod has\\ngiven yon, so all noble motion is with the limbs\\nGod has balanced for you, and all noble strength\\nwith the arms He has knit. Though you should\\nput electric coils into your high heels, and make\\nspring-heeled Jacks and Gills of yourselves, you\\nwill never dance, so, as you could barefoot. Though\\nyou could have machines that would swing a ship\\nof war into the sea, and drive a railway train\\nthrough a rock, all divine strength is still the\\nstrength of Herakles, a man s wrestle, and a man s\\nhlow.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Art of England, p. 68.\\nIf all the steam engines in England, and all the\\ncoal in it, with all their horse and ass poAver put\\ntogether, could produce so much as one grain of\\ncorn l\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 338.\\nThe use of such machinery as mowing implements\\ninvolves the destruction of all pleasures in rural\\nlabor; and I doubt not, in that destruction, the\\nessential deterioration of the national mind.\\nModer7i Painters, V., p. 162.\\nThe use of machinery in art destroys the national\\nintellect; and, finally, i-enders all luxury impossi-\\nble. All machinery needful in ordinary life to\\nsupplement human or animal labor may be moved\\nby wind or water; while steam, or any mode of\\nheat power, may only be employed justifiably under\\nextreme or special conditions of need; as for speed\\non main lines of communication, and for raising\\nwater from great depths, or other such work beyond\\nhuman strength. Fors, III., p. 250.\\nWAR.\\nPro.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The vice and injustice of the world are\\nconstantly springing anew, and are only to be sub-\\ndued by battle; the keepers of order and law must\\nalways be soldiers. Athena, p. 88.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 245\\nThe {j;aine of war is only that in which tlie full\\npersonal power of the human creature is l)rong ht\\nout in inauagenjent of its weapons. Tlie great\\njustification of this game is that it truly, Avhen well\\nplayed, determines who is the best man; who is the\\nhighest bred, the most self-denying, the most fear-\\nless, the coolest of nerve, the swiftest of eye and\\nhand. You cannot test these qualities wholly, un-\\nless there is a clear possibility of the struggle s end-\\ning in death. Crown of Wild Olive, p. 75.\\nThe creative or foundational war is that in which\\nthe natural restlessness and love of contest among\\nmen are disciplined, by consent, into modes of\\nbeautiful though it may be fateil play in which\\nthe natural ambition and love of power of men are\\ndisciplined into the aggressive conquest of sur-\\nrounding evil and in which the natural instincts\\nof self-defence are sanctified by the nobleness of the\\ninstitutions, and purity of the households, which\\nthey are appointed to defend. Crown of Wild Olive,\\np. 70.\\nThose Vv ho can never more see sunrise, nor Avatch\\nthe climbing light gild the Eastern clouds, without\\nthinking what graves it has gilded, first, far down\\nbehind the dark earth-line, who never more shall\\nsee the crocus bloom in spring, without thinking\\nAvhat dust it is that feeds the wild flowers of Bala-\\nclava. Ask t7ieir witness, and see if they will not\\nreply that it is well with them, and with theirs; that\\nthey would have it no otherwise; would not, if they\\nmight, receive back their gifts of love and life, nor\\ntake again the purple of their blood out of the\\ncross on the breastplate of England. Ask them\\nand though they should answer only with a sob,\\nlisten if it does not gather upon their lips into the\\nsound of the old Seyton war-cry Set on. Mod-\\nern Painters, III., p. 355.\\nAll healthy men like fighting, and like the sense\\nof danger; all brave women like to hear of their\\nfighting, and of their facing danger. This is a fixed\\ninstinct in the fine race of them; and I cannot help", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "246 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nfiineying that faiv fight is the best play for them\\nand that a tournament was a better game than a\\nsteeple-chase. The time may perhaps come in\\nFrance as well as here, for universal hurdle-races\\nand cricketing: V)ut I do not think universal\\ncrickets will bring out the best qualities of the\\nnobles of either country. I use, in such question,\\nthe test which I have adopted, of the connection of\\nwar with other arts; and I reflect how, as a sculp-\\ntor, I should feel, if I were asked to design a monu-\\nment for a dead knight, in AVestminster abbey,\\nM itli a carving of a bat at one end, and a ball at\\nthe other. It may be the remains in me onlj^ of\\nsavage Gothic prejudice; but I had rather carve it\\nwith a shield at one end, and a sword at the other.\\nCrown of Wild Olive, p. 74.\\nWar is the foundation of all the arts, and it is\\nthe foundation of all the high virtues and faculties\\nof men.\\nIt was very strange to me to discover this; and\\nvery dreadful but I saw it to be quite an undenia-\\nble fact. The common notion that peace and the\\nvirtues of civil life flourished together, I found, to\\nbe wholly untenable. Peace and the vices of civil\\nlife only flourish together. We talk of peace and\\nlearning, and of peace and plenty, and of peace and\\ncivilization; but I found that those were not the\\nwords which the Mvise of History coupled together\\nthat on her lips, the words were peace and sensu-\\nality, peace and selfishness, peace and corruption,\\npeace and death. Crown of Wild Olive, p. 70.\\nAll the pure and noble arts of peace are founded\\non war; no great art ever yet rose on earth, but\\namong a nation of soldiers. There is no art among\\na shepherd people, if it remains at peace. There is\\nno art among an agricultural peojile, if it remains\\nat peace. Conimerce is barely consistent with fine\\nart; but cannot produce it. Manufacture not only\\nis unable to produce it, but invariably destroys\\nwhatever seeds of it exist. There is no great art\\npossible to a nation but that which is based on\\nheittle.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Croivn of Wild Olive, Lect. III., p. 66.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL FHILOSOPHY^ECONOMIC CANONS. 247\\nCoiitra. I, for one, would fain join in the cadence\\nof hammer-strokes that should beat swords into\\nl)lough-shares. Groxon of Wild Olive, Lect. III.,\\np. !)3.\\nThe real, final, reason for all the poverty, misery,\\nand rage of battle, throughout Europe, is simply\\nthat you women, however good, hov/ever religious,\\nhowever self-sacrificing for those whom you love,\\nare too selfish and too thoughtless to take pains\\nfor any creature out of your own immediate circles.\\nYou fancy that you are sorry for the pain of others.\\nNow I just tell you this, that if the usual course of\\nwar, instead of unroofing peasants houses, and\\nravaging peasants fields, merely broke the china\\nupon your own drawing-room tables, no war in\\ncivilized countries Avould last a week. Let\\nevery lady in the upper classes of civilized Europe\\nsimply vow tliat, while any cruel war proceeds, she\\nwill wear black; a mute s black with no jewel,\\nno ornament, no excuse for, or evasion into, pretti-\\nness.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I tell you again, no war would last a week.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Crown of Wild Olive, Lect. IIL, p. 93.\\nThe first reason for all wars, and for the necessity\\nof national defences, is that the majority of persons,\\nhigh and low, in all European nations, are Thieves,\\nand in their hearts, greedy of their neighbors\\ngoods, land, and fame.\\nBut besides being Thieves, they are also fools,\\nand have never yet been able to understand that if\\nCornish men want pippins cheap, they must not\\nravage Devonshire. Fo):s, I., p. 96.\\nTo dress it and to keep it. That, then, was\\nto be our v/ork. Alas what work liave we set\\nourselves upon instead How have we ravaged\\nthe garden instead of kept it\u00e2\u0080\u0094 feeding our war-\\nhorses with its flowers, and splintering its trees\\ninto spear-shafts Modern Painters, V., p. 15.\\nThere is a beautiful type of this neglect of the\\nperfectness of the Earth s beauty, by reason of the\\n])assions of men, in that picture of Paul Uccello s\\nof the battle of Sant Egidio, in which the armies", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "m8 a ruskin anthology,\\nmeet on a country road beside a hedge of wild\\nroses; the tender red flowers tossing above the hel-\\nmets, and glowing between the lowered lances.\\nFor in like manner the whole of Nature only shone\\nhitherto for man between the tossing of helmet-\\ncrests; and sometimes I cannot but think of the\\ntrees of the earth as capable of a kind of sorrow,\\nin that imperfect life of theirs, as they opened their\\ninnocent leaves in the warm spring-time, in vain\\nfor men; and all along the dells of England her\\nbeeches cast their dappled shade only where the\\noutlaw drew his bow, and the king rode his careless\\nchase; and by the sweet French rivers their long\\nranks of poplar waved in the twilight, only to show\\nthe flames of burning cities, on the horizon, through\\nthe tracery of their stems amidst the fair deflles\\nof the Apennines, the twisted olive-trunks hid the\\nambushes of treachery; and on their valley mead-\\nows, day by day, the lilies which were white at the\\ndawn were washed with crimson at sunset. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 19.\\nNo youth who was earnestly busy with any\\npeaceful subject of study, or set on any serviceable\\ncourse of action, ever voluntarily became a soldier.\\nOccupy him early, and wisely, in agriculture or\\nbusiness, in science or in literature, and h^ will\\nnever think of war otherwise than as a calamity.\\nBut leave him idle; and the more brave and active\\nand capable he is by nature, the more he will thirst\\nfor some appointed field for action; and find, in the\\npassion and peril of battle, the only satisfying ful-\\nfilment of his unoccupied being. Qroron. of Wild\\nOlive, p. 71.\\nMODERN WARFARE.\\nIf we could trace the innermost of all causes of\\nmodern war, I believe it would be found, not in the\\navarice nor ambition of nations, but in the mere\\nidleness of the uiTi)er classes. They have nothing", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PnrLOSOPHY^ECONOMlC CAA^OXS. 240\\nto do but to toach the peasantry to kill each other.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Mimcra Piilccns, p. 121.\\nThe ingenuity of our inventors is far from being\\nexhausted, and in a few years more we may be able\\nto destroy a regiment round a corner, and bombard\\na fleet over the horizon.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J.rrow A of the Chace, III.,\\np. 41.\\nIt is one very awful form of the operation of\\nwealth in Europe that it is entirely capitalists\\nwealth which supports unjust wars. Just wars do\\nnot need so much money to support them; for most\\nof the men who wage such, waL;e them gratis; but\\nfor an unjust war, men s bodies and souls have both\\nto be bought; and the best tools of war for them\\nbesides; Avhich makes such war costly to the maxi-\\nmum. Unto This Last, p. 82.\\nThe Americans, in their war of 18G0-G5, sent all\\ntheir best and honestest youths. Harvard University\\nmen and the like, to that accursed war; got them\\nnearly all shot; wrote pretty biograi)liies (to the ages\\nof 17, 18, 19) and epitaphs for them; and so, having\\nwashed all the salt out of the nation in blood, left\\nthemselves to putrefaction, and the morality of\\nNew York. Munera Fulveris, p. 102.\\nIf you have to take away masses of men from all\\nindustrial employment\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to feed them by the lal)or\\nof others\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to move them and provide them with de-\\nstructive machines, varied daily in national rival-\\nship of inventive cost; if you have to ravage tlie\\ncountry which you attack,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to destroy for a seore\\nof future years, its roads, its woods, its cities, and\\nits harbors;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and if, finally, having brought masses\\nof men, counted by hundreds of thousands, face to\\nface, you tear those masses to pieces with jagged\\nshot, and leave the fragments of living creatures\\ncountlessly beyond all help of surgery, to starve\\nand parch, through days of torture, down into clots\\nof clay what book of accounts shall record the\\ncost of your work;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 What book of judgment sen-\\ntence the guilt of it\\nThat, I say, is modem war\u00e2\u0080\u0094 scientific war ehem-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "250 -A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nical and mechanic war, worse even than the sav-\\nage s poisoned nrrow.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Crown of Wild Olive, p. 76.\\nIf you, the gentlemen of this or any other king-\\ndom, choose to make your pastime of contest, do\\nso, and welcome; but set not up these unhappy\\npeasant-pieces upon the green fielded board. If the\\nwager is to be of death, lay it on your own heads,\\nnot theirs. A goodly struggle in the Olympic dust,\\nthough it be the dust of the grave, the gods will\\nlook upon, and be with you in; but they will not\\nbe with you, if you sit on the sides of the amphi-\\ntheatre, whose steps are the mountains of earth,\\nwhose arena its valleys, to urge your peasant mil-\\nlions into gladiatorial yva,r.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Croion of Wild Olive,\\np. 72.\\nThe game of war is entrancingly pleasant to the\\nimagination; the facts of it, not always so pleasant.\\nWe dress for it, however, more finely than for any\\nother sport; and go out to it, not merely in scarlet,\\nas to hunt, but in scarlet and gold, and all numner\\nof fine colors of course we could fight better in\\ngrey, and without feathers; but all nations have\\nagreed that it is good to be well dressed at this play.\\nThen the bats and balls are very costly; our English\\nand French bats, with the balls and wickets, even\\nthose which we don t make any use of, costing, I\\nsuppose, now about fifteen millions of money annu-\\nally to each nation; all of which, you know, is paid\\nfor by hard laborer s work in the furrow and fur-\\nnace. A costly game not to speak of its conse-\\nquences. Crown of Wild Olives, Lect. I., p. 33.\\nSuppose I had been sent for by some private\\ngentleman, living in a suburban house, with his\\ngarden separated by a fruit- wall from his next door\\nneighbor s; and he had called me to consult with\\nhim on the furnishing of his drawing room. I\\nbegin looking about me, and find the walls rather\\nbare; I think such and such a paper might be\\ndesirable\u00e2\u0080\u0094 perhaps a little fresco here and there\\non the ceiling a damask curtain or so at the\\nwindows. Ah, says my employer, damask cur-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CA^^ON S. 251\\ntains, indeed I That s all very fine, but you know\\nI can t alTord that kind of thing just now Yet\\nthe Avorld credits you with a splendid income\\nAh. yes. says uiy friend, but do you know, at\\npresent, I am obliged to spend it nearly all in steel-\\ntraps Steel-traps for whom Why, for that\\nfellow on the other side of the wall, you knoAV we re\\nvery good friends, cajjital friends; but we are obliged\\nto keep our traps set on both sides of the wall; we\\ncould not possibly keep on friendly terms without\\nthem, and our spring guns. The worst of it is, we\\nare both clever fellows enough; and there s never a\\nday passes that we don t find out a new trap, or a\\nnew gun-barrel, or something; we spend about\\nfifteen millions a year each in our traps, take it all\\ntogether; and I don t see how we re to do it with\\nless. A highly comic state of life for two private\\ngentlemen but for two nations, it seems to me, not\\nwholly comic Bedlam would be comic, perhaps,\\nif there were only one mad man in it; and your\\nChristmas pantomime is comic, when there is only\\none clown in it; but when the whole world turns\\nclown, and paints itself red with its own heart s\\nblood instead of vermilion, it is something else\\nthan comic, I thinli.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Crown, of Wild Olive, Lect.\\nII., p. 48.\\nObsei ve what the real fact is, respecting loans to\\nforeign military governments, and how strange it\\nis. If your little boy came to you to ask for money\\nto spend in squibs and crackers, you would think\\ntwice before you gave it him; and you would have\\nsome idea that it was wasted, when you saw\\nit fly off in fireworks, even though he did no nns-\\nchief with it. But the Russian children, and Aus-\\ntrian children, come to you, borrowing money, not\\nto spend in innocent squibs, but in cartridges and\\nbayonets to attack you in India with, and to keep\\ndown all noble life in Italy with; and to murder\\nPolish women and children with; and that you. will\\ngive at once, because they pay you interest for it.\\nNow, in order to pay you that interest, they must", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "253 A HUSKW ANTHOLOaY.\\ntax every working peasant in their dominions; and\\non that work you live. You therefore at once rob\\nthe Austrian peasant, assassinate or banish the\\nPohsh peasant, and you live on the produce of the\\ntheft, and the bribe for the assassination That is\\nthe broad fact\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that is the practical meaning of\\nyour foreign loanti, and of most large interest of\\nnionev; and then you quarrel with Bishop Colenso,\\nforsooth, as if he denied the Bible, and you believed\\nit! though, wretches as you are, every deliberate\\nact of your lives is a new deiiance of its jjrimary\\norders; and as if, for most of the rich men of Eng-\\nland at this moment, it were not indeed to be de-\\nsired, as the best thing at least for them, that the\\nBible should not be true, since against them these\\nwords are written in it: The rust of your gold\\nand silver shall be a witness against you, and shall\\neat your flesh, as it were lire. Grown of Wild Olive,\\nLect. I., p. 29.\\nThk Attitude op E:ngland toward Italy and\\nPoland in 1859 and 1863.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 What these matters have\\nto do with Art may not at first be clear, but I can\\nperhaps make it so by a short similitude. Suppose\\nI had been engaged by an English gentleman to\\ngive lectures on Art to his son. Matters at first go\\nsmoothly, and I am diligent in my definitions of\\nline and color, until, on Sunday morning, at break-\\nfast time, a ticket-of-leave man takes a fancy to\\nmurder a girl in the road leading round the lawn,\\nbefore the house-windows. My patron, hearing the\\nscreams, puts down his paper, adjusts his spec-\\ntacles, slowly apprehends what is going on, and\\nrings the bell for his smallest footman. John,\\ntake my cai-d and compliments to that gentleman\\noutside the hedge, and tell him that his proceedings\\nare abnorujal, and. I may add, to me personally\\noffensive. Had that road passed through my prop-\\nerty, I should have felt it my duty to interfere.\\nJohn takes the card, and returns with it; the ticket-\\nof-leave man finishes his work at his leisure; but, the\\nscreams ceasing as he fills the girl s mouth with clay,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOFIIY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANOXt 2.-)3\\nthe English gentleman returns to his muffins, and\\noongrati;lates himself on having kept out of that\\nmess. Presently afterwards he sends for me to\\nknow if I shall be ready to lecture on Monday. I am\\nsomewhat nervous, and answer I fear rudely\\nSir, your son is a good lad; I hope he will grow to\\nbe a man but, for the present, I cannot teach him\\nanything. I should like, indeed, to teach you some-\\nthing, but have no words for the lesson. Which\\nindeed I have not. If I say any words on such\\nmatters, people ask me, Would I have the country\\ngo to war do I know how dreadful a thing war\\nis? Yes, truly, I know it. I like war as ill as\\nmost people so ill, that I would not spend twenty\\nmillions a year in making machines for it, neither\\nmy holidays and pocket money in playing at it\\nyet I would have the country go to war, with haste,\\nin a good quarrel; and, which is perhaps eccentric\\nin me, rather in another s quarrel than in lier own.\\nWe say of ourselves comi^lacently that we will not\\ngo to war for an idea; but the phrase interpreted\\nmeans only, that we will go to war for a bale of\\ngoods, but not for justice nor for mercy. Arrows\\nof the Chace, II., p. 26.\\nA Nation s real Strength.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Observe what the\\nstanding of nations on their defence really means.\\nIt means that, but for such armed attitude, each of\\nthem would go and rob the otlier; that is to say,\\nthat the majority of active j^ersons in every nation\\nare at present\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thieves. I am very sorry that this\\nshould still be so; but it will not be so long. Na-\\ntional exhibitions, indeed, will not bring peace;\\nbut national education will, and that is soon com-\\ning. I can judge of tliis by my own mind, for I am\\nmyself naturally as covetous a person as lives in\\nthis world, and am as eagei ly-minded to go and\\nsteal some things the French have got, as any\\nhousebreaker could be, having clue to attractive\\nspoons. If I could by military incursion carry off\\nPaul Veronese s Marriage in Cana, and the\\nVenus Victrix and the Hours of St. Louis, it", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "251 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwould give me the profouudest satisfaction to ac-\\noomplisli the foray successfully; nevertheless, being\\na comparatively educated person, I should most\\nassuredly not give myself that satisfaction, though\\nthere were not an ounce of gianpowder, nor a bayo-\\nnet, in all France. I have not the least mind to\\nrob anybody, however much I may covet what they\\nhave got; and I knoAv that the French and British\\npublic may and will, with many other publics, be\\nat last brought to be of this mind also; and to see\\nfarther that a nation s real strength and happiness\\ndo not depend on properties and territories, nor on\\nmachinery for their defence; but on their getting\\nsuch territory as they have, well filled with none but\\nrespectable persons. Which is a way of iiijiuitelij\\nenlarging one s territory, feasible to every poten-\\ntate; and dependent nowise on getting Trent turned,,\\nor Rhine-edge reached.\\nNot but that, in the present state of things, it\\nmay often be soldiers duty to seize territoiy, and\\nhold it strongly; but only from banditti, or savage\\nand idle persons. Thus, both Calabria and Greece\\nought to have been irresistibly occupied long ago.\\nTime and Tide, p. 108.\\nThe true Soldier.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The security of treasure to\\nall the poor, and not the ravage of it down the val-\\nleys of the Shenandoah, is indeed the true warrior s\\nwork. But, that they may be able to restrain vice\\nrightly, soldiers must themselves be first in virtue;\\nand that they may be able to compel labor sternly,\\nthey must themselves be first in toil, and their\\nspears, like Jonathan s at Beth-aven, enlighteners\\nof the eyes. Time and Tide, p. 113.\\nAdvice to Soldiers. Suppose, instead of this\\nvolunteer marching and countermarching, you\\nwere to do a little volunteer ploughing and counter-\\nploughing? It is more difficult to do it straight:\\nthe dust of the earth, so disturbed, is more grateful\\nthan for merely i-hythmic footsteps. Or, con-\\nceive a little volunteer exercise with the spade,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 255\\nother than such as is needed for moat and breast-\\nwork.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J/^twera Pul verts, p. 120.\\nDrkss of Soldier and Peasant. Quite one of\\nthe chiefest art-mistakes and stupidities of men has\\nbeen their tendency to dress soldiers in red clothes,\\nand monks, or pacific persons, in black, white, or\\ngrey ones. At least half of that mental bias of\\nyoung people, which sustains the wickedness of\\nwar among us at this day, is owing to the prettiness\\nof uniforms. Make all Hussars black, all Guards\\nblack, all trooi^s of the line black; dress officers and\\nmen, alike, as you would public executioners; and\\nthe number of candidates for commissions will be\\ngreatly diminished. Habitually, on the contrary,\\nyou dress these destructive rustics and tJieir officers\\nin scarlet and gold, but give your productive rustics\\nno costume of honor or beauty. A day is\\ncoming, be assured, when the kings of Europe will\\ndress their peaceful troops beautifully; will clothe\\ntheir peasant girls in scarlet, with other delights,\\nand put on ornaments of gold upon tJieir appar-\\nel; when the crocus and the lily will not be the\\nonly living things dressed daintily in our land, and\\nthe glory of the wisest monarchs be indeed, in that\\ntheir people, like themselves, shall be, at least in\\nsome dim likeness, arrayed like one of these.\\nVal D Arno, pp. 55, 56.\\nTwo Kinds op Peace. Both peace and war are\\nnoble or ignoble according to their kind and occa-\\nsion. But peace may be sought in two ways.\\nThat is, you may either win your jjeace, or\\nbuy it win it, by resistance to evil; buy it, by\\ncompromise with evil. You may buy your peace,\\nwith silenced consciences; you may buy it, with\\nbroken vows, buy it, with lying words, buy it,\\nwith base connivances, buy it, with the blood of\\nthe slain, and the cry of the captive, ajid the silence\\nof lost souls over hemispheres of the earth, Avhile\\nyou sit smiling at your serene hearths, lisping com-\\nfortable prayers evening and morning, and count-\\ning your pretty Protestant beads (which are flat,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "256 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand of gold, instead of round, and of ebony, as the\\nmonks ones wei-e), and so mutter continually to\\nyourselves, Peace, peace, when there is no peace;\\nbut only captivity and death, for you, as well as\\nfor those you leave unsaved; and yours darker\\nthan theirs.\\nFor many a year to come, the sword of every\\nrighteous nation must be whetted to save or sub-\\ndue; nor will it be by patience of others suffering,\\nbut by the offering of your own, that you ever will\\ndraAV nearer to the time when the great change\\nshall pass vipon the iron of the earth; when men\\nshall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their\\nspears into pruning hooks; neither shall they learn\\nAvar any more. The Two Paths, pp. 133, 134.\\nA DREAM-PARABLE OP AVAR AND WEALTH.\\nI drean)ed I was at a child s May-day party, in\\nAvhich every means of entertainment had been pro-\\nvided for them, by a wise and kind host. It was in a\\nstately house, with beautiful gardens attached to it;\\nand the children had been set free in the rooms and\\ngardens, with no care whatever but how to pass their\\nafternoon rejoicingly. They did not, indeed, know\\nmuch about what was to happen next day; and\\nsome of them, I thought, were a little frightened,\\nItecause there was a chance of their being sent to a\\nnew school where there were examinations; but\\nthey kept the thoughts of that out of their heads\\nas well as they could, and resolved to enjoy them-\\nselves. The house, I said, was in a beautiful gar-\\nden, and in the garden were all kinds of flowers;\\nsweet grassy banks for rest; and smooth lawns for\\nplay; and pleasant streams and woods; and rocky\\nplaces for climbing. And the children were happy\\nfor a little while, but presently they separated\\nthemselves into parties; and then each party de-\\nclared, it would have a piece of the garden for its\\nown, and that none of the oth3rs should have any-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPirr\u00e2\u0080\u0094ECOA ^OMIG CANON S. 257\\ntiling to do with that piece. Next, they quarrelled\\nviolently, which pieces they would have; and at\\nlast the boys took ui^ the thing, as boys should do,\\npracticallj and fought in the flower-beds till\\nthere was hardly a flower left standing; then they\\ntrampled down each other s bits of the garden out of\\nspite; and the girls cried till they could cry no more;\\nand so they all lay down at last breathless in the\\nruin, and waited for the time when they were to be\\ntaken home in the evening.*\\nMeanwhile, the children in the house had been\\nmaking themselves liapi)y also in their manner.\\nFor them, there had been provided every kind of\\nin-doors pleasure there was music for them to\\ndance to; and the library was open, with all man-\\nner of amusing books; and there was a museum,\\nfull of the most curious shells, and animals, and\\nbirds; and there was a workshop, with lathes and\\ncarpenter s tools, for the ingenious boys; and there\\nwere pretty fantastic dresses, for the girls to dress\\nin; and there were microscoj^es, and kaleidoscopes;\\nfind whatever toys a child could fancy; and a table,\\nin the dining-room, loaded with everything nice to\\neat.\\nBut, in the midst of all this, it struck two or\\nthree of the more practical children, that they\\nwould like some of the brass-headed nails that\\nstudded the chairs; and so they set to work to pull\\nthem out. Presently, the others, who were reading,\\nor looking at shells, took a fancy to do the like;\\nand, in a little while, all the children, nearly, were\\nspraining tlieir fingers, in pulling out brass-headed\\nnails. With all that they could pull out, they were\\nnot satisfied; and then, everj body wanted some of\\nsomebody else s. And at last the really practical and\\nsensible ones declared, that nothing was of any real\\nconsequence, that afternoon, except to get plenty\\nof brass-headed nails; and that the books, and the\\nI have sometimes been asked what this means. I intended\\ni\u00c2\u00bb^ to set forth the wisdonx of men in war contending for Icing-\\n(Joms, and what follows to set forth their wisdom in peace,\\nr intending for wealtli.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "258 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncakes, and the microscopes were of no use at all in\\nthemselves, but only, if they could be exchanged\\nfor nail-heads. And, at last they began to fight\\nfor nail-heads, as the others fought for the bits of\\ngarden. Only here and there, a despised one shrank\\naway into a corner, and tried to get a little quiet\\nwith a book, in the midst of the noise; but all the\\npractical ones thought of nothing else but counting\\nnail-heads all the afternoon even though they\\nknew they would not be allowed to carry so much\\nas one brass knob away with them. But no it\\nwas who has most nails I have a hundred, and\\nyou have fifty; or, I have a thousand and you have\\ntwo. I must have as many as you before I leave\\nthe house, or I cannot possibly go home in peace.\\nAt last, they made so much noise that I awoke, and\\nthought to myself, What a false dream that is, of\\nchildren. The child is the father of the man; and\\nwiser. Children never do such foolish things. Only\\nmen do. Mystery of Life, pp. IIG, 117.\\nGOVERNMENT.\\nVisible governments are the toys of some nations,\\nthe diseases of others, the harness of some, the\\nburdens of more. Sesame and Lilies, p. 67.\\nThe Form op a Government immaterial.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 No\\nform of government, provided it be a government\\nat all, is, as such, to be either condemned or\\nl^raised, or contested for in anyAvise, but by fools.\\nBut all forms of government are good just so far as\\nthey attain this one vital necessity of policy that\\nthe wise and kind, few or many, shall govern the\\nunwise and unkind; and they are evil so far as they\\nmiss of this, or reverse it. Nor does the form, in\\nany case, signify one whit, but its firmness, and\\nadaptation to the need; for if there be many foolish\\npersons in a state, and few wise, then it is good\\nthat the few govern; and if there be many wise,\\nand few foolish, then it is good that the many", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rillLOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. -IM\\ngovern; and if many be wise, yet one wiser, then\\nit is good that one should govern; and so on.\\nMunera Pulmris, p. 103.\\nI see that politicians and writers of history con-\\ntinually run into hopeless error, because they con-\\nfuse the Form of a government with its Nature.\\nA government may be nominally vested in an\\nindividual; and yet if that individual be in such\\nfear of those beneath him, that he does nothing lait\\nwhat he supposes will be agreeable to them, the\\nGovernment is Democratic; on the other hand,\\nthe Government may be vested in a deliberative\\nassembly of a thousand men, all having equal au-\\nthoritj^ and all chosen from the lowest ranks of\\nthe people; and yet if that assembly act independ-\\nently of the will of the people, and have no fear\\nof them, and. enforce its determinations uijon them,\\nthe government is Monarchical; that is to sajs the\\nAssembly, acting as One, has power over the Many,\\nwhile in the case of the weak king, the Many have\\npower over the One.\\nA Monarchical Government, acting for its own\\ninterests, instead of the peoi:)le s, is a tyranny. I\\nsaid the Executive Government was the hand of\\nthe nation; the Republican Government is in\\nlike manner its tongue. The Monarchical Govern-\\nment is its head. All true and right Government\\nis Monarchical, and of the head. What is its best\\nform, is a totally different question; but unless it\\nact /or the people, and not as representative of the\\npeople, it is no government at all; and one of the\\ngrossest blockheadisms of the English in the present\\nday, is their idea of sending men to Parliament to\\nrepresent their opinions. Whereas their only\\ntrue business is to find out the wisest men among\\nthem, and send them to Parliament to represent\\ntheir oivn opinions, and act upon them. Constnie-\\ntion of Sheepfohls, p. 31.\\nThe Mosquito Variety op Kixgs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The self-\\nstyled kings who think nations can be bought\\nand sold like personal property can no more be the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "260 A liUSKLV ANTHOLOCiY.\\ntrue kings of the nation than gad-fiies are the king s\\nof a horse; they suck it, and may drive it wild, but\\ndo not guide it. They, and their courts, and their\\narmies are, if one could see clearly, only a large\\nspecies of marsh-mosquito, with bayonet proboscis\\nand melodious, band-mastered, trumpeting in the\\nsummer air. Sesame and Lilies, p. G8.\\nYoung ME^r in Politics. Young men have no\\nbusiness with politics at all; and when the time is\\ncome for them to have opinions, they will find all\\nIjolitical parties resolve themselves at last into two\\nthat which holds with Solomon, that a rod is\\nfor the fool s back, and that which holds with the\\nfool himself, that a crown is for his head, a vote\\nfor his mouth, and all the universe for his bellj\\nArroios of the Chace, II., p. 131.\\nNational Parties. Men only associate in par-\\nties by sacrificing their opinions, or by having none\\nworth sacrificing; and the eflfect of party govern-\\nment is always to develop hostilities and hypo-\\ncrisies, and to extinguish idenLH.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, I., p. 6.\\nThk Necessity of imperative Law to the\\nProsperity op States. When the crew of a\\nwrecked ship escape in an open boat, and the boat\\nis crowded, the provisions scanty, and the prospect\\nof making land distant, laws are instantly estab-\\nlished and enforced which no one thinks of disobey-\\ning. An entire equality of claim to the provisions\\nis acknowledged without dispute; and an equal\\nliability to necessary labor. No man who can row\\nis allowed to refuse his oar; no man, however much\\nmoney he may have saved in his pocket, is allowed\\nso much as half a biscuit beyond liis proper ration.\\nAny riotous person who endangered the safety of\\nthe rest would be bound, and laid in the bottom\\nof the boat, without the smallest compunction for\\nsuch violation of the principles of individual lib-\\nerty; and on the other hand, any child, or woman,\\nor aged person, who was hel[)less, and exposed to\\ngreater danger and suffering by their weakness,\\nwould receive more than ordinary care and indul-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EGONOMIG CANONS. 261\\ngence, not unaccompanied Avith unanimous self-\\nsacrifice, on the part of the laboring crew.\\nNow, the circumstances of every associated group\\nof human society, contending bravely for national\\nhonors, and felicity of life, differ only from those\\nthus supposed, in the greater, instead of less, neces-\\nsity for the establishment of restraining law.\\nThe impossibility of discerning the effects of indi-\\nvidual error and crime, or of counteracting them\\nby individual effort, in the affairs of a great nation,\\nrenders it tenfold more necessary than in a small\\nsociety that direction by law should be sternly es-\\ntablished. Assume that your boat s crew is disor-\\nderly and licentious, and Avill, by agreement, submit\\nto no order; the most troublesome of then) will yet\\nbe easily discerned; and the chance is that the best\\nman among them knocks him down. Common\\ninstinct of self-pi-eservation will make the rioters\\nput a good sailor at the helm, and impulsive pity\\nand occasional help will be, by heart and hand,\\nhere and there given to visible distress. Not so in\\nthe ship of the realm. The most troublesome per-\\nsons in it are usually the least recognized for such,\\nand the most active in its management; the best\\nmen mind their own business patiently, and are\\nnever thought of; the good helmsman never touches\\nthe tiller but in the last extremity; and the worst\\nforms of misery are hidden, not only from every eye,\\nbut from every thought. On the deck, the aspect\\nis of Cleopatra s galley\u00e2\u0080\u0094 under hatches, there is a\\nslave-hospital; while, finally (and this is the most\\nfatal difference of all), even the feAv persons who\\ncare to interfere energetically, with purpose of doing\\ngood, can, in a large society, discern so little of the\\nreal state of evil to be dealt with, and judge so\\nlittle of the best means of dealing with it, that half\\nof their best efforts will be misdirected, and some\\nmay even do more harm than good. Time and\\nTide, p. 50.\\n[On the American Government and People, see\\nhereafter.]", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2262 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nLIBERTY.\\nI know not if a day is ever to come when the na-\\nture of right freedom will be understood, and when\\nmen will see that to obey another man, to labor\\nfor him, yield reverence to him or to his place, is\\nnot slavery. It is often the best kind of liberty,\\nliberty from care. The man who says to one, Go,\\nand he goeth, and to another, Come, and he com-\\neth, has, in most cases, more sense of restraint and\\ndifficulty than the man who obeys him. Stones\\nof Venice, II., p. 164.\\nYou Avill find, on fairly thinking of it, that it is\\nhis Restraint which is honorable to man, not his\\nLiberty; and what is more, it is restraint which is\\nhonorable even in the lower animals. A butterfly\\nis much more free than a bee; but you honor the\\nbee more, just because it is subject to certain laws\\nwhich fit it for orderly function in bee society. And\\nthroughout the world, of the two abstract things,\\nliberty and restraint, restraint is always the more\\nhonorable. It is true, indeed, that in these\\nand all other matters you never can reason finally\\nfrom the abstraction, for both liberty and restraint\\nare good when they ai e nobly chosen, and both are\\nbad when they ai-e basely chosen; but of the tAvo, I\\nrepeat, it is restraint which charactei-izes the higher\\ncreature, and betters the lower creature and, from\\nthe ministering of the archangel to the labor of the\\ninsect, from the poising of the planets to the grav-\\nitation of a grain of dust, the power and glory of\\nall creatures, and all matter, consist in their obedi-\\nence, not in their freedom. The Two Paths, pp.\\n131, 133.\\nDemocracy and Communism.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Now, my dear\\nfriend, here is the element which is the veriest devil\\nof all that have got into modern flesh; this infidelity\\nof the nineteenth-century St. Thomas in there being\\nanything better than himself, alive; coupled, as it\\nalways is, with the farther resolution if unwillingly\\nconvinced of the fact\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to seal the Better living thing", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECOXOMIC CAN-ONS. 263\\ndown aj^ain out of his way, under the first stone\\nhundy. Time and Tide, p. 113.\\nThe Influence of Machinery upon Politics.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIt is verily this degradation of the operative into a\\nmachine. Avhich, more than any other evil of the\\ntimes, is leading the mass of the nations everywhere\\ninto vain, incoherent, destructive struggling for a\\nfreedom of which they cannot explain the nature to\\nthemselves. Their universal outcry against wealth,\\nand against nobility, is not forced from them either\\nby the pressure of famine, or the sting of mortified\\npride. These do much, and have done much in all\\nages; but the foundations of society were never\\nyet shaken as they are at this day. It is not that\\nmen are ill fed, but that they have no pleasure in\\nthe work by which they make their bread, and\\ntherefore look to wealth as the only means of\\npleasure. It is not that men are pained by the\\nscorn of the upper classes, but they cannot endure\\ntheir own; for they feel that the kind of labor to\\nwhich they are condemned is verily a degrading\\none, and makes them less than men.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of\\nVenice, II., p- 164.\\nThe Free Hand in Drawing.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Try to draw\\na circle yourself with the free hand, and with a\\nsingle line. You cannot do it if your hand trem-\\nbles, nor if it hesitates, nor if it is unmanageable,\\nnor if it is in the common sense of the word free.\\nSo far from being free, it must be under a control\\nas absolute and accurate as it it were fastened to an\\ninflexible bar of steel. And yet it must move,\\nunder this necessary control, with perfect, untor-\\nmented serenity of ease. That is the condition of\\nall good work Avhatsoever. All freedom is error\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAthena, p. Ill-\\nModern Liberty.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You will send your child,\\nwill you, into a room where the table is loaded with\\nsweet wine and fruit\u00e2\u0080\u0094 some poisoned, some not?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nyou will say to him, Choose freely, my little child\\nIt is so good for you to have freedom of choice it\\nforms your character\u00e2\u0080\u0094 your individuality If you", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "264 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntake the wrong cup, or the wrong berry, you will\\ndie before the day is over, but you will have acquired\\nthe dignity of a Fi ee child\\nYou think that puts the case too sharply I tell\\nyou, lover of liberty, there is no choice offered to\\nyou, but it is similarly between life and death.\\nThere is no act, nor option of act, possible, but the\\nwrong deed or option has poison in it which will\\nstay in your veins thereafter forever. Never more\\nto all eternity can you be as you might have been,\\nhad you not done that chosen that.\\nThe liberty of expression, with a great nation,\\nwould become like that in a well-educated com-\\npany, in which there is indeed freedom of speech,\\nbut not of clamor; or like that in an orderly senate,\\nin which men who deserve to be heax d, are heard\\nin due time, and under determined restrictions.\\nThe degree of liberty you can rightly grant to a\\nnumber of men is in the inverse ratio of their de-\\nsire for it; and a general hush, or call to order,\\nwould be often very desirable in this England of\\nours.\\nThe arguments for liberty may in general be\\nsumnjed in a few very simi^le forms, as follows\\nMisguiding is mischievous: therefore guiding is.\\nIf the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch\\ntherefore, nobody should lead anybody.\\nLambs and fawns should be left free in the fields;\\nmuch more bears and wolves.\\nIf a man s gun and shot are his own, he may fire\\nin any direction he pleases.\\nA fence across a road is inconvenient; much more\\none at the side of it.\\nBabes should not be swaddled with their hands\\nJjound down to their sides: therefore they should\\nbe thrown out to roll in the kennels naked.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAthena, pp. 114-117.\\nFRESH AIR AND LIGHT.\\nFields green and Faces ruddy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I tell you,\\ngentlemen of England, if ever you would have your", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 205\\ncountry breathe the pure breath of heaven again,\\nand receive again a soul into her body, instead of\\nrotting into a carcase, blown uj^ in the belly with\\ncarbonic acid (and great that Avay), you must\\nthink, and feel, for your England, as well as fight\\nfor her you must teach her that all the true great-\\nness she ever had, or ever caia have, she won while her\\nfields were green and her faces ruddy; that great-\\nness is still possible for Englishmen, even though\\nthe ground be not hollow under their feet, nor the\\nsky black over their heads. Croion of Wild Olive,\\np. 88.\\nFresh Air. There are now not many European\\ngentlemen, even in the highest classes, who have\\na pure and right love of fresh air. They would put\\nthe filth of tobacco even into the first breeze of a\\nMay morning. Time and Tide, jj. 23.\\nRural vs. City Life. In the country every\\nmorning of the year brings Avith it a new aspect of\\nspringing or fading nature; a new duty to be ful-\\nfilled upon earth, and a new promise or warning\\nin heaven. No day is without its innocent hope,\\nits special prudence, its kindly gift, and its sublime\\ndanger; and in every process of wise husbandry,\\nand every effort of contending or remedial courage,\\nthe Avholesome passions, pride and bodily poAver\\nof the laborer, are excited and exerted in happiest\\nunison. The companionship of domestic, the care\\nof serAnceable animals, soften and enlarge his life\\nAvith loAvly charities, and discipline him in familiar\\nAvisdoms and unboastful fortitudes while the di-\\nA ine laws of seed-time Avhich cannot be recalled,\\nharA est which cannot be hastened, and Avinter in\\nAA hich no man can Avork, compel the impatiences\\nand coA^eting of his heart into labor too submissive\\nto be anxious, and rest too SAveet to be Avanton.\\nWhat thought can enough comprehend the con-\\ntrast betAveen such life, and that in streets AA hero\\nsummer and Avinter are only alternations of heat\\nand cold; AA here snoAv neA^er fell Avhite, nor sun-\\nshine clear; Avhere the ground is only a paA^ement,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "266 A RUSKIX ANTHOLOGY.\\nand the sky no more than the glass roof of an\\nai cade; where the utmost i^ower of a storm is to\\nchoke the gutters, and the finest magic of spring,\\nto change mud into dust wlaere chief and most\\nfatal difference in state, there is no interest of occu-\\npation for any of the inhabitants but the routine\\nof counter or desk within doors, and the effort to\\npass each other without collision outside; so that\\nfrom morning to evening the only possible varia-\\ntion of the monotony of the hours, and lightening\\nof the penalty of existence, must be some kind of\\nmischief, limited, unless by more than ordinary\\ngodsend of fatality, to the fall of a horse, or the\\nslitting of a pocket. Fiction\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fai? and Foul, pp.7, 8.\\nFair and Fouii. In my young days, Croxsted\\nLane was a green by-road traversable for some\\ndistance by carts; but rarely so traversed, and, for\\nthe most part, little less than a narrow strip of\\nunfilled field, separated by blackberry hedges from\\nthe better cared-for meadows on each side of it\\ngrowing more weeds, therefore, than they, and\\nperhaps in spring a primrose or two white arch-\\nangel-daisies plenty, and purple thistles in au-\\ntumn. A slender rivulet, boasting little of its\\nbrightness, for there are no springs at Dulwich,\\nyet fed purely enough by the rain and morning\\ndew, here trickled there loitered through the\\nlong grass beneath the hedges, and expanded it-\\nself, where it might, into moderately clear and\\ndeep pools, in which, under their veils of duck-\\nweed, a fresh-water shell or two, sundry curious\\nlittle skipping shi imps, any quantity of tadpoles\\nin their time, and even sometimes a tittlebat, offered\\nthemselves to my boyhood s pleased, and not inac-\\ncurate, observation. There, my mother and I used\\nto gather the first buds of the hawthorn; and there,\\nin after years, I used to walk in the summer shad-\\nows, as in a place wilder and sweeter than our gar-\\nden, to think over any passage I wanted to make\\nbetter than usual in Modern Painters. The\\nfields on each side of it are now mostly dug up for\\nbuilding, or cut through into gaunt corners and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ECONOMIC CANONS. 267\\nnooks of blind ground by the wild crossings and\\nconcurrencies of three railroads. Half a dozen\\nhandfuls of new cottages, with Doric doors, are\\ndropped about here and there among the gashed\\nground the lane itself, now entirely grassless, is a\\ndeep-rutted, heavy-hillocked cart-road, diverging\\ngatelessly into various brick-fields or jjieces of waste;\\nand bordered on each side by heaps of Hades\\nonly knows what mixed dust of every unclean\\nthing that can crumble in drought, and mildew of\\nevery unclean thing that can rot or rust in damp\\nashes and rags, beer-bottles and old shoes, battered\\nl^ans, smashed crockery, shreds of nameless clothes,\\ndoor-sweepings, floor-sweepings, kitchen garbage,\\nback-garden sewage, old iron, rotten timber jagged\\nwith out-torn nails, cigar-ends, jjipe-bowls, cinders,\\nbones, and ordure, indescribable; and, variously\\nkneaded into, sticking to, or fluttering foully here\\nand there over all these, remnants broadcast, of\\nevery manner of newspaper advertisement or big-\\nlettered bill, festering and flaunting out their last\\npublicity in the pits of stinking dust and mortal\\nslime. Fiction Fair and Foul, pp. 3, 4.\\nLetter to Thos. Dis.ois .\u00e2\u0080\u0094March 21, 1867. I see,\\nby your last letter, for which I heartily thank you,\\nthat you would not sympathize with me in my sor-\\nrow for the desertion of his own work by Gfeorge\\nCruikshank, that he may fight in the front of the\\ntemperance ranks. But you do not know what\\nwork he has left undone, nor how much richer in-\\nheritance you might have received from his hand.\\nIt was no more his business to etch diagrams of\\ndrunkenness than it is mine at this moment to\\nbe writing these letters against anarchy. It is the\\nfirst mild day of March (high time, I think, that it\\nshould be and by rights I ought to be out among\\nthe budding banks and hedges, outlining sprays of\\nhawthorn, and clusters of primrose. This is my\\nright work; and it is not, in the inner gist and truth\\nof it, right nor good for you, or for anybody else,\\nthat Cruikshank with his great gift, and I with my\\nweak, but yet thoroughily clear and definite one,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "268 A Kl/SKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nshould both of us be tormented by agony of indig-\\nnation and compassion, till we are forced to give\\nup our peace, and pleasure, and power; and rush\\ndown into the streets and lanes of the city, to do\\nthe little that is in the strength of our single hands\\nagainst their uneleanliness and iniquity. But, as\\nin a sorely besieged town, evei y man must to the\\nramparts, whatsoever business he leaves, so neither\\nhe nor I have had any choice but to leave our\\nhousehold stuff, and go on crusade, such as Ave are\\ncalled to; not that I mean, if Fate may be anywise\\nresisted, to give wp the strength of my life, as he has\\ngiven his; fori think he was wrong in doing so; and\\nthat he should only have carried the fiery cross his\\nappointed leagues, and then given it to another\\nhand and, for my own part, I mean these very\\nletters to close my political work for many a day;\\nand I write them, not in any hope of their beingat\\npresent listened to, but to disburden my heart of\\nthe Avitness I haA e to bear, that I may be free to go\\nback to my gai den laAvns, and paint birds and\\nflowers there. Time mid Tide, pp. 53, 53.\\nL Envoi. Bred in luxury, Avhich 1 perceiA^e to\\nhave been unjust to others, and destruc tiA e to my-\\nself; vacillating, foolish, and miserably failing in\\nall my oAvn conduct in life and blown about hope-\\nlessly by storms of jiassion I, a man clothed in\\nsoft raiment, I, a reed shaken with the wind, have\\nyet this Message to all men again entrusted to me\\nBehold, the axe is laid to the root of the trees.\\nWhatsoever tree therefore bringeth not forth good\\nfruit, shall be hewn down and cast into the fire.\\nFors, III., p. 45.\\nWhether I am spared to put into act anything\\nhere designed for my country s help, or am shielded\\nby death from the sight of her remediless sorroAV, I\\nhave already done for her as much serAice as she\\nhas Avill to receiA^e, by laying before her facts A ital\\nto her existence, and unalterable by her poAver, in\\nwords of which not one has been Avarped by in-\\nterest nor Aveakened by fear; and which are as pure\\nfrom selfish passion as if they were spoken already\\nout of another world. Arrows of the Chace, I., p. 7.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPUY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 269\\nCHAPTER II.\\nEdocation.*\\nI take Wordsworth s single line,\\nAVe live by admiration, liope, and love,\\nfor my literal guide, in all education. Fors, II.,\\np. 340.\\nAll education must be moral first; intellectual\\nsecondarily. Fors, III., p. 250.\\nThere is one test by which you can all determine\\nthe rate of your real progress.\\nExamine, after every period of renewed industry,\\nhow far you have enlarged your faculty of admira-\\ntion.\\nConsider how much more you can see to rever-\\nence, in the work of masters; and how much more\\nto love, in the work of nature. A Joy For Ever,\\np. 127.\\nBy this you may recognize true education from\\nfalse. False education is a delightful thing, and\\nwarms you, and makes you every day think more of\\nyourself. And true education is a deadly cold\\nthing, with a Grorgon s head on her shield, and\\nmakes you every day think worse of yourself.\\nWorse in two ways, also, more s the pity. It is\\nperpetually increasing the personal sense of ignor-\\nance and the personal sense of ivi\\\\x\\\\t.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Time and\\nTide, p. 115.\\nModern Education for the most signifies\\ngiving people the faculty of thinking wrong on\\nevery conceivable subject of importance to them.\\nSesame and Lilies, p. 46.\\nTo make your children capable of honesty is the\\nbeginning of education. Make them men first, and\\nOn tlie education of girls, see Part III., Chapter III.,\\nWomen. For autobiographical anecdotes of Ruskin on his\\nearly education, see Part V., Chapter III., Personal.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "270 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nreligious men afterwards, and all will be sound;\\nbut a knave s religion is always the rottenest thing\\nabout him.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Ti?ne and Tide, p. 30.\\nThe first condition under which education can\\nbe given usefully is, that it should be clearly under-\\nstood to be no means of getting on in the world;\\nbut a means of staying pleasantly in your place\\nthere. Time and Tide, p. 67.\\nEducation, rightly comprehended, consists, half\\nof it, in making children familiar with natural\\nobjects, and the other half in teaching the practice\\nof piety toAvards them (piety meaning kindness to\\nliving things, and orderly use of the lifeless.)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors,\\nIV., p. 378.\\nYou do not educate a man by telling him what\\nhe knew not, but by making him what he was not;\\nand making him what he will remain forever\\nfor no wash of weeds will bring back the faded\\npurple. And in that dyeing there are two processes\\nfirst, the cleansing and wringing-out, which is the\\nbaptism with water; and then the infusing of the\\nblue and scarlet colors, gentleness and justice,\\nwhich is the baptism with fire. Munera Pulveris,\\np. 90.\\nThe Meat op Knowledge.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Think what a deli-\\ncate and delightful meat that used to be in old days,\\nwhen It was not quite so common as it is now, and\\nwhen young people the best sort of them really\\nhungered and thirsted for it. Then a youth went\\nup to Cambridge, or Padua, or Bonn, as to a feast\\nof fat things, of wines on the lees, well-refined. But\\nnow, he goes only to swallow, and, more s the\\npity, not even to swallow as a glutton does, with\\nenjoyment; not even\u00e2\u0080\u0094 forgive me the old Aristotel-\\nian Greek, ^s6;aevo5 t^ i(/)ri\u00e2\u0080\u0094 pleased with the going\\ndown, but in the saddest and exactest way, as a\\nconsti ictor does, tasting nothing all the time. You\\nremember what Professor Huxley told you most\\ninteresting it was, and new to me of the way the\\ngreat boa does not in any true sense swallow, but\\nonly hitches himself on to his meat like a coal-sack;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL riULOSOrilY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 271\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Avell, that s the exact way you expect your poor\\nmodern student to hitch himself on to his meat,\\ncatching and notching his teeth into it, and drag-\\nging the skin of him tight over it, till at last you\\nknow I told you a little while ago our artists didn t\\nknow a snake from a sausage, but. Heaven help\\nus, your University doctors are going on at such a\\nrate that it will be all we can do, soon, to know a\\nm\u00c2\u00abw from a sausage. Deucalion, p. 202.\\nEducation the Eliciting of in-born Quali-\\nties. In the handful of shingle which you gather\\nfrom the sea-beach, which the indiscriminate sea,\\nwith equality of eternal foam, has only educated to\\nbe, every one, round, you will see little difference\\nbetween the nol)le and mean stones. But the\\njeweller s trenchant education of them will tell you\\nanother story. Even the meanest will be better for\\nit, but the noblest so much better that you can\\nclass the two together no more. The fair veins and\\ncolors are all clear now, and so stern is Nature s\\nintent regarding this, that not only will the polish\\nshow which is best, but the best will take the most\\npolish. You shall not merely see they have more\\nvirtue than the others, but see that more of vir-\\ntue moi-e clearly; and the less virtue there is, the\\nmore dimly you shall see wdiat there is of it. Time\\nand Tide, p. 114.\\nGenius must be cherished and encouraged.\\nWe have no ground for concluding that Griotto\\nwould ever have been more than a shepherd, if\\nCimabue had not by chance found him drawing;\\nor that among the shepherds of the Apennines there\\nwere no other Giottos, undiscovered by Cimabue.\\nWe are too much in the habit of considering happy\\naccidents as what are called special Providences;\\nand thinking that when any great work needs to be\\ndone, the man who is to do it will certainly be\\npointed out by Providence, be he shepherd or sea-\\nboy; and prepared for his work by all kinds of\\nminor providences, in the best possible way.\\nWhereas all the analogies of God s operations in", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "272 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nother matters prove the contrary of this; we find\\nthat of thousand seeds, He often brings but one\\nto bear, often not one; and the one seed which\\nHe appoints to bear is allowed to bear crude or per-\\nfect fruit according to the dealings of the husband-\\nnjan with it. A Joy For Ever, p. 97.\\nLook Out and not In. Do you think you\\ncan know yourself by looking i }Uo yourself?\\nNever. You can know w hat you are, only by look-\\ning out of yourself. Measure your own powers\\nwith those of others; compare your own interests\\nwith those of others; try to understand what you\\nappear to them, as well as what they appear to\\nyou; and judge of yourselves, in all things, rela-\\ntively and subordinately; not positively starting\\nalways with a wholesome conviction of the jaroba-\\nbility that there is nothing particular about you.\\nFor instance, some of you perhaps think you can\\nwrite i^oetry. Dwell on your own feelings and\\ndoings and you will soon think yourselves Tenth\\nMuses; but forget your own feelings; and try, in-\\nstead, to understand a line or two of Chaucer or\\nDante and you will soon begin to feel yourselves\\nvery foolish girls which is much like the fact.\\nEthics of the Bust, Lect. V.\\nAction and Character set their Seal on\\nTHE Face. Every right action and true thought\\nsets the seal of its beauty on person and face; every\\nwrong action and foul thought its seal of distortion;\\nand the various aspects of humanity might be read\\nas plainly as a printed history, were it not that the\\nimpressions are so complex that it must always in\\nsome cases (and, in the present state of our knowl-\\nedge, in all cases), be impossible to decipher them\\nconjpletely. Nevertheless, the face of a consistently\\njust, and of a consistently unjust person, may al-\\nways be rightly distinguished at a glance; and if\\nthe qualities are continued by descent through a\\ngeneration or two, there arises a complete distinc-\\ntion of race. Both moral and physical qualities\\nare communicated by descent, far more than they", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATIOJ^. 273\\ncan be developed by education (though both may\\nbe destroyed by Avant of education); and there is as\\nyet no ascertained limit to the nobleness of person\\nand mind which the human creature may attain,\\nby persevering observance of the laws of God i-e^\\nspecting its birth and training. Mimera Pulveris,\\np. 21.\\nThe You^fO Mind is Plastic\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The human soul,\\nin youth, is not a machine of which you can polish\\nthe cogs with any keli or brickdust near at hand;\\nand, having got it into working order, and good,\\nempty, and oiled serviceableness, start your im-\\nmortal locomotive, at twenty-five years old or thh ty,\\nexpress from the Strait Gate, on the Narrow Road.\\nThe whole period of youth is one essentially of\\nformation, edification, instruction (I use the words\\nwith their weight in them); in taking of stores,\\nestablishment in vital habits, hopes and faiths.\\nThere is not an hour of it but is trembling with\\ndestinies not a moment of which, once past, the\\napjjointed work can ever be done again, or the\\nneglected blow struck on the cold iron. Take your\\nvase of Venice glass out of the furnace, and strew\\nchaff over it in its transparent heat, and recover\\nthat to its clearness and rubied glory when the north\\nwind has blown upon it; but do not think to strew\\nchaff over the child fresh from God s presence, and\\nto bring the heavenly colors back to him at least\\nin this world.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J/ofZer?i Painters, IV., p. 431.\\nCertain early Habits ineradicable.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is\\nwholly impossible\u00e2\u0080\u0094 this I say from too sorrowful\\nexperience to conquer by any effort or time, habits\\nof the hand (much more of head and soul), with\\nwhich the vase of fiesh has been formed and filled\\nin youth, the law of God being that parents shall\\ncompel the child, in the day of its obedience, into\\nhabits of hand, and eye, and soul, which, when it\\nis old, shall not, by any strength, or any weakness,\\nbe departed from.\\n[Illustration of the foregoing]. I can t resist the\\nexpression of a little piece of personal exultation,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "274 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhi noticing that a figure in one of Giotto s paintings\\nliolds his pencil as I do myself no writing master,\\nand no effort (at one time very steady for many\\nmonths), having ever cured me of that way of hold-\\ning both pen and pencil between my fore and sec-\\nond finger; the third and fourth resting the backs\\nof them on my pa,i)eY.\u00e2\u0080\u00943Ioriiings in Florence, pp.\\n80, 118.\\nThe Elective System op Education.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Whereas\\nit was formerly thought that the discipline neces-\\nsary to form the character of youth was best given\\nin the study of abstract branches of literature and\\nphilosophy, it is now thought that the same, or a\\nbetter, discipline may be given by informing men\\nin early years of things it cannot but be of chief\\npractical advantage to them afterwards to know;\\nand by permitting to them the choice of any field of\\nstudy which they may feel to be best adapted to\\ntheir personal dispositions. I have always used\\nwhat poor influence I possessed in advancing this\\nchange; nor can any one rejoice more than I in its\\npractical results. Lectures On Art.\\nYour modern ideas of development imply that\\nyou must all turn out what you are to be, and find\\nout what you are to know for yourselves, by the\\ninevitable operation of your anterior affinities and\\ninner consciences whereas the old idea of educa-\\ntion was that the ba1)y material of you, however\\naccidentally or inevitably born, was at least to be\\nby external force and ancestral knowledge, bred;\\nand treated by its Fathers and Tutors as a plastic\\nvase, to be shaped or mannered as they chose,\\nnot as it chose, and filled, when its form was well\\nfinished and baked, with sweetness of sound doc-\\ntrine, as with Hybla honey, or Arabian spikenard.\\nPleasures of England, p- 9.\\nVirtue must become ixsti^ctive. The essen-\\ntial idea of real virtue is that of a vital human\\nstrength, which instinctively, constantly, and\\nwithout motive, does what is right. You must\\ntrain men to this by habit, as you would the branch", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rillLO SOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 275\\nof a tree; and give them instincts and manners\\n(or morals) of purity, justice, kindness, and courage.\\nOnce rightly trained, they act as they should, irre-\\nspectively of all motive, of fear, or of reward.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -E^i!^-\\nics of the Dust, p. 90.\\nNational Libraries.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I hope it will not be long\\nbefore royal or national libraries will be founded in\\nevery considerable city, with a royal series of\\nbooks in them; the same series in every one of\\ntliein, chosen books, the best in every kind, pre-\\npared for that national series in the most perfect\\nway possible; their text printed all on leaves of\\nequal size, broad of margin, and divided into pleas-\\nant volumes, light in hand, beautiful, and strong,\\nand thorough as examples of binder s work; and\\nthat these great libraries Avill be accessible to all\\nclean and orderly persons at all times of the day\\nand evening; strict law being enforced for this\\ncleanliness and quietness. Sesame and Lilies, p. 71.\\nLe pauvre Exfaxt, II e sait pas vivre.\\nGetting no education is by no means the worst\\nthing that can happen to us. One of the pleasantest\\nfriends I ever had in my life was a Savoyard guide,\\nAvho could only read with difficulty, and write\\nscarcely intelligibly and by great effort, lie knew\\nno language but his own no science, except as\\nmuch practical agriculture as served him to till his\\nfields. But he was, without exception, one of the\\nhapi)iest persons, and, on the Avhole, one of the\\nbest. I have ever known; and, after lunch, when ho\\nhad had his half bottle of Savoy wine, he would\\ngenerally, as we walked up some quiet valley in\\nthe afternoon light, give me a little lecture on phi-\\nlosophy; and after I had fatigued and provoked him\\nwith less cheerful views of the world than his own,\\nhe would fall back to my servant behind me, and\\nconsole himself with a shrug of the shoulders, and a\\nwhispered Le pauvre enfant, il nesaiti)as vivre\\nThe poor child, he doesn t know how to live.\\nFors, L, p. 42.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "276 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nLabor and Scholarship compatible.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Educa-\\ntion of any noble kind has of late been so constantly-\\ngiven only to the idle classes, or, at least, to those\\nwho conceive it a privilege to be idle,* that it is\\ndifficult for any person, trained in modern habits\\nof thought, to iujagine a true and refined scholar-\\nship, of which the essential foundation is to be skill\\nin some useful labor. Fo7-s, I., p. 112.\\nA Grammar op Music. Musicians, like painters,\\nai-e almost virulently determined in their efforts to\\nabolish the laws of sincerity and purity; and to in-\\nvent, each for his own glory, new modes of dissolute\\nind lascivious sound. No greater benefit could be\\nconferred on the upper as well as the lower classes\\nof society than the arrangement of a grammar of\\nsimj^le and pure music, of which the code should\\nbe alike taught in every school in the land. My\\nattention has been long turned to this object,\\nbut I have never till lately had leisure to begin\\nserious work upon it. During the last year, how-\\never, I have been making experiments with a view\\nto the construction of an instrument by which very\\nyoung children could be securely taught the rela-\\ntions of sound in the octave; unsuccessful only in\\nthat the form of lyre which was produced for me,\\nafter months of labor, by the British manufacturer,\\nwas as curious a creation of visible deformity as a\\nGreek lyre waa of grace, besides being nearly as ex-\\npensive as a piano For the present, therefore, not\\nabandoning the hope of at last attaining a simple\\nstringed instrument, 1 have fallen back and I\\nthink, probably, with final good reason\u00e2\u0080\u0094 on the\\nmost sacred of all musical instruments, the Bell.\\nInfinite nonsense is talked abont the work done by tlie\\nupper classes. I have done a little myself, in my day, of the\\nkind of work they boast of: but mine, at least, has been all play.\\nEven lawyer s, which is, on the whole, the hardest, you may\\nobserve to be essentially grim play, made more jovial for\\nthemselves by conditions which make it somewhat dismal to\\nother people. Here and there we have a real worker among\\nsoldiers, or no soldiering would long be possible neverthelesa\\nyoung men don t go into the G lards with any primal or essen-\\ntial idea of work.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EBUGATION. 277\\nWhether the cattle-bell of the hills, or, from the\\ncathedral tower, inouitor of men, 1 believe the\\nsweetness of its prolonged tone the most delightful\\nand wholesome for the ear and mind of all instru-\\nmental sound.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ori IV., p. 383.\\nEmulation a false Motive.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 All that you can\\ndepend upon in a boy, as significative of true power,\\nlikely to issue in good fruit, is his will to work for\\nthe work s sake, not his desire to surpass his school-\\nfellows; and the aim of the teaching you give hun\\nought to be to prove to him and strengthen in him\\nhis own separate gift, not to puff him into swollen\\nrivalry with those who are everlastingly greater\\nthan he still less ought you to hang favors and\\nribands about the neck of the creature who is the\\ngreatest, to make the rest envy him. Try to make\\nthem love him and follow him, not struggle with\\nhim.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. Joy For Ever, p. 99.\\nGladness.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 All literature, art, and science are\\nvain, and worse, if they do not enable you to be\\nglad; and glad justly. And I feel it distinctly my\\nduty, though with solemn and true deference to the\\nmasters of education in this university [Oxford], to\\nsay that 1 believe our modern methods of teaching,\\nand especially the institution of severe and frequent\\nexamination, to be absolutely opposed to this great\\nend; and that the result of competitive labor in\\nyouth is infallibly to make men know all they learn\\nwrongly, and hate the haljit of learning.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -E^ft^Ze ji-\\nNest, p. 108.\\nThe Competitive System.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The madness of\\nthe modern cram and examination system arises\\nprincipally out of the struggle to get lucrative\\nplaces; but partly also out of the radical block-\\nheadism of supposing that all men are naturally\\nequal, and can only make their way by elbowing;\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094the facts being that every child is born with an\\naccurately defined and absolutely limited capacity;\\nthat he is naturally (if able at all) able for some\\nthings and unable for others; that no effort and\\nno teaching can add one particle to the granted", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "278 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nounces of his available brains; that by competition\\nhe may paralyze or i^ervert his faculties, but can-\\nnot stretch them a line; and that the entire grace,\\nhappiness, and vii tue of his life depend on his\\ncontentment in doing what he can, dutifully, and\\nin staying where he is, peaceably. So far as he\\nregards the less or more capacity of others, his\\nsuperiorities are to be used for t?iei) help, not for\\nhis own pre-eminence; and his inferiorities to be\\nno ground of mortification, but of pleasure in the\\nadmiration of nobler powers. It is impossible to\\nexpress the quantity of delight I used to feel in the\\npower of Turner and Tintoret, when my own skill\\nwas nascent only; and all good artists will admit\\nthat there is far less personal pleasure in doing\\na thing beautifully than in seeing it beautifully\\ndone. Therefore, over the door of every school,\\nand the gate of every college, I would fain see en-\\ngraved in their marble the absolute forbidding miS^i\\nKara ipiBnav f, Ke o5o|iai Let uotMng be done through\\nstrife or vain glory.\\nAnd I would have fixed for each age of children\\nand students a certain standard of pass in examina-\\ntion, so adapted to average capacity and power of\\nexertion, that none need fail who had attended to\\ntheir lessons and obeyed their masters; while its\\nvariety of trial should yet admit of the natural dis-\\ntinctions attaching to progress in especial subjects\\nand skill in peculiar arts. Beyond such indication\\nor acknowledgment of merit, there should be nei-\\nther prizes nor honors; these are meant by Heaven\\nto be the proper rewards of a man s consistent and\\nkindly life, not of a youth s temporary and selfish\\nexertion.\\nNor, on the other hand, should the natural tor-\\npor of wholesome dulness be disturbed by provo-\\ncations, or plagued by punishments. The wise\\nproverb ought in every school-master s mind to be\\ndeeply set You cannot make a silk purse of a\\nsow s ear; expanded with the farther scholium\\nthat the flap of it will not be in the least disguised\\nby giving it a diamond earring. If, in a woman,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 279\\nTaeauty without discretion be as a jewel of gold in\\na swine s snout, much more, in man, woman, or\\nchild, knowledge without discretion\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the knowl-\\nedge which a fool receives only to puff up his\\nstomach, and sparkle in his cockscomb.\\nIt is in the Avholesome indisposition of the aver-\\nage mind for intellectual labor that due provision\\nis made for the quantity of dull work which must\\nbe done in stubbing the Thornaby wastes of the\\nworld.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV., pp. 380, 381.\\nFacts and System. \u00e2\u0080\u0094All sciences should, I\\nthink, be taught more for the sake of their facts,\\nand less for that of their system, than heretofore.\\nComprehensive and connected views are impossi))le\\nto most men; the systems they learn are nothing\\nbut skeletons to them; but nearly all men can un-\\nderstand the relations of a few facts bearing on\\ndaily business, and to be exemplified in common\\nsubstances. And science will soon be so vast that\\nthe most comprehensive men will still be narrow,\\nant l we shall see the fitness of rather teaching our\\nyouth to concentrate their general intelligence\\nhighly on given points than scatter it towards an\\ninfinite horizon fronj Avhich they can fetch nothing,\\nand to which they can carry nothing. Arrows of\\nthe Chace, I., p. 49.\\nWords. You must get into the habit of looking\\nintensely at words, and assuring yourself of their\\nmeaning, syllable by syllable nay letter by letter\\nyou might read all the books in the British\\nMuseum (if you could live long enough), and re-\\nmain an utterly illiterate, uneducated person;\\nbut if you read ten pages of a good book, letter by\\nletter, that is to say, with real accuracy, you are\\nfor evermore in some measure an educated per-\\nson.\\nA well-educated gentleman may not know many\\nlanguages may not be able to speak any but his\\nown may have read very few books. But what-\\never language he knows, he knows precisely; what-\\never word he pronounces he pronounces rightly;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "280 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nabove all, he is learned in the peera^ e of words;\\nknows the words of true descent and ancient blood,\\nat a glance, from words of modern canaille\\nAn uneducated person may know by memory any\\nnumber of languages, and talk them all, and yet\\ntruly know not a word of any not a word even of\\nhis own. It is right that a false Latin quan-\\ntity should excite a smile in the House of Commons;\\nbut it is wrong that a false English meaning should\\n7iot excite a frown there. Let the accent of words\\nbe watched, by all means, but let their meaning be\\nAvatched more closely still, and fewer will do the\\nwork. A few words, Avell chosen and well distin-\\nguished, will do work that a thousand cannot,\\nwhen every one is acting, equivocally, in the func-\\ntion of another.\\nThere are masked words abroad which nobody\\nunderstands, but which everybody uses, and most\\npeople will also light for, live for, or even die for,\\nfancying they mean this, or that, or the other, of\\nthings dear to them for such words wear cha-\\nmeleon cloaks groundlion cloaks, of the color\\nof the ground of any man s fancy on that ground\\nthey lie in wait, and rend him with a spring from\\nit. There were never creatures of prey so mischiev-\\nous, never diplomatists so cunning, never poisoners\\nso deadly, as these masked words. Sesame and\\nLilies, pp. 37, 38.\\nIf you do not know the Greek alphabet, learn it;\\nyoung or old girl or boy whoever you may be, if\\nyou think of reading seriously (which, of course,\\nimplies that you have some leisure at command),\\nlearn your Greek alphabet; then get good diction-\\naries of all these languages, and whenever you are\\nin doubt about a word, hunt it down patiently.\\nRead Max Miiller s lectures thoroughly, to begin\\nwith; and, after that, never let a word escape you\\nthat looks suspicious. It is severe Avork; but you\\nwill find it, even at first, interesting, and at last,\\nendlessly amusing. And the general gain to your\\ncharacter, in power and precision, will be quite\\nTiicalcvilable.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 (SeA u yMe and Lilies- p. 40.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHtLOSOPtlYSDUCATION: 281\\nBeautiful Spkakixg.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The fouiidatioiial im-\\nportance of beautiful speaking has been disgraced\\nby the confusion of it with diplomatic oratory, and\\nevaded by the vicious notion that it can be taught\\nby a master learned in it as a separate art. The\\nmanagement of the lips, tongue, and throat may,\\nand perhaps should, be so taught; but this is prop-\\nerly the first function of the singing-master. Elocu-\\ntion is a moral faculty; and no one is lit to be the\\nhead of a childrens school who is not both by\\nnature and attention a beautiful speaker.\\nBy attention, I say, for fine elocution means first\\nan exquisitely close attention to, and intelligence\\nof, the meaning of words, and perfect sympathy\\nwith what feeling they describe; but indicated al-\\nways with reserve. In this reserve, fine reading and\\nspeaking, (virtually one art), differ from recita-\\ntion, which gives the statement or sentiment with\\nthe explanatory accent and gesture of an actor.\\nIn perfectly pure elocution, on the contrary, the\\naccent ought, as a rule, to be much lighter and\\ngentler than the natural or dramatic one, and the\\nforce of it wholly independent of gesture or ex-\\npression of feature. A fine reader should read, a\\ngreat speaker speak, as a judge delivers his charge;\\nand the test of his power should be to read or speak\\nvuiseen.\\nAt least an hour of the school-day should be\\nspent in listening to the master s or some trustwor-\\nthy visitor s reading; but no children should attend\\nunless they were really interested; the rest being\\nallowed to go on with their other lessons or employ-\\nments. A large average of children, I suppose, are\\nable to sew or draw while they yet attend to read-\\ning, and so there might be found a fairly large\\naudience, of whom however those Avho were usually\\nbusy during the lecture should not be called upon\\nfor any account of what they had heard; but, on\\nthe contrary, blamed, if they had allowed their\\nattention to be diverted by the reading from what\\nthey were about, to the detriment of their work.\\nThe real audience consisting of the few for whom.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "282 A RUSKm ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe book had been specially chosen, should be re-\\nquired to give perfect and unbroken attention to\\nwhat they heard; to stop the reader always at any\\nAvord or sentence they did not understand, and to\\nbe prepared for casual examination on the story\\nnext day.\\nI say on the story, for the reading, whether\\npoetry or prose, should always be a story of\\nsome sort, whether trvie history, travels, romance\\nor fairy-tale. In poetry, Chaucer, Spenser, and\\nScott, for the ui^per classes, lighter ballad or fable\\nfor the lower, contain always some thread of pretty\\nadventui-e. No merely didactive or descriptive\\nl) )oks should be permitted in the reading room,\\nl)ut so far as they are used at all, studied in the\\nsame way as granjmars; and Shakespeare, accessible\\nalways at playtime in the library in small and\\nlarge editions to the young and old alike, should\\nnever be used as a school book, nor even formally\\nor continuously read aloud. He is to be known by\\nthinking not mouthing.\\nI have used, not unintentionally, the separate\\nwords reading room and library. No school\\nshould be considered as organized at all, without\\nthese two rooms, rightly furnished; the reading\\nroom, with its convenient pulpit and student s\\ndesks, in good light, skylight if possible, for draw-\\ning, or taking notes the library with its broad\\ntables for laying out books on, and recesses for\\nniched reading, and plenty of lateral light kept\\ncarefully short of glare both of them well shut off\\nfrom the school room or rooms, in which there\\nmust be always more or less of noise. Fors, IV.,\\np. 383, 385.\\nChildren should be taught to see.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The main\\nthing which we ought to teach our youth is to see\\nsomething all that the eyes which God has given\\nthem are cajjable of seeing. The sum of what werfo\\nteach them is to say something. As far as I have\\nexperience of instruction, no man ever dreams of\\nteaching a boy to get to the root of a matter; to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 283\\nthink it out; to get quit of passion and desire in the\\nprocess of thinking; or to fear no face of man in\\nplainly asserting the ascertained result. But to\\nsay anything in a glib and graceful manner; to\\ngive an epigrammatic turn to nothing,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to quench\\nthe dim perceptions of a feeble adversarj^ and parry\\ncunningly the home-thrusts of a strong one, to in-\\nvent blanknesses in sjieech for breathing time, and\\nslipperinesses in speech for hiding time, to pol-\\nish malice to the deadliest edge, shape profession\\nto the seemliest shadow, and mask self-interest\\nunder the fairest pretext,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 all these skills we teach\\ndefinitely, as the main arts of business and life.\\nModern Painters, IV., p. 439.\\nSympathy as as Eleivient of Educatio:!^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nchief vices of education have arisen from the one\\ngreat fallacy of supposing that noble language is a\\ncommunicable trick of grammar and accent, in-\\nstead of simply the careful expression of right\\nthought. All the virtues of language are, in their\\nroots, moral; it becomes accurate if the speaker\\ndesires to be true; clear, if he speaks with sympathy\\nand a desire to be intelligible; powerful, if he has\\nearnestness; pleasant, if he has sense of rhj thm and\\norder. The secret of language is the secret of\\nsympathy, and its full charm is possible only to the\\ngentle. No noble nor right style was ever yet\\nfounded but out of a sincere heart. Lectures on\\nArt, pp. 48, 49.\\nNo man can read the evidence of labor who is\\nnot himself laborious, for he does not know what\\nthe work costs: nor can he read the evidence of\\ntrue passion if he is not passionate; nor of gentle-\\nness if he is not gentle and the most subtle signs\\nof fault and weakness of character he can only\\njudge by having had the same faults to fight with.\\nLectures on Art, p. 51.\\nAgaixst Stupidity the Gods fight ia a^aijv.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIn education, true justice is curiously unequal if\\nyou choose to give it a hard name, iniquitous. The", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "284 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOaY.\\nriylit law of it is that you are to take most pains\\nwith the best material. Many conscientious masters\\nwill plead for the exactly contrary iniquity, and\\nsay you should take the most pains with the dullest\\nboys. But that is not so (only you must be very\\ncareful that you know which are the dull boys;\\nfor the cleverest look often very like them). Never\\nAvaste pains on bad ground; let it remain rough,\\nthough properly looked after and cared for; it will\\nbe of best service so; but spare no labor on the\\ngood, or on what has in it the cajDacity of good.\\nThe tendency of modern help and care is quite\\nmorbidly and madly in reverse of this great princi-\\nple. Benevolent persons are always, by preference,\\nbusy on the essentially bad; and exhaust them-\\nselves in their efforts to get maximum intellect\\nfrom cretins and maximum virtue from criminals.\\nMeantime, they take no care to ascertain (and for\\nthe most part when ascertained, obstinately refuse\\nto remove) the continuous sources of cretinism and\\ncrime, and suffer the most splendid material in\\nchild-nature to wander neglected about the streets,\\nuntil it has become rotten to the degree in which\\nthey feel prompted to take an interest in it. Fors,\\nI., p. 114.\\nThe greatness or smallness of a man is, in the\\nmost conclusive sense, determined for him at his\\nbirth, as strictly as it is determined for a fruit\\nwhether it is to be a currant or an apricot. Educa-\\ntion, favorable circumstances, resolution, and in-\\ndustry can do much; in a certain sense they do\\ntVier ything that is to say, they determine whether\\nthe poor apricot shall fall in the form of a green\\nbead, blighted by an east wind, shall be ti odden\\nunder foot, or whether it shall exisand into tender\\nl)ride, and sweet brightness of golden velvet. But\\napricot out of currant, great man out of small,\\ndid never yet art or effort make.\\nTherefore it is, that every system of teaching is\\nfalse which holds forth great art as in any wise\\nto be taught to students, or even to be aimed at", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL riTILOSOrilY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION 285\\nby them. Great art is precisely that which never\\nwas, nor will be taught, it iff pre-eminently and\\nfinally the expression of the spirits of great men;\\nso that the only wholesome teaching is that which\\nsimply endeavors to fix those characters of noble-\\nness in the pupil s mind, of which it seems easily\\nsusceptible; and without holding out to him, as a\\npossible or even probable result, that he should\\never paint like Titian, or carve like Michael An-\\ngelo, enforces upon him the manifest possibility,\\nand assured duty, of endeavoring to draw in a man-\\nner at least honest and intelligible; and cultivates\\nin him those general charities of heart, sincerities\\nof thought, and graces of habit which are likely to\\nlead him, throughout life, to prefer openness to\\naffectation, realities to shadows, and beauty to cor-\\nruption. 3Iodern Painters, III., p. Gl.\\nThe vulgar and incomparal)ly false saying of\\nMacaulay s, that the intellectual giants of one age\\nbecome the intellectual pigmies of the next, has\\nbeen the text of too many sermons lately preached\\nto you. You think you are going to do better\\nthings each of you than Titian and Phidias-\\nwrite better than Virgil think more wisely than\\nSolomon. My good young people, this is the fool-\\nishest, quite pre-eminently perhaps almost the\\nharmfullest notion that could possibly be put\\ninto your empty little eggshells of heads. There is\\nnot one in a million of you who can ever be great\\nin any thing. To be greater than the greatest that\\nhave been, is permitted i:)erhaps to one man in\\nEuroi^e in the course of two or three centuries.\\nBut because you cannot be Handel and Mozart-\\nis it any reason why you should not learn to sing\\nCiod save the Queen properly, when you have\\na mind to A Joy For Ever, p. 138.\\nIIOW TO BE AS WISE AS ONE S FATHERS-\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You\\nhave all been taught by Lord Macaulay and his\\nschool that because you have carpets instead of\\nrushes for your feet; and feather-beds instead\\nof fern for your backs; and kickshaws instead of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "286 A RUSKIir ANTHOLOGY.\\nbeef for your eating; and Drains instead of Holy\\nWells for your drinking; that, therefore, you are\\nthe Cream of Creation; and every one of you a\\nseven-headed Solomon. Stay in those pleasant\\ncircumstances and convictions if you please; but\\ndon t accuse your roughly bred and fed fathers of\\ntelling lies about the aspect the earth and sky bore\\nto them, till you have trodden the earth as they,\\nbarefoot, and seen the heavens as they, face to face.\\nIf you care to see and to know for yourselves, you\\nmay do it with little pains; you need not do any\\ngreat thing, you need not keep one eye open and\\nthe other shut for ten years over a microscoi^e, nor\\nfight your way through icebergvS and darkness to\\nknowledge of the celestial pole. Simply do as much\\nas king after king of the Saxons did, put rough\\nshoes on your feet, and a rough cloak on your\\nshoulders, and walk to Rome and back. Sleep by\\nthe roadside, when it is fine, in the first outhouse\\nyou can find, when it is wet, and live on bread and\\nwater, with an onion or two, all the way; and if\\nthe experiences M hich you will have to relate on\\nyour return do not, as may well be, deserve the\\nname of spiritvial, at all events you will not be\\ndisposed to let other people regard them either as\\nPoetry or Fiction.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 P/casM/TS of England, p. 24.\\nTo Certain Students op Oxford University.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Your youthful days in this place are to you the\\ndipping of your feet in the brim of the river, which\\nis to be manfully stemmed by you all your days;\\nnot drifted with,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nor toyed upon. Fallen leaves\\nenough itis strewn with, of the flowers of the forest;\\nmoraine enough it bears, of the ruin of the brave.\\nYour task is to cross it; your doom may be to go\\ndown with it, to the depths out of which there is no\\ncrying. Traverse it, staff in hand, and with loins\\ngirded, and with whatsoever law of Heaven you\\nknow, for your light. On the other side is the\\nPromised Land, the Land of the Leal.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^r^ of Eng-\\nland, p. 52.\\nAn Ideal University Park.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I will even ven-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 287\\nture to tell you my hope, though I shall be dead\\nlong before its possible fulfilment, that one day the\\nEnglish people will, indeed, so far recognize what\\neducation means as to surround this University of\\nOxford with the loveliest park in England, twenty\\nmiles square; that they will forbid, in that environ-\\nment, every unclean, mechanical, and vulgar trade\\nand manufacture, as any man would forbid them\\nin his own garden; that they will abolish every\\nbase and ugly building, and nest of vice and misery,\\nas they would east out a devil;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that the streams\\nof the Isis and Cherwell will be kept pure and quiet\\namong their fields and trees; and that, within this\\npark, every English Avild flower that can bloom in\\nlowland will be suffered to grow in luxuriance, and\\nevery living creature that haunts wood and stream\\nknow that it has happy refuge. Eagle s Nest, p.\\n109.\\nTHE EDUCATION OP CHILDREN.\\nThe relatio:n by Children of what they\\nHAVE SEEliT OR HEARD. No discipline is of more\\nuse to a child s character, with threefold bear-\\ning on intellect, memory, and morals, than the\\nbeing accustomed to relate accurately what it has\\nlately done and seen. Children ought to be\\nfrequently required to give account of themselves,\\nthough always alloAved reserve; if they ask I\\nwould rather not say, mamma, should be accepted\\nat once with serene confidence on occasion; but of\\nthe daily walk and work the child should take pride\\nin giving full account, if questioned; the parent or\\ntutor closely lopijing exaggeration, investigating\\nelision, guiding into order, and aiding in expres-\\nsion. The finest historical style may be illustrated\\nin the course of the narration of the events of the\\nday.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV., p. 385.\\nEducation for Different Spheres of Life.\\nFor cliildren whose life is to be in cities, the sub-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "288 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\njects of study should be, as far as their dispositidi\\nwill allow of it, mathematics and the arts; for cliii-\\ndren who are to live in the country, natural history\\nof birds, insects, and plants, together with agri-\\nculture taught practically; and for children who\\nare to be seamen, physical geography, astronomy,\\nand the natural history of sea fish and sea birds.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTime and Tide, p. 70.\\nNature a fine Educator. For prolonged en-\\ntertainment, no picture can be compared with the\\nwealth of interest which may be found in the herb-\\nage of the poorest field, or blossoms of the narrow-\\nest coi5se. As suggestive of supernatural power,\\nthe passing away of a fitful rain-cloud, or opening\\nof dawn, are in their change and mystery more\\npregnant than any pictures. A child would, I\\nsuppose, receive a religious lesson from a flower\\nmore willingly than from a print of one, and might\\nbe taught to understand the nineteenth Psalm, on\\na starry night, better than by diagrams of the con-\\nstellations. 3Iodern Painters, V., p. 214.\\nThere used to be, thirty years ago, a little rivulet\\nof the Wandel, about an inch deep, which ran over\\nthe carriage-road and under fi foot-bridge just\\nunder the last chalk hill near Croydon. Alas!\\nmen came and went; and it did not go on forever.\\nIt has long since been bricked over by the parish\\nauthorities; but there was more education in that\\nstream with its minnows than you could get out of\\na hundred pounds spent yearly in the parish\\nschools, even though you were to spend every\\nfarthing of it in teaching the nature of oxygen and\\nhydrogen, and the names, and rate per minute,\\nof all the rivers in Asia and America. Lectures on\\nArt, p. 77.\\ny\\nLearning by Heart. Learning by heart, and\\nrepitition with perfect accent and cultivated voice,\\nshould be made quite principal branches of school\\ndiscipline up to the time of going to the university.\\nAnd of writings to be learned by heart, among\\nother i^assages of disputable jihilosophj and perfect", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPnT\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 289\\npoetry, I include certain chapters of the now for\\nthe most part forgotten wisdom of Solomon; and\\nof these, there is one selected portion which I should\\nrecommend not only schoolboys and girls, but per-\\nsons of every age, if they don t know it, to learn\\nforthwith, as the shortest summary of Solomon s\\nwisdom; namely, the seventeenth chapter of Prov-\\nerbs, which being only twenty-eight verses long,\\nujay be fastened in the dullest memory at the rate\\nof a verse a day in the shortest month of the year.\\nStorvi Cloud, Lect. II., 20.\\nThe two Chivalries\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of the Horse and the\\nWave. You little know how much is implied in\\nthe two conditions of boys education, that\\nthey shall all learn either to ride or sail nor by\\nwhat constancy of law the power of highest disci-\\npline and honor is vested by Nature in the two\\nchivalries of the Horse and the Wave. Both are\\nsignificative of the right command of man over his\\noAvn passions; but they teach, farther, the strange\\nmystery of relation that exists between his soul\\nand the wild natural elements on the one hand,\\nand the wild lower animals on the other. Fors, I.,\\np. 119.\\nThe Education op Boys in St. George s Guild.\\nIn my own school of St. George I mean to make\\nthe study of Christianity a true piece of intellectual\\nwork; my boys shall at least know what their\\nfathers believed, before they make up their own\\nwise minds to disbelieve it. They shall be infidels,\\nif they choose, at thirty; but only students, and\\nvery modest ones, at fifteen. But I shall at least\\nask of modern science so much help as shall enable\\nme to begin to teach them at that age the physical\\nlaws relating to their own bodies, openly, thor-\\noughly, and with awe; and of modern civilization,\\nI shall ask so much help as may enable me to teach\\nthem what is indeed right, and what wrong, for the\\ncitizen of a state of noble humanity to do, and per-\\nmit to be done, by others, unaccused. Arroivs of\\nthe CJiace, II., p. 136.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "290 A BUSKII^r ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe Study of Grammar.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I am at total issue\\nwith most preceptors as to the use of grammar to\\nany body. In a recent examination of our Coniston\\nschool I observed that the thing the children did\\nexactly best, was their parsing, and the thing they\\ndid exactly worst, their repetition. Could stronger\\nproof be given that the dissection of a sentence is\\nas bad a way to the understanding of it as the dis-\\nsection of a beast to the biography of it Fors,\\nIV., p. 379.\\nLying. It should be pointed out to young people\\nwith continual earnestness that the essence of lying\\nis in deception, not in words; a lie may be told by\\nsilence, by equivocation, by the accent on a sylla-\\nble, by a glance of the eye attaching a peculiar\\nsignificance to a sentence; and all these kinds of\\nlies are worse and baser by many degrees than a\\nlie plainly worded.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 3Ioder7i Painters, V., p. 290.\\nChildren taught Self-reliance. Children\\nshould have their times of being off duty, like\\nsoldiers; and when once the obedience, if required,\\nis certain, the little creature should be very early\\nput for periods of practice in complete command\\nof itself; set on the barebacked horse of its own\\nwill, and left to break it by its own strength.\\nPraeterita, II.\\nThe Study of History.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every fairly educated\\nEuropean boy or girl ought to learn the history of\\nfive cities Athens, Rome, Venice, Florence, and\\nLondon; that of London including, or at least com-\\npelling in parallel study, some knowledge also of\\nthe history of Paris. Pleasures of England, p. 8.\\nI don t know any Roman history except the two\\nfirst books of Livy, and little bits here and there ol\\nthe following six or seven. I only just know enough\\nabout it to be able to make out the bearings and\\nmeaning of any fact that I now learn. The greater\\nnumber of modern historians know, (if honest\\nenough even for that,) the facts, or something that\\nmay possibly be like the facts, but haven t the\\nleast notion of the meaning of them. So that,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 291\\nthough I have to find out everything that I want\\nin Smith s Dictionary, like any schoolboy, I can\\nusually tell you the significance of what I so find,\\nbetter than jierhaps even Mr. Smith himself could.\\nProserpina, p. 100.\\nThe Wordsworth Schoolhouse.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I went only\\nthis last month to see the school in which Words-\\nworth was educated. It i-emains, as it was then, a\\nschool for peasant lads only; and the doors of its\\nlittle library, therefore, hang loose on their decayed\\nhinges; and one side of the schoolroom is utterly\\ndark the window on that side having been long\\nago walled up, either because of the window-tax,\\nor perhaps it had got broken, suggested the guar-\\ndian of the place.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ ors, III., p. 53.\\nEnglish Parents idea op Education.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I re-\\nceive many letters from parents respecting the edu-\\ncation of their children. They never seek, as\\nfar as I can make out, an education good in Itself;\\nthe conception of abstract rightness in training\\nrarely seems reached by the writers. But an edu-\\ncation which shall keep a good coat on my son s\\nback; an education which shall enable him to\\nring with confidence the visitors bell at double-\\nbelled doors; education which shall result ulti-\\nmately in establishment of a double-belled door to\\nhis own house; in a word, which shall lead to\\nadvancement in life. Sesame and Lilies, p. 28.\\nBirds do not praise God in their Songs. This\\nLondon is the principal nest of men in the world;\\nand I was standing in the centre of it. In the shops\\nof Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, on each side of\\nme, I do not doubt I could have bought any quan-\\ntity of books for children, which by way of giving\\nthem religious, as opposed to secular, instruction,\\ninformed them that birds praised God in their\\nsongs. Now, though on the one hand, you may be\\nvery certain that bii ds are not machines, on the\\nother hand it is just as certain that they have not\\nthe smallest intention of praising God In their\\nsongs; and that we cannot prevent the religious", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "292 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOaY.\\neducation of our cliildern more utterly than by be-\\nginning it in lies.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Eagle s Nest, p. 43.\\nBoys and Squirrels. As of all quadrupeds\\nthere is none so ugly or so miserable as the sloth,\\nso, take him for all in all, there is none so beautiful,\\nso happy, so wonderful as the squirrel. Innocent\\nin all his ways, harndess in his food, i^layful as a\\nkitten, but without cruelty, and surpassing the\\nfantastic dexterity of the monkey, with the grace\\nand the brightness of a bird, the little dark-eyed\\nmiracle of the forest glances from brancli to branch\\nmore like a sunbeam than a living creature it leaps,\\nand darts, and twines, where it will; a chamois is\\nslow to it; and a panther, clumsy: grotesque as a\\ngnome, gentle as a fairy, delicate as the silken\\nplumes of the rush, beautiful and strong like the\\nspiral of a fern, it haunts you, listens for you,\\nhides from you, looks for you, loves you, as if the\\nangel that walks with your children had made it\\nhimself for their heavenly plaything.\\nAnd this is what you do, to thwart alike your\\nchild s angel, and liis God, you take him out of\\nthe woods into the town, you send him from\\nmodest labor to competitive schooling,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you force\\nhim out of the fresh air into the dusty bone-house,\\nyou show him the skeleton of the dead monster,\\nand make him pour over its rotten cells and wire-\\nstitched joints, and vile extinct capacities of de-\\nstruction, and when he is choked and sickened\\nwith useless horror and putrid air, you let him re-\\ngretting the waste of time go out for once to play\\nagain by the woodside; and the first squirrel he\\nsees, he throws a stone at Deucalion, pp. 145, 146.\\nThe best dog I ever had was a buU-teri-ier, whose\\nwhole object in life was to please me, and nothing\\nelse; though, if he found he could please me by hold-\\ning on with his teeth to an inch-thick stick, and be-\\ning swung round in the air as fast as I could turn,\\nthat was his own idea of entirely felicitous existence.\\n1 don t like, therefore, hearing of a bulldog s being\\nill-treated; but I can tell you a little thing that", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PmLOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 293\\nchanced to me at Coniston the other day, more\\nhorrible, in the deep elements of it, than all the\\ndog, bulldog, or bull fights, or baitings, of England,\\nSpain, and California. A fine boy, the son of an\\namiable English clergyman, had come on the coach-\\nbox round the Water-head to see me, and was\\ntelling me of the delightful drive he had had.\\nOh, he said, in the triumph of his enthusiasm,\\nand just at the corner of the wood, there was\\nsuch a big squirrel and the coachman threw a\\nstone at it, and nearly hit it\\nThoughtlessness only thoughtlessness say\\nyou proud father Well, perhaps not much\\nworse than that. But how could it be much worse\\nThoughtlessness is precisely the chief public calam-\\nity of our day; and when it comes to the pitch, in a\\nclergyman s child, of not thinking that a stone hurts\\nwhat it hits of living things, and not caring for\\nthe daintiest, dextrousest, innocentest living thingin\\nthe noi thern forests of God s earth, except as a brown\\nexcrescence to be knocked off their branches, nay,\\ngood pastor of Christ s lambs, believe me, your boy\\nhad better have been employed in thoughtfully and\\nresolutely stoning St. Stephen if any St. Stephen\\nis to be found in these days, when men not only\\ncan t see heaven opened, but don t so much as care\\nto see it, shut.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ or^, II., p. 312.\\nIdeal of ax Elementary School.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every parish\\nschool to have gai-den, playground, and cultivable\\nland round it, or belonging to it, si^acious enough to\\nemploy the scholars in fine weather mostly out of\\ndooi s.\\nAttached to the building, a children s library,\\nin which the scholars Avho cai e to read may learn\\nthat art as deftly as they like, by themselves, help-\\ning each other without troubling the master^ a\\nsuflBcient laboratory always, in which shall be\\nspecimens of all common elements of natural sub-\\nstances, and where simple chemical, optical, and\\npneumatic experiments may be shown; and accord-\\ning to the size and importance of the school, at-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "294 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntaclied workshops, many or few, but always a\\ncarpenter s, and first of those added in the better\\nschools, a potter s.\\nIn the school Itself, the things taught will be\\nmusic, geometry, astronomy, botany, zoology, to\\nall; drawing, and history, for childi-en who have\\ngift for either. And finally, to all children of\\nwhatever gift, grade, or age, the laws of Honor, the\\nhabit of Truth, the Virtue of Humility, and the\\nHappiness of Love.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, IV., p. 369.\\nThe Decorations of School Rooms.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Many a\\nstudy aj^pears dull or painful to a boy, when it is\\npursued on a blotted deal desk, under a wall with\\nnothing on it but scratches and pegs, which would\\nhave been pursued pleasantly enough in a curtained\\ncorner of his father s library, or at the lattice win-\\ndow of his cottage. Nay, my own belief is, that the\\nbest study of all is the most beautiful; and that a\\nquiet glade of forest, or the nook of a lake shore, are\\nworth all the schooh ooms in Christendom, when\\nonce you are past the multiplication table; but be\\nthat as it may, there is no question at all but that\\na time ought to come in the life of a well trained\\nyouth, when he can sit at a Avriting table without\\nwanting to throw the inkstand at his neighbor;\\nand when also he will feel more capable of certain\\nefforts of mind with beautiful and refined forms\\nabout him than with ugly ones. When that time\\ncomes he ought to be advanced into the decorated\\nschools; and this advance ought to be one of the\\nimportant and honorable epochs of his life.\\nNow, the use of your decorative painting would\\nbe, in myriads of ways, to animate [the scholars\\nhistory for them, and to put the living aspect of\\n13ast things before their eyes as faithfully as in-\\ntelligent invention can; so that the master shall\\nhave nothing to do but once to point to the school-\\nroom walls, and forever afterwards the meaning of\\nany word would be fixed in a boy s mind in the\\nbest possible way. Is it a question of classical dress\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094what a tunic was like, or a chlamys, or a peplus", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 295\\nAt this day, you have to point to some vile wood-\\ncut, in the middle of a dictionary page, rejjresent-\\ning the thing hung upon a stick; but then, you\\nwould point to a hundred figures, wearing the\\nactual dress, in its fiery colors, in all the actions of\\nvarious stateliness or strength; you Avould under-\\nstand at once how it fell round the people s limbs\\nas they stood, how it drifted from their shoulders\\nas they went, how it veiled their faces as they wept,\\nhow it covered their heads in the day of battle.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A\\nJoi/ For Ever, pp. 71, 73.\\nTEACHING SCIENCE TO CHILDREN.\\nThe Education of a little Girl. I don t in\\nthe least want a book to tell her how many species\\nof bees there are; nor what grounds there may be\\nfor suspecting that one species is another species;\\nnor why Mr. B. is convinced that what Mr. A.\\nconsidered tAvo species are indeed one species; nor\\nhow conlusively Mr. C has proved that what Mr.\\nB. described as a new species is an old species.\\nNeither do I want a book to tell her what a bee s\\ninside is like, nor whether it has its brains in the\\nsmall of its back, or nowliere in particular, like a\\nmodern political economist; nor whether the mor-\\nphological nature of the sternal portion of the\\nthorax should induce us strictly, to call it the pro-\\nsternum, or may ultimately be found to present no\\nserious inducement of that nature. But I want a\\nbook to tell her, for instance, how a bee buzzes; and\\nhow, and by what instrumental touch, its angry\\nbuzz differs from its pleased or simply busy buzz.*\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 359.\\nSo Lockhai-t says of Sir Walter Scott, that lie detested the\\nwhole generation of modern school books with their attempt to\\nteach scientific niinntire; but delighted cordially in those of\\nthe preceding age, which by addressing the imagination, ob-\\ntained thereby, as lie thonglit, the best chance of imparting\\nsolid knowledge and stirring up the mind to an interest in\\ngraver studies.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For fuller statements of lluskin on teaching\\nscience to children, consult Proserpina, passim, and Fors Clavi-\\ngera, 1\u00c2\u00bb75, Letter 51.J", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "296 A RVSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nNatural History.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I have often been unable,\\nthrough sickness or anxiety, to follow uiy own art\\nwork, but I have never found natural history fail\\nme, either as a delight or a medicine. But for\\nchildren it must be curtly and wisely taught. We\\nmust show them things, not tell them names. A\\ndeal-chest of drawers is worth many books to them,\\nand a well-guided country walk worth a hundred\\nlectures. Arrows of the Chace, L, p. 199.\\nBotany.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The most pressing need is for a simple\\nhandbook of the wild flowers of every country\\nFrench flowers for French children, Teuton for\\nTeuton, Saxon for Saxon, Highland for Scot se-\\nverely accurate in outline, and exquisitely colored\\n6y hand (again the best possible practice in our\\ndrawing schools); with a text regardless utterly of\\nAny but the most popular names, and of all micro-\\niscopic observation; but teaching children the beau-\\nty of plants as they grow, and their culinary uses\\nwhen gathered; and that, except for such uses, they\\nshould be left growing. Fors, IV., pp. 391.\\nBotanists have discovered some wonderful con-\\nnection between nettles and figs, which a cowboy,\\nwho will never see a ripe fig in his life, need not be\\nat all troubled about; but it will be interesting to\\nhim to know what effect nettles have on hay, and\\nwhat taste they will give to i^orridge; and it will\\ngive him nearly a new life if he can be got but once,\\nin a spring-time, to look well at the beautiful circ-\\nlet of the white nettle blossom, and work out with\\nhis sohoolmaster the curves of its petals, and the\\nwaj^ it is set on its central mast. So, the principle\\nof chemical equivalents, beautiful as it is, matters\\nfar less to a peasant boy, and even to most sons of\\ngentlemen, than their knowledge how to find\\nwhether the water is wholesome in the back-kitchen\\ncistern, or whether the seven-acre field wants sand\\nor chalk. A Joy For Fver, p. 91.\\nIt may not be the least necessary that a peasant\\nshould know algebra, or Greek, or drawing. But\\nit may, perhaps, be both possible and expedient", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EBUCATIOX. 297\\nthat he should be able to arrange his thoughts\\nclearly, to speak his own language intelligibly, to\\ndiscern between right and wrong, to govern his\\npassions, and to receive such pleasures of ear or\\nsight a,s his life may render accessible to him. I\\nAvould not have him taught the science of music;\\nbut most assuredly I would have him taught to\\nsing. I would not teach him the science of drawing;\\nbut certainly I would teach him to see; without\\nlearning a single term of botany, he should know\\naccurately the habits and uses of every leaf and\\nflower in his fields; and unencumbered by any\\ntheories of moral and political philosophy, he\\nshould help his neighbor, and disdain a bribe.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 354.\\nExAMi:vATioN Paper for a Botanical Glass.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1. State the habit of such and such a plant.\\n2. Sketch its leaf, and a portion of its ramifica-\\ntions (memory).\\n3. Explain the mathematical laws of its growth\\nand structure.\\n4. Give the composition of its juices in different\\nseasons.\\n5. Its uses? Its relations to other families of\\nplants, and conceivable uses beyond those known\\n6. Its commercial value in London Mode of\\ncultivation\\n7. Its mythological meaning? The commonest\\nor most beautiful fables respecting it?\\n8. Quote any important references to it by great\\npoets.\\n9. Time of its introduction.\\n10. Describe its consequent influence on civiliza-\\ntion.\\nOf all these ten questions, there is not one which\\ndoes not test the student in other studies than\\nbotany. Arrotcs of the Chace, I., p. 45.\\nAstronomy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The beginning of all is to teach the\\nchild the places and names of the stars, when it can\\nsee them, and to accustom it to watch for the\\nnightly change of those visible. The register of the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "298 A BUSKIN- ANTHOLOGY.\\nvisible stars of first magnitude and planets should\\nbe printed largely and intelligibly for every day of\\nthe year, and set by the schoolmaster every day;\\nand the arc described by the sun, Avith its following\\nand preceding stars, from point to jioint of the\\nhorizon visible at the place, should be drawn, at\\nleast weekly, as the first of the drawing exercises.\\nFors, IV., p. 389.\\nGeography. Of the cheap barbarisms and abor-\\ntions of modern cram, the frightful method of\\nrepresenting mountain chains by black bars is\\nabout the most ludicrous and abominable. All\\nmountain chains are in groups, not bars, and their\\nwatersheds are often entirely removed from their\\npoints of greatest elevation. Fors, TV-, p. 388.\\n[On Botany, see also Part IV.]\\nEDUCATION IN ART.*\\nIf you desire to draw, that you may represent\\nsomething that you care for, you will advance\\nSAviftly and safely. If you desire to draw, that you\\nmay make a beautiful drawing, you will never\\nmake one. Lawsof Fesole, p. 13.\\nTeaching to be adjusted to Capacity. A\\nyoung person s critical power should be developed\\nby the presence around him of the best models\\ninto the excellence of loMch Ms knoioledge 2^ermits\\nhim to enter. He should be encouraged, above all\\nthings, to form and express judgment of his own;\\nnot as if his judgment were of any importance as\\nrelated to the excellence of the thing, but that both\\nhis master and he may know precisely in what\\nstate his mind is. He should be told of an Albert\\nDiirer engraving, That s good, whether you like\\nit or not; but be sure to determine whether you do\\nOn the arts as a brancli of Education, see Arrows of the\\nChace, I., pp. 39-46; and the Supplement to A Joy For Ever; coni\\npare also Sesame and Lilies.]", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPHY^EDUCATIoy. 299\\nor do not, and why. All formal expressions of\\nreasons for opinion, such as a boy could catch up\\nand repeat, should be Avithheld like poison; and all\\nmodels which are too good for him should be kept\\nout of his way. Contemplation of works of art,\\nwithout understanding them, jades the faculties\\nand enslaves the intelligence. A Rembrandt etch-\\ning is a better example to a boy than a finished\\nTitian, and a cast from a leaf than one of the Elgin\\nmarbles. Arrows of the Chace, I., p. 42.\\nIlluminated Writing.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every scliool should be\\nfurnislied witli progressive examples, in fac-simile,\\nof beautiful illuminated writing for nothing could\\nbe more conducive to the progress of general\\nscholarship and taste than that the first natural\\ninstincts of clever children for the imitation or,\\noften, the invention of picture writing, should be\\nguided and stimulated by perfect models in their\\nown kind.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV., p. 389.\\nProportion. Make your studies always of the\\nreal size of things. A man is to be drawn the size\\nof a man, and a cherry the size of a cherry.\\nBut I cannot draw an elephant his real size\\nThere is no occasion for you to draw an elephant.\\nBut nobody can draw Mont Blanc his real\\nsize\\nNo. Therefore nobody can draw Mont Blanc at\\nall; but only a distant view of Mont Blanc. You\\nmay also draw a distant view of a man, and of an\\nelephant, if you like; you must take care that it is\\nseen to be so, and not mistaken for a drawing of a\\npigmy, or a mouse, near.\\nBut there is a great deal of good miniature-\\npainting?\\nYes, and a great deal of fine cameo-cutting. But\\nI am going to teach you to be a painter, not a\\nlocket-decorator, or medallist. Laws of Fesole,\\np. 18.\\nColor.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You ought to love color, and to think\\nnothing quite beautiful or jierfect without it; and\\nif you really do love it, for its own sake, and are", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "m A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nnot merely desirous to color because you think\\npainting a finer thing than drawing, there is some\\nchance you may color well. Nevertheless, you\\nneed not hope ever to produce anything more than\\npleasant helps to memory, or useful and suggestive\\nsketches in color, unless you mean to be wholly an\\nartist. You may, in the time which other vocations\\nleave at your disposal, produce finished, beautiful,\\nand masterly drawings in light and shade. But to\\ncolor well, requires your life. It cannot be done\\ncheaper. The difficulty of doing right is increased\\nnot twofold nor threefold, but a thousandfold,\\nand more by the addition of color to your work.\\nIf you sing at all, you must sing sweetly; and if\\nyou color at all, you must color rightly. Give up\\nall the form, rather than the slightest part of the\\ncolor just as, if you felt yourself in danger of a\\nfalse note, you would give up the word and sing\\na meaningless sound, if you felt that so you could\\nsave the note. An ill-colored picture could be\\nno more admitted into the gallery of any rightly\\nconstituted Academy, or Society of Painters, than\\na howling dog into a concert. Laws of F6sole,\\npp. 79, 83.\\nThe Vale of Tempe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I wish I could ask you to\\ndraw, instead of the Alps, the crests of Parnassus\\nand Olympus, and the ravines of ^elphi and of\\nTempe. I have not loved the arts of Greece as\\nothers have; yet I love them, and her, so much,\\nthat it is to me simply a standing marvel how\\nscholars can endure for all these centuries, during\\nwhich their chief education has been in the lan-\\nguage and policy of Greece, to have only the names\\nof her hills and rivers upon their lips, and never\\none line of conception of them in their mind s sight.\\nWhich of us knows what the valley of Sparta is\\nlike, or the great mountain vase of Arcadia which\\nof us, except in mere airy syllabling of names,\\nknows aught of sandy Ladon s lilied banks, or\\nold Lycseus, or Cyllene hoar \u00e2\u0080\u0094Lectures on Art,\\np. 73.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 EDUCATION. 301\\nTo FOSTER Art-gknius IN A YouTH.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Kiiow once\\nfor all, that a poet on canvas is exactly the same\\nspecies of creature as a poet in song, and nearly\\nevery error in our methods of teaching will be done\\naway with. For who among us now thinks of\\nbringing men up to be poets of producing poets\\nby any kind of general recipe or method of culti-\\nvation Suppose even that we see in youth that\\nwhich we hope may, in its development, become\\na power of this kind, should we instantly, suppos-\\ning that we wanted to make a poet of him, and\\nnothing else, forbid him all quiet, steady, rational\\nlabor Should we force him to perpetual spinning\\nof new crudities out of his boyish brain, and set\\nbefore him, as the only objects of his study, the\\nlaws of versification which criticism has supposed\\nitself to discover in the works of previous writers\\nBut if we had sense, should we not rather\\nrestrain and bridle the first flame of invention in\\nearly youth, heaping material on it as one would\\non the first sparks and tongues of a fire which we\\ndesired to feed into greatness Should we not\\neducate the whole intellect into general strength,\\nand all the affections into warmth and honesty,\\nand look to heaven for the rest i\u00e2\u0080\u0094Pre-Raphael-\\nitism, p. 17.\\nThe greatest Art cannot be taught.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nvery words School of Design involve the pro-\\nfoundest of Art fallacies. Drawing may be taught\\nby tutors but Design only by Heaven; and to every\\nscholar who thinks to sell his insi^iration Heaven\\nrefuses its help \\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094Laws of Fesole, p. 8.\\nSome ten or twelve years ago, when I was first\\nactively engaged in Art teaching, a young Scottish\\nstudent came up to London to piat himself under\\nme, having taken many prizes (justly, with respect\\nto the qualities looked for by the judges) in various\\nschools of Art. He worked under me very earnestly\\nand patiently for some time; and I was able to\\npraise his doings, in what I thought very high\\nterms nevertheless, there remained always a look", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "302 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nof mortification on his face, after he had been\\npraised, however unquahfiedly. At last, he could\\nhold no longer, but one day, when I had been more\\nthan usually complimentary, turned to me with an\\nanxious, yet not unconfident expression, and asked;\\nDo you think, Sir, that 1 shall ever draw as well\\nas Turner? I paused for a second or two, being\\nmuch taken aback; and then answered,* It is far\\nmore likely you should be made Emperor of All\\nthe Russias. There is a new Emperor every fifteen\\nor twenty years on the average; and by strange\\nhap, and fortunate cabal, anybody might be made\\nEmperor. But there is only one Turner in five\\nhundred years, and God decides, without any\\nadmission of auxiliary cabal, what piece of clay his\\nsoul is to be put in.\\nIt was the first time that I had been brought into\\ndirect collision with the modern system of prize-\\ngiving aii?l competition and the mischief of it was,\\nin the sequel, clearly shown to me, and tragically.\\nThis youth had the finest powers of mechanical exe-\\ncution I have ever met with, but was quite incapa-\\nble of invention, or strong intellectual effort of any\\nkind. Had he been taught early and thoroughly\\nto know his place, and be content with his faculty,\\nhe would have been one of the happiest and most\\nserviceable of men. But, at the art schools, he got\\nprize after prize for his neat handling; and having,\\nin his restricted imagination, no power of discerning\\nthe qualities of great work, all the vanity of his\\nnature was brought out unchecked; so that, being\\nintensely industrious and conscientious, as well as\\nvain (it is a Scottish combination of character not\\nunfi equentf), he naturally expected to become one\\nof the greatest of men. My answer not only morti-\\nI do not mean that I answered in these words, but to the\\neffect of them, at greater length.\\nt We English are usually bad altogether in a harmonious\\nway, and only quite insolent when we are quite good-for-\\nnothing; the least good in us shows itself in a measure of mod-\\nesty but many Scotch natures, of fine capacity otherwise, are\\nrendered entirely abortive by conceit.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSorHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094EDVGATION. 303\\nfied. but angei-ed hiiu, and made him suspicious\\nof me; he thought I wanted to keep his talents from\\nbeing fairly displayed, and soon afterwards asked\\nleave (he was then in my employment as well as\\nunder my teaching) to put himself under another\\nmaster. I gave him leave at once, telling him, if\\nhe found the other master no better to his mind,\\nhe might come back to me whenever he chose.\\nThe other master giving him no more hope of ad-\\nvancement than I did, he came back to me; I sent\\nhim into Switzerland, to draw Swiss architecture;\\nbut instead of doing what I bid him, quietly, and\\nnothing else, he set himself, with furious industry,\\nto draw snowy mountains and clouds, that he\\nmight show me he could draw like Albert Durer, or\\nTurner; spent his strength in agony of vain effort;\\ncaught cold, fell into decline, and died. How\\nmany actual deaths are now annually caused by\\nthe strain and anxiety of competitive examination,\\nit would startle us all if we could know: but the mis-\\nchief done to the best faculties of the brain in all\\ncases, and the miserable confusion and absurdity\\ninvolved in the system itself, which offers every\\nplace, not to the man who is indeed fitted for it,\\nbut to the one who, on a given day, chances to\\nhave bodily strength enough to stand the cruellest\\nstrain, are evils infinite in their consequences, and\\nmore lamentable than many deaths. Fo7 s, I.,\\np. 117.\\nRapid Drawing.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I have seen a great master s\\nhand flying over the jDaper as fast as gnats over a\\npool; and the ink left by the light grazing of it,\\nso pale, that it gathered into shade like gray lead;\\nand yet the contours, and fine notes of character,\\nseized with the accuracy of Holbein. But gift of\\nthis kind is a sign of the rarest artistic faculty and\\ntact you need not attempt to gain it, for if it is\\nin you, and you work continually, the power will\\ncome of itself; and if it is not in you, will never\\ncome; nor, even if you could win it, is the attain-\\nment wholly desirable. Drawings thus executed", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "304 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nare always imperfect, however beautiful they are\\nout of harmony with the general manner and\\nscheme of serviceable art; and always, so far as I\\nhave observed, the sign of some deficiency of ear-\\nnestness in the worker.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ia?\u00c2\u00ab5 of Fesole, p. 30.\\nMeasurement in Drawing. The question of\\nmeasurement is, as you are probably aware, one\\nmuch vexed in art schools; but it is determined\\nindisputably by the very first words written by\\nLionardo II giovane deve prima imparare pro-\\nspettiva, per le misure d ogni cosa.\\nWithout absolute precision of measurement, it is\\ncertainly impossible for you to learn perspective\\nrightly; and as far as I can judge, impossible to learn\\nanything else rightly. And in my past experience\\nof teaching, I have found that such precision is of\\nall things the most difficult to enforce on the pupils.\\nIt is easy to persuade to diligence, or provoke to\\nenthusiasm; but I have found it hitherto impossible\\nto humiliate one student into perfect accuracy.\\nLectures on Art, p. 95.\\nErrors op the existing popular School op\\nDrawing. The first error in that system is the\\nforbidding accuracy of measurement, and enforcing\\nthe practice of guessing at the size of objects. Now\\nit is indeed often well to outline at first by the eye,\\nand afterwards to correct the drawing by measure-\\nment; but under the present method, the student\\nfinishes his inaccurate drawing to the end, and his\\nmind is thus, during the whole progress of his\\nwork, accustomed to falseness in every contour.\\nSuch a practice is not to be characterized as merely\\nharmful, it is ruinous. No student who has sus-\\ntained the injury of being thus accustomed to false\\ncontours, can ever recover precision of sight. Nor\\nis this all he cannot so much as attain to the first\\nconditions of art judgment. For a fine work of art\\ndiffers from a vulgar one by subtleties of line which\\nthe most perfect measurement is not, alone, delicate\\nenough to detect; but to whicli precision of at-\\ntempted measurement directs the attention; while", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILO SOPHY-EDUCATION. 305\\nthe security of boundaries, within which maximum\\nerror must be restrained, enables the hand gradu-\\nally to approach the perfectness which instruments\\ncannot. Gradually, the mind then becomes con-\\nscious of the beauty which, even after this honest\\neffort, remains inimitable; and the faculty of dis-\\ncrimination increases alike through failure and\\nsuccess. But Avhen the true contours are voluntar-\\nily and habitually departed from, the essential\\nqualities of every beautiful form are necessarily\\nlost, and the student remains forever unaware of\\ntheir existence.\\nThe second error in the existing system is the en-\\nforcement of the execution of finished drawings in\\nlight and shade, before the student has acquired\\ndelicacy of sight enough to observe the gi-adations.\\nIt requires the most careful and patient teaching to\\ndevelop this faculty; and it can only be developed\\nat all by raind and various practice from natural\\nobjects, during which the attention of the student\\nmust be directed only to the facts of the shadows\\nthemselves, and not at all arrested on methods of\\nproducing them. He may even be allowed to pro-\\nduce them as he likes, or as he can; the thing re-\\nquired of him being only that the shade b e of\\nthe right darkness, of the right shape, and in the\\nright relation to other shades round it; and not at\\nall that it shall be prettily cross hatched, or decep-\\ntively transparent. But at present, the only virtues\\nrequired in shadow are that it shall be pretty in\\ntexture and picturesquely effective; and it is not\\nthought of the smallest consequence that it should\\nbe in the right place, or of the right depth. And the\\nconsequence is that the student remains, when he\\nbecomes a painter, a mere manufacturer of conven-\\ntional shadows of agreeable texture, and to the end\\nof his life incapable of perceiving the conditions\\nof the simplest natural passage of chiaroscuro.\\nThe third error in the existing code, and in ulti-\\nmately destructive power, the worst, is the con-\\nstruction of entirely symmetrical or balanced forms\\nfor exercises in ornamental design; whereas every", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "306 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbeautiful form in this world, is varied in the minu-\\ntiae of the balanced sides. Place the most beautiful\\nof human forms in exact symmetry of position, and\\ncurl the hair into equal curls on both sides, and it\\nwill become ridiculous, or monstrous. Nor can any\\nlaw of beauty be nobly observed without occasional\\nwilfulness of violation. Laws of Fisole, pp. 7, 6.\\nPerspective. I never met but with two men\\nin my life who knew enough of perspective to draw\\na Grothic arch in a retiring plane, so that its lateral\\ndimensions and curvatures ujight be calculated to\\nscale from the drawing. Pre-Raphaelitism, p. 20.\\nNo great painters ever trouble themselves about\\nperspective, and very few of them know its laws;\\nthey draw everything by the eye, and, naturally\\nenough, disdain in the easy parts of their work\\nrules which cannot help them in difficult ones. It\\nwould take about a month s labor to draw im-\\nperfectly, by laws of i^erspective, what any great\\nVenetian will draw perfectly in five minutes, when\\nhe is throwing a wreath of leaves round a head, or\\nbending the curves of a pattern in and out among\\nthe folds of drapery. Turner, though he was\\nprofessor of perspective to the Royal Academy, did\\nnot know what he professed, and never, as far as 1\\nremember, drew a single building in true perspec-\\ntive in his life; he drew them only with as much\\npersjDective as suited him. Prout also knew nothing\\nof perspective, and twisted his buildings, as Turner\\ndid, into whatever shapes he liked. I do not justify\\nthis; and would recommend the student at least to\\ntreat perspective with common civility, but to pay\\nno court to it. Elements of Dratoing, p. 12.\\nAll the professors of perspective in Europe,\\ncould not, by perspective, draw the live of curve\\nof a sea beach; nay, could not outline one pool of\\nthe quiet water left among the sand. The eye and\\nhand can do it, nothing else. All the rules of aerial\\nperspective that ever were written, will not tell me\\nhow sharply the pines on the hill-top are drawn at\\nthis moment on the sky. I shall know if I see them,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOrilY\u00e2\u0080\u0094EBUCAriON. 30?\\nand love them; not till then. Stones of Venice, III.,\\np. 481.\\nWhen perspective was first invented the world\\nthought it a mighty discovery, and the greatest\\nmen it had in it were as proud of knowing that\\nretiring lines converge, as if all the wisdom of\\nSolomon had been compressed into a vanishing\\npoint. And, accordingly, it became nearly impos-\\nsible for any one to paint a Nativity, but he must\\nturn the stable and manger into a Corinthian\\narcade, in order to show his knowledge of perspec-\\ntive; and half the best architecture of the time,\\ninstead of being adorned with historical sculpture,\\nas of old, was set forth Avith bas-relief of minor\\ncorridors and galleries, thrown into perspective.\\nStones of Venice, p. 60.\\nAerial Perspective. Aerial perspective, as giv-\\nen by the modern artist, is, in nine cases out of ten,\\na gross and ridiculous exaggeration. The other\\nday I showed a fine impression of Albert Durer s\\nSt. Hubert to a modern engraver, who had never\\nseen it nor any other of Albert Durer s Avorks. He\\nlooked at it for a minute contemptuously, then\\nturned away Ah, I see that man did not knoAv\\nmuch about aerial perspective All the glorious\\nwork and thought of the mighty master, all the re-\\ndundant landscape, the living vegetation, the mag-\\nnificent truth of line, were dead letters to him.\\nbecause he happened to have been taught one\\nparticular piece of knowledge which Durer despised.\\nStones of Venice, III., p. 49.\\nYou:ng Folks ix Picture Galleries. \u00e2\u0080\u0094It only\\nwastes the time and dulls the feelings of young\\npersons, to drag them through picti;re galleries;\\nat least, unless they themselves wish to look at\\nl^articular pictures, (jenerally, young people only\\ncare to enter a picture gallery when there is a\\nchance of getting leave to run a race to the other\\nend of it; and they had better do that in the gar-\\nden below. If, however, they have any real enjoy-\\nment of pictures, and want to look at this one or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "SOS A BUSKIN ANTBOLOaY.\\nthat, the principal point is never to disturb them\\nin looking at what interests them, and never to\\nmake them look at what does not. Nothing is of\\nthe least use to young people (nor, by the way, of\\nmuch use to old ones), but what interests them- and\\ntherefore, though it is of great importance to put\\nnothing but good art into their possession, yet when\\nthey are passing through great houses or galleries,\\nthey should be allowed to look precisely at what\\npleases them if it is not useful to them as art, it\\nwill be in some other way and the healthiest way\\nin which art can interest them is when they look at\\nit, not as art, but because it represents something\\nthey like in nature. If a boy has had his heart\\nfilled by the life of some great man, and goes up\\nthirstily to a Vandyck portrait of him, to see what\\nhe was like, that is the wholesomest way in which\\nhe can begin the study of portraiture; if he love\\nmountains, and dwell on a Turner drawing because\\nhe sees in it a likeness to a Yorkshire scar, or an\\nAlpine pass, that is the wholesomest way in which\\nhe can begin the study of landscape; and if a girl s\\nmind is filled with dreams of angels and saints, and\\nshe pauses before an Angelico because she thinks\\nit must surely be indeed like heaven, that is the\\nwholesomest way for her to begin the study of re-\\nligious Sivt.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Elements of Drawing pp. 185, 186.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MUSEUMS. 309\\nCHAPTER III.\\nMuseums.\\nA iiiiiseum is, be it first observed, primarily, not\\n.c al! a place of entertainment, but a place of\\nSducation. And a museum is, be it secondly, ob-\\nserved, not a place for elementary education, but\\nfor that of already far-advanced scholars. And it\\nis by no means the same thing as a parish school,\\nor a Sunday school, or a day school, or even the\\nBrighton Aquarium. Fors, III., p. CG.\\nIn all museums intended for popular teaching,\\nthere are two great evils to be avoided. The first\\nis, suiDerabundance; the second, disorder. The first\\nis having too much of everything. You will find in\\nyour own work that the less you have to look at, the\\nbetter you attend. You can no more see twenty\\nthings worth seeing in an hour, than you can read\\ntwenty books worth reading in a day. Give little,\\nbut that little good and beautiful, and explain it\\ntlioroughly. Deucalion, p. 94.\\nNothing has so much retarded the advance of\\nart as our misei able habit of mixing the works of\\nevery master and of every century. More would\\nbe learned by an ordinarily intelligent observer\\nin simply passing from a room in which there were\\nonly Titians, to another in which there were oidy\\nCaraccis, than by reading a volume of lectures on\\ncolor. Few minds are strong enough first to ab-\\nstract and then to generalize the characters of\\npaintings hung at random. Pew minds are so\\ndull as not at once to perceive the points of difi er-\\nence, were the works of each painter set by them-\\nselves. The fatigue of which most persons com-\\nplain in passing through a picture gallery, as at\\npresent arranged, is indeed partly caused by the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "310 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nstraining elloit to see what is out of sight, but not\\nless by the continual change of temper and of tone\\nof thought demanded in passing from the work of\\none master to that of another. Arrows of the Chace,\\nL, p. 61.\\nA museum, primarily, is to be for simple persons.\\nChildren, that is to say, and peasants. For your\\nstudent, your antiquary, or your scientific gentle-\\nman, there must be separate accommodation, or they\\nmust be sent elsewhere. Secondly: The museum\\nis to manifest to these simi^le persons the beauty\\nand life of all things and creatures in their perfect-\\nness. Not their modes of corrujition, disease, or\\ndeath. Not even, always, their genesis, in the more\\nor less blundering beginnings of it; not even their\\nmodes of nourishment, if destructive; you must not\\nstuff a blackbird pulling up a worm, nor exhibit\\nin a glass case a crocodile crunching a baby.\\nNeither must you ever show bones or guts, or any\\nother charnel-house stuff. Teach your children to\\nknow the lark s note from the nightingale s; the\\nlength of their larynxes is their own business and\\nGod s.\\nIt is difficult to get one clear idea into anybody,\\nof any single thing. But next to impossible to get\\ntwo clear ideas into them, of the same thing. We\\nhave had lion s heads for door-knockers these hun-\\ndred and fifty years, without ever learning so much\\nas what a lion s head is like. But with good mod-\\nern stuffing and sketching, I can manage now to\\nmake a child really understand something about\\nthe beast s look, and his mane, and his sullen eyes\\nand brindled lips. But if I m bothered at the same\\ntime with a big bony box, that has neither mane,\\nlips, nor eyes, and have to explain to the poor\\nwretch of a parish schoolboy how somehow this\\nfits on to that, I will be bound that, at a year s\\nend, draw one as big as the other, and he won t\\nknow a lion s head from a tiger s nor a lion s\\nskull from a rabbit s. Nor is it the parish boy\\nonly who suffers. The scientific people themselves", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL FHILOSOPHY-MUSEUMS. 311\\nmiss half tlieir points from the haldt of hacking at\\nthings, instead of looking at them. When I gave\\nmy lecture on the Swallow at Oxford, I challenged\\nevery anatomist there to tell me the use of his tail\\n(I believe half of them didn t know he had one).\\nNot a soul of them could tell me, which I knew\\nbeforehand; but I did not know, till I had looked\\nwell through their books, hoAV they were quarrel-\\nling about his wings Actually, at this moment\\n(Easter Tuesday, 1880), I don t believe you can find\\nin any scientific book in Europe, a true account\\nof the Avay a bird flies\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or how a snake serpentines.\\nMy Swallow lecture was the first bit of clear state-\\nment on the one point, and when I get my Snake\\nlecture published, you will have the first extant bit\\nof clear statement on the other; and that is simply\\nbecause the anatomists can t, for their life, look at\\na thing till they have skinned it.\\nIn the British Museum, at the top of the stairs,\\nwe encounter in a terrific alliance a giraffe, a hip-\\npopotamus, and a basking-shark. The public-\\nyoung and old\u00e2\u0080\u0094 pass with a start and a stare, and re-\\nmain as wise as they were before about all the three\\ncreatures. The day before yesterday I was standing\\nby the big fish,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a father came up to it with his\\nlittle boy. That s a shark, says he; it turns\\non its side when it wants to eat you, and so went\\non\u00e2\u0080\u0094 literally as wise as he was before; for he had\\nread in a book that sharks turn on their side to\\nbite, and he never looked at the ticket, which\\ntold him this particular shark only ate small fish.\\nNow he never looked at the ticket because he didn t\\nexpect to find anything on it except that this was\\nthe Sharkogobalus Smith-Jonesianius. But if,\\nround tlie walls of the room, there had been all the\\nwell-known kinds of shcU-k, going down in gradu-\\nated sizes, from that basking one to our waggling\\ndog-fish, and if every one of these had had a plain\\nEnglish ticket, with ten words of common sense on\\nit, saying where and how the beast lived, and a num-\\nber (unchangeable) referring to a properly arranged\\nmanual of the shark tribe (sold by the Museum", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "312, A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY:\\npublisher, who ought to have his httle shop close\\nby the porter s lodge), both father and son must\\nhave been much below the level of the average Eng-\\nlishman and boy in mother wit if they did not go out\\nof the room by the door in front of them very dis-\\ntinctly, and\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to themselves amazingly wiser than\\nthey had come in by the door behind them.\\nIf I venture to give instances of fault from the\\nBritish Museum, it is because, on the whole, it is\\nthe best ordered and pleasantest institution in all\\nEngland, and the grandest concentration of the\\nmeans of human knowledge in the world.\\nEvery considerable town ought to have its ex-\\nemplary collections of woodM^ork, ironwork, and\\niewellery attached to the schools of their several\\ntrades, leaving to be illustrated in its pu olic mu-\\nseum, as in an hexagonal bee s ceil, the six queenly\\nand muse-taught arts of needlework, writing, pot-\\ntery, sculpture, architecture, and painting.\\nFor each of these, there should be a separate\\nTribune or Chamber of absolute tribunal, which\\nneed not be large that, so called, of Florence, not\\nthe size of a railway waiting-room, has actually for\\nthe last century determined the taste of the Euro-\\npean public in two arts in which the absolute best\\nin each art, so far as attainable by the communal\\npocket, shall be authoritatively exhibited, Avith sim-\\nple statement that it 4s good, and reason why it is\\ngood, and notification in Avhat particulars it is un-\\nsurpassable, together with some not too complex\\nillustrations of the steps by which it has attained to\\nthat perfection, where these can be traced far ba,ck\\nin history.\\nThese six Tribunes, or Temples of Fame, being\\nfirst set, with their fixed criteria, there should fol-\\nlow a series of historical galleries, showing the rise\\nand fall (if fallen of the arts in their beautiful\\nassociations as practiced in the great cities and by\\nthe great nations of the world. The history of\\nEgypt, of Persia, of Greece, of Italy, of France, and\\nof England, should be given in their arts: dynasty\\nby dynasty, age by age; and for tbft seventh, a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPtlY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MUSEUMS. 313\\nSunday Room, for the histovy of Christiaiiity in its\\nArt, including; the farthest range and feeblest efforts\\nof it; reserving for tliis room also, what power\\ncould be reached in delineation of the great mon-\\nasteries and cathedrals which were once the glory\\nof all Christian lands. London Art Journal, June\\nand Aug., 1880.\\n[At his examination before the National Gallery\\nCommission, in 1857, Mr. Ruskin said that the\\nTribune at Florence was poorly arranged, the\\npaintings and sculptures huddled together merely\\nto show how many great and rich works could be\\ngot together in one place. But paintings and\\nsculptures should be exhibited separately. He gave\\nit as his opinion that all kinds of pictures ought to\\nbe shown under glass, if possible; it gives them a\\ngreater delicacy, and keeps them from being ruined\\nby coal smoke and dust. Again, paintings should\\nbe hung on a line with the eye, and not so as to\\ncover the wtills of a room four or five deep. He\\nwould not accumulate in the gallery avast number\\nof pictures, but a few of the characteristic ones of\\nthe greatest artists. Indeed, there should be two\\npublic galleries, one removed at a distance from\\nLondon, and another, easily accessible to the people,\\ndesigned for their education, and containing not the\\nbest and most precious works, but works true and\\nright so far as they went. On some one enquiring\\nhis opinion of the value of second-rate art, he is re-\\nported to have said that fiftli-rate, sixth-rate to a\\nhundredth-rate art is good. Art that gives jjleasure\\nto any one has a right to exist. A child s picture\\nbook pleases the baby; a flower beautifully drawn\\nwill delight a girl who is learning botany, and may\\nbe useful to some man of science. The true outline\\nof a leaf shown to a child may turn the whole\\ncourse of its life.fl\\nSee The Lomlon Literary Gazette, Aug. 22, 1857.\\nt For further Ideiis of Ruskin on public Galleries of Art, see\\nArn/ws of the Chace, I., pp. 47 (55 iind 101-107.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "314 A liUSKlN ANTHOLOar.\\nCHAPTER IV.\\nSt. George s Guild.*\\nTo THE Workmen and Laborers op Great\\nBritain. Are there any landlords any masters\\nwho would like better to be served by men than by\\niron devils Any tenants, any workmen, who can\\nbe true to their leaders and to each other who\\ncan vow to work and to live faithfully, for the sake\\nof the joy of their homes Will any such give the\\ntenth of what they have, and of what they earn\\nnot to emigrate with, but to stay in England with;\\nand do what is in their hands and hearts to make\\nher a happy England I am not rich; (as people\\nnow estimate riches), and great part of what I have\\nis already engaged in maintaining art-workmen,\\nor for other objects more or less of public utility.\\nThe tenth of whatever is left to me, estimated as\\naccurately as I can, (you shall see the accounts,) I\\nwill make over to you in perpetuity, with the best\\nsecurity that English law can give, on Christmas\\nDay of this year, with engagement to add the\\ntithe of whatever I earn afterwards. Who else will\\nhelp, with little or much? the object of such fund\\nbeing, to begin, and gradually no matter how\\nslowly to increase, the buying and securing of\\nSt. George s Guild wasfonnully organized in 1871, and duly\\nregistered as a limited liabilities company. Ruskin at that\\ntime made over to it tlie tenth of his Income, he being worth\\nabout $5.50,000. Up to July, 1876, the membership numbered only\\nabout thirty persons, many of tliem young ladies. It curiously\\nmarks the unpopular nature of the enterprise, that the mastei\\nin drawing up for publication his list of names of members\\ndared to give, at first, only the initials, and afterwards the first\\nand last names of sncli as he thought would not blame him for\\nso doing. Up to July, 1877, the Guild had funds in cash to the\\namount of \u00c2\u00a33,487 128. Branch societies have been formed in\\nManchester, Glasgow, and Aberdeen. But Furs Clavigera, the\\noflicial joui-nal of the Guild, is no more issued, and the whole\\nconcern is reported to be moribund, if not dead. See the Intro-\\nduction for further details.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PIIILOSOPHYST. OEORQ S GUILD. 313\\nland in England, which shall not be built upon,\\nbut cultivated by Englishmen, with their own\\nhands, and such help of force as they can find in\\nwind and wave.\\nI do not care with how many, or how few, this\\nthing is begun, nor on what inconsiderable scale\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nif it be but in two or three poor men s gardens.\\nSo much, at least. I can buy, myself and give them.\\nIf no help come, I have done and said what I could,\\nand there will be an end. If any help come to me,\\nit is to be on the following conditions We will\\ntry to make some small piece of English ground,\\nbeautiful, peaceful, and fruitful. We will have no\\nsteam-engines upon it, and no railroads; we will\\nhave no untended or unthought-of creatures on it;\\nnone wretched, but the sick; none idle, but the\\ndead. We will have no liberty upon it; but instant\\nobedience to known law, and appointed persons;\\nno equality upon it; but recognition of every bet-\\nterness that we can find, and reprobation of every\\nworseness. When we want to go anywhere, we\\nwill go there quietly and safely, not at forty miles\\nan hour in the risk of our lives; when we want to\\ncarry anything anywhere, we will carry it either\\non the backs of beasts, or on our own, or in carts,\\nor boats we will have plenty of flowers and vege-\\ntables in our gardens, plenty of corn and grass in\\nour fields,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and few bricks. We will have some\\nmusic and poetry; the children shall learn to dance\\nto it and sing it;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 perhaps some of the old people,\\nin time, may also. We will have some art, more-\\nover; we will at least try if, like the Greeks, we\\ncan t make some pots. The Greeks used to paint\\npictures of gods on their pots; Ave, probably, can-\\nnot do as much, but we may put some pictures of\\ninsects on them, and reptiles;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 butterflies, and\\nfrogs, if nothing better. There was an excellent\\nold potter in France who used to i^ut frogs and\\nvipers into his dishes, to the admiration of man-\\nkind; we can surely put something nicer than that.\\nLittle by little, some higher art and imagination\\nmay manifest themselves among us; and feeble rays", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "816 A RVSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\noi science may dawn for us. Botany, though too\\ndull to dispute the existence of flowers; and history,\\nthough too sinii^le to question the nativity of men;\\nnay even perhaps an unealculating and uncov-\\netous wisdom, as of rude Magi, presenting, at such\\nnativity, gifts of gold and frankincense. Fors, I.,\\np. 73.\\nNot an Experiment. The very gist and essence\\nof everything St. George orders is that it shall not\\nbe new, and not an experiment but the re-\\ndeclaration and re-doing of things known and\\npractised successfully since Adam s time. Is\\nthe earth new, and its bread Are the plow and\\nsickle new in men s hands Are Faith and God-\\nliness new in their hearts Are common human\\ncharity and courage new By God s grace, lasting\\nyet, one sees in miners hearts and sailors Your po-\\nlitical cowardice is new, and your public rascality,\\nand your blasphemy, and your equality, and your\\nscience of Dirt. New in their insolence and ram-\\npant infinitude of egotism not new in one idea, or\\nin one possibility of good. Fors, IV., p. 45.\\nAn Ounce of Prevention.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 To divei-t a little of\\nthe large current of English charity and justice\\nfrom watching disease to guarding health, and from\\nthe punishment of crime to the reward of virtue; to\\nestablish, here and there, exercise grounds instead\\nof hospitals, and training schools instead of peni-\\ntiaries, is not, if you will slowly take it to heart, a\\nfrantic imagination. Fors, I., p. 132.\\nContributions to the Fund op St. George.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFirst, let whoever gives us any, be clear in their\\nminds that it is a Gift. It is not an Investment. It\\nis a frank and simple gift to the British peojile;\\nnothing of it is to come back to the giver. But also,\\nnothing of it is to be lost. This money is not to be\\nspent in feeding Woolwich infants with gunpowder.\\nIt is to be spent in dressing the earth and keeping\\nit\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in feeding human lips\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in clothing human bod-\\nies in kindling human souls.\\nFirst of all, I say, in dressing tlie earth. As soon", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL rUILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094ST. GEORGE S GflLB. 317\\nas the fund reaches any sufficient amount, the\\nTrustees shall buy with it any kind of land offered\\nthem at just pi-ice in Britain. Rock, moor, marsh,\\nor sea-shore it matters not what, so it be British\\nground, and secured to us.\\nThen, we will ascertain the absolute best that can\\nbe made of every acre. We will first examine what\\nflowers and herbs it naturally bears; every whole-\\nsome floAver that it will grow shall be sown in its\\nwild places, and every kind of fruit tree that can\\nprosper and arable and pasture land extended by\\nevery expedient of tillage, with humble and simple\\ncottage dwellings under faultless sanitary regula-\\ntion. AVhatever piece of land we begin work upon,\\nwe shall treat thoroughly at once, putting unlimited\\nmanual labor on it, until we have every foot of it\\nunder as strict care as a flower garden and the\\nlaborers shall be paid sufficient, unchanging wages;\\nand their children educated compulsorily in agri-\\ncultural schools inland, and naval schools by the\\nsea; the indispensable first condition of such\\neducation being that boys learn either to ride or\\nto sail; the girls to spin, weave, and sew, and at a\\nproper age to cook all ordinary food exquisitely;\\nthe youths of both sexes to be disciplined daily in\\nthe strictest ijractice of vocal music; and for moral-\\nity, to be taught gentleness to all brute creatures\\nfinished courtesy to each other to speak truth with\\nrigid care\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and to obey orders with the precision of\\nslaves. Then, as they get older, they are to learn\\nthe natural history of the place they live in to\\nknow Latin, boys and gii ls both and the history\\nof five cities: Athens, Rome, Venice, Florence, and\\nJuoudon.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, I., pp. 109, 110.\\nThe Company of Mont Rose.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Within my St.\\nGeorge s Company, which shall be of persons still\\nfollowing their own business, wherever they are,\\nbut who will give the tenth of what they have, or\\nmake, for the purchase of land in England, to be\\ncultivated by hand, as aforesaid in my last May\\nnumber,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 shall be another company, not distinc-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "318 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntive, called of Monte Rosa, or Mont Rose, be-\\ncause Monte Rosa is the central mountain of the\\nrange between north and south Europe, which\\nkeeps the gift of the rain of heaven. And the motto\\nor watchword of this company is to be the old\\nFrench Mont-joie. And they are to be entirely\\ndevoted, according to their power, first to the man-\\nual labor of cultivating pure land, and guiding\\nof pure streams and rain to the places where they\\nare needed; and secondly, together with this manual\\nlabor, and much by its means, they are to carry on\\nthe thoughtful labor of true education, in them-\\nselves and of othei s. And they are not to be monks\\nnor nuns; but are to learn, and teach all fair\\narts, and sweet order and obedience of life; and to\\neducate the children entrusted to their schools in\\nsuch practical arts and patient obedience; but not\\nat all, necessai ily, in either arithmetic, writing, or\\nreading. Fors, I., p. 229.\\nCreed of St. George s Guild.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I. I trust in the\\nLiving God, Father Almighty, Maker of heaven\\nand earth, and of all things and creatures visible\\nand invisible.\\nI trust in the kindness of His law, and the good-\\nness of His work.\\nAnd I Avill strive to love Him, and keep His law,\\nand see His work, while I live.\\nII. I trust in the nobleness of human nature, in\\nthe majesty of its faculties, the fulness of its mercy,\\nand the joy of its love.\\nAnd I will strive to love my neighbor as myself,\\nand, even when I cannot, will act as if I did.\\nIII. I will labor, with such strength and oppor-\\ntunity as God gives me, for my own daily bread;\\nand all that my hand finds to do, I will do with my\\nmight.\\nIV. I will not deceive, or cause to be deceived,\\nany human being for my gain or pleasure; nor\\nhurt, or cause to be hurt, any human being for my\\ngain or pleasure; nor rob, or cause to be robbed,\\nany human being for my gain or pleasure.\\nV. 1 will not kill nor hurt any living creature", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ST. GEORGE S GUILD. Zl%\\nneedlessly, nor destroy any beautiful thing, but Avill\\nstrive to save and comfort all gentle life, and guard\\nand perfect all natural beauty, upon the earth.\\nVI. I will strive to raise my own body and soul\\ndaily into higher powers of duty and happiness;\\nnot in rivalship or contention with others, but for\\nthe help, delight, and honor of others, and for the\\njoy and peace of my own life.\\nVII. I will obey all the laws of my country faith-\\nfully; and the orders of its monarch, and of all\\npersons appointed to be in authority under its\\nmonarch, so far as such laws or commands are\\nconsistent with what I suppose to be the law of\\nGod; and when they are not, or seem in anywise to\\nneed change, I will oppose them loyally and delib-\\nerately, not with malicious, concealed, or disorderly\\nviolence.\\nVIII. And with the same faithfulness, and under\\nthe limits of the same obedience which I render to\\nthe laws of my country, and the commands of its\\nrulers, I w^ill obey the laws of the Society called of St.\\nGeorge, into which I am this day received; and the\\norders of its masters, and of all persons appointed\\nto be in authority under its masters, so long as I\\nremain a Companion, called of St. George. Foi s,\\nIII., p. 40.\\nIN RUSKIN S UTOPIA.\\nIt would be part of my scheme of physical educa-\\ntion that every youth in the State from the King s\\nson downwards should learn to do something\\nfinely and thoroughly with his hand, so as to let\\nhim know what touch meant; and Avliat stout craft-\\nmanship meant; and to inform him of many things\\nbesides, which no man can learn but by some se-\\nverely accurate discipline in doing. Time and Tide,\\np. 91.\\nIn the case of great old families, which always\\nought to be, and in some measure, however deca-\\ndent, still triily are, the noblest monuniental archi-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "320 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntecture of the kingdom, living temples of sacred\\ntradition and hero s religion, so much land ought\\nto be granted to them in perpetuity as may enable\\nthem to live thereon with all circumstances of state\\nand outward nobleness,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J we and Tide, p. 100.\\nAll our actual and professed soldiers, whether\\nprofessed for a time only, or for life, must be kept\\nto hard work of hand, when not in actual war;\\ntheir honor consisting in being sent to services of\\nmore pain and danger than others to lifeboat ser-\\nvice; to redeeming of ground from furious rivers\\nor sea or mountain ruin; to subduing wild and\\nunhealthy land, and extending the confines of col-\\nonies in the front of miasm and famine, and savage\\nraces. Time and Tide, p. 119.\\nMusic. In their first learning of notes, the young\\npeople shall be taught the great purpose of music,\\nwhich is to say a thing that you mean deeply, in\\nthe strongest and clearest possible way; and they\\nshall never be taught to sing what they don t mean.\\nThey shall be able to sing merrily when they are\\nhappy, and earnestly when they are sad; but they\\nshall find no mirth in mockery, nor in obscenity;\\nneither shall they waste and jjrofane their hearts\\nwith artificial and lascivious sorrow: Regulations\\nwhich will bring about some curious changes in\\npiano-playing, and several other things. Fo7 s, I.,\\np. 123.\\nSumptuary Laws- One of the most important\\nconditions of a healthful system of social economy\\nwould be the restraint of the properties and in-\\ncomes of the upper classes within certain fixed\\nlimits. The temptation to use every energy in the\\naccumulation of wealth being thus removed, an-\\nother, and a higher ideal of the duties of advanced\\nlife would be necessarily created in the national\\nmind; by withdrawal of those who had attained\\nthe i^rescribed limits of wealth from commercial com-\\npetition, earlier worldly success, and earlier mar-\\nriage, with all its beneficent moral results, would\\nbecome possible to the young; while tlie older men\\nof active intellect, whose sagacity is now lost or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ST. GEORGE S GUILD. 321\\nwarped in the furtherance of tlieir own meanest\\ninterests, would he induced unselfishly to occupy\\nthemselves in the superintendence of public insti-\\ntutions, or furtherance of public advantage. Time\\nand Tide, p. 15.\\nThe Propessiojvs in Utopia.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 So far from want-\\ning any lawyers, of the kind that live by talking,\\nI shall have the strongest possible objection to\\ntheir appearance in the country. For doctors, I\\nshall always entertain a profound respect; but\\nwhen I get my athletic education established, of\\nwhat help to them will my respect be They will\\nall starve! And for clergymen, it is true, I shall\\nhave a large number of episcopates one over every\\nhundred families\u00e2\u0080\u0094 (and many positions of civil au-\\nthority also, for civil officers, above them and\\nbelow), but all these places will involve much hard\\nwork, and be anything but covetable; while, of\\nclergymen s usual work admonition, theological\\ndemonstration, and the like I shall want very little\\ndone indeed, and that little done for nothing! for\\nI will allow no man to admonish anybody, until\\nhe has jjreviously earned his own dinner by more\\nprodvictive work than admonition. Time and Tide,\\np. 73.\\nCo-operative Trade Guilds.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I use the word\\nco-oi3eration, as opposed, not to masterhood, but\\nto competition. I do not mean, for instance, by co-\\noperation, that all the master-bakers in a town are\\nto give a share of their i^roflts to the men who go\\nout with the bread; but that the masters are not to\\ntry to undersell each other, nor seek each to get\\nthe other s business, but are all to form one society,\\nselling to the public under a common law of severe\\npenalty for unjust dealing, and at an established\\nprice. 1 do not mean that all bankers clei ks\\nshould be partners in the bank; but I do mean\\nthat all bankers should be members of a great\\nnational body, answerable as a society for all de-\\nIjosits; and that the private business of speculating\\nwith other people s money should take another\\nname than that of banking. And, for final in-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "322 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nstance, I mean by co-operation not only fellow-\\nships between trading firms, but between trading\\nnations; so that it shall no more be thought (as it\\nis now, with ludicrous and vain selfishness) an ad-\\nvantage for one nation to undersell another, and\\ntake its occupation away from it; but that the\\nprimal and eternal law of vital commerce shall be\\nof all men understood namely, that every nation\\nis fitted by its character, and the natvire of its terri-\\ntories, for some particular employments or manu-\\nfactures; and that it is the true interest of every\\nother nation to encourage it in such specialty, and\\nby no means to interfere with, but in all ways for-\\nward and protect its efforts, ceasing all rivalship\\nwith it, so soon as it is strong enough to occupy its\\nproper place. Time mid Tide, p. 11.\\nThe chief difficulty in the matter would be to fix\\nyour standard. This would have to be done by the\\nguild of every trade in its own manner, and within\\ncertain easily recognizable limits; and this fixing\\nof standard would necessitate much simplicity in\\nthe forms and kinds of articles sold. You could\\nonly warrant a certain kind of glazing or painting\\nin china, a certain quality of leather or cloth,\\nbricks of a certain clay, loaves of a defined mixture\\nof meal. Advisable improvements or varieties in\\nmanufacture would have to be examined and ac-\\ncepted by the trade guild when so accepted, they\\nwould be announced in public reports; and all\\npuffery and self-proclamation, on the part of trades-\\nmen, absolutely forbidden, as much as the making\\nof any other kind of noise or disturbance.\\nBut observe, this law is only to have force over\\ntradesmen whom I suppose to have joined volun-\\ntarily in carrying out a better system of commerce.\\nOutside of their guild, they would have to leave\\nthe rogue to puff and cheat as he chose, and the\\npublic to be gulled as they chose. All that is neces-\\nsary is that the said public should clearly know\\nthe shops in which they could get warranted arti-\\ncles; and, as clearly, those in which they bought\\nat their own risk.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Tiwe and Tide, pp. 57-59.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "PART III.\\nCONDUCT OF LIFE.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nPART III.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 CONDUCT OF LIFE.\\nCHAPTER 1.\\nMorals.\\nEvery great evil brings some good in its back-\\nward eddies. Lectures on Art, p. 43.\\nYouth never yet lost its modesty where age had\\nnot lost its honor; nor did childhood ever refuse\\nits reverence, except wdiere age had forgotten correc-\\ntion. Lectures on Architecture, p. 139.\\nBelieve me, every virtue of the higher phases of\\nmanly character begins in this; in truth and\\nmodesty before the face of all maidens; in truth\\nand pity, or truth and reverence, to all womanhood.\\nCroum of Wild Olive, Lect. III., p. 91.\\nHe only is advancing in life, whose heart is getting\\nsofter, whose blood Avarmer, whose brain quicker,\\nwhose spirit is entering into living peace. Sesame\\nand Lilies, p. 67.\\nVirtue ceases to be such, if expecting reward: it is\\ntherefore never materially rewarded. (I ought to\\nhave said, except as one of the appointed means of\\nphysical and mental health.)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^07*5, III., p. 330.\\nMany of our capacities for receiving noblest emo-\\ntion are abused, in mere idleness, for pleasure s\\nsake, and jjeople take the excitement of a solemn\\nsensation, as they do that of a strong drink. Mod-\\nern Painters, IV., p. 49.\\nIf you have faithfully loved the noble work of\\nothers, you need not fear to speak with respect of\\ntilings duly done, of your own. Athena, p. 104.\\n329", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "330 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nLet the reader be assured of this, that unless\\nimportant changes are occurring in his opinions\\ncontinually, all his life long, not one of those opin-\\nions can be on any questionable subject true. All\\ntrue opinions are living, and show their life by being\\ncapable of nourishment; therefore of change. But\\ntheir change is that of a tree not of a cloud. Mod-\\nern Painters, V., p. 13.\\nIll-got money is always finally spent on the harlot.\\nLook at Hogarth s two prentices; the sum of social\\nwisdom is in that bit of rude art- work, if one reads\\nit solemnly. Arrot os of the Chaee, p. 134.\\nThe automatic amours and involuntary proposals\\nof recent romance acknowledge little further law of\\nmorality than the instinct of an insect or the effer-\\nvescence of a chemical mixture. Fiction Fair and\\nFoul, p. 17.\\nSelf-saci*ifice which is sought after and triumiAed\\nin, is usually foolish; and calamitous in its issue:\\nand by the sentimental proclamation and pursuit\\nof it, good people have not only made most of their\\nown lives useless, but the whole framework of their\\nreligion hollow. Ethics of the Dust, p. 79.\\nPoetical Justice ix Miss Edgeworth s Books.\\nIt is very nice, in the midst of a wild world, to\\nhave the very ideal of poetical justice done always\\nto one s hand:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to have everybody found out, who\\ntells lies; and everybody decorated with a red riband\\nwho doesn t; and to see the good Laura, who gave\\naway her half sovereign, receiving a grand ovation\\nfrom an entire dinner party disturbed for the pur-\\npose; and poor, dear, little Rosamond, who chooses\\npurple jars instead of new shoes, left at last without\\neither her shoes or her bottle. But it isn t life: and\\nin the way children might easily understand it,\\nit isn t morals. Ethics of the Dust, p. 89.\\nDependence, and not Independpjnce, the Law\\nOP Life. The true strength of every human soul is\\nto be dependent on as many nobler as it can discern,\\nand to be depended upon by as many inferior as it\\ncan reach. Eagle s Nest, p. 54.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 331\\nIndependence you had better cease to talk of, for\\nyou are dependent not only on every act of people\\nwhom you never heard of, who are living around\\nyou, but on every past act of what has been dust for\\na thousand years. So also, does the course of a\\nthousand years to come depend upon the little per-\\nishing strength that is in you.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, I., p. 3o.\\nCapital Pujjishment. It is only rogues who\\nhave a violent objection to being hanged, and only\\nabettors of rogues who would desire anything else\\nfor them. Honest men don t in the least mind being\\nhanged occasionally by mistake, so only that the\\ngeneral principle of the gallows be Justly main-\\ntained; and they have the jjleasure of knowing that\\nthe world they leave is positively minded to cleanse\\nItself of the human vermin with which they have\\nbeen classed by mistake. The contrary move-\\nment so vigorously progressive in modern days\\nhas its real root in a gradually increasing convic-\\ntion on the i^art of the English nation that they are\\nall vermin. Worms is the orthodox Evangeli-\\ncal expression.) Fors, II., p. 100.\\nI believe it to be quite one of the crowning wick-\\nednesses of this age that we have starved and chilled\\nour faculty of indignation, and neither desire nor\\ndare to punish crimes justly. Lectures on Art, j). 60.\\nYour modern conscience will not incur the respon-\\nsibility of shortening the hourly moi-e guilty life of\\na single rogue; but will contentedly fire a salvo of\\nmitrailleuses into a regiment of honest men leaving\\nProvidence to guide the shot. Fors, II., p. 211.\\nThree Forms of Asceticism. Three principal\\nforms of asceticism have existed in this weak world.\\nReligious asceticisn), being the refusal of pleasure\\nand knowledge for the sake (as supposed) of religion\\nseen chiefly in the middle ages. Military asceticisni,\\nbeing the refusal of pleasure and knowledge for the\\nsake of power; seen chiefly in the early days of\\nSparta and Rome. And monetary asceticism, con-\\nsisting in the refusal of pleasure and knowledge for", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "332 A liUSKII^ ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe sake of money; seen in the ])vesent days of Lon-\\ndon and Manchester. Modern Painters, V., p. 850.\\nThe noble Tower needs no Help, Your noble\\ntower must need no help, must be sustained by\\nno crutches, must give place to no suspicion of\\ndecrepitude. Its office may be to withstand war,\\nlook forth for tidings, or to point to heaven: but\\nit must have in its own walls the strength to do\\nthis; it is to be itself a bulwark not to be sustained\\nby other bulwarks; to rise and look forth, the\\ntower of Lebanon that looketh toward Damascus,\\nlike a stern sentinel, not like a child held up in its\\nnurse s arms. Stones of Venice, I., p. 20G.\\nLooking Facts full in the Face.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 As the igno-\\nble person, in his dealings with all that occurs in\\nthe world about him, first sees nothing clearly,\\nlooks nothing fairly in the face, and then allows\\nhimself to be swept away by the trampling torrent,\\nand unescapable force, of the things that he would\\nnot foresee, and could not understand: so the noble\\nperson, looking the facts of the world full in the\\nface, and fathoming them Avith deep faculty, then\\ndeals with them in unalarmed intelligence and\\nunhurried strength, and becomes, with his human\\nintellect and will, no unconscious nor insignificant\\nagent, in consummating their good, and restraining\\ntheir evil\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Two Paths, p. 32.\\nThe Mystery op Life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 What is your life? It\\nis even as a vapor that appeareth for a little time,\\nand then vanisheth away. I suppose few people\\nreach the middle or latter period of their age, with-\\nout having, at some moment of change or disap-\\npointment, felt the truth of those bitter words; and\\nbeen startled by the fading of the sunshine from the\\ncloud of their life, into the svidden agony of the\\nknowledge that the fabric of it was as fragile as a\\ndream, and the endurance of it as transient as the\\ndew. But it is not always that, even at such times\\nof melancholy surprise, we can enter into any true\\nperception that this human life shares, in the nature\\nof it, not only the evanescence, but the mystery of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 333\\nthe cloud; that its avenues are wreathed in dark-\\nness, and its forms and courses no less fantastic,\\nthan spectral smAohBunYe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mystery of Life, p. 103.\\nMeliorism.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Though faint with sickness, and\\nencumbered in ruin, the true workers redeem inch\\nby inch the wilderness into garden ground; by the\\nhelp of their joined hands the order of all things is\\nsurely sustained and vitally expanded, and although\\nAvith strange vacillation, in the eyes of the watcher,\\nthe morning conieth, and also the night, there is\\nno hour of human existence that does not draw on\\ntowards the perfect A y .\u00e2\u0080\u0094Lectures on Art, p. 64.\\nThe Strength of Greece was in Moral Life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nScarcely any of the moral power of Greece depended\\non her admiration of beauty, or strength in the\\nbody. The power of Greece depended on practice\\nin military exercise, involving severe and continual\\nascetic discipline of the senses; on a perfect code of\\nmilitary heroism and patriotic honor; on the desire\\nto live by the laws of an admittedly divine justice;\\nand on the vivid conception of the presence of spir-\\nitual heiugs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Eagle\\\\s Nest, 130.\\nPeople who are ashamed of honest Work.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nPeople usually reason in some such fashion as this:\\nI don t seem quite fit for a head-manager in the\\nfirm of Co., therefore, in all probability, I\\nam fit to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. Whereas\\nthey ought rather to reason thus: I don t seem\\nto be quite fit to be head-manager in the firm of\\nCo., but I daresay J might do some-\\nthing in a small green-grocery business I used to be\\na good judge of peas; that is to say, always trying\\nlower instead of trying higher, until they find bot-\\ntom: once well set on the ground, a man may build\\nup by degrees, safely, instead of disturbing every\\none in his neighborhood by perpetual catastrophes.\\nPre-Raphaelitism, p. 8.\\nThere are a few, a very few persons born in each\\ngeneration, whose words are worth hearing; whose\\nart is worth seeing. These born few will preach, or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "334 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nsing, or paint, in spite of you; they Avill starve like\\ngrasshoppers, ratlier than stop singing and even\\nif you don t choose to listen, it is charitable to\\nthrow them some crumbs to keep them alive. But\\nthe people who take to writing or painting as a\\nmeans of livelihood, because they think it genteel,\\nai-e just by so much more contemjitible than com-\\nmon beggars, in that they are noisy and offensive\\nbeggars. I am quite willing to pay for keeping our\\npoor vagabonds in the workhouse; but not to pay\\nthem for grinding organs outside my door, defacing\\nthe streets with bills and caricatures, tempting\\nyoung girls to read rubbishy novels, or deceiving\\nthe whole nation to its ruin, in a thousand leagues\\nsquare of dirtily printed falsehood, every morning\\nat breakfast. Whatever in literature, art, or relig-\\nion, is done for money, is poisonous itself and\\ndoubly deadly, in preventing the hearing or seeing\\nof the noble literature and art which have been done\\nfor love and truth. Fors, III., p. 241.\\nProfanity ix rare Cases Justifiable.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In Mr.\\nKinglake s History of the Crimean War, you will\\nfind the th Regiment at Alma is stated to have\\nbeen materially assisted in maintaining a position\\nquite vital to the battle l)y the steady imjirecation\\ndelivered at it by its colonel for half-an-hour on\\nend. No quantity of benediction Avould have\\nanswered the purpose; the colonel might have said,\\nBless you, my children, in the tenderest tones,\\nas often as he pleased, yet not have helped his men\\nto keep their ground. Fors, I., p. 264.\\nDislike of Live Truths.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 We are all of us will-\\ning enough to accept dead truths or blunt ones;\\nwhich can be fitted harmlessly into spare niches, or\\nshrouded and coiflned at once out of the way, we\\nholding complacently the cemetery keys, and sup-\\nposing we have learned something. But a sajjling\\ntruth, with earth at its root and blossom on its\\nbranches; or a trenchant truth, that can cut its way\\nthrough liars and sods; most men, it seems to me,\\ndislike the sight or entertainment of, if by any", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 335\\nmeans such guest or vision maybe avoided. And,\\nindeed, this is no wonder; for one such truth, thor-\\noughly accepted, connects itself strangely with\\nothers, and there is no saying what it may lead us\\nto.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Two Paths, Preface, p. 3.\\nLawykry.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In the trial of Kit in Pickwick\\nyou have deliberate, artistic, energetic, dishonesty;\\nskilfuUest and resolutest endeavor to prove a crime\\nagainst f^n innocent person,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a crime of which, in\\nthe case of the boy, the reputed commission will\\ncost him at least the prosperity and honor of his\\nlife\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nic^e to him than life itself. And this you for-\\ngive, or udmire, because it is not done in malice,\\nbut for money, and in pride of art. Because the\\nassasslr is paid,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 makes his living in that line of\\nbusincg and delivers his thrust with a bravo s\\nartistic i\u00c2\u00abnesse, you think hiu) a respectable person;\\nso nwA\\\\ better in style than a passionate one who\\ndoes his murder gratis, vulgarly, with a club,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Bill\\nSykes for instance It is all balanced fairly, as the\\nsystex 1 goes, you think. It works round, and two\\nand two make four. He accused an innocent person\\nto-day:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to-morrow he Avill defend a rascal. For.?,\\np. 291.\\nAr- tiRATiox, Hope, and Love.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There are three\\nMat *\u00c2\u00bbvial things, not only useful but essential to\\nL-Af No one knows how to live till he has got\\nthf^m. These are. Pure Air, Water, and Earth.\\nTl ^ere are three Immaterial things, not only useful\\nbivt essential to Life. No one knows how to live\\ntiil he has got them also. These are, Admiration,\\nHope, and Love.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -For.?, I., p. 67.\\nfHE UNDONES and not THE DONES.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Young\\np*^ple will find it well, throughout life, never to\\nt- uble themselves about what they ought not to\\nd but about what they ouglit to do. The condem-\\nnation given from the judgment throne\u00e2\u0080\u0094 most sol-\\neijujily described\u00e2\u0080\u0094 is all for the unclones and not for\\ntlu) dones. People are perpetually afraid of doing\\nAvrong; but unless they are doi;ig its reverse energet-\\nics ly, they do it all day long, and the degree does", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "336 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nnot matter. The commandments are necessarily\\nnegative, because a new set of j^ositive ones would\\nbe needed for every person: Avhile the negatives\\nare constant.\\nBut Christ sums them all into two rigorous\\npositions, and the first position for young people is\\nactive and attentive kindness to animals, suppos-\\ning themselves set by God to feed Ilis real sheep\\nand ravens before the time comes for doing either\\nfiguratively. There is scarcely any conception left\\nof the character which animals and birds might\\nhave if kindly treated in a wild state. Arrows of\\nthe Chase, II., p. 131.\\nYou will find it less easy to uproot faults, than to\\nchoke thenj by gaining virtues. Do not think of\\nyour faults; still less of othex-s faults: in every per-\\nson who comes near you, look for what is good and\\nstrong: honor that; rejoice in it; and, as you can,\\ntry to imitate it: and your faults will drop off, like\\ndead leaves, when their time comes. If, on looking\\nback, your whole life should seem rugged as a palm-\\ntree stem; still, never mind, so long as it has been\\ngrowing; and has its grand green shade of leaves,\\nand weight of honied fruit, at top. And even if\\nyou cannot find much good in yourself at last,\\nthink that it does not much matter to the ui^iverse\\neither what you were, or are; think how many peo-\\nple are noble, if you ca.nnot be; and rejoice in tJieir\\nnobleness.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mhics of the Dust, p. 67.\\nReverenck. A man s happiness consists in-\\nfinitely more in admiration of the faculties of others\\nthan in confidence in his own. That reverent ad-\\nmiration is the perfect human gift in him; all lower\\nanimals are happy and noble in the degree they can\\nshare it. A dog reverences you, a fly does not; the\\ncapacity of i^artly understanding a creature above\\nhim, is the dog s nobility. Fors, I., p. 117.\\nIdleness.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There are no chagrins so venomous as\\nthe chagrins of the idle; there are no pangs so sick-\\nening as the satieties of pleasure: Nay, the bitterest\\nand most enduring sorrow may be borne through", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 337\\nthe burden and heat of day bi avely to the due tiiue\\nof death, by a true worker.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, IV., p. 359.\\nWhen men are rightly occupied, their amusement\\ngrows out of tlieir work, as the color-jjetals out of\\na fruitful floAver;\u00e2\u0080\u0094wIien tliey are faithfully helpful\\nand compassionate, all their emotions become\\nsteady, deep, perpetual, and vivifying to the soul\\nas the natural i)ulse to the body. Sesame and\\nLilies, p. 6.5.\\nAll the vital functions, and, like the rest and\\nwith the rest, the pure and wholesome faculties of\\nthe brain,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 rise and set with the sun your diges-\\ntion and intellect arealike dependent on its beams.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Eagles Nest, p. 71.\\nIdleness, this is chief cause, now and always, of\\nevil everywhere; and I see it at this moment, in its\\ndeadliest form, out of the window of my quiet Eng-\\nlish inn. It is the 21st of May, and a bright morn-\\ning, and the sun shines, for once, warmly on the\\nwall opposite, a low one, of ornamental pattern,\\nimitative in brick of wood-work (as if it had been of\\nwood-work it would, doubtless, have been painted\\nto look like brick). Against this low decorative\\nedifice leans a ruddy-faced English boy of seventeen\\nor eighteen, in a white blouse and brown corduroy\\ntrousers, and a domical felt hat; with the sun, as\\nas much as can get vinder the rim, on his face, and\\nhis hands in his jjockets; listlessly watching two\\ndogs at play. He is a good boy, evidently, and does\\nnot care to tvirn the play into a fight;* still it is\\nnot interesting enough to him, as play, to relieve\\nthe extreme distress of his idleness, and he occasion-\\nally takes his hands out of his pockets, and claps\\nthem at the dogs to startle them.\\nHe leans i^lacidly against the pi ison-wall this\\nbright Sunday morning, little thinking what alumi-\\nnous sign-post he is making of himself, and living\\ngnomon of sun-dial, of which the shadow points\\nsharply to the subtlest cause of the fall of France,\\nThis was at seven in the morning, he had them fighting at\\nhalt-past nine.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "338 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand of England, as is too likely, after her. Your\\nhands in your own pockets, in the morning. That\\nis the beginning of the last day; your hands in\\nother people s pockets at noon; that is the height\\nof the last day; and the jail, ornamented or other-\\nwise (assuredly the great jail of the grave), for the\\nnight.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or^, I., pp. 79-81.\\nFools and foolish People. There is not, to my\\nmind, a more woful or wonderful matter of thought\\nthan the power of a fool. In the world s affairs\\nthere is no design so great or good but it will take\\ntAventy wise men to help it forward a few inches, and\\na single fool can stop it; there is no evil so great or\\nso terrible but that, after a multitude of counsel-\\nlors have taken means to avert it, a single fool will\\nbring it down. Pestilence, famine, and the sword,\\nai*e given into the fool s hand as the arrows into\\nthe hand of the giant: and if he were fairly set\\nforth in the right motley, the web of it should be\\nsackcloth and sable; the bells on his cap, passing-\\nbells; his badge, a bear robbed of her whelps; and\\nhis bauble, a sexton s spade. Modern Painters, IV.,\\np. 415.\\nThe crabby, or insect-like, joint, which you get\\nin seaweeds and cacti, means either that the plant\\nis to be dragged and wagged here and there at the\\nwill of waves, and to have no sirring nor mind of its\\nown; or else that it has at least no springy inten-\\ntion and elasticity of pvirpose, but only a knobby,\\nknotty, prickly, malignant stubbornness, and\\nincoherent opiniativeness crawling about, and\\ncoggling, and grovelling, and aggregating anyhow,\\nlike the minds of so many people whom one knows\\nProserpina, p. 113.\\nThere are always a number of people who have\\nthe nature of stones; they fall on other persons and\\ncrush them. Some again have the nature of weeds,\\nand twist about other people s feet and entangle\\nthem. More have the nature of logs, and lie in the\\nAvay, so that every one falls over them. And most\\nof all have the nature of thorns, and set themselves", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 339\\nby waysides, so that every passer-by must be torn,\\nand all good seed choked; or perhaps make wonder-\\nful crackling under various pots, even to the extent\\nof practically boiling water and working ijistons.\\n3Ioclern Painters, V., p. 180.\\nConscience. I must do what think right.\\nIIow often is this sentence uttered and acted on\\nbravely\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nobly innocently; but always because\\nof its egotism erringly. You must not do what\\nyoii think right, but, whether you or anybody\\nthink, or don t think it, what is riglit.\\nI must act according to the dictates of my con-\\nscience.\\nBy no means, my conscientious friend, unless you\\nare quiet sure that yours is not the conscience of\\nan ass.\\nI am doing my best what can man do more\\nYou might be doing much less, and yet much\\nbetter: perhaps you are doing your best in produc-\\ning, or doing, an eternally bad thing. Fors, II.,\\np. 420.\\nA RIGHT Action not always to be imitated. It is\\nnot only possible, but a frequent condition of\\nhuman action, to do right and he right yet so as to\\nmislead other people if they rashly imitate the\\nthing done. For there are many rights which are\\nnot absolutely, but relatively right right only for\\nthat person to do under those circumstances, not\\nfor this person to do under other circumstances.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI he Two Paths, p. 135.\\nThe good Seed of Life choked by Weeds and\\nNettles. It is the sorrowful law of this universe\\nthat evil, even unconscious and unintended, never\\nfails of its effect; and in a state where the evil and\\nthe good, under conditions of individual liberty,\\nare allowed to contend together, not only every\\nstroke on the Devil s side tells\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but evei-y slip (the\\nmistakes of wicked men being as mischievous as\\ntheir successes); while on the side of right, there\\nAvill be much direct and fatal defeat, and, even of\\nits measures of victory, half will be fruitless.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "340 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nIt is true, of course, that, iii the end of ends, no-\\nthing but the right conquers: the prevalent thorns of\\nwrong at last crackle away in indiscriminate flaine:\\nand of the good seed soAvn, one grain in a thou-\\nsand, at last, verily comes up, and somebody lives\\nby it; but most of our great teachers not except-\\ning Carlyle and Emerson themselves\u00e2\u0080\u0094 are a little\\ntoo encouraging in their proclamation of this com-\\nfort, not, to mj^ mind, very sufficient, when for the\\nl^resent our fields are full of nothing but nettles\\nand thistles, instead of wheat; and none of them\\nseem to me yet to have enough insisted on the in-\\nevitable power and infectiousness of all evil, and\\nthe easy and utter extinguishableness of good.\\nMedicine often fails of its effect\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but poison never:\\nand while, in summing the observation of past life,\\nnot unwatchfully spent, I canti-uly say that I have\\na thousand times seen patience disappointed of her\\nhope, and wisdom of her aim, I have never yet seen\\nfolly fruitless of mischief, nor vice conclude but in\\ncalamity. Time and Tide, p. 51.\\nLittle Habits. Every one of those notable i-avines\\nand crags is the expression, not of any sudden vio-\\nlence done to the mountain, but of its little habits,\\npersisted in continually. It was created with one\\nruling instinct; but its destiny depended neverthe-\\nless, for effective result, on the dii-ection of the\\nsmall and all but invisible tricklings of water, in\\nAvhich the first shower of rain found its way down\\nits sides. The feeblest, most insensible oozings of\\nthe drops of dew among its dust were in reality\\narbiters of its eternal form; commissioned, with a\\ntouch more tender than that of a child s finger, as\\nsilent and slight as the fall of a half-checked tear\\non a maiden s cheek, to fix forever the forms of\\npeak and precii)ice, and hew those leagues of lifted\\ngranite into the shapes that were to divide the\\nearth and its kingdoms. Once the little stone\\nevaded,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 once the dim furrow traced, and the peak\\nwas for ever invested with its majesty, the ravine\\nfor ever doomed to its degradation. Thencefor-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 341\\nward, day by day, the subtle habit gained in pow-\\ner; the evaded stone was left with wider basement;\\nthe chosen furrow deepened with swifter-sliding\\nwave; repentance and arrest wei-e alike impossible,\\nand hour after hour saw written in larger and\\nrockier characters upon the sky, the history of tl\\nchoice that had been directed by a drop of rain,\\nand of the balance that had been turned by a grain\\nof ii n^..\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, TV., p. 332.\\nWhenever you hear a man dissuading you from\\nattempting to do well, on the ground that perfection\\nis Utopian, beware of that man. Cast the word\\nout of your dictionary altogether. There is no need\\nfor it. Things are either possible or impossible\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nyou can easily determine which, in any given state\\nof human science. If the thing is imiDOSsible, you\\nneed not trouble yourselves about it; if possible,\\ntry for it. It is very Utopian to hope for the entire\\ndoing away with drvinkenness and misery out of\\nthe Cannongate; but the Utopianism is not our\\nbusiness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the loork i^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Lectures on Architecture,\\np. 43.\\nNo man ever knew, or can know, what will be\\nthe ultimate result to himself, or to others, of any\\ngiven line of conduct. But every man may know,\\nand most of us do know, what is a just and unjust\\nact. And all of us may know also, that the conse-\\nquences of justice will be ultimately the best possi-\\nble, both to others and ourselves, though we can\\nneither say what is best, nor how it is likely to\\ncome to Ymsn.\u00e2\u0080\u0094TJnto This Last, p. 14.\\nThe Neniean Lion is the first great adversary of\\nlife, whatever that may be\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to Hercules, or to any\\nof us. then or now. The first monster we have to\\nstrangle, or be destroyed by, fighting in the dark,\\nand with none to help us, only Athena standing by\\nto encourage with her smile. Every man s Nenjean\\nLion lies in wait for him somewhere. The slothful\\nman says, there is a lion in the path. He says well.\\nThe quiet ?tMslothful man says the same, and knows\\nit too. But they differ in their farther reading of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "S42 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe text. The slothful man says, /shall be slain,\\nand the unslothful, It shall be. It is the first ugly\\nand strong enemy that rises against us, all future\\nvictory depending on victory over that. Kill it;\\nand through all the rest of life, what was once\\ndreadful is your armor, and you are clothed with\\nthat conquest for every other, and helmed with its\\ncrest of fortitude for evermore. Athena, p. 127.\\nSaintship. The ordinary needs and labors of\\nlife, the ordinary laws of its continuance, require\\nmany states of temijer and phases of character, in-\\nconsistent with the perfectest types of Christianity.\\nPointed ci-ystals cannot be made sea-beaches of,\\nor they must lose their points. Pride, the desire of\\nbodily pleasure, anger, ambition, at least so far\\nas the word implies a natural pleasure in govern-\\ning, pugnacity, obstinacy, and the selfish family\\nand personal affections, have all their necessary\\noffices, for the most part, wide and constant, in\\nthe economy of the world. The saintly virtues,\\nhumility, resignation, patience (in the sense of feel-\\ning no anger), obedience (meaning the love of obey-\\ning rather than of commanding), fortitude against\\nall temptation of bodily pleasure, and the full-flow-\\ning charity which forbids a selfish love, are all\\nconditions of mind possible to few and manifestly\\nmeant to furnish forth those who are to be seen as\\nfixed lights in the world; and by no means to be\\nthe native inheritance of all its fire-flies. Wherever\\nthese virtues truly and naturally exist, the persons\\nendowed with them become, Avithout any doubt or\\ndifficulty, eminent in blessing to, and in rule over,\\nthe people round them; and are thankfully\\nbeloved and remembered as Princes of Grod for\\nevermore. The most imperative practical cor-\\nollary which must follow from our rightly under-\\nstanding these things, is that, seeing the first of the\\nsaintly virtues is Humility. Nobody must set them-\\nselves up to be a saint. For so it is, that the\\nwhite robes of daily humanity are ahvaj s in some\\nway or other a little the worse for the wear; and to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE-MORALS. 343\\nkeep them wholly uiisp,otted from the world, and\\nhold the cross in the rij^ht hand, and i^alm in the\\nleft, steadilj^ through all the rongh walking of it,\\nis granted to very, very few creatures that live by\\nbreath and bread. Roadside Songs of Tuscany, II.,\\np. 38.\\nAffiliating with Rogues.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For the failure of\\nall good people nowadays is that, associating polite-\\nly with wicked i^ersons, countenancing them in\\ntheir wickedness, and often joining in it, they think\\nto avert its consequences by collaterally laboring\\nto repair the ruin it has caused; and while, in the\\nmorning, they satisfy their hearts by ministering to\\nthe wants of two or three destitute persons, in the\\nevening they dine with, envy, and pi-epare them-\\nselves to follow the example of the rich speculator\\nwho has caused the destitution of two or three\\nthousand. They are thus destroying moi-e in hours\\nthan they can amend in years; or, at the best,\\nvainly feeding the f;imine-struck populations, in\\nthe rear of a devouring army, always on the in-\\ncrease in mass of numbers, and rapidity of march.\\nOf every person of your acquaintance, you are\\nsolemnly to ask yourselves, Is this njan a swindler,\\na liar, a gambler, an adulterer, a selfish oppressor,\\nand taskmaster? Don t suppose you can t tell.\\nYou can tell with perfect ease; or, if you meet any\\nmy^iterious personage of Avhom it proves difficult to\\nascertain whether he be rogue or not, keep clear of\\nhim till you Ivuow. With those whom you knovi to\\nbe honest, know to be innocent, knoio to be striv-\\ning, with main purpose, to serve mankind and\\nhonor their God. you are humbly and lovingly to\\nassociate yourselves and with none others. Fors,\\n111., p. 149.\\nThe Cross is fitted to the Back.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Taking up\\none s cross means simply that you are to go the\\nroad which you see to be the straight one; carrying\\nAvhatever you find is given you .to carry, as Avell\\nand stoutly as you can; without making faces, or\\ncalling people to come and look at you. Above all.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "344 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nyou are neither to load nor unload yourself; nor\\ncut your cross to you own liking. Some people\\nthink it would be better for them to have it large;\\nand many, that they could carry it much faster if\\nit were small; and even those who like it largest\\nare usually very particular about its being orna-\\nmental, and made of the best ebony. But all that\\nyou have really to do is to keep your back as\\nstraight as you can; and not think about what is\\niipon it above all, not to boast of what is upon it.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Ethics of the Dust, p. 89.\\nThe Modern Tejn Commandments.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Thou shalt\\nhave any other god but me. Thou shalt worship\\nevery beastly imagination on earth and under it.\\nThou shalt take the name of the Lord in vain to\\nmock the poor, for the Lord will hold him guiltless\\nwho rebukes and gives not; thou shalt remember\\nthe Sabbath day to keep it profane; thou shalt dis-\\nhonor thy father and thy mother; thou shalt kill,\\nand kill by the million, with all thy might and\\nmind and wealth spent in machinery for multifold\\nkilling; thou shalt look on every woman to lixst\\nafter her; thou shalt steal, and steal from morning\\ntill evening, the evil from the good, and the rich\\nfrom the poor; thou shalt live by continual lying\\nin million-fold sheets of lies (neAvspaper); and covet\\nthy neighbor s house, and country, and wealth,\\nand fame, and everything that is his. And finally,\\nby word of the Devil, in short summary, through\\nAdam Smith, A new commandment give I unto\\nyou: that ye hate one another. i^ors, IV., p. 48.\\nA NEW Kind of Tombstones.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 How beautiful\\nthe variety of sepulchral architecture might be, in\\nany extensive place of burial, if the public would\\nmeet the small expense of thus expressing its opin-\\nions, in a verily instructive manner; and if some of\\nthe tombstones accordingly terminated in fools\\ncaps; and others, instead of crosses or cherubs,\\nstealing by the poor from the rich is of course still forbidden,\\n:ind even in a languid Avay by the poor from tlie poor but every\\nform of tbeft, forbidden and approved, is practically on the\\nincrease.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094MOIiALS. 345\\nbore engravings of eats-of-nine-tails, as typical of\\ntlie probable methods of entertainment, in the next\\nworld, of the persons, not, it is to be hoped, repos-\\ning, below. Fors, I., p. 214.\\nImagination the Basis of Sympathy. Peoi^le\\nwould instantly care for others as well as themselves\\nif only they could imagine others as well as them-\\nselves. Let a child fall into the river before the\\nroughest man s eyes; he will usually do what he\\ncan to get it out, even at some risk to himself; and\\nall the town will triumph in the saving of one little\\nlife. Let the same man be slioAvn that hundreds\\nof children are dying of fever for want of some\\nsanitary measure which it will cost him trouble to\\nurge, and he will make no effort; and probably all\\nthe town Avould resist him if he did. Lectures on\\nArt, p. 63.\\nThe imaginative understanding of the natures of\\nothers, and the power of putting ourselves in their\\nplace, is the faculty on which the virtue depends.\\nSo that an unimaginative person can neither be\\nreverent nor kind. The main use of works of fiction,\\nand of the drama, is to supplj% as far as possible,\\nthe defect of this injagination in common minds.\\nFors, II., p. 79.\\nImpossible to be too sensitive. The ennob-\\nling difference between one man and another,\\nbetween one animal and another, is precisely in\\nthis, that one feels more than another. If we were\\nsponges, perhaps sensation might not be easily got\\nfor us; if we were earth-worms, liable at every in-\\nstant to be cut in two by the spade, perhaps too\\nmuch sensation might not be good for us. But,\\nbeing human creatures, it is good for us; nay, we\\nare only human in so far as we are sensitive, and\\nour honor is precisely in propoi tion to our passion.\\nSesame and Lilies, p. 48.\\nCark and Care wear out our Powers.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My\\ndear friend and teacher, Lowell right as he is in\\nalmost everything is for once wrong in these lines,\\nthough with a noble wrongness:", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "346 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nDisappointiiH ut s dry and bitter root,\\nEnvy s harsili borries, and the choking- pool\\nOf the world s scorn, are the right niotlier-niilk\\nTo the tough hearts that pioneer their kind.\\nThey are not so; love and trust are the only\\nniother-niilk of any man s soul. So far as he is\\nhated and mistrusted, his powers are destroyed.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 373.\\nSwiss Cottages and Peasants.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Is it not\\nstrange to reflect, that hardly an evening passes\\nin London or Paris hut one of those cottages is\\npainted for the better amusement of the fair and\\nidle, and shaded with pasteboard pines by the scene-\\nshifter; and that good and kind jieople, poeti-\\ncally minded, delight themselves in imagining the\\nhappy life led by peasants who dwell by Alpine\\nfountains, and kneel to crosses upon jieaks of\\nrock? that nightly we lay down our gold to fashion\\nforth simulacra of peasants, in gay ribands and\\nwhite bodices, singing sweet songs, and bowing\\ngracefully to the picturesque crosses; and all the\\nwhile the veritable peasants are kneeling, song-\\nlessly, to veritable crosses, in another temper\\nthan the kind and fair audiences dream of, and\\nassuredly with another kind of answer than is got\\novit of the opera catastrophe; an answer having re-\\nference, it may be, in dim futurity, to those very\\naudiences themselves If all the gold that has\\ngone to paint the simulacra of the cottages, and to\\nput new songs in the mouths of the simulacra of the\\npeasants, had gone to brighten the existant cottages,\\nand to put new songs into the mouths of the\\nexistant peasants, it might in the end, perhaps,\\nhave turned out better so, not only for the peasants,\\nbut for even the audience. For that form of the\\nFalse Ideal has also its correspondent True Ideal,\\nconsisting not in the naked beauty of statues, nor\\nin the gauze flowers and crackling tinsel of theatres,\\nbut in the clothed and fed beauty of living men and\\nin the lights and laughs of happy homes. Night\\nafter night, the desire of such an ideal springs up in\\nevery idle human heart; and night after night, as", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 347\\nfar as idleness can, we work out this desire in costly\\nlies. We paint the faded actress, build the lath\\nlandscape, feed our benevolence with fallacies of fe-\\nlicity, and satisfy our righteousness with poetry of\\njustice. The time will come when, as the heavy-\\nfolded curtain falls upon our own stage of life, we\\nshall begin to comprehend that the justice we loved\\nAvas intended to have been done in fact, and not in\\npoetry, and the felicity we sympathized in, to have\\nbeen bestowed and not feigned. We talk much of\\nmoney s worth, yet perhaps n)ay one day be sur-\\nprised to find that what the wise and charitable\\nEuropean public gave to one night s rehearsal of\\nhypocrisy to one hour s pleasant warbling of Linda\\nor Lucia would have filled the whole Alpine V^al-\\nley with happiness, and poured the waves of harvest\\nover the famine of many a Lammermoor. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 343, 344.\\nThe Casket-Talismans, or invisible Gold.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIf there were two valleys in California or Austra-\\nlia, with two different kinds of gravel in the bottom\\nof them; and in the one stream-bed you could dig\\nup, occasionally and by good fortune, nuggets of\\ngold; and in the other stream-bed, certainly and\\nwithout hazard, you could dig up little caskets,\\ncontaining talismans which gave length of days\\nand peace, and alal)aster vases of precious\\nbalms, which were better than the Arabian Der-\\nvish s ointment, and made not only the eyes to see,\\nbut the mind to know whatever it would, I wonder\\nin Avhich of the stream- beds there would be most\\ndiggers\\nHealth is money, wit is money, knowledge is\\nmoney; and all your health, and wit, and knowl-\\nedge may be changed for gold; and the happy goal\\nso reached, of a sick, insane, and blind, auriferous\\nold age; but the gold cannot be changed in its turn\\nback into health and wit. Time and Tide, jip. (55, 66.\\nA man s hand may be full of invisible gold, and\\nthe wave of it, or the grasp, shall do more than\\nanother s with a shower of bullion. This invisible", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "348 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngold, also, does not necessarily dlniinish in spend-\\ning. Political economists will do well some day to\\ntake heed of it, though they cannot take measure.\\nUnto This Last, p. 41.\\nCharities. All measures of reformation are\\neffective in exact proportion to their timeliness\\npartial decay may be cut away and cleansed; in-\\ncipient error corrected but there is a point at\\nwhich corruption can no more be stayed, nor wa,n-\\ndering recalled. It has been the manner of modern\\nphilanthropy to remain passive until that precise\\nperiod, and to leave the sick to perish and the fool-\\nish to stray, while it spent itself in frantic exertions\\nto raise the dead, and reform the dust. Athena,\\np. 95.\\nIf, suddenly, in the midst of the enjoyments of the\\nl^alate and lightnesses of heart of a London dinner-\\nparty, the walls of the chamber were parted, and\\nthrough their gap, the nearest human beinge who\\nAvere famishing, and in misery, were borne into the\\nmidst of the company feasting and fancy-free if,\\npale with sickness, horrible in destitution, broken\\nby despair, body by body, they were laid upon the\\nsoft carpet, one beside the chair of every guest,\\nwould only the crumbs of the dainties be cast to\\nthem would only a passing glance, a passing\\nthought be vouchsafed to them Oldening of the\\nCrystal Palace, p. 13.\\nLetter to Thomas Pocock. The reason 1 nevef\\nanswered was I now [July 1879] find the difficulty\\nof explaining my fixed principle never to join ip\\nany invalid charities. All the foolish world is ready\\nto help in them; and will spend large incomes in try-\\ning to make idiots think, and the blind read, but\\nwill leave the noblest intellects to go to the Devil,\\nand the brighest eyes to remain sijiritually blind\\nforever All my work is to he! j) those who have eyes\\nand see not. Ever faithfully yours, J. Ruskijv^.*\\nA letter sent by Mr. Riiskin to the Secretary of the Protes-\\ntant Blind Pension Society in answev to an application for pnb-\\nscriptions.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "VONDVCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094MOBALS. U9\\n1 must add that, to int/ niiud. the prefix of Prot-\\nestant to your society s name indicates far stonier\\nbUndness than any it will relieve. Aitows of the\\nChace, II., p. 129.\\nThe Beauty of uncomplaining Labor.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Yon-\\nder poor horse, calm slave in daily chains at the\\nrailroad siding, who drags the detached rear of the\\ntrain to the front again, and slij^s aside so deftly as\\nthe buffers meet; and, within eighteen inches of\\ndeath every ten minutes, fulfils his dexterous and\\nchangeless duty all day long, content for eternal\\nreward with his night s rest and his champed mouth-\\nful of hay; anything more earnestly moral and\\nbeautiful one cannot imagine\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I never see the crea-\\nture without a kind of worsliip. Time and Tide,\\np. 33.\\nCountryman and Cit.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is a sorrowful proof\\nof the mistaken ways of the world that the coun-\\ntry, in the simple sense of a place of fields and\\ntrees, has hitherto been the source of reproach to\\nits inhabitants, and that the words countryman,\\nrustic, clown, pajsan, villager, still sig-\\nnify a rude and untaught person, as opposed to\\nthe words townsman, and citizen. We accept\\nthis usage of words, or the evil which it signifies,\\nsomewhat too quietly; as if it were quite necessary\\nand natural that country-people should be rude,\\nand towns-people gentle. Whereas I believe that\\nthe result of each mode of life may, in some stages\\nof the worlds progress, be the exact reverse; and\\nthat another use of words may be forced upon us\\nby a new aspect of facts, so that we maj find our-\\nselves saying: Such and such a person is very\\ngentle and kind he is quite rustic; and such and\\nsuch another i^erson is very rude and ill-taught he\\nis quite urban. Modern Painters, V., p. 18.\\nDOMESTIC SERVANTS.\\nThe relation of master and servant involves every\\nother touches every condition of moral health", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "350 A liUSKlN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthrough the State. Put that right, and you put all\\nright.\\nThere are broadly two ways of mailing good ser-\\nvants; the first, a sound, wholesome, thorough-\\ngoing slavery which was the heathen way, and\\nno bad one either, provided you understand that to\\nmake real slaves you must make yourself a real\\nmaster (which is not easy). The second is the\\nChristian s way: Whoso delicately bringeth up his\\nservant from a child, shall have him become his son\\nat the last. And as few people want their servants\\nto become their sons, this is not a way to their lik-\\ning. So that, neither having courage or self-disci-\\npline enough on the one hand to make themselves\\nnobly dominant after the heathen fashion, nor\\ntenderness or justice enough to make themselves\\nnobly protective after the Christian, the present\\npublic thinks to manufacture servants bodily out\\nof powder and liay-stufRng\u00e2\u0080\u0094 mentally by early in-\\nstillation of Catecliism and other m.echanico-relig-\\nious appliances and economically, as you help-\\nlessly suggest, by the law of supply and demand,\\nAvith such results as we all see, and most of us more\\nor less feel, and shall feel daily more and more to\\nour cost and selfish sorrow.\\nThere is only one way to have good servants; that\\nis, to be worthy of being well served. All nature\\nand all humanity will serve a good master and rebel\\nagainst an ignoble one. And there is no surer test\\nof the quality of a nation than the quality of its\\nservants, for they are their masters shadoAvs and\\ndistort their faults in a flattened mimicry.\\nI am somewhat conceited on the subject of\\nservants just now, because I have a gardener who\\nlets nie keep old-fashioned plants in the green-hovise,\\nunderstands that my cherries are grown for the\\nblackbirds, and sees me gather a bunch of my own\\ngTapes without making a wry face. Arrows of the\\nChace, II., pp. 90-94.\\nAll the flunkey-ism, and servant-gal-ism of\\nmodern days, is the exact reflection of the same", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 351\\nqualities in the masters and mistresses. A gentle-\\nman always makes his servants gentle. Roadside\\nSongs of Tuscany, II., p. 78.\\nIf you keep slaves to furnish forth your dress to\\nglut your stomach to sustain your indolence or\\ndeck your pride, you are a barbarian. If you keep\\nservants, properly cared for, to furnish you with\\nAvhat you verily want, and no more than that you\\nare a civil person a person capable of the\\nqualities of citizenship. Time and Tide, p. 90.\\nConsider, for instance, what I am doing at\\nthis very instant half-past seven, morning, 25th\\nFebruary, 1873. It is a bitter black frost, the ground\\ndeep in snow, and moi e falling. I am writing com-\\nfortably in a perfectly warm room; some of my\\nservants were up in the cold at half-past five to get\\nit ready for me; others, a few days ago, were digging\\nmy coals near Durham, at the risk of their lives;\\nan old woman brought me my water-cresses through\\nthe snow for breakfast yesterday; another old\\nwoman is going two miles through it to-day to fetch\\nme my letters at ten o clock. Half-a-dozen men\\nare building a wall for me, to keep the sheej) out of\\nmy garden, and a railroad stoker is holding his own\\nagainst the north wind to fetch me some Brob-\\ndignag raspberry plants to put in it. Somebody\\nin the east-end of London is making boots for me,\\nfor I can t wear those I have much longer; a wash-\\nerwoman is in suds, somewhere, to get me a clean\\nshirt for to morrow; a fisherman is in dangerous\\nweather, someAvhere, catching me some fish for\\nLent; and my cook will soon be making me jDan-\\ncakes, for it is Shrove Tuesday. Having written this\\nsentence, I go to the fire, warm my fingers, saunter\\na little, listlessly, about the room, and grumble\\nbecause I cant see to the other side of the lake.\\nAnd all these people, my serfs or menials, who are\\nundergoing any quantity or kind of hardship I\\nchoose to put on them, all these people, neverthe-\\nless, are more contented than I am; I can t be\\nhapi)j not I, for one thing, because I haven t got", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "352 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe MS. Additional (never mind what number), in\\nthe British Museum, which they bought in 1848, for\\ntwo hundred pounds, and I never saw it And\\nhave never been easy in my mind, since.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or.s, I.,\\np. 39S.\\nTHE LIQUOR QUESTION.\\nThe providence of the Father who would fill\\nmen s hearts with food and gladness is destroyed\\namong us by prostitution of joyless drink; and the\\nnever to be enough damned guilt of men, and gov-\\nernments, gathering pence at the corners of the\\nstreets, standing there, pot in hand, crying, Turn\\nin hither; come, eat of my evil bread, and drink\\nof my beer, which I have venomously mingled.\\nFors, II., p. 123.\\nThe sum you spend in liquors, aud in tobacco,\\nannually, is One Hundred and Fifty-six Millions nf\\nPounds; on which the pure profit of the richer\\nclasses (putting the lower alehouse gains aside) is,\\nroughly, a hundi-ed millions. That is the way the\\nrich Christian Englishman provides against the\\nDay of Judgment, expecting to hear his Master say\\nto him, I w^as thirsty and ye gave me drink Two\\nshillings worth for twenty-seven and sixpence.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors,!., p. 383.\\nSuppose even in the interest of science, to which\\nyou are all so devoted, I were myself to bring into\\nthis lecture-room a country lout of the stupidest,\\nthe sort whom you produce by Church of England\\neducation, and then do all you can to get emigrated\\nout of your way; fellows whose life is of no use to\\nthem, nor anybody else; and that\u00e2\u0080\u0094 always in the\\ninterests of science I were to lance just the least\\ndrop out of that beast s an asp s tooth into his\\nthroat, and let you see him swell, and choke, and\\nget blue and blind, and gasp himself away you\\nwouldn t all sit quiet there, and have it so done\\nwould you in the interests of science.\\nWell but how then if in your own interests", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094MOBALS. 3.53\\nSuppose the poor lout had his week s wages in his\\npocket thirty shillings or so; and, after his inocu-\\nlation, 1 were to pick his pocket of them; and then\\norder in a few more louts, and lance their throats\\nlikewise, and pick their pockets likewise, and divide\\nthe pi oceeds of, say, a dozen of poisoned louts,\\namong you all, after lecture: for the seven or eight\\nhundred of you, I could perhaps get sixpence each\\nout of a dozen of poisoned louts; yet you would\\nstill feel the proceedings painful to your feelings,\\nand wouldn t take the sixpen orth ^wouldyou.\\nWell, I know a village, some few nules frojn Ox-\\nford, numbering of inhabitants some four hundred\\nlouts, in which my own College of the Body of\\nChrist keeps the public-house, and therein sells\\nby its deputy such poisoned beer that the Rector s\\nwife told me, only the day before yesterday, that\\nshe sent for some to take out a stain in a dress with,\\nand couldn t touch the dress with it, it was so filthy\\nwith salt and acid, to provoke thirst and that\\nwhile the public-house was there she had no hope\\nof doing any good to the men, who always prepared\\nfor Sunday by a fight on Saturday night. And that\\nmy own very good friend the Bursar, and we the\\nFellows, of Corpus, being appealed to again and\\nagain to shut up that tavern, the answer is always,\\nThe College can t aiford it we can t give up that\\nfifty pounds a year, out of those peasant sots\\npockets, and yet, as a College, live. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Deucalion,\\npp. 200, 201.\\nTobacco. It is not easy to estimate the demoral-\\nizing effect on the youth of Europe of the cigar, in\\nenabling them to pass their time haj^pily in idle-\\nness. Athena, p. G3.\\nTobacco., the most accursed of all vegetables, the\\none that has destroyed for the joreseni even the pos-\\nsibility of European civilization. Proserpina, p. 78.\\nBetting. Of all the ungentlemanly habits into\\nwliich you can fall, the vilest is betting, or interest-\\ning yourselves in the issues of betting. It unites\\nnearly every condition of folly and vice; you con-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "351 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncentrate your interest upon a matter of chance, in-\\nstead of upon a subject of true knowledge; and you\\nback opinions which you have no grounds for form-\\ning, merely because they are your own. All the\\ninsolence of egotism is in this; and so far as the\\nlove of excitement is complicated with the hope of\\nwinning money, you turn yourselves into the basest\\nsort of tradesmen those who live by speculation.\\nCroivn of Wild Olive, Lect. III., p. 90.\\nRunning up Bills.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I would rather, ten times ra-\\nther, hear of a youth that (certain degrees of tempt-\\nation and conditions of resistance being under-\\nstood), he had fallen into any sin you chose to name,\\nof all the mortal ones, than that he was in the\\nhabit of running up bills which he could not pay.\\nTime and Tide, p. 117.\\nGENTLEMANLINESS AND VULGARITY.\\nVulgarity consists in a deadness of the heart and\\nbody, resulting from prolonged, and especially from\\ninherited conditions of degeneracy, or literally\\nunraeing; gentlemanliness, being another Avord\\nfor an intense humanity. And vulgarity shows it-\\nself primarily in dulness of heai-t, not in rage or\\ncruelty, but in inability to feel or conceive noble\\ncharacter or emotion. It is merely one of the\\nforms of Death.\\nThe illiterateness of a Spanish or Calabrian\\npeasant is not vulgar, because they had never an\\nopportimity of acquiring letters; but the illiterate-\\nness of an English school-boy is. So again, provin-\\ncial dialect is not vulgar; but cockney dialect, the\\ncorruption, by blunted sense, of a finer language\\ncontinually heard, is so in a deep degree.\\nWhat Constitutes a Gentleman. A gentle-\\nman s first characteristic is that fineness of struct-\\nure in the body, which renders it capable of the\\nmost delicate sensation; and of structure in the\\nmind which renders it capable of the most delicate\\nsyjupathies one may say, sim^jly, fineness of na-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MORALS. 355\\nture. This is, of course, compatible with heroic\\nbodily strength and mental firmness; in fact, heroic\\nstrength is not conceivable without such delicacy.\\nElephantine strength may drive its Avay through a\\nforest and feel no touch of the boughs; but the white\\nskin of Homer s Atrides would have felt a bent rose-\\nleaf, yet subdue its feeling in glow of battle, and\\nbehave itself like iron.\\nA perfect gentleman is never reserved, but sweetly\\nand entirely open, so far as it is good for others, or\\npossible, that he should be. In a great many re-\\nspects it is impossible that he should be open except\\nto men of his own kind. To them, he can open\\nhimself, by a word, or syllable, or a glance but to\\nmen not of his kind he cannot open himself, though\\nhe tried it through an eternity of clear grammatical\\nspeech. Whatever he said, a vulgar man\\nAvould misinterpret: no Avords that he could use\\nwould bear the same sense to the vulgar man that\\nthey do to him. If he used any, the vulgar man\\nwould go away saying, He had said so and so, and\\nmeant so and so (something assuredly he never\\nmeant); but he keeps silence, and the vulgar man\\ngoes away saying, lie didn t know what to make\\nof him. Which is precisely the fact, and the only\\nfact Avhich he is anywise able to announce to the\\nvulgar man concerning himself.\\nThere is yet another quite as efficient cause of tho\\napparent reserve of a gentleman. His sensibility\\nbeing constant and intelligent, it will be seldom\\nthat a feeling touches him, however acutely, but it\\nhas touched him in the same way often before, and\\nin some sort is touching him always. It is not that\\nhe feels little, but that he feels habitually; a vulgar\\nman having some heart at the bottom of him, if\\nyou can by talk or by sight fairly force the pathos of\\nanything down to his heart, will be excited about\\nit and demonstrative; the sensation of pity being\\nstrange to him, and wonderful. But your gentle-\\nman has walked in pity all day long; the tears\\nhave never been out of his eyes: you thought the\\neyes were bright only; but they were wet. You", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "356 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntell him a sorrowful story, and his countenance\\ndoes not change; the eyes can but be wet still; he\\ndoes not speak, neither, there being, in fact, no-\\nthing to be said, only something to be done; some\\nvulgar person, beside you both, goes away saying,\\nHow hard he is! Next day he hears that the\\nhard person has put good end to the sorrow he said\\nnothing about; and then he changes his wonder,\\nand exclaims, How reserved he is\\nSelf-command is often thought a characteristic of\\nhigh-breeding and to a certain extent it is so, at\\nleast it is one of the means of forming and strength-\\nening character; but it is rather a way of imitating\\na gentleman than a characteristic of him; a true\\ngentleman has no need of self-command; he simjily\\nfeels rightly on all occasions and desiring to ex-\\npress only so much of his feeling as it is right to\\nexpress, does not need to command himself.\\nThe Letters of the Alphabet in Art. One\\nof the most curious minor qviestions in this matter\\nis respecting the vulgarity of excessive neatness,\\ncomplicating itself with inquiries into the distinc-\\ntion between base neatness, and the perfectness of\\ngood execution in the fine arts. It will be found on\\nfinal thought that precision and exquisiteness of\\narrangement are always noble; but become vulgar\\nonly when they arise from an equality (insensibili-\\nty) of temperament, which is incapable of fine pas-\\nsion, and is set ignobly, and with a dullard mechan-\\nism, on accuracy in vile things. In the finest\\nGreek coins, the letters of the inscriptions are pur-\\nposely coars9 and rude, while the relievi are\\nwrought with inestimable care. But in an English\\ncoin, the letters are the best done, and the whole is\\nunredeemably vulgar.\\nLetters are always ugly things. Titian often\\nwanted a certain quantity of ugliness to oppose his\\nbeauty with, as a certain quantity of black to op-\\npose his color. He could regulate the size and\\nquantity of inscription as he liked; and, therefore,\\nmade it as neat that is, as effectively ugly aspos-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE-RELIGION. 357\\nsi bio. Bvit the Greek sculptor could not regulate\\neither size or quantity of inscription. Legible it\\nmust be to common eyes, and contain an assigned\\ngroup of words. He had more ugliness than he\\nwanted, or could endure. There was nothing for it\\nbut to make the letters themselves rugged and\\npicturesque; to give them, that is, a certain quan-\\ntity of organic vsiriety.\u00e2\u0080\u0094lfodern Painters, pp.\\n384, 298.\\nCHAPTER II.\\nReligion.*\\nI do not myself believe in Evangelical theology.\\nFors, II., p. 4.\\nI have been hori-ibly plagued and misguided by\\nevangelical people, all my life; and most of all\\nlately; but my mother was one, and my Scotch\\naunt; and I have yet so much of the superstition\\nleft in me, that I can t help sometimes doing as\\nevangelical people wish, for all I know it comes\\nto nothing. Furs, II., p. 184.\\nAll piety begins in modesty. You must feel that\\nyou are a very little creature, and that you had\\nbetter do as you are bid. You Avili then begin to\\nthink what you are bid to do, and who bids it.\\nVccl D Arno, p. 104.\\nThe question to my mind most requiring discus-\\nsion and explanation is not, why workmen don t go\\nto church, but why other people do. Time and\\nTide, p. G5.\\nPerhaps if, in this garden of the world, you would\\nleave off telling its Master your opinions of him,\\nand, much more, your quarrelling about your\\nopinions of him; but would simply trust him, and\\nSee also the Introduction.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "358 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.^\\nmind your own business modestly, he miglit have\\nmore satisfaction in you than he has had yet these\\neighteen hundred and- seventy-one years, or than\\nhe seems likely to have in the eighteen hundred and\\nseventy-second. Fors, I., p. 162.\\nI write this morning, wearily, and withovit spirit,\\nbeing nearly deaf with the bell-ringing and bawl-\\ning which goes on here, at Florence, ceaselessly, in\\nadvertisement of prayers, and wares; as if people\\ncould not wait on Grod for what they wanted, but\\nGod had to ring for them, like waiters, for whati/e\\nwanted: and as if they could think of nothing they\\nwere in need of, till the need was suggested to\\nthem by bellowing at their doors, or bill-posting on\\ntheir house-corners. Fois, I., pp. 27.5, 276.\\nIn Memoriam.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Respect for the dead is not really\\nshown by laying great stones on them to tell us\\nwhere they are laid; but by remembering where\\nthey are laid, without a stone to help us; trusting\\nthem to the sacred grass and saddened flowers. A\\nJoy For Ever, p. 47.\\nThe Vice and Ignorance of the modern Evan-\\ngelical Sect. They consist especially in three\\nthings: First, in declaring a bad translation of a\\ngroup of books of various qualities, accidently\\nassociated, to be the Word of God. Secondly,\\nreading, of this singular Word of God, only the\\nbits the} like; and never taking any pains to un-\\nderstand even those. Thirdly, resolutely refusing\\nto practice even the very small bits they do under-\\nstand, if such practice happen to go against theii\\nown worldly especially money interests. Fors,\\nII., p. 101.\\nThe Existence of God.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It never seems to strike\\nany of our religious teachers, that if a child has a\\nfather living, it either knows it has a father, or doe*\\nnot: it does not believe it has a father. Wet\\nshould be surprised to see an intelligent child stand-\\ning at its garden gate, crying out to the passers-by\\nI believe in my father, because he built thi?\\nhouse. Modern Painters, V., p. 271.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094BELIGION. 339\\nManufactory Chimneys.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The obelisks of our\\nEnglish religion.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i brs II., p. 807.\\nHeaven. Can you answer a single bold question\\nunflinchingly about that other world Are you\\nsure there is a heaven Sure there is a hell Sure\\nthat men are drojiping before your faces through\\nthe pavements of these streets into eternal fire, or\\nsure that they are not? Sure that at your own\\ndeath j ou are going to be delivered from all sorrow,\\nto be endowed with all virtue, to be gifted with all\\nfecility, and raised into perpetual companionship\\nwith a King, compared to whom the kings of the\\nearth are as grasshoppers, and the nations as the\\ndust of His feet? Are you sure of thi^ ?\u00e2\u0080\u00943If/stery\\nof Life, p. in.\\nVicarious Salvation.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There are briefly two,\\nand two only, forms of possible Christian, Pagan,\\nor any other Gospel, or good message one, that\\nmen are saved by themselves doing Avhat is right;\\nand the other, that they are saved by believing that\\nsomebody else did right instead of them. The first\\nof these Gospels is eternally true, and holy; the\\nother eternally false, damnable, and damning.\\nFors, III., p. 17.\\nFather Dollar. The creed of the Dark Ages\\nwas, I believe in one God, the Father Almighty,\\nMaker of Heaven and Earth; and the creed of the\\nLight Ages has become, I believe in Father Mud,\\nthe Almighty Plastic; and in Father Dollar, the\\nAlmighty Drastic. Fors, IV., p. 281.\\nThe First recorded Words of Venice.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In-\\nscriptions discovered by Mr.Ruskin on the church\\nof St. James of the Rialto:\\nBe thy Cross, O Christ, the true safety of this\\nplace.\\nAround this temple, let the merchant s laAV be\\njust his weights true, and his agreements guile-\\nless. Fors, IV., p. 17.\\nEnglish Religion a Mockery.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Notably, within\\nthe last hundred years, all rel ^gion has perished", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "360 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nfrom the practically active national mind of France\\nand England. No statesman in the senate of either\\ncountry would dare to use a sentence out of their\\nacceptedly divine Revelation, as having now a\\nliteral authority over them for their guidance, or\\neven a suggestive wisdom for their contemi^lation.\\nEngland, especially, has cast her Bible full in the\\nface of her former God; and proclaimed, with open\\nchallenge to Him, her resolved worship of His de-\\nclared enemy. Mammon. All the arts, therefore,\\nfounded on religion and sculpture chiefly are here\\nin England effete and corrupt, to a degree which\\narts never were hitherto in the history of mankind.\\nAratra Pentelici, p. 38.\\nEven your simple country Queen of Maj whom\\nonce you worshipped for a goddess has not little\\nMr. Faraday analyzed her, and jiroved her to con-\\nsist of charcoal and water, combined under Avhat\\nthe Duke of Argyll calls the reign of law?\\nYour once fortune-guiding stars, which used to\\ntwinkle in a mysteriovis manner, and to make you\\nwonder what they were^everybody knows what\\nthey are now only hydrogen gas; and they stink\\nas they twinkle. Fors, II., p. 199.\\nThe dramatic Christianity of the organ and aisle,\\nof dawn-service and twilight-revival this gas-\\nlighted, and gas-insi^ired, Christianity, we are\\ntriumphant in, and drav/ back the hem of our\\nrobes from the touch of the heretics who dispute\\nit. But to do a piece of common Christian right-\\neousness in a plain English word or deed; to make\\nChristian law any rule of life, and found one\\nnational act or hope thereon,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 we know too well\\nwhat our faith comes to for that. Sesame arid\\nLilies, p. 64.\\nTruly it is fine Christianity we have come to,\\nwhich, professing to expect the perpetual grace or\\ncharity of its Founder, has not itself grace or char-\\nity enough to hinder it from overreaching its friends\\nin sixpenny bargains and which, supplicating\\nevening and morning the forgiveness of its own", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 RELIGION. 361\\ndebts, goes forth at noon to take its fellow-servants\\nby the throat, saying, not merely Pay me that\\nthou owest. but Pay me that thou owestme/io^.\\nMunera Pulveris, p. 136.\\nNature and God. The second volume of\\nModern Painters, though in affected language,\\nyet with sincere and very deep feeling, expresses\\nthe lirst and foundational law respecting human\\ncontemplation of the natural phenomena under\\nwhose influence we exist, that they can only be\\nseen with their properly belonging joy, and inter-\\npreted up to the measure o^ proper human intelli-\\ngence, when they are accepted as the work, and\\nthe gift, of a Living Spirit greater than our own.\\nDeucalion, p. 304.\\nThe Religious Life, whex possible. The\\ndelicacy of sensation and refinements of imagina-\\ntion necessary to understand Christianity belong\\nto the mid period, when men risen from a life of\\nbrutal hardship are not yet fallen to one of brutal\\nluxury. You can neither comprehend the char-\\nacter of Christ while you are chopping flints for\\ntools, and gnawing raw bones for food; nor Avhen\\nyou have ceased to do anything with either tools\\nor hands, and dine on gelded capons. Val D Arno,\\np. 26.\\nThe unprodigal Son.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I recollect some years\\nago, throwing an assembly of learned persons who\\nhad met to delight themselves with interpretations\\nof the parable of the prodigal son, (interpretations\\nwhich had up to that moment gone very smoothly,)\\ninto mute indignation, by inadvertently asking\\nwho the ?t?iprodigal son was, and what was to be\\nlearned by his example. The leading divine of the\\ncompany, Mr. Molyneux, at last explained to me\\nthat the unprodigal son was a lay figure, put in\\nfor dramatic effect, to make the story prettier, and\\nthat no note was to be taken of him. Munera\\nPulveris, p. 135.\\nGuardian Angels. Those parents who love\\ntheir children most tenderly cannot but sometimes", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "362 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndwell on the old Christian fancy, that they have\\nguardian angels. I call it an old fancy, in deference\\nto 3 our njodern enlightenment in religion; but I\\nassure you nevertheless, in spite of all that illumi-\\nnation, there remains yet some dark possibility\\nthat the old fancy may be true: and that, although\\nthe modern apothecary cannot exhibit to you either\\nan angel, or an imp, in a bottle, the spiritual powers\\nof heaven and hell are no less now, than heretofore,\\ncontending for the souls of your children; and con-\\ntending with you for the ijrivilege of their tutor-\\nship. Deucalion, pp. 143, 144.\\nReligion to the earlier SciENa isTs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In the\\nearlier and happier days of Linnfeus, de Saussure,\\nvon Humboldt, and the multitude of quiet workers\\non whose secure foundation the fantastic expa-\\ntiations of modern science depend for whatever of\\ngood or stability there is in them, natural religion\\nwas always a part of natural science; it becomes\\nwith Linnaeus a part of his definitions; it under-\\nlies, in serene modesty, the courage and enthusiasm\\nof the great travellers and discoverers, from Colum-\\nbus and Hudson to Livingstone; and it has saved\\nthe lives, or solaced the deaths, of myriads of men\\nwhose nobleness asked for no memorial but in the\\ngradual enlargement of the realm of manhood, in\\nhabitation, and in social virtue. Deucalion, p. 209.\\nMilton and Dante.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I tell you truly that, as I\\nstrive more with this strange lethargy and trance\\nin myself, and awake to the meaning and power of\\nlife, it seems daily more amazing to me that men\\nsuch as Milton and Dante, should dare to play with\\nthe most precious truths (or the most deadly un-\\ntruths), by Avliich the whole human race listening\\nto them could be informed, or deceived; all the\\nworld their audiences for ever, with pleased ear,\\nand passionate heart; and yet, to this submissive\\ninfinitude of souls and evermore succeeding and\\nsucceeding multitude, hungry for bread of life,\\nthey do but play upon sweetly modulated pipes;\\nwith pompous nomenclature adorn the councils of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE-RELIGION. 363\\nhell; touch a troubadour s guitar to the courses of\\nthe suns; and fill the openings of eternity, before\\nwhich prophets have veiled their faces, and which\\nangels desire to look into, with idle puppets of their\\nscholastic iuiagination, and melancholy lights of\\nfrantic faith in their lost mortal love. Mystery\\nof Life, p. 113.\\nMetaphysicians and Philosophers.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I believe\\nthat metaphysicians and philosophers are, on the\\nwhole, the greatest troubles the world has go to deal\\nwith; and that while a tja-ant or bad man is of\\nsome use in teaching people submission or indigna-\\ntion, and a thoroughly idle man is only harmful in\\nsetting an idle example, and communicating to\\nother lazy people his own lazy misunderstandings,\\nbusy metaphysicians are always entangling good\\nand active people, and weaving cobwebs among\\nthe finest wheels of the world s business and are\\nas much as possible, by all prudent persons, to be\\nbrushed out of their way, like spiders,, and the\\nmeshed weed that has got into the Cambridgeshire\\ncanals, and other such impediments to barges and\\nbusiness. Modern Painters, III., p. 387.\\nThere is some difficulty in understanding why\\nsome of the lower animals were made. I lost great\\npart of my last hour for reading, yesterday even-\\ning, in keeping my kitten s tail out of the candles,\\na useless beast, and still more useless tail aston-\\nishing and inexplicable even to herself. Inexplic-\\nable, to me, all of them heads and tails alike.\\nTiger tiger burning bright is this then all\\nyou were made for this ribbed hearthrug, tawny\\nand black\\nIf only the Rev. James McCosh were here! His\\nbook is; and I m sur% I don t know how, but it\\nturns up in re-arranging my library Method of the\\nDivine Government, Physical and Moral. Preface\\nbegins. We live in an age in which the reflecting\\nportion of mankind are much addicted to the con-\\ntemplation of the works of Nature. It is the object\\nof the author in this Treatise to interrogate Nature", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "364 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwith the view of iiiakiiifj^ her utter her voice in\\nanswer to some of the most important questions\\nwhich the inquiring spirit of man can put. Here\\nis a catechumen for you and a catechist Na-\\nture with her hands behind her back Perhaps Mr.\\nMcCosh would kindly put it to her about the tiger.\\nFarther on, indeed, it is stated that the finite cannot\\ncomprehend the infinite, and I observe that the\\nauthor, with the shrinlving modesty characteristic\\nof the clergy of his persuasion, feels that even the\\nintellect of a McCosh cannot, without risk of error,\\nembrace more than the present method of the\\nDivine management of Creation. Wherefore no\\nman, he says, should presume to point out all\\nthe ways in which a God of unbounded resources\\nmight govern the universe. Fors, I., p. 381.\\nImmortality, or the Gradation of Life. You\\nmay at least earnestly believe, that the presence of\\nthe spirit which culminates in your own life, shows\\nitself in dawning, wherever the dust of the earth\\nbegins to assume any oi derly and lovely state. You\\nwill find it impossible to separate this idea of\\ngradated manifestation from that of the vital\\npower. Things are not either wholly alive, or\\nwholly dead. They are less or more alive. Take\\nthe nearest, most easily examined instance the life\\nof a flower. Notice what a different degree and\\nkind of life there is in the calyx and the corolla.\\nThe calyx is nothing but the swaddling clothes of\\nthe floAver; the child-blossom is bound up in it,\\nhand and foot; guarded in it, restrained by it, till\\nthe time of birth. The shell is hardly more subor-\\ndinate to the germ in the egg, than the calyx to\\nthe blossom. It bursts at last; but it never lives\\nas the corolla does. It may fall at the moment its\\ntask is fulfilled, as in the poppy; or Avither gradu-\\nally, as in the buttercup; or persist in a ligneous\\napathy, after the flower is dead, as in the rose; or\\nharmonize itself so as to share in the aspect of the\\nreal flower, as in the lily; but it never shares in\\nthe corolla s bright passion of life. And the grada-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 RELIGION. 365\\ntions which thus exist between tlie different mem-\\nbers of organic creatures, exist no less between the\\ndifferent ranges of organism. We know no higher\\nor more energetic life than our own; but there\\nseems to me this great good in the idea of gradation\\nof life it admits the idea of a life above us, in\\nother creatures, as much nobler than ours, as ours\\nis nobler than that of the dust. Ethics of the Dust,\\nLect. X., p. 130.\\nCo^vsECRATED WATER. The water which has\\nbeen refused to the cry of the weary and dying is\\nunholy, though it had been blessed by every saint\\nin heaven; and the water which is found in the\\nvessel of mercy is holy, though it had been defiled\\nwith corpses. King of the Golden River, p. 47.\\nConsecrated Grou^ d.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Put a rough stone for\\nan altar under the hawthorn on a village green;^\\nseparate a portion of the green itself with an ordi-\\nnary i^aling from the rest; then consecrate, with\\nwh^itever form you choose, the space of grass you\\nhave enclosed, and meet within the wooden fences\\noften as you desire to pray or preach; yet you will\\nnot easily fasten an impression in the minds of the\\nvillagers, that God inhabits the space of grass inside\\nthe fence, and does not extend His presence to the\\ncommon beyond it: and that the daisies and violets\\non one side of the railing are holy, on the other,\\npi-ofane. But, instead of a wooden fence, build a\\nwall; pave the interior space; roof it over, so as to\\nmake it comparatively dark;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and you may per-\\nsuade the villagers with ease that jou have built a\\nhouse which Deity inhabits, or that you have be-\\ncome, in the old French phrase, a logeur du Bon\\nDieu-\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Lectures on Art, p. 43.\\nBad Art i:v Religion.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The habitual use of bad\\nart (ill-made dolls and bad pictures), in the services\\nof religion, naturally blunts the delicacy of the\\nsenses, by requiring reverence to be paid to ugli-\\nness, and familiarizing the eye to it in moments of\\nstrong and pui e feeling; I do not think we can\\noverrate the probable evil results of this enforced", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "366 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndiscordance between the sight and imagination.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nModern Painters, IV., p. 357.\\nStatues as Symbols and Statues as Idols.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhen tlie popuhice of Paris adorned tlie statue of\\nStrasbourg witli immortelles, none, even the sim-\\nplest of the pious decorators, would suppose that\\nthe city of Srasbourg itself, or any spirit or ghost\\nof the city, was actually there, sitting in the Place\\nde la Concorde. The figure was delightful to them\\nas a visible nucleus for their fond thoughts about\\nStrasbourg; but never for a moment supposed to\\nhe Strasbourg. Similarly, they might have taken\\ndelight in a statue purporting to represent a river\\ninstead of a city, the Rhine, or Gfaronne, suppose,\\nand have been touched with strong emotion in\\nlooking at it, if the real river were dear to them,\\nand yet never think for an instant that the statue\\nwas the river. And yet again, similarly, but much\\nmore distinctly, they might take delight in the\\nbeautiful image of a god, because it gathered and\\nperpetuated their thoughts about that god; and\\nyet never suppose, nor be capable of being deceived\\nby any arguments into supposing, that the statue\\nvms the god. On the other hand, if a meteoric\\nstone fell from the sky in the sight of a savage, and\\nhe picked it up hot, he would most probably lay it\\naside in some, to him, sacred place, and believe the\\nstone itself to be a kind of god, and offer prayer\\nand sacrifice to it.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Aratra Pentelici, p. 34.\\nThe Olympic Zeus may be taken as a sufficiently\\ncentral type of a statue which was no more sup-\\nposed to e Zeus, than the gold or elephants tusks\\nit was made of; but in which the most splendid\\npowers of human art were exhausted in represent-\\ning a believed and honored God to the happy and\\nholy imagination of a sincerely religious people.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAratra Pentelici, p. 3G.\\nI am no advocate for image-worship, as I believe\\nthe reader Avill elsewhere sufficiently find; but I am\\nvery sure that the Protestantism of London would\\nhave found itself quite as secure in a cathedral", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 RELIGION. 367\\ndecorated with statues of good men, as in one hung\\nround with bunches of Ribston pippins. Stones of\\nVenice, I., p. 333.\\nSensational Religious Art.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I do not thinlt\\nthat any man, wlio is thoroughly certain that\\nChrist is in the room, will care what sort of pictures\\nof Christ he has on its walls; and, in the plurality\\nof cases, the delight taken in art of this kind is,\\nin reality, nothing more than a form of graceful\\nindulgence of those sensibilities which the habits\\nof a disciplined life restrain in other directions.\\nSuch art is, in a word, the opera and drama of the\\nmonk. Sometimes it is worse than this, and the\\nlove of it is the mask under which a general thirst\\nfor morbid excitement will pass itself for religion.\\nThe young lady who rises in the middle of the day,\\njaded by her last night s ball, and utterly incapable\\nof any simple or wholesome religious exercise, can\\nstill gaze into the dark eyes of the Madonna di San\\nSisto, or dream over the whiteness of an ivory\\ncrucifix, and returns to the course of her daily life\\nin fvill persuasion that her morning s feverishness\\nhas atoned for her evening s folly. Modern Paint-\\ners, III., p. 75.\\nTHE BIBLE.\\nThe Bible is the grandest group of writings ex-\\nistent in the rational world, put into the grandest\\nlanguage of the rational world in the first strength\\nof the Christian faith, by an entirely wise and kind\\nsaint, St. Jerome translated afterwards with\\nbeauty and felicity into every language of the\\nChristian world; and the guide, since so translated,\\nof all the arts and acts of that world which have\\nbeen noble, fortunate and hajipy. Letter to Pall\\nMall Gazette; 18S6.\\nThe Word of God, by which the heavens were,\\nof old, and by which they are now kept in store,\\ncannot be made a i^resent of to anybody in morocco\\nbinding nor sown on any wayside by help either", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "368 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nof steam-plough or steam-press; but is nevertheless\\nbeing offered to us daily, and by us with contumely\\nrefused; and sown in us daily, and by us as instantly\\nas may be, choked. Sesame and Lilies, p. 39.\\nThe way in which common people read their\\nBibles is just like the way that the old monks\\nthought hedgehogs ate grapes. They rolled them-\\nselves (it was said), over and over, where the grapes\\nlay on the ground. What fruit stuck to their\\nspines, they carried off, and ate. So your hedge-\\nhoggy readers roll themselves over and over their\\nBibles, and declare that whatever sticks to their\\nown spines is Scripture; and that nothing else is.\\nM7iics of the Dust, Lect. V., p. 68.\\nI am a simpleton, am I, to quote such an exploded\\nbook as Genesis My good wiseacre readers, I knoAV\\nas many flaws in the book of Grenesis as the best of\\nyou, but I knew the book before I knew its flaws,\\nwhile you know the flaws, and never have known\\nthe book, nor can know it. And it is at present\\nmuch the worse for you for indeed the stories of\\nthis book of Grenesis have been the nursery tales of\\nmen mightiest whom the world has yet seen in art,\\nand policy, and virtue, and none of yon will write\\nbetter stories for your children, yet awhile. Fors,\\nII., p. 199.\\nThe Bible is, indeed, a deep book, when depth\\nis required, that is to say, for deep peoijle. But it\\nis not intended, particularly, for profound persons;\\non the contrary, much more for shallow and sim-\\nple persons. And therefoi-e the first, and generally\\nthe main and leading idea of the Bible, is on its\\nsurface, written in plainest possible Greek, Hebrew,\\nor English, needing no penetration, nor amplifica-\\ntion, needing nothing but what we all might give\\nattention.\\nBut this, which is in every one s power, and is the\\nonly thing that God wants, is just the last thing\\nany one will give Him. We are delighted to ram-\\nble away into day-dreams, to repeat pet verses from\\nother places, suggested by chance words; to snap at", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 RELIGION. 369\\nan expression which suits oiu* own particuhir views,\\nor to di}^- up a meaning from under a verse, M^hich\\nwe sliould be amiably grieved to think any human\\nbeing luid been so happy as to find before. But\\nthe plain, intended, immediate, fruitful meaning,\\nwhich every one ought to find always, and espe-\\ncially that which depends on our seeing the rela-\\ntion of the verse to those near it, and getting the\\nforce of the whole passage, in due relation this\\nsort of significance we do not look for it being,\\ntruly, not to be discovered unless we really attend\\nto what is said, instead of to our own feelings.\\nIt is unfortunate also, but very certain, that in\\norder to attend to what is said, we must go through\\nthe irkesomeness of knowing the meaning of the\\nwords. And the first thing that children should\\nbe taught about their Bibles is, to distinguish\\nclearly between words that they understand and\\nwords that they do not; and to put aside the words\\nthey do not understand, and verses connected with\\nthem, to be asked about, or for a future time; and\\nnever to think they are reading the Bible when\\nthey are merely repeating phrases of an unknoAvn\\ntongue. Modern Painters, V., p. 166.\\nIiELii AND THE DEVIL. I do not merely believe\\nthei-e is such a place as hell. I know there is such\\na place; and I know also that when men have got\\nto the point of believing virtue imi^ossible but\\nthrough dread of it, they have got into it.\\nI mean, that according to the distinctness with\\nAvhich they hold such a creed, the stain of nether\\nfire has passed upon them.\\nYet though you should assuredly be able to hold\\nyour own in the straight ways of God, without al-\\nways believing that the Devil is at your side, it is a\\nstate of mind much to be dreaded, that you should\\nnot knoio the Devil when you see him there. For\\nthe probability is, that when you see him, the way\\nyou are walking in is not one of God s ways at all,\\nbut is leading you into quite other neighborhoods\\nthan His. On His way, indeed, you may often, like", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "370 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAlbert Durer s Knight, see the Fiend behind you,\\nbut you will find that he drops always farther and\\nfarther behind; Avhereas if he jogs with you at your\\nside, it is probably one of his own by-paths you\\nare got on.\\nEvery faculty of man s soul, and every instinct\\nof it by which he is meant to live, is exposed to its\\nown special form of corruption and whether\\nwithin Man, or in the external world, there is a\\npower or condition of temptation which is perpetu-\\nally endeavoring to reduce every glory of his soul,\\nand every power of his life, to such corruption as is\\npossible to them. And the more beautiful they are,\\nthe more fearful is the death which is attached as a\\npenalty to their degradation.\\nTake for instance religion itself the desire of\\nfinding out Grod, and placing one s self in some true\\nson s or servant s relation to Him. The Devil, that\\nis to say, the deceiving spirit within us, or outside\\nof us, mixes up our own vanity with this desire\\nmakes us think that in our love to God we have\\nestablished some connection Avith Him which se^Dar-\\nates us from our fellow-men, and renders us supe-\\nrior to them. Then it takes but one wave of the\\nDevil s hand and we are burning them alive for\\ntaking the liberty of contradicting us.\\nTake the desire of teaching the eternally unself-\\nish and noble instinct for telling to those Avho are\\nignorant, the truth we know, and guarding them\\nfrom the errors we see them in danger of there is\\nno nobler, no more constant instinct in honorjible\\nbreasts but let the Devil formalize, and mix the\\npride of a profession with it get foolish people\\nentrusted with the business of instruction, and make\\ntheir giddy heads giddier by putting them up in\\npulpits above a submissive crowd and you have\\nit instantly corrupted into its own reverse you\\nhave an alliance against the light, shrieking at the\\nsun, and moon, and stars, as profane spectra a\\ncompany of the blind, beseeching those they lead\\nto remain blind also. The heavens and the lights\\nthat rule them are untrue; the laws of creation are", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "CUNDUCT OF LIFR-RELiaiON. 371\\ntreacherous; the poles of the earth are out of poise.\\nBut loe are true. Light is in us only. Shut your\\neyes close and fast, and we will lead you.\\nTake the instinct for justice, and the natural\\nsense of indignation against crime let the Devil\\ncolor it with personal passion, and you have a\\nmighty race of true and tender-hearted men living\\nfor centuries in such bloody feud that every note\\nand word of their national songs is a dirge, and\\nevery rock of their hills is a grave-stone.\\nNow observe\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I leave you to call this deceiving\\nsijirit what you like or to theorize about it as you\\nlike. All that I desire you to recognize is the fact\\nof its being here, and the need of its being fought\\nwith.\\nThis oHMw -present fiend He is the person\\nto be voted against, my working friend; it is\\nworth something, having a vote against Mm, if you\\ncan get it! Which you can, indeed; but not by\\ngift from Cabinet Ministers; you must work warily\\nwith your own hands, and drop sweat of heart s\\nblood, before yovi can record that vote effectually.\\nTime and Tide, pi?. 40-44.\\nLiturgies. All that has ever been alleged\\nagainst forms of worship, is justly said only of\\nthose which are compiled without sense, and em-\\nployed without sincerity. The earlier services of\\nthe Catholic Church teach men to think, as well as\\npray nor did ever a soul in its immediate distress\\nor desolation, find the forms of petition learnt in\\nchildhood, lifeless on the lips of age. Broadside\\nSongs, p. 142.\\nI think that our couimon prayer that God would\\ntake away all ignorance, hardness of heart, and\\ncontempt of His word, from all Jews, Turks, Infidels,\\nand Heretics, is an entirely absurd one. I do not\\nthink all Jews have hard hearts; nor that all Infi-\\ndels would despise God s word, if only they could\\nhear it nor do 1 in the least know whether it\\nis my neighbor or myself who is really the Heretic.\\nBut 1 pray that prayer for myself as well as others;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "372 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand in this form, that God would make all Jews hon-\\nest Jews, all Turks honest Turks, all Infidels honest\\nInfidels, and all Evangelicals and Heretics honest\\nEvangelicals and Heretics that so these Israelites\\nin whom there is no guile, Turks in whom there is\\nno guile, and so on, may in due time see the face,\\nand know the power, of the King alike of Israel\\nand Esau. Fors, II., p. 4.\\nThe English Liturgy evidently drawn up with\\nthe amiable intention of making religion as pleas-\\nant as possible, to a peojile desirous of saving their\\nsouls with no great degree of personal inconvenience\\nis perhaps in no point more unAvholesomely\\nlenient than in its concession to the popular con-\\nviction that we may obtain the present advantage,\\nand escape the future punishment, of any sort of\\niniquity, by dexterously concealing the manner of\\nit from man, and triumphantly confessing the\\nquantity of it to God. The Lord s Prayer and The\\nChurch, Letter X.\\nEcclesiastical Fish-Mongers.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In order to have\\nfresh fish you must have no middlemen, or peddlers,\\nbut the carrying of the fish must be done for you\\nby gentlemen. They may stagger on perhai:)S a\\nyear or two more in their vain ways; but the day\\nmust come when your poor little honest puppy,\\nwhom his people have been wanting to dress up in\\na surplice, and call The to be Feared, that he\\nmight have pay enough, by tithe or tax, to marry a\\npretty girl, and live in a parsonage some poor lit-\\ntle honest wretch of a puppy, I say, will eventually\\nget it into his glossy head that he would be incom-\\nparably more reverend to mortals, and acceptable to\\nSt. Peter and all Saints, as a true monger of sweet\\nfish, than a false fisher for rotten souls and that\\nhis wife would be incomparably more lady-like\\nnot to say Madonna-like marching beside him\\nin purple stockings and sabots or even frankly\\nbarefoot with her creel full of caller herring on\\nher back, than in administering anj^ quantity of\\nEcclesiastical scholarship to her Sunday-schools.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094liELIGION. 373\\nHow dreadful\u00e2\u0080\u0094 how atrocious \u00e2\u0080\u0094thinks the\\ntender clerical lover. J/y wife walk with a fish-\\nbasket ou her back\\nYes, you young scamp, yours. You Avere going\\nto lie to the Holy Ghost, then, were you, only that\\nshe might wear satin slippers, and be called a\\nlady?\\nTo hew wood\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to draw water;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you think these\\nbase businesses, do you and that you are noble,\\nas well as sanctified, in binding faggot-burdens on\\npoor men s backs, Avhich you Avill not touch with\\nyour own fingers;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and in preaching the efficacy of\\nbaptism inside the church, by yonder stream (under\\nthe first bridge of the Seven Bridge Road here at\\nOxford,) while the sweet waters of it are choked\\nwith dust and dung, within ten fathoms from your\\nfont;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and in giving benediction with two fingers\\nand your thumb, of a superfine quality, to the\\nMarquis of B. llonester benediction, and more\\nefficacious, can be had cheaper, gentlemen, in the\\nexisting market. Under my own system of regulat-\\ning prices, I gave an Irish woman twopence yester-\\nday for two oranges, of which fruit\u00e2\u0080\u0094 under pressure\\nof competition\u00e2\u0080\u0094 she was ready to supply me with\\nthree for a penny. The Lord Almighty take you\\nto eternal glory said she.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Foy^, II., pp. 150, 1.51.\\nBishops.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Does any man, of all the men who\\nhave received this charge, of the office of Bishop,\\nin England, know what it is to be a wolf recog-\\nnize in himself the wolfish instinct, and the thirst\\nfor the blood of God s flock For if he does not\\nknow what is the nature of a wolf, how should he\\nknow what it is to be a shepherd If he never felt\\nlike a wolf himself, does he know the people who\\ndo lie does not expect them to lick their lips and\\nbare their teeth at him, I suppose, as they do in a\\npantomime Did he ever in his life see a wolf com-\\ning, and debate with himself whether he should\\nfight or fly?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or is not rather his whole life one\\nheadlong iilreling s flight, without so much as turn-\\ning his head to see what manner of beasts they are", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "374 It US KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthat follow nay, are not his very hireling s wages\\npaid him /or flying instead of fighting?\\nDares any one of them answer me\u00e2\u0080\u0094 here from my\\nCollege of the Body of Christ I challenge every\\nmitre of them definitely, the Lord of St. Peter s\\nborough, whom I note as a pugnacious and accur-\\nately worded person, and hear of as an outsi^oken\\none, able and ready to answer for his fulfilment of\\nthe charge to Peter How many wolves does he\\nknow in Peterborough\u00e2\u0080\u0094 how many sheep what\\nbattle has he done\u00e2\u0080\u0094 what bites can he show the\\nscars of? whose sins has he remitted in Peter-\\nborough whose retained has he not remitted,\\nlike his brother Bishops, all the sins of the rich,\\nand retained all those of the poor does he know,\\nin Peterborough, who are fornicators, v/ho thieves,\\nwho liars, who murderers and has he ever dared\\nto tell any one of them to his face that he was so\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nif the man had over a hundred a jea.r?\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II.,\\np. 329.\\nThe first thing, therefore, that a bishop has to do\\nis at least to put himself in a position in which, at\\nany moment, he can obtain the history from child-\\nhood of every living soul in his diocese, and of its\\npresent state. Down in that back street, Bill and\\nNancy, knocking each other s teeth out Does the\\nbishop know all about it Has he his eye upon\\nthem? Has he Jiad his eye upon them? Can he\\ncircumstantially explain to us how Bill got into\\nthe habit of beating Nancy about the liead If\\nhe cannot, he is no bishop, though he had a mitre\\nas high as Salisbury steeple.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sesame and Lilies,\\np. 43.\\nThe real difficulty of our Ecclesiastical party has\\nof late been that they could not venture for their\\nlives to explain the Decalogue, feeling that Modern-\\nism and all the practices of it must instantly be\\nturned inside-out, and upside down, if they did\\nbut if, without explaining it, they could manage\\nto get it said every Sunday, and a little agreea,ble\\ntune on the organ played after every clause of it,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LTFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094RELIGIOK. 375\\nthat perchance would do, (on the assumption, rend-\\nered so highly probable by Mr. Darwin s discoveries,\\nrespecting the modes of generation in the Orchidese,\\nthat there laas no God, except the original Baalze-\\nbub of Ekron, Lord of Bluebottles and fly-blowing\\nin general; and that this Decalogue was only ten\\ncrotchets of Moses s and not God s at all,)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 on such\\nassumption, I say, they thought matters might\\nstill be kept quiet a few years longer in the Cathe-\\ndral Close, especially as Mr. Bishop was always so\\nagreeably and iuoifensively pungent an element of\\nLondon Society and Mrs. Bishop and Miss Bishop\\nso extremely proper and pleasant to behold, and\\nthe grass of the lawn so smooth shaven. But all\\nthat is drawing very fast to its end. Poor dumb\\ndogs that they are, and blind mouths, the grim\\nwolf with privy paw daily devouring apace, and\\nnothing said, and their people loving to have it so,\\nI know not what they will do in the end thereof\\nbut it is near. Disestablishment? Yes, and of\\nmore powers than theirs. Fors, IV., p- 26.\\nThe Pulpit of To-day. \u00e2\u0080\u0094The particular kinds of\\nfolly also which lead youths to become clergymen,\\nuncalled, are especially intractable. That a lad\\njust out of his teens, and not under the influence of\\nany deep religious enthusiasm, should ever contem-\\nplate the possibility of his being set up in the mid-\\ndle of a mixed company of men and women of the\\nworld, to instruct the aged, encourage the valiant,\\nsupport the weak, reprove the guilty, and set an\\nexample to all and not feel what a ridiculous\\nand blasphemous business it would be, if he only\\npretended to do it for hire; and what a ghastly and\\nmurderous business it would be, if he did it sti-enu-\\nously wrong; and what a marvellous and all but\\nincredible thing the Church and its power must be,\\nif it were possible for him, with all the good mean-\\ning in the world, to do it rightly;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that any youth,\\nI say, should ever have got himself into the state of\\nrecklessness, or conceit, required to become a clergy-\\nman at all, under these existing circumstances,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "876 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nmust put him quite out of the pale of those whom\\none appeals to on any reasonable or moral question,\\nin serious writing.\\nI went into a ritualistic church, the other day,\\nfor instance, in the West End. It was built of bad\\nGothic, lighted with bad painted glass, and had its\\nLitany intoned, and its sermon delivered on the\\n(Subject of wheat and chaff\u00e2\u0080\u0094 by a young man of,\\nas far as I could judge, very sincere religious\\nsentiments, but very certainly the kind of person\\nwhom one might have brayed in a mortar among\\nthe very best of the wheat with a pestle, without\\nmaking his foolishness depart from him. And, in\\ngeneral, any man s becoming a clergyman in these\\ndays implies that, at best, his sentiment has over-\\npoAvered his intellect; and that, whatever the feeble-\\nness of the latter, the victory of his impertinent\\npiety has been probably owing to its alliance with\\nhis conceit, and its iDromise to him of the gratifica-\\ntion of being regarded as an oracle, without the\\ntrouble of becoming wise, or the grief of being so.\\nIt is not, hoAvever, by men of this stamp that the\\nprincii^al mischief is done to the Church of Christ.\\nTheir foolish congregations are not enough in\\nearnest even to be mislead and the increasing\\nLondon or Liverpool respectable suburb is simply\\nprovided with its baker s and butcher s shop, its\\nale-house, its itinerant organ-grinders for the week,\\nand stationary organ-grinder for Sunday, himself\\nhis monkey, in obedience to the commonest condi-\\ntion of demand and supply, and without much\\nmore danger in their Sunday s entertainment than\\nin their Saturday s. But the importunate and zeal-\\nous ministrations of the men who have been strong\\nenough to deceive themselves before they deceive\\nothers who give the grace and glow of vital sin-\\ncerity to falsehood, and lie for God from the ground\\nof their heart, produce forms of moral corruption\\nin their congregations as much more deadly than\\nthe consequences of recognizedly vicious conduct,\\nas the hectic of consumption is more deadly than\\nthe flush of tempoi-ary fever. Fors, II., pp. 335-327.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE-BELI(;lON. 377\\nThe Simony of to-day dilTers only from that of\\napostolic times, in that, while the elder Simon\\nthought the gift of the Holy Ghost worth a consid-\\nerable offer in ready money, the modern Simon\\nAvould on the whole refuse to acceftt the same gift\\nof the Third Person of the Trinity, Avithout a nice\\nlittle attached income, a pretty church, with a\\nsteeple restored by Mr. Scott, and an eligible neigh-\\nborhood.\\nIn defence of this Profession, with its pride, privi-\\nlege, and more or less roseate repose of domestic\\nfelicity, extremely beautiful and enviable in coun-\\ntry parishes, the clergy, as a body, have, with what\\nenergy and power was in them, repelled the advance\\nboth of science and scholarship, so far as either\\ninterfered with what they had been accustomed to\\nteach and connived at every abuse in public and\\nprivate conduct, with which they felt it would be\\nconsidered uncivil, and feared it might ultimately\\nprove unsafe, to interfere. Furs, II., i^p. 439, 440.\\nThe extreme degradation and exhaustion of the\\npower of the priests, or clergy, of so-called civilized\\nsociety is shown, it seems to me, conclusively,\\nby their absence from the dramatis persona in\\nhigher imaginative literature. It is not through\\ncourtesy that the clergy never appear upon the\\nstage, but because the playwright thinks that thej\\nhave no more any real share in human events* and\\nthis estimate is still more clearly shown by their\\nnonentity in the stories of powerful novels. Con-\\nsider what is really told us of the priesthood in\\nmodern England, by the fact that in the work of\\nour greatest metropolitan novelist, it appears, as a\\nconsecrated body, not at all; and as an active or\\nvisible one, only in the figures of Mr. Stiggins and\\nMr. Chadband To the fall of the Church in Scot-\\nland, the testimony of the greatest of Scotchmen is\\nstill more stern, because given with the profoundest\\nknowledge of all classes of Scottish society. In\\nThe Antiquary, how much higher, in all moral and\\nspiritual function, Edie Ochiltree stands than Mr.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "373 A BUSKm ANTHOLOGY.\\nBlattergowl in The Heart of Mid-Lothian, liow\\nfar superior Jeaiiie is to her husband. I have\\nalways said that everything evil in Europe is pri-\\nmarily the fault of her bishoi^s. But while the\\nfaults of the clergy are open to the sight and cavil\\nof all men, their modest and constant virtues, past\\nand present, acting continually like mountain\\nwells, through secret channels, in the kindlj min-\\nistry of the parish priest, and the secluded prayer\\nof the monk, are also the root of what yet remains\\nvital and happy among European races. Roadside\\niSongs of Tuscany, pp. 100, 107.\\nThe Religio:v of the Greeks.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You may obtain\\na more truthful idea of the nature of Greek religion\\nand legend from the poems of Keats, and the nearly\\nas beautiful, and, in general grasi? of subject, far\\nmore powerful, recent work of Morris, than from\\nfrigid scholarship, however extensive. Athena,\\np. 19.\\nThe Greek creed was, of course, different in its\\ncharacter, as our own creed is, according to the\\nclass of people who held it. The common people s\\nAvas quite literal, simple, and happy their idea\\nof Athena was as clear as a good Roman Cath-\\nolic peasant s idea of the Madonna. Then,\\nsecondly, the creed of the upper classes was more\\nrefined and spiritual, but quite as honest, and\\neven more forcible in its effect on the life.\\nThen, thirdly, the faith of the poets and artists\\nwas, necessarily, less definite, being continually\\nmodified by the involuntary action of their own\\nfancies and by the necessity of presenting, in clear\\nverbal or material form, things of which they had\\nno authoritative knowledge. Their faith was, in\\nsome respects, like Dante s or Milton s firm in\\ngeneral conception, but not able to vouch for every\\ndetail in the forms they gave it but they Avent\\nconsiderably farther, even in that minor sinceritj\\nthan subsequent poets and strove with all their\\nmight to be as near the truth as they could. Pindar\\nsays, quite simply, I cannot think so-and-so of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 RELIGION. 379\\nthe Gods. It must have been this way\u00e2\u0080\u0094 it cannot\\nhave been that way\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that the thing was done.\\nAnd as late among the Latins as the days of Hor-\\nace, this sincerity remains. Horace is just as true\\nand simple in his religion as Wordsworth.\\nOperosa parmis carmina Jingo little thing\\nthat I am, weave my laborious songs as earnestly\\nas the bee among the bells of thyme on the Matin\\nmountains. Yes, and he dedicates his favorite pine\\nto Diana, and he chants his autumnal hymn to\\nthe Faun that guards his fields, and he guides the\\nnoble youths and maids of Rome in their choir to\\nApollo, and he tells the farmer s little girl that the\\nGods will love her, though she has only a handful\\nof salt and meal to give them\u00e2\u0080\u0094 just as earnestly\\nas ever English gentleman taught Christian faith\\nto English youth in England s truest days. \u00e2\u0080\u0094.4f7t6 Jia,\\npp. 45-47.\\nChristianity in the Middle Ages.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For many\\ncenturies the Knights of Christendom wore their\\nreligion gay as their crest, familiar as their gaunt-\\nlet, shook it high in the summer air, hurled it\\nfiercely in other people s faces, grasped their spear\\nthe firmer for it, sat their horses the prouder; but it\\nnever entered into their minds for an instant to ask\\nthe meaning of it Forgive us our sins: by all\\nmeans yes, and the next garrison that holds out a\\nday longer than is convenient to us, hang them\\nevery man to his battlement. Give us this day\\nour daily bread, yes, and our neighbor s also,\\nif Ave have any luck. Our Lady and the Saints\\nIs there any infidel dog that doubts of them in\\nGod s name, boot and spur and let us have the\\nhead ofif him. It went on so, frankly and bravely,\\nto the twelfth century, at the earliest when men\\nbegin to think in a serious manner; more or less of\\ngentle manners and domestic comfort being also\\nthen conceivable and attainable. Rosamond is not\\nany more asked to drink out of her father s skull.\\nRooms begin to be matted and Avainscoted shops\\nto hold store of marvellous foreign wares knights", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "380 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand ladies learn to spell, and to read, with pleasure,\\nMusic is everywhere; Death, also. Much to enjoy\\nmuch to learn, and to endure with Death\\nalways at the gates. If war fail thee in thine\\nown country, get thee with haste into another,\\nsays the faithful old French knight to the boy-\\nchevalier, in early fourteeth century days.\\nNo country stays more than two centuries in this\\nintermediate phase between Faith and Reason. In\\nFrance it lasted from about 1150 to 1350 in Eng-\\nland, 1200 to 1400 in Venice, 1300 to 1500. The\\ncourse of it is always in the gradual development of\\nChristianity,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 till her yoke gets at once too aerial,\\nand too straight, for the mob, who break through\\nit at last as if it were so much gossamer; and at the\\nsame fatal time, Avealth and luxury, with the vanity\\nof corrupt learning, foul the faith of the upper\\nclasses, who now begin to wear their Christianity,\\nnot tossed for a crest high over their armor, l)ut\\nstuck as a plaster over their sores, inside of their\\nclothes. Then comes j^rinting, and universal gab-\\nble of fools gunpowder, and the end of all the\\nnoble methods of war.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 /SY. Mark s Rest, p. 49.\\nCHAPTER III.\\nWomen.\\nA woman may always help her husband by what\\nshe knows, however little; by what she half-knows,\\nor mis-knows, she will only teaze him. /Sesame and\\nLilies, p. 88.\\nFor a long time I used to say, in all my element-\\nary books, that, except in a graceful and Jiiinor\\nway, Avomen could not paint or draw. I am begin-\\nning, lately [1883], to bow myseif to the much more\\ndelightful conviction that nobody else can. Art of\\nEngland, jd. 15.\\nThe soul s aruior is never well sot to the heart", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "CONDt/CT OF LIFli-WOMEX. 381\\nunless a wunuiirs hand lias braced it and it is\\nonly when she braces it loosely that the honor of\\nmanhood fails. Sesame and Lilies, p. 81.\\nYou fancy, perhaps, as you have been told so\\noften, that a wife s rule should only be over her\\nhusband s house, not over his mind. Ah, no! the\\ntrue rule is just the reverse of that a true wife, in\\nher husbands house, is his servant; it is in his heart\\nthat she is queen. Whatever of the best he can\\nconceive, it is her part to be whatever of highest\\nhe can hope, it is hers to promise all that is dark\\nin him she must purge into purity all that is fail-\\ning in him she must strengthen into truth: from\\nher, through all the world s clamor, he must win\\nhis praise; in her, through all the world s warfare,\\nhe must find his peace. Crown, of Wild Olive, Lect.\\nIII., p. 02.\\nWomen s Wo.rk.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Then, for my meaning as to\\nwomen s work, what should I mean, but sci-ubbing\\nfurniture, dusting walls, sweeping floors, making\\nthe beds, washing up the crockery, ditto the chil-\\ndren, and whipping them when they want it,\\nmending their clothes, cooking their dinners, and\\nwhen there are cooks more than enough, helping\\nwith the farm work, or the garden, or the dairy?\\nIs that plain speaking enough Fors, IV., p. 375.\\nThe man s poAver is active, j^rogressive, de-\\nfensive. He is eminently the doer, the creator,\\nthe discoverer, the defender. His intellect is for\\nspeculation and invention his energy for adven-\\nture, for war, and for conquest, wherever war\\nis just, wherever conquest necessary. But the\\nwoman s power is for rule, not for battle, and her\\nintellect is not for invention or creation, but for\\nsweet ordering, arrangement and decision. She sees\\nthe qualities of things, their claims and their places.\\nHer great function is Praise: she enters into no\\ncontest, but infallibly judges the crown of contest.\\nBj her office, and place, she is protected from all\\ndanger and temptation. The man, in his rough\\nwork in open world, must encounter all peril and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "882 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntrial to him, therefore, the failure, the offence,\\nthe inevitable error often he must be wounded,\\nor subdued, often misled, and always hardened.\\nBut he guards the woman from all this; within his\\nhouse, as ruled by her, unless she herself has sougiit\\nit, need enter no danger, no temptation, no cause\\nof error or offence. This is the true nature of\\nHome it is the place of Peace the shelter, not\\nonly from all injury, but from all terror, doubt,\\nand division. In so far as it is not this, it is not\\nhome so far as the anxieties of the outer life j)ene-\\ntrate into it, and the inconsistently-minded, un-\\nknown, unloved, or hostile society of the outer\\nworld is allowed, by either husband or wife, to cross\\nthe threshold, it ceases to be home it is then only\\na part of that outer world which you have roofed\\nover, and lighted fire in. But so far as it is a sacred\\nplace, a vestal temple, a temple of the hearth\\nwatched over by Household Gods, before whose\\nfaces none may come but those whom they can re-\\nceive with love, so far as it is this, and roof and fire\\nare types only of a nobler shade and light, shade\\nas of the rock in a weary land, and light as of the\\nPharos in the stormy sea; so far it vindicates the\\nname, and fulfils the praise, of home.\\nAnd wherever a true wife comes, this home is\\nalways round her. The stars only may be over her\\nhead the glow-worm in the night-cold grass may\\nbe the only fire at her foot but home is yet where-\\never she is and for a noble woman it stretches far\\nround her, better than ceiled with cedar, or painted\\nwith vei-milion, shedding its quiet light far, for\\nthose who else were homeless.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 iSesame and Lilies,\\npp. 82, 83.\\nThe Public Duties of Women.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The man s\\nduty, as a member of a commonwealth, is to assist in\\nthe maintenance, in the advance, in the defence of\\nthe State. The woman s duty, as a member of the\\ncommonwealth, is to assist in the oi-dering, in the\\ncomforting, and in the beautiful adornment of\\nthe State. What the man is at his own gate,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 383\\ndefending it, if need be, against insult and spoil,\\nthat also, not in a less, but in a more devoted meas-\\nure, lie is to be at the gate of his country, leaving\\nIlls home, if need be, even to the spoiler, to do his\\nmore incumbent work there. And, in like manner,\\nwhat the woman is to be within her gates, as the\\ncentre of order, the balm of distress, and the mirror\\nof beauty that she is also to be without her gates,\\nwhere order is more difficult, distress more im-\\nminent, loveliness more rare. Sesame and Lilies,\\np. 95.\\nWoman s Power if she but realized it.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I am\\nsurjDrised at no depths to which, Avhen once warped\\nfrom its honor, humanity can be degraded. But\\nthis is wonderful to me\u00e2\u0080\u0094 oh, how Avonderful to see\\nthe tender and delicate woman among you, Avith\\nher child at her breast, and a power, if she would\\nwield it, over it, and over its father, purer than the\\nair of heaven, and stronger than the seas of earth\\nnay, a magnitude of blessing Avhich her husband\\nwould not part with for all that earth itself, though\\nit were made of one entire and perfect chrysolite:\\nto see her abdicate this majesty to play at prece-\\ndence with her next-door neighbor This is wonder-\\nful oh, wonderful I to see her, with every innocent\\nfeeling fresh within her, go out in the morning into\\nher garden to play with the fringes of its guarded\\nflowers, and lift their heads when they are droop-\\ning, with her happy smile upon her face, and no\\ncloud upon her brow, because there is a little wall\\naround her place of peace and yet she knows, in\\nher heart, if she would only look for its knowledge,\\nthat, outside of that little rose-covered wall, the\\nwild grass, to the horizon, is torn up by the agony\\nof men, and beat level by the drift of their life-\\nblood. Sesame and Lilies, pp. 1)8, 99.\\nAVoMEN AND THEIR LovERS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Believe me, the\\nwhole course and character of your lovers lives is\\nin your hands; what you would have them be, they\\nshall be, if you not only desire to have them so, but\\ndeserve to have them so for they are but mirrors", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "364 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nill which you Avill see yourselves iumged. If you\\nare frivolous, they will be so also if you have no\\nunderstanding of the scope of their duty, they also\\nwill forget it they will listen they can listen\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to\\nno other interpretation of it than that uttered from\\nyour lips. Bid them be brave, they will be brave\\nfor you bid them be cowards, and, how noble so-\\never they be, they will quail for you. Bid them be\\nwise, and they will be wise for you mock at their\\ncounsel, they will be fools for you such and so\\nabsolute is your rule over them. Crown of Wild\\nOlive, Lect. III., p. 92.\\nWomen s Dress. A queen may dress like a wait-\\ning-maid, perhaps succeed, if she chooses, in pass-\\ning for one but she will not, therefore, be vulgar\\nnay, a waiting-maid may dress like a queen, and\\njaretend to be one, and yet need not be vulgar,\\nunless there is inherent vulgarity in her. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 291.\\nYou ladies like to lead the fashion by all means\\nlead it lead it thoroughly, lead it far enough.\\nDress yourselves nicely, and dress everybody else\\nnicely. Lead i\\\\\\\\e fashions for the poor first make\\nthem look well, and you yourselves will look, in\\nways of which you have now no conception, all the\\nbetter. The fashions you have set for some time\\namong your peasantry are not pretty ones their\\ndoublets are too irregularly slashed, and the wind\\nblows too frankly through them. Crown of Wild\\nOlive, Lect. I., p. 22.\\nFor literal truth of your jewels themselves, ab-\\nsolutely search out and cast away all manner of\\nfalse, or dyed, or altered stones. And at present, to\\nmake quite sure, wear your jewels uncut they\\nwill be twenty times more interesting to you, so.\\nThe ruby in the British crown is uncut; and is, as\\nfar as my knowledge extends I have not had it to\\nlook at close\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the loveliest precious stone in the\\nworld. And as you are true in the choosing,\\nbe just in the sharing, of your jewels. They are\\nbut dross and dust after all and you, my sweet", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094WOMEX. 385\\nreligious friends, who are so anxious to inijoart to\\nthe poor your pearls of gi eat price, may surely also\\nshare with them your pearls of little price. Deuca-\\nlion, p. 86.\\nIt would be strange, if at any great assembly\\nwhich, while it dazzled the young and the thought-\\nless, beguiled the gentler hearts that beat 1)eneath\\nthe embroidei-y, with a placid sensation of luxurious\\nbenevolence as if by all that they wore in way-\\nwardness of beauty, comfort had been first given to\\nthe distressed, and aid to the indigent it would be\\nstrange, I say, if, for a moment, the sjairits of Truth\\nand of Terror, which walk invisibly among the\\nmasques of the earth, would lift the dimness from\\nour erring thoughts, and show us how (inasmuch\\nas the sums exhausted for that magiiilicence would\\nhave given back the failing breath to many an un-\\nsheltered outcast on moor and street) they who wear\\nit have literally entered into partnership with\\nDeath, and dressed themselves in his spoils. Yes, if\\nthe veil could be lifted not only from your thoughts,\\nbut from your human sight, you would see\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the\\nangels do see on those gay Avhite dresses of yours,\\nstrange dark sjDots, and crimson patterns that you\\nknew not of sjiots of the inextinguishable red that\\nall the seas cannot wash away yes, and among\\nthe i^leasant flowers that crown your fair heads,\\nand glow on your wreathed hair, you would see\\nthat one weed was always twisted which no one\\nthought of the grass that grows on graves. A Joy\\nFor Ever, p. 38.\\nWomen usually apologize to themselves for their\\npride and vanity, by saying, It is good for trade.\\nNow you may soon convince yourself, and every-\\nbody about you, of the monstrous folly of this, by\\na very simple piece of definite action. Wear, your-\\nself, becoming, pleasantly varied, but simple dress,\\nof the best possible material. What you think\\nnecessary to buy (beyond this) for the good of\\ntrade, buy, and immediately hum. Even your\\ndullest friends will see the folly of that proceeding.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "386 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nYou can then explain to them that by wearing\\nwliat tliey don t want (instead of burning it) for the\\ngood of trade, they are merely adding insolence\\nand vulgarity to absurdity.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, II., p. 157.\\nWOMEN AND RELIGION.\\nTheology a dangerous Science for Women.\\nThere is one dangerous science for women one\\nwhich let them indeed beware how they profanely\\ntouch\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that of theology. Strange, and miserably\\nstrange, that while they are modest enough to\\ndoubt their powers, and pause at the threshold\\nof sciences whei-e every step is demonstrable and\\nsure, they will plunge headlong, and without one\\nthought of incompetency, into that science in which\\nthe greatest men have trembled, and the wisest\\nerred. Sesame and Lilies, p. 87.\\nWomen and the Bible. You women of England\\nare all now shrieking with one voice\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you and your\\nclergymen together because you hear of your\\nBibles being attacked. If you choose to obey your\\nBibles, you will never care who attacks them. It\\nis just because you never fulfil a single downright\\nprecept of the Book, that you are so careful for its\\ncredit and just because you don t care to obey its\\nAvhole words, that you are so particular about\\nthe letters of them. The Bible tells you to dress\\nplainly,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and you are mad for finery the Bible\\ntells you to have pity on the poor, and you crush\\nthem under your carriage-wheels the Bible tells\\nyou to do judgment and justice, and you do not\\nknow, nor care to know, so much as what the Bible\\nword justice means.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Croton of Wild Olive, Lect.\\nIII., p. 93.\\nSisters of Charity. I am frightened out of my\\nwits, every noAV and then, here at Oxford, by seeing\\nsomething come out of poor people s houses, all\\ndressed in black down to the ground which,\\n(having been much thinking of wicked things", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 387\\nlately,) I at first take for the Devil, and then find,\\nto my extreme relief and gratification, that it s a\\nSister of Charity.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or* I., p. 325.\\nI know well how good the Sisters of Charity are,\\nand how much we owe to them but all these pro-\\nfessional pieties (except so far as distinction or asso-\\nciation may be nece.ssary for effectiveness of work)\\nare in their spirit wrong, and in practice merely\\nplaster the sores of disease that ought never have\\nbeen perniitted to exist encouraging at the same\\ntime the herd of less excellent women in frivolity,\\nby leading them to think that they must either be\\ngood up to the black standard, or cannot be good\\nfor anything. Wear a costume, by all means, if\\nyou like; but let it be a cheerful and becoming one;\\nand be in your heart a Sister of Charity always,\\nwithout either veiled or voluble declaration of it.\\nSesame and Lilies, Preface of 1871, p. 14.\\nThe PA.SSION of Christ.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When any you of next\\ngo abroad, observe, and consider the meaning of,\\nthe sculptures and paintings, Avhich of every rank\\nin art, and in every chapel and cathedral, and by\\nevery mountain path, recall the hours, and repre-\\nsent the agonies, of the Passion of Christ and try\\nto form some estimate of the efforts that have been\\nmade by the four arts of eloquence, music, painting,\\nand sculpture, since the twelfth century, to wring\\nout of the hearts of women the last drops of pity\\nthat could be excited for this merely physical agony:\\nfor the art nearly always dwells on the physical\\nwounds or exhaustion chiefly, and degrades, far\\nmore than it animates, the conception of pain.\\nThen try to conceive the quantity of time, and of\\nexcited and thrilling emotion, which have been\\nwasted by the tender and delicate women of Chris-\\ntendom, during these last six hundred years, in thus\\npicturing to themselves, under the influence of such\\nimagery, the bodily pain, long since passed, of One\\nPerson;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 which, so far as they indeed conceived it\\nto be sustained by a Divine Nature, could not for\\nthat reason have been less endurable than the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "388 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nagonies of any simple liuman death by torture\\nand then try to estimate what might have been the\\nbetter result, for the righteousness and felicity of\\nmankind, if these same women had been taught the\\ndeep meaning of the last words that wei-e ever\\nspoken by their Master to those who had ministered\\nto Him of their substance: Davighters of Jeru-\\nsalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves,\\nand for your children. Lectures on Art, p. 40.\\nA Dinner-Party with Christ.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I wrotea lettei\\nto one of my lady friends, who gives rather frequent\\ndinners, the other day, which may perhaps be use-\\nful to others it was to this effect mainly, though I\\nadd and alter a little to make it more general\\nYou probably will be having a dinner-party to-\\nday; now, please do this, and remember I am quite\\nserious in what I ask you. We all of us, who have\\nany belief in Christianity at all, wish that Christ\\nwere alive now. Suppose, then, that He is. I think\\nit very likely that if He were in London you would be\\none of the people whom He Avould take some notice\\nof. Now, suppose He has sent you word that He is\\ncoming to dine Avith you to-day but that you are\\nnot to make any change in your guests on His ac-\\ncount; that He wants to meet exactly the party you\\nhave, and no other. Suppose you have just received\\nthis message, and that St. John has also left woril,\\nin passing, with tlie butler, that his ujaster will\\ncome alone so that you won t have any trouble\\nwith the Apostles. Now, this is what I Avant you to\\ndo. First, determine what you will have for dinner.\\nYou are not ordered, observe, to make no changes\\nin your bill of fare. Take a piece of paper, and ab-\\nsolutely write fresh orders to your cook, you can t\\nrealize the thing enough Avithout writing. Tliat\\ndone, consider hoAv you AVill arrange your guests\\nwho is to sit next Christ on the other side Avho\\nopposite, and so on finally, consider a little AA hat\\nyou AA ill talk about, supposing, which is just possi-\\nble, that Christ should tell you to go on talking as\\nif He were not there, and never to mind Hiin. Yon", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 389\\ncouldu t, you will tell lue Then, my dear lady,\\nhow t-au you in general Uon t you i^rofess\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nay,\\ndon t you much more than profess\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to believe that\\nChrist is always there, Avhether you see Him or not\\nAVhy should the seeing make such a difference\\nFors, II., p. 283.\\nGIRLS.\\nAt no period, so far as I am able to gather by the\\nmost careful comparison of existing portraiture,\\nhas there ever been a loveliness so variably refined,\\nso modestly and kindly virtuous, so innocently fan-\\ntastic, and so daintily pure, as the i^resent girl-\\nbeauty of our British Islands.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J.r^ of England,\\np. 87.\\nA young lady sang to me a Miss Somebody s\\ngreat song, Live, and Love, and Die. Had it\\nbeen written for nothing better than silkworms, it\\nshould at least have added\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Spin. Fiction, Fair\\nand Foul, p. 19.\\nIf there were to be any difference between a girl s\\neducation and a boy s, I should say that of the two\\nthe girl should be earlier led as her intellect ripens\\nfaster into deep and serious subjects and that\\nher range of literature should be, not more, but\\nless frivolous, calculated to add the qualities of\\npatience and seriousness to her natural poignancy\\nof thought and quickness of wit; and also to keep\\nher in a lofty and pure element of thought. Sesame\\nand Lilies, p. 88.\\nThkir first Virtue is to be happy. The first\\nvirtue of girls is to be intensely happy;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 so hapi^y\\nthat they don t know what to do with themselves\\nfor happiness, and dance, instead of walking.\\nDon t you recollect,\\nNo fountain from a rocky cave\\nE er tripped witlx foot so free;\\nSlie seemed as luippy as a wave\\nTliat dances on the sea.\\nA girl is alwaj S like that, when everything s right\\nwith her.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mhics of the Dust, p. 85.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "390 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nCinderella and Virtue. In the play, Cinder-\\nella makes herself generally useful, and sweeps the\\ndoorstep, and dusts the door;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and none of the au-\\ndience think any the Avorse of her on that acdount.\\nThey think the worse of her proud sisters who make\\nher do it. But when they leave the Circus, they\\nnever think for a moment of making themselves\\nuseful, like Cinderella. They forthwith play the\\nproud sisters as much as they can; and try to make\\nanybody else, who will, sweep their doorsteps. Also,\\nnobody advises Cinderella to write novels, instead\\nof doing her washing, by way of bettering herself.\\nThe audience, gentle and simple, feel that the only\\nchance she has of pleasing her Godmother, or mar-\\nrying a Prince, is in remaining patiently at her tub,\\nas long as the Fates will have it so, heavy though it\\nhe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 100.\\nGirls Reading the Bible.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You may see con-\\ntinually girls who have never been taught to do a\\nsingle useful thing thoroughly; who cannot sew,\\nwho cannot cook, who cannot cast an account, nor\\nprepare a medicine, whose whole life has been passed\\neither in i^lay or in pride; you will find girls like\\nthese when they are earnest-hearted, cast all their\\ninnate passion of religious spirit, which was meant\\nby God to support them through the iiksomeness\\nof daily toil, into grievous and vain meditation\\nover the meaning of the great Book, of which no\\nsyllable was ever yet to be understood but through\\na deed; all the instinctive wisdom and mercy of\\ntheir womanhood made vain, and the glory of their\\npure consciences Avarped into fruitless agony con-\\ncerning questions which the laws of common ser-\\nviceable life would have either solved for them in\\nan instant, or kept out of their way. Give such a\\ngirl any true work that will make her active in the\\ndawn, and weary at night, with the consciousness\\nthat her fellow-creatures have indeed been the bet-\\nter for her day, and the powerless sorrow of her\\nenthusiasm will transform itself into a majesty of\\nradiant and beneficent peace. Mystery of Life,\\np. 133.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "COt^BUGT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 391\\nCooking. Oookiiifj; means the knoAvIedge of Me-\\ndea, and of Circe, and of Calypso, and of Helen,\\nand of Rebekah, and of the Qtieen of Sheba. It\\nmeans the knowledge of all herbs, and fruits, and\\nbalms, and spices; and of all that is healing and\\nsweet in fields and groves, and savory in meats; it\\nmeans carefulness, and inventiveness, and watch-\\nfulness, and willingness, and readiness of appliance;\\nit means the economy of your great-grandmothers,\\nand the science of modern chemists; it means much\\ntasting, and no wasting; it means English thorough-\\nness, and French art, and Arabian hospitality; and\\nit means, in fine, that you are to be perfectly and\\nalways, ladies loaf-givers; and, as you are to\\nsee, imperatively, that everybody has something\\nIjretty to put on, so you are to see, yet more im-\\nperatively, that everybody has something nice to\\neat. Ethics of the Dust, p. 87.\\nA Dialogue on SEv a:, G axd Dress-makixg.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nL. What do you think the beautiful word wife\\ncomes from\\nDora. I don t think it is a particularly beautiful\\nwoi d.\\n-Zi.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Perhaps not. At your ages you may think\\nhride sounds better; but wife is the word for wear,\\ndejjend upon it. It is the great word in which the\\nEnglish and Latin languages conquer the French\\nand the Grreek. I hope the French will some day\\nget a word for it, yet, instead of their dreadful\\nfemme. But what do you think it comes from\\nDora.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I never did think about it.\\nX.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nor you, Sibyl?\\n^ibyl.\u00e2\u0080\u0094l^o; I thought it was Saxon and stopped\\nthere.\\nX.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Yes; but the great good of Saxon words is,\\nthat they usually do mean something. Wife means\\nweaver. You have all the right to call yourselves\\nlittle housewives, when you sew nea.tly. \u00e2\u0080\u0094M7iics\\nof the Dust, p. 121.\\nDora.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Then, we are all to learn dress-making,\\nare we", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "392 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGT.\\nL. Yes; and always to dress yourselves beautiful-\\nly not finely, unless on occasion; but then very\\nfinely and beautifully too. Also, you are to dress\\nas many other people as you can; and to teach\\nthem how to dress, if they don t know; and to con-\\nsider every ill-dressed woman or child whom j^ou\\nsee anywhere, as a personal disgrace; and to get\\nat them, somehow, until everybody is as beauti-\\nfully dressed as birds. Ethics of the Bust, p. 87.\\nBits of Work for Girls \u00e2\u0080\u0094Early rising\u00e2\u0080\u0094 on all\\ngrounds is for yourself indispensable. You must\\nbe at work by latest at six in summer and seven in\\nwinter. (Of course that iDuts an end to evening\\nparties, and so it is a blessed condition in two direc-\\ntions at once.) Every day do a little bit of house-\\nmaid s work in your oAvn house, thoroughlj^ so as\\nto be a pattern of perfection in that kind. Your\\nactual housemaid will then follow your lead, if\\nthere s an atom of woman s spirit in her (if not,\\nask your mother to get another). Take a step or\\ntwo of stair, and a corner of the dining-room, and\\nkeep them i)olished like bits of a Dutch picture.\\nIf you have a garden, spend all spare minutes in\\nit in actual gardening. If not, get leave to take\\ncare of part of some friend s, a j^oor person s, but\\nalways out of doors. Have nothing to do with green-\\nhouses, still less with hothouses.\\nWhen thei-e are no flowers to be looked after,\\nthere are dead leaves to be gathered, snow to be\\nswept, or matting to be nailed, and the \\\\\\\\\\\\s.e.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors,\\nII., p. 97.\\nGardening for Girls.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 .F/r^ The primal ob-\\nject of your gardening, for yourself, is to keep you\\nat work in the open air, whenever it is possible.\\nThe greenhouse will always be a refuge to you from\\nthe wind; which, on the contrary, you ought to be\\nable to bear; and will tempt you into clippings and\\npottings and pettings, and mere standing dilettan-\\ntism in a damp and over-scented room, instead of\\ntrue labor in fresh air.\\nSecondly.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It will not only itself involve unneces-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 393\\nsary expense (for the greenhouse is sure to turn\\ninto a hothouse in the end; and even if not, is al-\\nways having its panes broken, or its bhnds going\\nwrong, or its stands getting rickety); but it will\\ntempt you into buying nursery plants, and waste\\nyour time in anxiety about them.\\nThirdly. The use of your garden to the house-\\nhold ought to be mainly in the vegetables you can\\nraise in it. And, for these, your proper observance\\nof season, and of the authority of the stars, is a vital\\nduty. Every climate gives its vegetable food to its\\nliving creatures at the right time; your business is\\nto know that time, and be prepared for it, and to\\ntake the healthy luxury which nature appoints you,\\nin the rare annual taste of the thing given in those\\nits due days. The vile and gluttonous modern\\nhabit of forcing never allows people properly to\\ntaste anything.\\nLastly, and chiefly. Your garden is to enable\\nyou to obtain such knowledge of plants as you may\\nbest use in the country in which you live, by com-\\nmunicating it to others; and teaching them to take\\npleasure in the green herb, given for meat, and the\\ncolored flower, given for joy. And your business is\\nnot to make the greenhouse or hothouse rejoice and\\nblossom like the rose, but the wilderness and solitary\\nplace. And it is, therefore, not at all of camellias\\nand air-plants that the devil is afraid on the con-\\ntrary, the Dame aux Camellias is a very especial\\nservant of Wi^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 284.\\nIdleness and Cruelty in Girls.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 How many\\nsoever you may find or fancy your faults to be,\\nthere are only two that ai-e of real consequence,\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Idleness and Cruelty. Perhaps you may be\\nproud. Well, we can get much good out of pride,\\nif only it be not religious. Perhaps you may be\\nvain it is highly probable and very pleasant for\\nthe people who like to praise you. Perhaps you\\nare a little envious that is really very shocking\\nbut then so is everybody else. Perhaps, also, you\\nare a little malicious, which I am truly concerned", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "394 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nto hear, but should probably only the more, if I\\nknew you, enjoy your conversation. But whatever\\nelse you may be, you must not be useless, and you\\nmust not be cruel. If there is any one point which,\\nin six thousand years of thinking about right and\\nwrong, wise and good men have agreed upon, or\\nsuccessively by experience discovered, it is that\\nGod dislikes idle and cruel people more than any\\nother; that Ilis first order is, Work while you\\nhave light; and His second, Be merciful while\\nyou have mercy, Sesame and Lilies, Vreiixce, 1871,\\np. 81.\\nVanity rebuked. First, be quite sure of one\\nthing, that, however much you may know, and\\nwhatever advantages you may possess, and however\\ngood you may be, you have not been singled out,\\nby the God who made you, from all the other girls\\nin the world, to be especially informed respecting\\nHis own nature and character. You have not been\\nborn in a luminoiis point upon the surface of the\\nglobe, where a perfect theology might be expounded\\nto you from your youth up, and where everything\\nyou were taught would be true, and everything that\\nwas enforced upon you, right. Of all the insolent,\\nall the foolish persuasions that by any chance\\ncould enter and hold your empty little heart, this\\nis the proudest and foolishest, that you have been\\nso much the darling of the Heavens, and favorite\\nof the Fates, as to lie born in the very nick of time,\\nand in the punctual place, when and where pure\\nDivine truth had been sifted from the errors of the\\nNations and that your papa had been providen-\\ntially disposed to buy a house in the convenient\\nneighborhood of the steeple under which that\\nimmaculate and final verity would be beautifully\\npi oclaimed. Do not think it, child it is not so.\\nThis, on the contrary, is the fact, unpleasant you\\nmay think it pleasant, it seems to me, that you,\\nwith all your pretty dressses, and dainty looks,\\nand kindly thoughts, and saintly aspirations, are\\nnot one Avhitmore thought of or loved by the great", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 women: 395\\nMaker and Master than any poor little red. black,\\nor blue savage, running wild in the pestilent woods,\\nor naked on the hot sands of the earth and that,\\nof the two, you pi obably know less about God\\nthan she does the only difference being that she\\nthinks little of Him that is right, and you, njuch that\\nis yfYon^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sesame and Lilies, Preface, 1871, p. 6.\\nThe two Mirrors.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I do not doubt but that the\\nmind is a less pleasant thing to look at than the\\nface, and for that very reason it needs more looking\\nat so always have two mirrors on your toilet\\ntable, and see that Avith proper care you dress body\\nand mind before them daily. After the dressing is\\nonce over for the day, think no more about it: as\\nyour hair will blow about your ears, so your temper\\nand thoughts will get ruffled with the day s work,\\nand may need, sometimes, twice dressing but I\\ndon t want you to carry about a mental pocket-\\ncomb only to be smooth braided alwaj^s in the\\nmorning. Sesame and Lilies, Preface, 1871, jj. 9.\\nAn Engraving op the Cross of Christ.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This\\nengraving represents a young lady in a very long\\nand, though plain, very becoming white dress,\\ntossed upon the waves of a terrifically stormy sea,\\nby which neither her hair nor her becoming dress\\nis in the least wetted and saved from despair in\\nthat situation by closely embracing a very thick\\nand solid stone Cross. By which far-sought and\\norginal metaphor young ladies are expected, after\\nsome effort, to understand the recourse they may\\nhave, for support, to the Cross of Christ, in the\\nmidst of the troubles of this world.\\nAs those troubles are for the present, in all prob-\\nability, limited to the occasional loss of their thim-\\nbles Avhen they have not taken care to put them\\ninto their workboxes, the concern they feel at the\\nunsympathizing gaiety of their companions, or\\nperhaps the disappointment at not hearing a favor-\\nite clergyman preach, (for I will not suppose the\\nyoung ladies interested in this picture to be affected\\nby any chargin at the loss of an invitation to a", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "39G A RUSKIN AKTHOLOOY.\\nball, or tlie like worldliness,) it seems to me the\\n.stress of such calamities might be represented, in a\\npicture, by less appalling imagery. And I can as-\\nsure my fair little hidy friends, if I still have any,\\nthat whatever a young girl s ordinary troubles\\nor annoyances may be, her true virtue is in shak-\\ning them olY, as a rose-leaf shakes oft rain, and\\nremaining debonnaire and bright in spirits, or even,\\nas the rose would be, the brighter for the troubles\\nand not at all in allowing herself to be either drifted\\nor depressed to the point of requiring religious con-\\nsolation. Ariadne, p. 18.\\nOn the Education of Girls.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Keep the modern\\nmagazine and novel out of your girl s way: turn\\nher loose into the old library every wet day, and let\\nher alone. She will lind Avhat is good for her; you\\ncannot: for there is just this difference between the\\nmaking of a girl s character and a boy s you may\\nchisel a boy into shape, as you would a rock, or\\nhammer him into it, if he be of a better kind, as\\nyou would a piece of bronze. But you cannot\\nhammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flow-\\ner does, she will wither without sun; she will de-\\ncay in her sheath, as the narcissus does, if you do\\nnot give her air enough; she may fall, and defile\\nher head in dust, if you leave her without help at\\nsonje moments of her life; but you cannot fetter\\nher; she must take her own fair form and Wciy, if\\nshe take any, and in mind as in body, must have\\nalways\\nHer honscliokl iiiotions light and free\\nAnd steps of vii gln liberty.\\nSesame and Lilies, p. 90.\\nAll such knowledge should be given her as may\\nenable her to understand, and even to aid, the work\\nof men: and yet it should be given, not as knoM l-\\nedge, not as if it were, or could be, for her an ob-\\nject to know; but only to feel, and to judge. It is\\nof no moment, as a matter of pride or perfectness\\nin herself, whether she knows many languages or\\none; but it is of the utmost, that she should be able", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 397\\nto show kindness to a stranger, and to understand\\nthe sweetness of a stranger s tongue. It is of no\\nmoment to her own worth or dignity that she\\nshould be acquainted with this science or that; but\\nit is of tlie highest that she should be trained in\\nhabits of accurate thought that she should un-\\nderstand the meaning, the inevitableness, and the\\nloveliness of natural laws, and follow at least some\\none path of scientific attainment, as far as to the\\nthreshold of that bitter Valley of Humiliation, into\\nwhich only the wasest and bravest of men can de-\\nscend, owning themselves forever children, gather-\\ning pebbles on a boundless shore. It is of little\\nconsequence how many positions of cities she knows,\\nor how many dates of events, or how many names\\nof celebrated persons it is not the object of educa-\\ntion to turn a woman into a dictionary; but it is\\ndeeply necessary that she should be taught to enter\\nwith her Avhole personality into the history she\\nreads; to picture the passages of it vitally in her\\nown bright imagination; to apiorehend, with her fine\\ninstincts, the pathetic circumstances and dramatic\\nrelations, which the historian too often only\\neclipses by his reasoning, and disconnects by his\\narrangement: it is for her to trace the hidden equities\\nof divine reward, and catch sight through the dark-\\nness, of the fateful threads of Avoven fire that con-\\nnect error with its retribution. But, chiefly of all.\\nshe is to be taught to extend the limits of her sym-\\npathy with respect to that history which is being\\nfor her determined, as the moments pass in which\\nshe draws her peaceful breath: and to the contem-\\nporary calamity which, were it but rightly mourned\\nby her, would recur no more hereafter. Sesame\\nami LUies, pp. 86, 87.\\nTwo AMERicAJf Girls in Italy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I had to go to\\nVerona by the afternoon train. In the carriage\\nwith me were two American girls with their father\\nand mother, people of the class which has lately\\nmade so much money suddenly, and does not know\\nwhat to do with it and these two girls, of about", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "393 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nfifteen and eighteen, had evidently been indulged\\nin everything, (since they had had the means,)\\nwhich western civilization could imagine. And\\nhere they were, specimens of the utmost which the\\nmoney and invention of the nineteenth century\\ncould produce in maidenhood, children of its\\nmost progressive race, enjoying the full advan-\\ntages of political liberty, of enlightened philosophi-\\ncal education, of cheap pilfered literature, and of\\nluxury at any cost. Whatever money, machinery,\\nor freedom of thought, could do for these two chil-\\ndren, had been done. No superstition had de-\\nceived, no restraint degraded them:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 types, they\\ncould not but be, of maidenly wisdom and felicity,\\nas conceived by the forwardest intellects of our\\ntime.\\nAnd they were travelling throiigh a district which,\\nif any in the world, should touch the hearts and de-\\nlight the eyes of young girls. Between Venice and\\nVei ona Portia s villa perhaps in sight upon the\\nBrenta, Juliet s tomb to be visited in the evening,\\nblue against the southern sky, the hills of Petrarch s\\nhome. Exquisite midsummer sunshine, with low\\nrays, glanced through the vine-leaves; all the Alps\\nwere cl\u00c2\u00abfar, from the lake of Garda to C adore, and\\nto farthest Tyrol. What a princess s chamber, this,\\nif these are princesses, and what dreams might\\nthey not dream therein\\nBut the two American girls were neither prin-\\ncesses, nor seers, nor dreamers. By infinite self-in-\\ndulgence, they had reduced themselves simply to\\ntwo pieces of white putty that could feel pain. The\\nflies and dust stuck to them as to clay, ?bnd they\\nperceived, between Venice and Verona, nothing\\nbut the flies and the dust. They pulled down the\\nblinds the moment they entered the carriage, and\\nthen sprawled, and writhed, and tossed among the\\ncushions of it, in vain contest, during the whole\\nfifty miles, with every miserable sensation of bodily\\naffliction that could make time intolerable. They\\nAvere dressed in thin white frocks, coming vaguely\\nopen at the backs as they stretched or wriggled;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE-WOMEN. 399\\nthey had French novels, lemons, and lumps of\\nsugar, to beguile their state with; the novels hang-\\ning together by the ends of string that had once\\nstiched them, or adhering at the corners in densely\\nbruised dog s-ears, out of which the girls, wetting\\ntheir fingers, occasionally extricated a gluey leaf.\\nFrom time to time they cut a lemon open, ground\\na lump of sugar backwards and forwards over it\\ntill every fibre was in a treacly pulp; then sucked\\nthe pulp, and gnawed the white skin into leathery\\nstrings for the sake of its bitter. Only one sentence\\nwas exchanged, in the fifty miles, on the subject of\\nthings outside the carriage (the Alps being once vis-\\nible from a station where they had drawn up the\\nblinds).\\nDon t those snow-caps make you cool\\nNo I wisli they did.\\nAnd so they went their way, with sealed eyes and\\ntormented limbs, their numbered miles of pain.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFors, I., pp. 269, 370.\\nCarpaccio s Princess.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In the year 1869, just\\nbefore leaving Venice, I liad been carefully looking\\nat a picture by Victor Carpaccio, representing the\\ndream of a young pi incess. Carpaccio lias taken\\nnuich pains to explain to us, as far as he can, the\\nkind of life she leads, by completely painting her\\nlittle bedroom in the light of dawn, so that you can\\nsee everything in it. It is lighted by two doubly-\\narched windows, the arches being painted crimson\\nround their edges, and the capitals of the shafts\\nthat bear them, gilded. They are filled at the top\\nwith small round panes of glass but beneath, are\\nopen to the blue morning sky, with a low lattice\\nacross them and in the one at the back of the\\nroom are set two beautiful white Greek vases with\\na plant in each; one having rich dark and pointed\\ngreen leaves, the other crimson flowers, but not of\\nany species known to me, each at the end of a\\nbranch like a spray of heath.\\nThese flower-i^ots stand on a shelf which runs all\\nround the room, and beneath the window, at about", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "400 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe height of the elbow, and serves to put things\\non anywhere beneath it, down to the floor, the\\nwalls are covered with green cloth but above, are\\nbare and white. The second windoAv is nearly\\nopposite the bed, and in front of it is the princess s\\nreading-table, some two feet and a half square,\\ncovered by a red cloth Avith a white border and\\ndainty fringe and beside it her seat, not at all like\\na reading chair in Oxford, but a very small three-\\nlegged stool like a music-stool, covered with crim-\\nson cloth. On the table are a book set up at a\\nslope fittest for reading, and an hour-glass. Under\\nthe shelf, near the table, so as to be easily reached\\nby the outstretched arm, is a press full of books.\\nThe door of this has been left open, and the books,\\nI am grieved to say, are rather in disorder, having\\nbeen pulled about before the i^rincess went to bed,\\nand one left standing on its side.\\nOjiposite this window, on the white wall, is a small\\nshrine or picture (I can t see which, for it is in sharp\\nretiring perspective), with a lami^ before it, and a\\nsilver vessel hung from the lamp, looking like one\\nfor holding incense.\\nThe bed is a broad four-poster, the posts being\\nbeautifully wrought golden or gilded rods, variously\\nwreathed and branched, carrying a canopy of warm\\nred. The princess s shield is at the head of it, and\\nthe feet are raised entirely above the floor of the\\nroom, on a dais which projects at the lower end so\\nas to form a seat, on which the child has laid her\\ncrown. Her little blue slippers lie at the side of the\\nbed, her white dog beside them. The coverlid is\\nscarlet, the white sheet covered half way back over\\nit the young girl lies straight, bending neither at\\nwaist nor knee, the sheet rising and falling over her\\nin a narrow unbroken Avave, like the shape of the\\ncoverlid of the last sleep, when the turf scarcely\\nrises.\\nShe is some seventeen or eighteen years old,\\nher head is turned towards us on the pilloM the\\ncheek resting on her hand, as if she Avere thinking,\\nyet utterly calm in sleep, and almost colorless-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WOMEN. 4=01\\nHer hair is tied with a narrow riband, and divided\\ninto two wreaths, which encircle her head like a\\ndouble crown. The white nightgown hides the\\narm raised on the pillow, down to the wrist.\\nAt the door of the room an angel enters (the lit-\\ntle dog, though Ijang awake, vigilant, takes no\\nnotice.) He is a very small angel, his head just\\nrises a little above the shelf round the room, and\\nAvoiild only reach as high as the princess s chin, if\\nshe were standing up. He has soft gray wings,\\nlustreless and his dress of subdued blue, has violet\\nsleeves, open above the elbow, and showing white\\nsleeves below. He comes in Avithout haste, his\\nbody, like a mortal one, casting shadow from the\\nlight through the door behind, his face perfectly\\nquiet; a palm-branch in his right hand\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a scroll in\\nhis left.\\nSo dreams the princess, with blessed eyes, that\\nneed no earthly dawn. It is very pretty of Car-\\npaccio to make her dream out the angel s dress so\\nparticularly, and notice the slashed sleeves and\\nto dream so little an angel very nearly a doll angel,\\nbringing her the branch of palm, and message.\\nBut the lovely characteristic of all is the evident\\ndelight of her continual life. Royal power over her-\\nself, and happiness in her flowers, her books, her\\nsleeping and waking, her praj-ers, her dreams, her\\nearth, her heaven.\\nHow do I know the princess is industrious?\\nPartly by the trim state of her room, by the\\nhour-glass on the table, by the evident use of all\\nthe books she has, (well bound, every one of them,\\nin stoutest leather or velvet, and Avith no dog s-\\nears), but more distinctly from another picture of\\nher, not asleep. In that one, a prince of England\\nhas sent to ask her in marriage: and her father, lit-\\ntle liking to part with her, sends for her to his\\nroom to ask her what she would do. He sits, moody\\nand sorrowful; she, standing before him in a plain\\nhousewifely di-ess, talks quietly, going on with her\\nneedlework all the time.\\nA work-woiuan, friends, she, no less than a prin.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "402 A HUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncess; and princess most in being so.* Fors, I., pp.\\n267-271.\\nCourtship.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When a youth is fully in love with\\na gii l, and feels that he is wise in loving her, he\\nshould at once tell her so plainly, and take his\\nchance bravely, with other suitors. No lover should\\nhave the insolence to think of being accepted at\\nonce, nor should any girl have the cruelty to refuse\\nat once without severe reasons. If she simply\\ndoesn t like him, she may send him away for seven\\nyears or so he vowing to live on cresses, and wear\\nsackcloth meanwhile, or the like penance if she\\nlikes him a little, or thinks she might come to like\\nhim in time, she may let him stay near her, jiutting\\nhim always on sharp trial to see Avhat stuff he is\\nmade of, and requiring, figuratively, as many lion-\\nskins or giants heads as she thinks herself worth.\\nThe whole meaning and power of true courtshii^ is\\nProbation; and it oughtn t to be shorter than three\\nyears at least, seven is, to my own mind, the ortho-\\ndox time. And these relations between the young-\\npeople should be openly and simply known, not to\\ntheir friends only, but to everybody who has the\\nleast interest in them and a girl Avorth anything\\nought to have always half a dozen or so of suitors\\nunder vow for her. Fors, IV., p. 321.\\nTo my great satisfaction,.! am asked by a pleasant corre-\\nspondent, where and what the picture of the Princess s Dream\\nis. High np, in an out-of-the-M-ay corner of tlie Academy of\\nVenice, seen by no man\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nor woman neither,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of all pictures ni\\nKnrope the one I should choose for a gift, if a fairy queen gave\\nme choice,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Victor Carpaccio s Vision of St. Ursula, Fors,\\n11., p. 189.\\nI have to correct a mistake in Fors, which it will be great de-\\nlight to all Amorites to discover; namely, that the Princess,\\nwhom I judged to be industrious because she went on working\\nwhile she talked to her father about her marriage, cannot, on\\nthis ground, be praised beyond Princesses in general for, in-\\ndeed, the little mischief, instead of working, as I thought,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nwhile her father is leaning his head on his hand in the greatest\\ndistress at the thought of parting with her,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 is trying on her\\nmarriage-ring \\\\\u00e2\u0080\u0094Furs, IH., p. 318.\\n\\\\;C!", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOUy 403\\nCHAPTER IV.\\nThe Mob.\\nPositive in a pertinent and practical manner, I\\nhave been, and shall be; with such stern and steady\\nwedge of fact and act as time may let nie drive into\\nthe gnarled blockheadism of the British mob.\\nFors, II., p. 131.\\nThe Minotaur has a man s body, a bull s head\\n(which is precisely the general type of the English\\nnation to-day). Fors, I., p. 331.\\nThe word manly has come to mean xiractically,\\namong us, a schoolboy s character, not a. man s.\\nWe ai e, at our best, thoughtlessly impetuous, fond\\nof adventure and excitement; curious in knowledge\\nfor its novelty, not for its system and results; faith-\\nful and affectionate to those among whom we are\\nby chance cast, but gently and calmly insolent to\\nstrangers; we are stupidly conscientious, and in-\\nstinctively brave, and always ready to cast away\\nthe lives we take no pains to make valuable, in\\ncauses of which we have never ascertained the jus-\\ntice. Athena, p. 144.\\nMen called King Richard I. Lion-heart, not un-\\ntruly; and the English, as a people, have prided\\nthemselves somewhat ev^er since on having, every\\nman of them, the heai tof a lion; without inquiring\\nparticularly either what sort of a heart a lion has,\\nor whether to have the heart of a lanjb might not\\nsometimes be more to the purpose. Fors, I., p. 36.\\nDickens is said to have made people good-natured.\\nIf he did, I wonder what sort of natures they had\\nbefore! Thackeray is similarly asserted to have\\nchastised and repressed flunkeydom which it\\ngreatly puzzles me to hear, because, as far as I can\\nsee, there isn t a carriage now left in all the Row", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "404 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwith anybody sitting inside it the people who\\nought to have been in it are, every one, lianging on\\nbehind, the carriage in front. Fors, II., p. 30.\\nIf the British public were informed that engineers\\nwere now confident, after their practice in the\\nCenis and St. Gotliard tunnels, that they could\\nmake a railway to Hell the British public Avould\\ninstantly invest in the concern to any amount;\\nand stop church-bnilding all over the country,\\nfor fear of diminishing the dividends. Fors, II.,\\np. 302.\\nIn recent days, it is fast becoming the only defini-\\ntion of aristocracy, that tlie principal business of its\\nlife is the killing of sparrows. Sparrows, or pigeons,\\nor partridges, what does it matter? Centum\\nmille, perdrices plumbo confecit that is, indeed,\\ntoo often the sum of the life of an English lord\\nmuch questionable now, if indeed of more value\\nthan that of many sparrows. Love s Meinie, p. G.\\nAs to our not massacring cliildren, it is true that\\nan English gentleman will not now himself will-\\ningly put a knife into the throat either of a child\\nor a lamb; but he will kill any quantity of children\\nby disease in order to increase his rents, as uncon-\\ncernedly as he, will eat any quantity of mutton.\\nVal D Arno, p. 115.\\nThe Destruction op Landscape by the Brit-\\nish Philistines.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You might liave the rivers of\\nEngland as pure as the crystal of the rock\\nbeautiful in falls, in lakes, in living pools so full\\nof fish that you might take them out witli your\\nhands instead of nets. Or you may do always as\\nyou have done now, turn every river of England into\\na common sewer, so that you cannot so much as\\nbaptize an English baby but with filth, unless you\\nhold its face out in the rain and even that falls\\ndirty.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or* I., p. 69.\\nYou think it a great triumph to make the sun\\ndraw brown landscapes for you. That Avas also a\\ndiscovery, and some day may be useful. But the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFK- THE MOB. 403\\nsun had drawn landscapes before for you, not in\\nbrown, but in green, and blue, and all imaginable\\ncolors, here in England. Not one of you ever\\nlooked at them then not one of you cares for the\\nloss of them noAv, when you have shut the sun out\\nwith smoke, so that he can draw nothing more,\\nexcept brown blots through a hole in a box. Fors,\\nI., p. 64.\\nAs far as your scientific hands and scientific\\nbrains, inventive of explosive and deathful, instead\\nof blossoming and life-giving Dust, can contrive,\\nyou have turned the Mother-Earth Demeter, into\\nthe Avenger-Earth Tisiphone with the voice of\\nyour brother s blood crying out of it, in one Avild\\nharmony round all its murderous sphere. Fors,\\nI., p. 69.\\nThere was a rocky valley between Buxton and\\nBakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of\\nTemiDe you might have seen the Gods there\\nmorning and evening Apollo and all the sweet\\nMuses of the Light walking in fair procession on\\nthe lawns of it, and to and fro among the pinnacles\\nof its crags. You eared neither for Gods nor grass,\\nbut for cash (which you did not know the way to\\nget) you thought you could get it by what the\\nTimes calls Railroad Enterprise. You Enter-\\nprised a Railroad through the valley you blasted\\nits rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale\\ninto its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the\\nGods with it and now, every fool in Buxton can\\nbe at Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in\\nBakewell at Buxton which you think a lucrative\\nprocess of exchange\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you Fools everywhere.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors,\\nI., p. 64.\\nYou have made race-courses of the cathedrals of\\nthe earth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the mountains. Your one conception\\nof pleasure is to drive in railroad carriages round\\ntheir aisles, and eat off their altars. You have put\\na railroad bridge over the fall of Scliaffhausen.\\nYou have tunnelled the cliffs of Lucerne by Tell s\\nchapel you have destroyed the Clarene shore of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "406 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe Lake of Geneva; there is not a qniet valley in\\nEngland that you have not filled with bellowing\\nfire; there is no particle left of English land which\\nyou have not trampled coal ashes into nor any\\nforeign city in which the spread of your presence is\\nnot marked among its fair old streets and happy\\ngardens by a consuming white lei^rosy of new hotels\\nand perfumers shops: the Alps themselves, which\\nyour own poets used to love so reverently, you look\\nupon as soaped jjoles in a bear-garden, which you\\nset yourselves to climb, and slide doAvn again, with\\nshrieks of delight. Sesame and Lilies, p. 58.\\nThe E:!^^glish Jonah to the English Lords.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTruly, as you have divided the fields of the poor,\\nthe poor, in their time, shall divide yours. For\\nthe gipsy hunt is up also, as well as Hariy our\\nKing s and the hue and cry loud against your\\nland and you your tenure of it is in dispute before\\na multiplying mob, deaf and blind as you frantic\\nfor the spoiling of you. The British Constitution\\nis breaking fast. It never was, in its best days,\\nentirely what its stout owner flattered himself.\\nNeither British Constitution, nor British law,\\nthough it blanch every acre with an acre of\\nparchment, sealed with as many seals as the meadow\\nhad buttercujos, can keep your landloi-dships safe,\\nhenceforward, for an hour. You will have to fight\\nfor them, as your fathers did, if you mean to keep\\nthem. And are you ready for that toil to-day\\nIt will soon be called for. Sooner or later, within\\nthe next few years, you will find yourselves in Par-\\nliament in front of a majority resolved on the\\nestablishment of a Republic, and the division of\\nlands. Vainly the landed mill-owners will shriek\\nfor the operation of natural laws of political econ-\\nomy. The vast natural law of carnivorous\\nrapine which they have declared their Baal-Grod, in\\nso many words, Avill be in equitable operation then;\\nand not, as they fondly hoped to keep it, all on\\ntheir own side.\\nAre you prepared to clear the streets with the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE- THE MOB: 407\\nWoolwich infant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thinking- that out of the mouth\\nof that suckling, God will perfect your praise,\\nand ordain your strength Be it so but every\\ngrocer s and chandler s shop in the thoroughfares\\nof London is a magazine of petroleum and percus-\\nsion powder; and there are those who will use both,\\namong the Rei)ublicans. And you will see your\\nfather the Devil s will done on earth, as it is in hell.\\nI call him your father, for you have denied your\\nmortal fathers, and their Heavenly One. You have\\ndeclared, in act and thought, the ways and laws of\\nyour sires obsolete, and of your God ridiculous\\nabove all, the habits of obedience, and the elements\\nof justice. You were made lords over God s heri-\\ntage. You thought to make it your own heritage;\\nto be lords of your own land, not of God s land.\\nAnd to this issue of ownership you are come.\\nTo think how many of your dull Sunday morn-\\nings have been spent, for proprietj^ s sake, looking\\nchiefly at those carved angels blowing trumpets\\nabove your family vaults; and never one of you has\\nhad Christianity enough in him to think that he\\nmight as easily have his moors full of angels as of\\ngrouse. And now, if ever you did see a real angel\\nbefore the Day of Judgment, your first thought\\nwould be to shoot it.\\nAnd for your family vaults, what will be the\\nuse of them to you Does not Mr. Darwin show\\nyou that you can t wash the slugs out of a lettuce\\nwithout disrespect to your ancestoi s Nay, the\\nancestors of the modern political economist cannot\\nhave been so pure; they were not he tells you\\nhimself vegetarian slugs, but carnivorous ones\\nthose, to wit, that you see also carved on your tomb-\\nstones going in and out at the eyes of skulls.\\nAnd, truly, I don t know what else the holes in the\\nheads of modern political economists were made\\nfor.\\nThis essential meaning of Religion it was your\\noffice mainly to teach each of you captain and\\nking, leader and lawgiver, to his people; viceger-\\nents of your Captain, Christ. And now\u00e2\u0080\u0094 you mis-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "408 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nerable jockeys and gamesters you can t get a, seat\\nin Parliament for those all but worn-out buckskin\\nbreeches of yours, but by taking off your hats to\\nthe pot-boy. Pretty classical statues you will make,\\nCoriolanuses of the nineteenth century, humbly\\npromising, not to your people gifts of corn, but to\\nyour pot-boys, stealthy sale of adulterated beer\\nObedience you dare not so much as utter the\\nword, whether to pot-boy or any other sort of boy,\\nit seems, lately and the half of you still calling\\nthemselves, Lords, Marquises, Sirs, and other such\\nancient names, which though omniscient Mr.\\nBuckle says they and their heraldry are nought\\nsome little prestige lingers about still. You your-\\nselves, what do you yet ;mean by them Lords of\\nwhat? Herrs, Signors, Dukes of what? of Avhom\\nDo you mean merely, when you go to the root of\\nthe matter, that you sponge on the British farmer\\nfor your living, and are strong-bodied paupers com-\\npelling your dole\\nTo that extent, there is still, it seems, some force\\nin you. Heaven keep it in you; for, as I have said,\\nit wall be tried, and soon; and you would even your-\\nselves see what was coming, but that in your hearts\\nnot from cowardice, but from shame you are\\nnot sure whether you Avill be ready to fight for your\\ndole and w^ould fain persuade yourselves it will\\nstill be given you for form s sake, or pity s.\\nNo, my lords and gentlemen: you won it at the\\nlance s point, and must so hold it, against the clubs\\nof Sempach, if still you may. No otherwise.\\nAnd the real secret of those strange breakings of\\nthe lance by the clubs of Sempach, is that vil-\\nlanous saltpetre \u00e2\u0080\u0094you think? No, Shakespearian\\nlord; nor even the sheaf-binding of Arnold, which\\nso stopped the shaking of the fruitless spiculte. The\\nutter and inmost secret is, that you have been fight-\\ning these three hundi-ed years for what you could get,\\ninstead of what you could give. You were ravenous\\nenough in rapine in the olden times but you lived\\nfearlessly and innocently by it, because, essentially,\\nyou Avanted money and food to give\u00e2\u0080\u0094 not toconsume;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOUr J.09\\nto inaiiitaiu yuur followers with, not to swallow\\nyourselves. Your chivalry was founded, invai-iably,\\nby knights who were content all their lives with\\ntheir horse and armor, and daily bread. Your\\nkings, of true power, never desired for theuiselves\\nmore down to the last of them, Friedrich. What\\nthey did desire was strength of manhood round\\nthem, and, in their own hands, the power of lar-\\ngesse. Furs Claciyt^ra, II., j^p. 250-204.\\nReal Kixgs. Because you are king of a nation,\\nit does not follow that you are to gather for youx*-\\nseli all the wealth of that nation; neither, because\\nyou are king of a small part of the nation, and lord\\nover the means of its maintenance over field, or\\nmill, or mine are you to take all the produce of\\nthat i^iece of the foundation of national existence\\nfor yourself.\\nReal kings, on the contrary, are known invariably\\nby their doing quite the reverse of this by their\\ntaking the least possible quantity of the nation s\\nwork for themselves. There is no test of real king-\\nhood so infallible as that. Does the crowned crea-\\nture live simply, bravely, unostentatiouslj^? proba-\\nblj he is a King. Does he cover his bodj^ with\\njewels, and his table with delicates in all probabil-\\nity he is n(jt a King. It is possible he may be, as\\nSolomon w as; but that is w4ien the nation shares\\nliis splendor with him. Solomon made gold, not\\nonly to be in his own palace as stones, but to be in\\nJerusalem as stones. But even so, for the most\\npart, these splendid kinghoods expire in ruin, and\\nonly the true kinghoods live, which are of royal\\nlaborers governing loyal laborers; who, both lead-\\ning rough lives, establish the true dynasties.\\nCrown of Wild Olive, Lect. II., p. 02.\\nHow comes it to pass that a captain will die with\\nhis jjassengers, and lean over the gunwale to give\\nthe parting boat its course; but that a king will not\\nusually die with much less for his passengers;\\nthinks it rather incumbent on his passengers, in\\nany number, to die for him f Crown of Wild Olive,\\nLect. 111., p. 80.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "410 A liUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nStrange! to think how the Moth-kings lay xip\\ntreasures for the moth, and the Rust-kings, who\\nare to tlieir jjeoples strength as rust to armor, lay\\nup treasures for the rust and the Robber-kings,\\ntreasures for the robber; but how few kings have ever\\nlaid up treasures that needed no guarding treas-\\nures of Avhich, the more thieves there were, the bet-\\nter Broidered robe, only to be rent helm and\\nsword, only to be dimmed jewel and gold, only to\\nbe scattered there have been three kinds of kings\\nwho have gathered these. Suppose there ever\\nshould arise a Fourth order of kings, who had read,\\nin some obscure writing of long ago, that there was\\na Fourth kind of treasure, which the jewel and\\ngold could not equal, neither should it be valued\\nwith i5ure gold. A web more fair in the weaving,\\nby Athena s shuttle an armor, forged in diviner\\nfire by Vulcanian force a gold onlj? to be mined in\\nthe sun s red heart, where he sets over the Delphian\\ncliffs deep-pictured tissue, impenetrable armor,\\npotable gold the three great Angels of Conduct,\\nToil, and Thought, still calling to us, and waiting\\nat the posts of our doors, to lead us, if we would,\\nwith their winged power, and guide us, with their\\ninescapable eyes, by the path which no fowl know-\\neth, and which the vulture s eye has not seen Sup-\\npose kings should ever arise, who heard and be-\\nlieved this word, and at last gathered and brought\\nforth treasures of\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Wisdom\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for their people Think\\nAvhat an amazing business that would be How\\ninconceivable, in the state of our present national\\nwisdom. That we should bring up our peasants to\\na book exercise instead of a bayonet exercise I\\norganize, drill, maintain with pay, and good gener-\\nalship, armies of thinkers, instead of armies of\\nstabbers find national amusement in reading-\\nrooms as weli as rifle-grounds; give prizes for a fair\\nshot at a fact, as well as for a leaden splash on a\\ntarget. Sesame and Lilies, p. 69.\\nThe English Squire. It remains true of the\\nJ^nglish. squire to this day, that for the m ost part,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOB. 411\\nbe thinks that his kingdoiu is given him that he\\nmay be bright and brave; and not at all that the\\nsunshine or valor in him is meant to be of use to\\nhis kingdom.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^oy.s I., p. 39.\\nSquires, are you, and not Workmen, nor Labor-\\ners, do you answer next Yet, I have certainly\\nsometimes seen engraved over your family vaults,\\nand especially on the more modern tablets, those\\ncomfortful words, Blessed are the dead which die in\\nthe Lord. But I observe that yovi are usually\\ncontent, with the help of the village stone-mason,\\nto say onli/ this concerning your dead and that\\nyou but rarely venture to add the yea of the\\nSpirit, that they may rest from their Labors, and\\ntheir Works do follow then).\\nIf there be one rather than another who will have\\nstrict scrutiny made into his use of every instant of\\nhis time, every syllable of his speech, and every\\naction of his hand and foot\u00e2\u0080\u0094 on peril of having\\nhand and foot bound, and tongue scorched, in\\nTophet\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that responsible person is the British\\nSquire.\\nVery strange, the unconsciousness of this, in his\\nown mind, and in the minds of all belonging to him.\\np]ven the greatest painter of him\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the Reynolds who\\nhas filled England with the ghosts of her noble\\nsquires and dames;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 though he ends his last lecture\\nin the Academy with the name of Michael Angelo,\\nnever for an instant thought of following out the\\npurposes of Michael Angelo, and painting a Last\\nJudgment upon Squires, with the scene of it laid\\nin Leicestershire. Appealing lords and ladies on\\neither hand Behold, Lord, here is Thy land; which\\nI have\u00e2\u0080\u0094 as far as my distressed circumstances would\\npermit\u00e2\u0080\u0094 laid up in a napkin. Perhaps there may\\nbe a cottage or so less upon it than when I came\\ninto the estate,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a tree cut down here and there\\nimprudently;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but the grouse and foxes are undi-\\nminished. Behold, there Thou hast that is Thine.\\nAnd what capacities of dramatic effect in the cases\\nof less prudent owners\u00e2\u0080\u0094 those who had said in their", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "412 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhearts, My Lord delayeth His coming. Michael\\nAngelo s St. Bartholomew, exhibiting his own skin\\nflayed off him, awakes but a minor interest in that\\nclassic picture. How many an English squire might\\nnot we, with more pictorial advantage, see repre-\\nsented as adorned with the flayed skins of other\\npeople ?\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., pp. 356, 257.\\nLoiv^dojV as a Squirrel-cage.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 England has a\\nvast quantity of ground still food-producing, in\\ncorn, grass, cattle, or game. With that territory\\nshe educates her squire, or typical gentleman, and\\nhis tenantry, to Avhoni, together, she owes all her\\npower in the world. With another large portion\\nof territory now continually on the increase she\\neducates a mercenary pojoulation, ready to produce\\nany quantity of bad articles to anybody s order\\npopulation which every hour that passes over them\\nmakes acceleratingly avaricious, immoral, and in-\\nsane. In the increase of that kind of territory and\\nits people, her ruin is just as certain as if she\\nwere deliberately exchanging her corn-growing\\nland, and her heaven above it, for a soil of arsenic,\\nand rain of nitric acid.\\nNow the action of the squire for the last fifty\\nyears has been, broadly, to take the food from the\\nground of his estate, and carry it to London, where\\nhe feeds with it a vast number of builders, uphol-\\nsterers (one of them charged me five pounds for\\na footstool the other day), carriage and harness\\nmakers, dress-makers, grooms, footmen, bad musi-\\ncians, bad painters, gamblers, and harlots; and in\\nsupply of the wants of these main classes, a vast\\nnumber of shopkeepers of minor useless articles.\\nThe muscles and the time of this enoi-mous popula-\\ntion being wholly unproductive (for of course time\\nspent in the mere process of sale is unproductive,\\nand much more that of the footnum and groom,\\nwhile that of the vulgar upholsterer, jeweller, fid-\\ndler, and painter, etc., is not only unproductive,\\nbut mischievous) the entire mass of this London\\npopulation do nothing whatever either to feed or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE^ THE MOli^ 413\\nclothe themselves and their vile lite preventing\\nthem from all rational entertainment, they are com-\\npelled to seek some pastime in vile literatux e, the\\ndemand for which again occupies another enormous\\nclass, who do nothing to feed or dress themselves\\nfinally, the vain disputes of this vicious poinilation\\ngive employment to the vast industry of the law-\\nyers and tlieir clerks, Avho similarly do nothing to\\nfeed or dress themselves.\\nNow the peasants might still be able to sui^ply\\nthis enormous town population with food (in the\\nform of the squire s rent) but it cannot, without\\nmachinery, supply the llimsy dresses, toys, metal\\nwork, and other rubbish belonging to their accursed\\nlife. Hence over the whole country the sky is\\nblackened and the air made pestilent, to supply\\nLondon and other such towns with their iron I ail-\\nings, vulgar upholstery, jewels, toys, liveries, lace,\\nand other means of dissipation and dishonor of\\nlife. Gradually the country people cannot even\\nsupply food to the voracity of the vicious centre\\nand it is necessary to import food from other coun-\\ntries, giving in exchange any kind of commodity\\nwe can attract their itching desires for, and pro-\\nduce by machinery. The tendency of the entire\\nnational energy is therefore to approximate more\\nand more to the state of a squirrel in a cage, or a\\nturnspit in a Avheel, fed by foreign masters with\\nnuts and dog s-meat.\\nAnd indeed when we rightly conceive the relation\\nof London to the country, the sight of it becomes\\nmore fantastic and wonderful than any dream.\\nHyde Park, in the season, is the great rotatory form\\nof the vast squirrel-cage; round and round it go the\\nidle company, in their reversed streams, urging\\nthemselves to their necessary exercise. They can-\\nnot with safety even eat their niTts, without so\\nmuch revolution as shall, in Venetian language,\\ncomply with the demands of hj^giene. Then they\\nretire into their boxes, with due quantity of straw\\nthe Belgravian and Piccadillian streets outside the\\nrailings being, when one sees clearly, nothing but", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "414 A nVSKlN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe squirrel s box at the side of his wires. And then\\nthink of all the rest of the metropolis as the crea-\\ntion and ordinance of these squirrels, that they\\nmay squeak and whirl to their satisfaction, and yet\\nbe ied.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., pp. 343-245.\\nAli Baba and the Forty Thieves. The\\npantomime was, as I said, Ali Baba and the Forty\\n27iieves. The forty thieves were girls. The forty\\nthieves had forty companions, who were girls.\\nThe forty thieves and their forty companions were\\nin some way mixed up with about four hundred\\nand forty fairies, who were girls. There was an\\nOxford and Cambridge boat-race, in which the\\nOxford and Cambridge men were girls. There was\\na transformation scene, Avith a forest, in Avhich the\\nflowers were girls, and a chandelier, in which the\\nlamps were girls, and a great rainbow, Avhieli\\nwas all of girls. And there was a little actress,\\nof whom I have chiefly to speak, Avho played ex-\\nquisitely the little part she had to play, a pas cle\\ndeux dance with the donkey. She did it beauti-\\nfully and simply, as a child ought to dance. She\\nwas not an infant prodigy there was no evidence,\\nin the finish or strength of her motion, that she\\nhad been put to continual torture through half\\nher eight or nine years. She danced her joy-\\nful dance with perfect grace, spirit, sweetness, and\\nself-forgetfulness. And through all the vast theatre,\\nfull of English fathers and mothers and children,\\nthere was not one hand lifted to give her sign of\\npraise but mine.\\nPresently after this, came on the forty thieves, who,\\nas I told you, were girls; and, there being no thiev-\\ning to be presently done, and time hanging heavy\\non their hands, arms, and legs, the forty thief-girls\\nproceeded to light forty cigars. Whereupon the\\nBritish public gave them a round of applause.\\nWhereupon I fell a-thinking and saw little more\\nof the piece, except as an ugly and disturbing\\ndream. Time and Tide, pp. 33-25.\\nThe Conscience of the Briton a Dark Lan-\\ntern. The British soul, I observe, is of late years", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOB: 415\\npec uliiirly innanied with rage at the sound of the\\nwords (!onfession and inquisition. The rea-\\nson of which sentiment is essentially that the Brit-\\nish soul has been lately living the life of a Gruy\\nFawkes and is in perpetual conspiracy against\\nGod and man evermore devising how it may\\nwheedle the one, and rob the other. If your con-\\nscience is a dark lantern, then, of course, you will\\nshut it up when you see a policeman coming; but if\\nit is the candle of the Lord, no man when he hath\\nlighted a candle puts it under a bushel. Fors, IV.,\\np. 30.\\nIndia as a Resource for Lovers.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every\\nmutiny, every danger, every terror, and every\\ncrime, occurring under, or paralyzing, our Indian\\nlegislation, arises directly out of our national desire\\nto live on the loot of India, and the notion always\\nentertained by P]nglish young gentlemen and ladies\\nof good position, falling in love with each other\\nwithout immediate prospect of establishment in\\nBelgrave Square, that they can find in India, in-\\nstantly on landing, a bungalow ready furnished\\nAvith tlie loveliest fans, china, and shawls ices and\\nsherbet at command four-and-twenty slaves suc-\\nceeding each other hourly to swing the punkah,\\nand a regiment with a beautiful band to keep\\norder outside, all round the house. Pleasures of\\nEngland, p. 52.\\nIrrevebea ^ce. Have you ever taken the least\\npains to know what kind of Person the God of\\nEngland once was and yet, do you not think your-\\nselves the cleverest of liujnan creatures, because\\nyou have thrown His yoke oft with scorn. You\\nneed not crow so loudly about your achievement.\\nAny young gutter-bred blackguard your police pick\\nup in the streets, can mock your Fathers God\\nwith the best of \\\\ou.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fors, IV.. p. 12.\\nHippomaxia axd Oixomaxia.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The power of the\\nEnglish currency has been, till of -late, largely\\nbased on the national estimate of horses and of wine:\\nso that a man might always give any price to fur-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "416 A nVSKI^ ANTHOLOGY.\\niiish choicely his stable, or his cellar, and receive pub-\\nlic approval therefor but if he gave the same suui to\\nfurnish his library, he was called mad, or a biblio-\\nmaniac. And although he might lose his fortune\\nby his horses, and his health or life by his cellar,\\nand rarely lost either bj^ his books, he was yet never\\ncalled a Hipijo-maniac nor an Oino-maniac but\\nonly Bibliomaniac, because the current worth of\\nmoney Avas understood to be legitimately founded\\non cattle and wine, but not on literature. Munera\\nPnlveris, p. 5G.\\nMoDERN^ Heroines.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You have one of them in\\nperfection, for instance, iii Mr. Charles Reade s\\nGriffith Oauut Lithe, and vigorous, and one with\\nher great white gelding; and liable to be entirely\\nchanged in her mind about the destinies of her life\\nby a quarter of an hour s conversation with a gen-\\ntleman unexpectedly handsome the hero also being\\na person who looks at people whom he dislikes,\\nwith eyes like a dog s in the dark and both\\nhero and heroine having souls and intellects also\\nprecisely corresponding to those of a dog s in the\\ndark, Avhich is indeed the essential picture of the\\npractical English national mind at this moment\\nhappy it it renjains doggish Circe not usually be-\\ning content with changing people into dogs only.\\nVal D Arno, p. 99.\\nThe Umfraville Hotel.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 lU/i January, 1874.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThinking I should be the better of a look at the\\nsea, I have come doAvn to an old watering-\\nplace, where one used to be able to get into a\\ndecent little inn, and possess one s self of a parlor\\nwith a bow window looking out on the beach,\\na pretty carpet, and a print or two of revenue\\ncutters, and the Battle of the Nile. One could have\\na chop) and some good cheese for dinner; fresh\\ncream and cresses for bi-eakfast, and a plate of\\nshrimps.\\nI find myself in the Umfraville Hotel, a quarter of\\na mile long by a furlong deep in a ghastly roonj,\\nfive-and-twenty feet square, and eighteen high,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0418.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOB^ 417\\nthat is to say, just four times as big as I want, and\\nwhich I can no more light with my caudles in the\\nevening than I could the Peak cavern. A gas ap-\\nparatus iu the middle of it serves me to knock my\\nhead against, but I take good care not to light it,\\nor I should soon be stopped from my evening s work\\nby a headache, and be unfit for my morning s busi-\\nness besides. The carpet is threadbare, and has the\\nlook of having been spat upon all over. There is\\nonly one window, of four huge panes of glass,\\nthrough which one commands a view of a plaster\\nbalcony, some ornamental iron railings, an espla-\\nnade and well, I suppose in the distance, that\\nis really the sea, where it used to be. Fors, II.,\\np. 153.\\nThe Light-outspeeding Telegraph. \u00e2\u0080\u0094There\\nwas some excuse for your being a little proud when,\\nabout last sixth of April (Coeur de Lion s death-day,\\nand Albert Diirer s), you knotted a copper wire all\\nthe way to Bombay, and flashed a message along\\nit, and back. But what was the message, and what\\nthe answer Is India the better for what you said\\nto her Are you the better for what she replied\\nIf not, you have only wasted an all-around-the-\\nworld s length of copper wire which is, indeed,\\nabout the sum of your doing. If you had had, per-\\nchance, two words of common sense to say, though\\nyou had taken wearisome time and trouble to send\\nthem though you had written them slowly in\\ngold, and sealed them with a hundred seals, and\\nsent a squadron of ships of the line to carry the\\nscroll, and the squadron had fought its way round\\nthe Cape of Good Hope, through a year of storms,\\nwith loss of all its ships but one the two words of\\ncoiinnon sense would have been worth the carriage,\\nand more. But you have not anything like so much\\nas that, to sa.j, either to India, or to any other\\nj lace. Fors, I., p. 68.\\nEngland thf cruellest and foolishest Nation\\nON THE Earth.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In a little Avhile, the discoveries of\\nv. iiich we are now so proud will be familiar to all.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0419.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "418 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe marvel of the future will not be that we should\\nhave discerned them, but that our predecessors were\\nblind to them. We may be envied, but shall not\\nbe praised, for having been allowed first to perceive\\nand proclaim what could be concealed no longer.\\nBut the misuse we made of our discoveries will be\\nremembered against us, in eternal history our in-\\ngenuity in the vindication, or the denial, of species,\\nwill be disregarded in the face of the fact that we\\ndestroyed, in civilized Europe, every rare bird and\\nsecluded flower our chemistry of agriculture will\\nbe taunted with the memories of irremediable fam-\\nine and our mechanical contrivance will only\\nmake the age of the mitrailleuse more abhorred\\nthan that of the guillotine.\\nYes, believe me, in spite of our political liberality,\\nand poetical philanthropy in spite of our alms-\\nhouses, hospitals, and Sunday-schools in spite of\\nour missionary endeavors to preach abroad Avhat\\nwe cannot get believed at home and in spite of\\nour wars against slavery, indemnified by the pre-\\nsentation of ingenious bills we shall be remem-\\nbered in history as the most cruel, and therefore\\nthe most unwise, generation of men that ever yet\\ntroubled the earth the most cruel in proportion\\nto their sensibility the most unwise in proportion\\nto their science.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^a^/e s Nest, p. 28.\\nThe feudal and monastic buildings of Europe,\\nand still more the streets of her ancient cities, are\\nA^anishing like dreams and it is difficult to imagine\\nthe mingled envy and contempt with Avhicli future\\ngenerations will look ))ack to us, who still possessed\\nsuch things, yet made no effoi-t to preserve, and\\nscarcely any to delineate them. Le(-tures on Art,\\np. 73.\\nJoHX Bull as a small Peddler.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If war is to be\\nmade by money and machinery, the nation which\\nis the largest and most covetous multitude will win.\\nYou may be as scientific as you choose the mob\\nthat can pay more for sulphuric acid and gunpow-\\nder will at last poison its bullets, thi ow acid in your", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0420.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE- THE MOB^ 419\\nfaces, and make an end of you of itself, also, in\\ngood time, but of you first. And to the English\\nj)eople the choice of its fate is very near now. It\\nmay spasmodically defend its property with iron\\nwalls a fathom thick, a few years longer a very\\nfew. No walls will defend either it, or its havings,\\nagainst the multitude that is breeding and spread-\\ning, faster than the clouds, over the habitable\\nearth. We shall be allowed to live by small ped-\\ndler s business and ironmongery since Ave have\\nchosen those for our line of life as long as we are\\nfound useful black servants to the Americans and\\nare content to dig coals and sit in the cinders and\\nhave still coals to dig they once exhausted, or got\\ncheaper elsewhere, we shall be abolished. But if\\nwe think more wisely, while there is yet time, and\\nset our minds again on multiplying Englishmen,\\nand not on cheapening English wares if we resolve\\nto submit to wholesome laws of labor and econo-\\nmy, and, setting our political squabbles aside, try\\nhow many strong creatures, friendly and faithful to\\neach other, we can crowd into every spot of Eng-\\nlish dominion, neither poison nor iron will prevail\\nagainst us nor traffic, nor hatred: the noble nation\\nwill yet, by the grace of Heaven, rule over the ig-\\nnoble, and force of heart hold its own against fire-\\nballs. Athena, p. 88.\\nAddress by a mangled Coj^vict to a benevolent\\nGentleman.\\nAt breakfast this morning, Oct. 34, 1873, 1 took up\\nthe Pall Mall Gazette, for the 31st, and chanced\\non the following stanzas\\nMr. P. Taylor, honnered Sir,\\nAccept these verses I indict.\\nThanks to a gentle mother dear\\nAVhitch taught these infant hands to rite\\nAnd thanks nnto the Chaplin here,\\nA heminent relidjous man,\\nAs kind a one as ever dipt\\nA beke into the flowing can.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0421.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "420 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nHe points out to me most clear\\nHow sad and sinful! is my ways,\\nAnd numerous is the briney tear\\nWhitch for that man I nightly prays.\\nCohen, he ses, in sech a voice 1\\nYour lot is hard, your stripes is sore;\\nBut Cohen, he ses, rejoice! rejoice!\\nAnd never never steale no more!\\nHis langwidge is so kind and good,\\nIt Avorks so strong on me inside,\\nI woold not do it if I could,\\nI coold not do it if I tryed.\\nAll, wence this moisteur im my eye\\nWhot makes mu turn agin my food\\nO, Mister Taylor, arsk not why,\\nline so cut up with gratitood.\\nFansy a gentleman like you,\\nNo paultry Beak, but a IM.P.,\\nA riggling in your heasy chair\\nThe riggles they put onto me.\\nI see thee shudderin ore thy wine,^\\nYou hardly know what you ai-e at,\\nWhenere you think of Us emplyin\\nThe bloody and unhenglish Cat.\\nWell may your indigernation rise\\nI call it Manley what you feeled\\nAt seeln Briton s n-k-d b-cks\\nBy brutial jailors acked and weald.\\nHabolish these yere torchiers!\\nDont liave no horgies any more\\nOf arf a dozen orflcers\\nAll wallerin in a fellers goar.\\nImprisonment alone is not\\nA thing of whitch we woold complane;\\nAdd ill-conwenience to our lot,\\nBut do not give the convick pain.\\nAnd well you know that s not the wust.\\nNot if you went and biled us whole;\\nThe Lash s degeradation that s\\nWhat cuts us to the wery soul\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, I., pp. 305, 306.\\nThe Americans.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This is their speciality, thie\\ntheir one gift to their race to show men how oiuf.\\nto worsliip how never to be asliaiued in the jv \u00c2\u00abt;\\nence of anything. Foi s, I., p. 170.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0422.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "CONDUCT OF LIFE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 THE MOB. 421\\nFor the oil of the trees of Getliseiiuine, your\\nAmerican friends have struck oil more finely in-\\nflammable. Let Aaron look to it, how he lets any\\nrun down his beard and the wise virgins trim\\ntheir wicks cautiously, and Madelaine laPutroleuse,\\nwith her improved spikenard, take good heed how\\nshe breaks her alabaster, and comjiletes the wor-\\nship of her Christ.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fo;-5, I., p. 169.\\nIf I had to choose, I would tenfold rather see the\\ntyranny of old Austria triumphant in the old and\\nnew worlds, and trust to the chance (or rather the\\ndistant certainty) of some day seeing a true Emperor\\nborn to its throne, than, with every privilege of\\nthought and act, run the most distant risk of see-\\ning the thoughts of the j^eople of Germany and\\nEngland become like the thoughts of the people of\\nAmerica.* Time and Tide, p. 95.\\nMy Americans friends\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of wliora one, Charles Eliot Norton,\\nof Canibriclf?e, is tire best I have in the world\u00e2\u0080\u0094 tell me I know\\nnothing about America. It may be so, and they must do mo\\nthe justice to otserve tliat I, therefore, usually say nothing\\nabout America. But this I say, because th.e Americans as a\\nnation set their trust in liberty and in equality, of which I\\ndetest the one, and deny the possiljility of the otlier; and be-\\ncause, also, as a nation, they are wholly undcsirous of Rest,\\nand incapable of it; irrevent of tlienisi^lvcs, both in the present\\nand in the future; discontejited with what they are, yot having\\nno idml of anything which they desire to become, as the tide\\nof the troubled sea, when it cannot rest.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0423.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0424.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "PART IV.\\nSCIENCE.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0425.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0426.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nPART IV.-SCIENCE.\\nCHAPTER I.\\nSerpents and Birds.\\nSERPENTS.\\nA SPECTRAL Procession op spotted Dust.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nserpent crest of the king s crown, or of the god s,\\non the pillars of Egypt, is a mystery but the ser-\\npent itself, gliding past the pillar s foot, is it less a\\nmystery? Is there, indeed, no tongue, except the\\nmute forked flash from its lips, in that running\\nbrook of horror on the ground That rivulet\\nof smooth silver\u00e2\u0080\u0094 how does it flow, think you It\\nliterally rows on the earth, with every scale for an\\noar it bites the dust with the ridges of its body.\\nWatch it, when it moves sloAvly A wave, but with-\\nout wind a current, but with no fall all the body\\nmoving at the same instant, yet some of it to one\\nside, some to another, or some forv^^ard, and the\\nrest of the coil backwards but all with the same\\ncalm will and equal way\u00e2\u0080\u0094 no contraction, no exten-\\nsion one soundless, causeless, march of sequent\\nrings, and spectral procession of spotted dust, with\\ndissolution in its fangs, dislocation in its coils.\\nStartle it the winding stream will become a\\ntwisted arrow;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the wave of poisoned life will lash\\nthrough the grass like a cast lance. It scarcely\\nbreathes with its one lung (the other shrivelled and\\nabortive); it is passive to the sun and shade, and\\nis cold or hot like a stone yet it can outclinib the\\nmonkey, outswim the fish, outleap the zebra, out-\\nwrestle the athlete, and crush the tiger. It is a\\n425", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0427.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "426 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ndivine hieroglyph of the demoniac power of the\\nearth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of the entire earthly nature. As the bird is\\nthe clothed power of the air, so this is the clothed\\npower of the dust as the bii-d the symbol of the\\nspirit of life, so this of the grasp and sting of death.\\nAthena, p. 58.\\nA Honeysuckle with a Head put on. I said\\nthat a serpent was a honeysuckle with a head 2)ut\\non. You perhaps thought 1 was jesting but no-\\nthing is more mysterious in the compass of creation\\nthan the relation of flowers to the serpent tribe.\\nIn the most accurate sense, the honeysuckle is an\\nanguis\u00e2\u0080\u0094Si strangling thing. The ivy stem increases\\nwith age, Avithout compressing the tree trunk, any\\nmore than the rock, that it adorns but the wood-\\nbine retains, to a degree not yet measured, but\\nalmost, I believe, after a certain time, unchanged,\\nthe first scope of its narrow contortion and the\\ngrowing wood of the stem it has seized is contorted\\nwith it, and at last paralyzed and killed. Deuca-\\nlion, p. 189.\\nDeadly Serpents all have sad Colors.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\nfatal serpents are all of the French school of art\\nFrench gray the throat of the asp, French blue,\\nthe brightest thing I know in the deadly snakes.\\nThe rest are all gravel color, mud color, blue-pill\\ncolor, or in general, as I say, French high-art color.\\nBeurMlion, p. 191.\\nA Serpent in Motion. Yoii see that one-half of\\nit can move anywhere without stirring the other\\nand accordingly you may see a foot or two of a\\nlarge snake s body moving one way, and another\\nfoot or two moving the other way, and a bit be-\\ntween not moving at all; which I, altogether, think\\nwe may siDCcifically call Parliamentary motion.\\nDeucalion, p. 193.\\nA Serpent s Tongue.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 But now, here s the first\\nthing, it seems to me, Ave ve got to ask of the\\nscientific people, what use a serpent has for his\\ntongue, since it neither wants it to talk with, to\\ntaste with, to hiss with, nor, so far as I know, to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0428.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SERPENTS AND BIRDS. ^_ 427\\nlick with, and least of all to sting with and yet,\\nfor people who do not know the creature, the little\\nvibrating forked thread, flashed out of its mouth,\\nand back again, as quick as lightning, is the most\\nthreatening part of the beast; but what is the use\\nof it? Nearly every other creature but a snake\\ncan do all sorts of mischief with its tongue. A\\nwoman worries with it, a chameleon catches flies\\nwith it, a snail files away fruit with it, a humming-\\nbird steals honey with it, a cat steals milk with it,\\na pholas digs holes in rocks with it, and a gnat digs\\nholes in us with it but the poor snake cannot do\\nany manner of harm with it Avhatsoever; and what\\nis 7iis tongue forked for Deucalion, p. 185.\\nHow Eels swim.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nothing in animal instinct or\\nmovement is more curious than the way young\\neels get up beside the waterfalls of the highland\\nstreams. They get first into the jets of foam at the\\nedge, to be thrown ashore by them, and then wrig-\\ngle up the smooth rocks heaven knows how. If\\nyou like, any of you, to put on greased sacks, with\\nyour arms tied down inside, and your feet tied\\ntogether, and then try to wriggle up after them on\\nrocks as smooth as glass, I think even the skilfulest\\nmembers of the Alpine Club will agree with me as\\nto the difficulty of the feat and though I have\\nwatched them at it for hours, I do not know how\\nmuch of serpent, and how much of fish, is mingled\\nin the motion.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Deucalion, p. 188.\\nBIRDS.\\nThe bird is little more than a drift of the air\\nbrought into form by plumes the air is in all its\\nquills it breathes through its whole frame and\\nflesh, and glows with air in its fiying, like blown\\nllame it rests upon the air, subdues it, surpasses it,\\noutraces it is the air, conscious of itself, conquer-\\ning itself, ruling itself.\\nAlso, into the throat of the bird is given the voice\\nof the air. All that in the wind itself is weak, wild,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0429.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "428^ A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nuseless in sweetness, is knit together in its song.\\nAs we may imagine the Avild form of the clone!\\nclosed into the i^erfect form of the bird s wings, so\\nthe wild voice of the cloud into its ordered and com-\\nmanded voice unwearied, rii^pling through the\\nclear heaven in its gladness, interpreting all intense\\npassion through the soft spring nights, bursting\\ninto acclaim and rapture of choir at daybreak, or\\nlisping and twittering among the boughs and\\nhedges through heat of daj like little winds that\\nonly make the cowslip bells shake, and ruffle the\\npetals of the wild rose.\\nAlso, upon the jjlumes of the bird are put the colors\\nof the air on these the gold of the cloud, that can-\\nnot be gathered by any covetousness; the rubies of\\nthe clouds, that are not the price of Athena, but are\\nAthena the vermilion of the cloud-bar, and the\\nflame of the cloud crest, and the snow of the cloud,\\nand its shadow, and the melted blue of the deep\\nwells of the sky all these, seized by the creating\\nspirit, and woven by Athena hei self into films and\\nthreads of plume with wave on wave following\\nand fading along breiist, and tliroat, and opened\\nwings, infinite as the dividing of the foam and the\\nsifting of the sea-sand ;^even the white down of\\nthe cloud seeming to flutter up between the stronger\\nplumes, seen, but too soft for touch. Athena, 56.\\nA Bird s Beak.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I do not think it is distinctly\\nenough felt by us that the beak of a bird is not\\nonly its mouth, but its hand, or rather its two hands.\\nFor, as its arms and hands are turned into wings,\\nall it has to depend upon, in economical and jjrac-\\ntical life, is its beak. The beak, therefore, is at\\nonce its sword, its carpenter s tool-box, and its\\ndressing-case; partly also its musical instrument;\\nall this besides its function of seizing and prepar-\\ning the food, in which function alone it has to be\\na trap, carving-knife, and teeth, all in one. Love s\\nMeinie, p. IG.\\nThe Marriage of the Hair-brush and the\\nWhistle. Feathers are smoothed down, as a field", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0430.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SEliFENTS AND BIRDS. 429\\nof corn by wind with rain; only the swathes laid in\\nbeautiful order. They are fur, so structurally\\nplciced as to imply, and submit to, the perpetually\\nswift forward motion. In fact, I have no doubt\\nthe Darwinian theory on the subject is that the\\nfeathers of birds once stuck up all erect, like the\\nbristles of a brush, and have only been blown flat\\nby continual flying. jN ay, we might even suffl-\\nciently represent the general manner of conclusion\\nin the Darwinian system by the statement that if\\nyou fasten a hair-brush to a mill-wheel, with the\\nhandle forward, so as to develop itself into a neck\\nby moving always in the same direction, and within\\ncontinual hearing of a steam-whistle, after a cer-\\ntain number of revolutions the hair-brush will fall\\nin love with the whistle they will marry, lay an\\negg, and the produce will be a nightingale. Love s\\nMeinie, p. 20.\\nNo Natural History of Birds yet written.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWe have no natural history of birds written yet.\\nIt cannot be written but by a scholar and a gentle-\\nman and no English gentleman in recent times*\\nhas ever thought of birds except as flying targets,\\nor flavorous dishes. In general, the scientific\\nnatural history of a bird consists of four articles\\nFirst, the name and estate of the gentleman whose\\ngamekeeper shot the last that was seen in England\\nSecondly, two or three stories of doubtful origin,\\nprinted in every book on the subject of birds for\\nthe last fifty years Thirdly, an account of the\\nfeathers from the comb to the rump, with enumer-\\nation of the colors which are never more to l e seen\\non the living bird by English eyes and, lastly, a\\ndiscussion of the reasons why none of the twelve\\nnames which former naturalists have given to the\\nbird are of any further use, and why the present\\nauthor has given it a thirteenth, which is to be\\nuniversally, and to the end of time, accepted.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLove s Meinie, p. 7.\\nThe Eagle.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Wheiy next you are travelling by\\nexpress sixty miles an hour, past a grass bank, try", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0431.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "A30 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOaY.\\nto see a grasshopper, and you will get some idea of\\nan eagle s oi^tical business, if it takes only the line\\nof ground underneath it. Does it take more\\nEagle s Nest, p. 74.\\nThe Robin^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If you think of it, you will find one\\nof the robin s very cliief ingratiatory faculties is his\\ndainty and delicate movement his footing it featly\\nhere and there. Whatever prettiness there may be\\nin his red breast, at his brightest he can always be\\noutshone by a brickbat. But if he is rationally\\nproud of anything about him, I should think a\\nrobin must be proud of his legs. Hundreds of birds\\nhave longer and more imposing ones, but for real\\nneatness, finish, and precision of action, commend\\nme to his fine little ankles, and fine little feet.\\nLove s Meinie, p. 18.\\nThe Swallow.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The bird which lives Avith you\\nin your own houses, and which purifies for you,\\nfrom its insect pestilence, the air that you breathe.\\nThus the sweet domestic thing has done, for men,\\nat least, these four thousand years. She has been\\ntheir companion, not of the home merely, but\\nof the hearth and the threshold companion\\nonly endeared by departure, and showing better\\nher loving-kindness by her faithful return. Type\\nsometimes of the stranger, she has softened us to\\nhospitality type always of the suj^pliant, she has\\nenchanted us to mercy; and in her feeble jjresence,\\nthe cowardice, or the wrath, of sacrilege has\\nchanged into the fidelities of sanctuary. Herald of\\nour summer, she glances through our days of glad-\\nness numberer of our years, she would teach us\\nto apjjly our hearts to Avisdom; and yet, so little\\nhave we regarded her, that this very day, scarcely\\nable to gather from all I can find told of her enough\\nto explain so much as the unfolding of her wings, I\\ncan tell you nothing of her life nothing of her\\njourneying. I cannot learn how she builds, nor\\nhow she chooses the place of her wandering, nor\\nhow she traces the path of her return. Remaining\\nthus blind and careless to the true ministries of the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0432.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "SGIEJSfCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094SEBPEJSfTS AND BIRDS. 431\\nhumble creature whom God has really sent to\\nserve us, we in our pride, thinking ourselves sur-\\nrounded by the pursuivants of the sky, can yet\\nonly invest them with majesty by giving them the\\ncalm of the bird s motion, and shade of the bird s\\nplume and after all, it is well for us, if, when\\neven for God s best mercies, and in His temples\\nmarble-built, we think that, with angels and\\narchangels, and all the company of Heaven, we\\nlaud and magnify His glorious name well for us,\\nif our attempt be not only an insult, and His ears\\nopen rather to the inarticulate and unintended\\npraise, of the Swallow, twittering from her straw-\\nbuilt shed. Love s Meinie, p, 53.\\nI never watch the bird for a moment without\\nfinding myself in some fresh jjuzzle out of which\\nthere is no slue in the scientific books. I want to\\nknow, yor instance, how the bird turns. What\\ndoes it do Avith om wing, what with the other?\\nFancy the pace that has to be stopped the force of\\nbridle-hand put out in an instant. Fancy how the\\nwings must bend Avith the strain what need there\\nmust be for the perfect aid and work of every\\nfeature in them. There is a i roblem for you, stu-\\ndents of mechanics How does a swallow turn\\nGiven the various proportions of weight and wingj\\nthe conditions of possible increase of muscular force\\nand quill-strength in proportion to size and the\\ndifferent objects and circumstances of flight you\\nhave a sei-ies of exquisitely complex problems, and\\nexquisitely perfect solutions, which the life of the\\nyoungest among you cannot be long enough to\\nread through so much as once, and of which the\\nfuture infinitudes of human life, however granted\\nor extended, never will be fatigued in admiration,\\nThe mystery of its dart remains always inex-\\nplicable to me no eye can trace the bending of\\nbow that sends that living arrow. Love s Meinie,\\npp. 30, 43, 40.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0433.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "432 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOQt,\\nCHAPTER II.\\nBotany.*\\nIt is better to know the habits of one plant than\\nthe names of a thousand and wiser to be happily\\nfamiliar with those that grow in the nearest field,\\nthan arduously cognizant of all that plume the\\nisles of the Pacific, or illumine the Mountains of\\nthe Moon. Proserinna, p. 139.\\nRuskin s Tribulations in the Study of Bot-\\nany. Balfour s Manual of Botany. Sap yes,\\nat last. Article 357. Course of fluids in exogenous\\nstems. I don t care about the course just now:\\nI want to know where the fluids come from. If a\\nplant be plunged into a weak solution of acetate\\nof lead. I don t in the least want to know what\\nhappens. From the minuteness of the tissue, it\\nis not easy to determine the vessels through which\\nthe sap moves. Who said it was? If it had been\\neasy, I should have done it myself. Changes\\ntake place in the composition of the sap in its up-\\nAvard course. I dare say; but I don t know yet\\nwhat its composition is before it begins going up.\\nThe Elaborated Sap by Mr. Schultz has been\\ncalled latex. I wish Mr. Schultz were in a hogs-\\nhead of it, with the top on. On account of these\\nmovements in the latex, the laticiferous vessels\\nhave been denominated cinenchymatous. I do\\nnot venture to print the expressions which I here\\nmentally make use of. Proserpina, p. 37.\\nA sudden doubt troubles me, whether all poppies\\nhave two petals smaller than the other two.\\nWhereupon I take down an excellent little school-\\nbook on botany the best I have yet found, think-\\ning to be told quickly; and I find a great deal about\\nopium; and, apropos of opium, that the juice of\\nSee also Part II. Chapter 11.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0434.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BOTANY. 433\\ncouimon celandine is of a bright orange color and\\nI pause for a bewildered five minutes, wondering\\nif a celandine is a poppy, and how many petals\\nit has: going on again because I nivist, without\\nmaking up my mind, on either question I am told\\nto observe the floral recei^tacle of the Calif ornian\\ngenus Eschscholtzia. Now I can t observe any-\\nthing of the sort, and I don t want to and I wish\\nCalifornia and all that s in it were at the deepest\\nbottom of the Pacific. Next I am told to compare\\nthe poppy and water-lily; and I can t do that,\\nneither though I should like to and there s the\\nend of the article and it never tells me whether\\none pair of petals is always smaller than the other,\\nor not. Proserpina, pp. 53, 54.\\nPerfume, or Essence, is the general term for the\\ncondensed dew of a vegetable vapor, Avhich is with\\ngrace and fitness called the being of a plant,\\nbecause its properties are almost always character-\\nistic of the species and it is not, like leaf tissue or\\nwood fibre, approximately the same material in\\ndifferent shapes but a separate element in each\\nfamily of flowers, of a mysterious, delightful, or dan-\\ngerous influence, logically inexplicable, chemically\\ninconstructible, and wholly, in dignity of nature,\\nabove all modes and faculties of form. Yet I\\nfind in the index to Dr. Lindley s Introduction to\\nBotany seven hundred pages of close print not\\none of the four words Volatile, Essence,\\nScent, or Perfume. I examine the index to\\nGray s Structural and Systematic Botany, with pre-\\ncisely the same success. I next consult Professors\\nBalfour and Grindon, and am met by the same\\ndignified silence. Finally, I think over the possi-\\nble chances in French, and try in Figuier s indices\\nto the Histoire des Flantes for Odeur no such\\nword Parfum \u00e2\u0080\u0094no such word Essence\\nno such word Encens \u00e2\u0080\u0094no such word I try\\nat last Pois de Senteur, at a venture, and am re-\\nferred to a page which describes their going to sleep.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Proserpina, pp. 341, 343.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0435.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "434 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nBotanic Nomenclature.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Perhaps nothing is\\nmore curious in the history of the human mind than\\nthe way in which the science of botany has become\\noppressed by nomenclature. Here is perhaps the\\nfirst question which an intelligent child would think\\nof asking about a tree Mamma, how does it make\\nits trunk? and you may open one botanical work\\nafter another, and good ones too, and by sensible\\nmen you shall not find this child s question fairly\\nput, much less fairly answered. You will be told\\ngi-avely that a stem has received many names, such\\nas culmus, stipes, and trunciis that twigs were\\nonce called flagella, but are now called ramuli\\nand that Mr. Link calls a straight stem, wutli\\nbranches on its sides, a cauHs exciirreiis; and a stem,\\nwhich at a certain distance above the earth bi-eaks\\nout into irregular ramifications, a caulis delique-\\nscens. All thanks and honor be to Mr. Link But\\nat this moment, when we want to know lohy one\\nstem breaks out at a certain distance, and the\\nother not at all, we find no great help in those\\nsplendid excurrencies and deliquescencies. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 65.\\nOn heat and force, life is inseparably dependent\\nand I believe, also, on a form of substance, which\\nthe philosophers call protoplasm. I wish they\\nwould use English instead of Greek words. When\\nI want to know why a leaf is green, they tell me it\\nis colored by chloi-ophyll, which at first sounds\\nvery instructive; but if they would only say plainly\\nthat a leaf is colored green by a thing which is\\ncalled green leaf, we should see more precisely\\nhow far we had ^ot.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Athena, p. 5L\\nWhy is Cinnamon aromatic and Sugar sweet\\nIt is of no use to determine, by microscope or\\nretort, that cinn-amon is made of cells with so many\\nwalls, or grape-juice of molecules with so many\\nsides; we are just as far as ever from understand-\\ning why these particular interstices should be\\naromatic, and these special parallelopipeds exhilar-\\nating, as we were in the savagely unscientific days", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0436.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "SCIEXCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BO TANT. 435\\nwlieii we could only see with our eyes, and smell\\nwith our noses. Proserpina, p. 159.\\nThk Biographies op Plants.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Our scientific\\nbotanists are occupied in microscopic investigations\\nof structure which have not hitlierto completely\\nexjilained to us either the origin, the energy, or the\\ncourse of the sap and which, however subtle or\\nsuccessful, bear to the real natural history of ijlants\\nonly the relation that anatomy and organic chem-\\nistry bear to the history of men. What we\\nesi3ecially need at present for educational purposes\\nis to know, not the anatomy of [)lants, but their\\nbiography how and where they live and die, their\\ntempers, benevolences, malignities, distresses, and\\nvirtues.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Lectures on Art, p. 70.\\nSap. At every pore of its surface, under ground\\nand above, the plant in the spring al)sorbs moist-\\nure, which instantly disperses itself through its\\nwhole sj\\\\stem by means of some permeable quality\\nof the membranes of the cellular tissue invisible to\\nour eyes even by the most powerful glasses in\\nthis way subjected to the vital power of the tree, it\\nbeconjes sap, properly so called, which passes down-\\nwai-ds through this cellular tissue, slowly and\\nsecretly; and then upwards, through the great\\nvessels of the tree, violently, stretching out the\\nsupple twigs of it as you see a flaccid water-pipe\\nswell and move when the cock is turned to fill iv.\\nAnd the tree -becomes literally a fountain, of which\\nthe springing streamlets are clothed with new- woven\\ngarments of green tissue, and of which the silver\\nspray stays in the sky,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a spray, now, of leaves.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nProserpina, p. 38.\\nThe Root, of a Plant.- The feeding function of\\nthe root is of a very delicate and discriminating\\nkind, needing much searching and mining among\\nthe dust, to find what it Avants. If it only wanted\\nwater, it could get most of that by spreading in\\niuere soft senseless limbs, like sponge, as far, and\\nas far down, as it could\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but to get the salt out of\\nthe earth it has to sift all the earth, and taste and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0437.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "436 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ntonch everj grain of it that it can, with fine fibres.\\nAnd therefore a root is not at all a merelj^ pas sive\\nsponge or absorbing thing, bnt an infinitel} subtle\\ntongue, or tasting and eating thing. That is why\\nit is always so fibrous and divided and entangled in\\nthe clinging earth.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Proserpina, p. 20.\\nThe Flower the Final Cause op the Seed.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe Spirit in the plant that is to say, its pov/er of\\ngathering dead matter out of the wreck round it,\\nand shaping it into its own chosen shape is of\\ncourse strongest at the inonient of its flowering, for\\nit then not only gathers, but forms, with the great-\\nest energy. Only, with respect to plants, as\\nanimals, we are wrong in speaking as if the object\\nof this strong life were only the bequeathing of it-\\nself. The flower is the end or proper object of the\\nseed, not the seed of the flower. The reason for\\nseeds is that flowers may be; not the reason of flow-\\ners that seeds may be. The flower itself is the creat-\\nure which the sjjirit makes only, in connection\\nAvith its perfectness, is placed the giving birth to its\\nsuccessor.\\nThe main fact, then, about a flower is that it is\\nthe part of the plant s form developed at the mo-\\nment of its intensest life and this inner rapture is\\nusually marked externally for us by the flush of one\\nor jnore of the primary colors. What the character\\nof the flower shall be, depends entirely upon the\\nportion of the plant into which this rapture of spirit\\nhas been put. Sometimes the life is put into its\\nouter sheath, and then the outer sheath becomes\\nwhite and pure, and full of sti-ength and grace;\\nsometimes the life is put into the common leaves,\\njust under the blossom, and they become scarlet or\\npurple; sometimes the life is put into the stalks of\\nthe flower, and they Hush blue; sometimes into its\\nouter enclosure or calyx; mostly into its inner cup;\\nbut, in all cases, the presence of the strongest life is\\nasserted by characters in which the human sight\\ntakes pleasure, and which seem prepared with dis-\\ntinct reference to us, or rather, bear, in being de-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0438.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BOTANY. 437\\nlightful, evidence of having been produced by the\\npower of the same spirit as our own. Athena, p. 54.\\nFruit. I find it convenient in this volume, and\\nwish I liad tliought of the expedient before, wlien-\\never I get into a difficulty, to leave the reader to\\nwork it out. lie will perhaps, therefore, be so good\\nas to define fruit for himself. Modern Painters,\\nv., p. 112.\\nAll the most perfect fruits are developed o/^i ex-\\nqiiisite forms either of foliage or flower. The vine\\nleaf, in its generally decorative power, is the most\\nimportant, both in life and in art, of all that shade\\nthe habitations of men. The olive leaf is, Avithout\\nany rival, the most beautiful of the leaves of timber\\ntrees and its blossom, though minute, of extreme\\nbeauty. The ai3ple is essentially the fruit of the\\nrose, and the peach of her only rival in her own\\ncolor. The cherry and orange blossom ai-e the two\\ntypes of floral snow. Proserinna, p. 163.\\nAn Orange.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In the orange, the fount of fragrant\\njuice is interposed between the seed and the husk.\\nIt is wholly independent of both; the aurantine\\nrind, with its white lining and divided compart-\\nments, is the true husk the orange pips are the\\ntrue seeds and the eatable part of the fruit is\\nformed between them, in clusters of delicate little\\nflasks, as if a fairy s store of scented Avine had been\\nlaid up by her in the holloAV of a chestnut shell, be-\\ntween the nut and rind and then the green changed\\nto gold. Proserpina, 155.\\nThe Poppy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 have in my hand a small red\\npoppy which I gathered on Whit Sunday on the\\npalace of the Caesars. It is an intensely simple, in-\\ntensely floral, flower. All silk and flame: a scarlet\\ncup, perfect-edged all round, seen among the wild\\ngrass far away, like a burning coal fallen from\\nHeaven s altars. You cannot have a more complete,\\na more stainless, type of flower absolute; inside and\\noutside, all flower. No sparing of color anyAvhere\\nno outside coarseness no interior secrecies open as\\nthe sunshine that creates it fine finished on both", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0439.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "438 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nsides, down to the extreiuest point of insertion on\\nits narrow stalk; and robed in the purple of the\\nCfssars. Gather a green poppy bud, just when It\\nshows tlie scai let line at its side; break it open and\\nunpack the popi^y. The whole flower is there com-\\nplete in size and color; its stamens full-grown, but\\nall packed so closely that the fine silk of the petals\\nis crushed into a million of shapeless wrinkles.\\nWhen the flower opens, it seems a deliverance from\\ntorture the two imprisoning green leaves are\\nshaken to the ground; the aggrieved corolla smooths\\nitself in the svin, and comforts itself as it can; but\\nremains visibly crushed and hurt to the end of its\\ndays. Proserjnua, pp. 53, 58.\\nThe Oa^ion and the Garlic as Ethical Fac-\\ntors. The star-group, of the squills, garlics, and\\nonions, has always caused me great wonder. I\\ncannot understand why its beauty, and serviceable-\\nness, should have been associated with the rank\\nscent whicli has been really among the most pow-\\nerful means of degrading peasant life, and separ-\\nating it from that of the higher classes. Athena,\\np. 67.\\nThe Oat. Here is the oat germ^after the wheat,\\nmost vital of divine gifts; and assuredly, in days to\\ncome, fated to grow on many a naked rock in\\nhitherto lifeless lands, over which the glancing\\n(^heaves of it Avill shake Eweet treasure of innocent\\ngold. And who shall tell us how they grow; and\\nthe fashion of their rustling pillars bent, and again\\nerect, at every breeze. Fluted shaft or clustered\\npier, how poor of art, beside this grass-shaft built,\\nfirst to sustain the food of men, then to be strewn\\nunder their feet Proserinua, p. 106.\\nThe Martyr Moss.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You remember, I doubt not,\\nhow often in gathering what most invited gather-\\ning, of deep green, starry, jierfectly soft and living\\nwood-moss, you found it fall asunder in your hand\\ninto multitudes of separate threads, each with its\\nbright green crest, and long root of blackness.\\nThat blackness at the root\u00e2\u0080\u0094 though only so notable", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0440.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE- BOTANY.\\nin this wood-moss and collateral sj^eeies, is indeed\\na general character of the mosses, Avith rare excep-\\ntions. It is their funeral blackness that, I pei\\nceive, is the way the moss-leaves die. They do not\\nfall they do not visibly decay. But they decay in-\\nvisibly, in continual secession, beneath the ascend-\\ning crest. They rise to form that crest, all green\\nand bright, and take the light and air from those\\nout of whicli they grew; and those, their ancestors,\\ndarken and die slowly, and at last become a mass\\nof njouldering ground. In fact, as I perceive far-\\nther, their final duty is so to die. The main work\\nof other leaves is in their life but these have to\\nform the earth out of which all other leaves are\\nto grow. Not to cover the rocks with golden velvet\\nonly, but to fill their crannies with the dark earth,\\nthrough which nobler creatures shall one day seek\\ntheir being. Proserpina, p. 17.\\nLeaves ribbed axd u:s dulated.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When a leaf\\nis to be spread Avide, like the burdock, it is sup-\\nported by a framework of extending ribs like a\\nGothic roof. The supporting function of these is\\ngeometrical every one is constructed like the gir-\\nders of a bridge, or beams of a floor, with all man-\\nner of science in the distribution of their substance\\nin the section, for narrow and deep strength; and\\nthe shafts are mostly hollow. But Avhen the ex-\\ntending space of a leaf is to be enriched with fulness\\nof fokls, and become beautiful in wrinkles, this\\nmay 1)e done either by pure undulation as of a\\nli(iuid current along the leaf edge, or by sharp\\ndrawing or gathering I believe ladies would\\ncall it and stitching of the edges together. And\\ntliis stitching together, if to be done vei-y strongly,\\nis done round a bit of stick, as a sail is reefed round\\na mast; and tliis bit of stick needs to be compactly,\\nnot geometrically strong; its function is essentially\\nthat of starch not to hold the leaf up off the\\ngi ound against gravity; but to stick the edges out,\\nstiffly, in a crimped frill. And in beautiful work\\nof this kind, which wo are meant to study, the stays", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0441.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "ftR A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nof the leaf or stay-bones are finished off very\\nsharply and exquisitely at the points and indeed\\nso much so, that they prick our fingers when we\\ntouch theiu for they are not at all meant to be\\ntouched, but admired.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Proserpina, pp. 80, 81.\\nCHAPTER III.\\nMinerals.\\nCrystals. The crystalline power is essentially a\\nstyptic power, and wherever the earth is torn, it\\nheals and binds; nay, the torture and grieving of\\nthe earth seem necessary to bring out its full energy;\\nfor you only find the crystalline living power fully\\nin action, where the rents and faults are deep and\\nmany. Ethics of the Dust, p. 114.\\nThe mineral crystals group themselves neither in\\nsuccession, nor in sympathy; but great and small\\nrecklessly strive for place, and deface or distort each\\nother as they gather into opponent asperities. The\\nconfused croAvd fills the rock cavity, hanging to-\\ngether in a glittering, yet sordid heap, in which\\nneai ly every crystal, OAving to their vain conten-\\ntion, is imperfect, or impure. Here and there one,\\nat the cost and in defiance of the rest, rises into un-\\nwarped shape or unstained clearness. Modern\\nPainters, V., p- 48.\\nThe goodness of crystals consists chiefly in purity\\nof substance, and perfectness of form but those\\nare rather the effects of their goodness, than the\\ngoodness itself. The inherent virtues of the crys-\\ntals, resulting in these outer conditions, might\\nreally seem to be best described in the words we\\nshould use respecting living creatures force of\\nheart and steadiness of jiurpose. There seem\\nto be in some crystals, from the beginning, an un-\\nconquerable i:)urity of vital power, and strength of\\ncrystal si^irit. Whatever dead substance, unaccep-\\ntant of this energy, comes [in their way, is either", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0442.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "SClEyX E-MINEliA L S. 441\\nrejected, or forced to take some ljea,utiful subordi-\\nnate form the purity of the crystal remains unsul-\\nlied, and every atouj of it bright with coherent\\nenergy.\\nThen the second condition is, that from the begin-\\nning of its whole structure, a fine crj-stal seems to\\nhave determined that it will be of a certain size and\\nof a certain shape it persists in this jjlan, and\\ncomi^letes it. Here is a i^erfect crystal of quartz\\nfor you. It is of an unusual form, and one which\\nit might seem very difficult to build a pyramid\\nwith convex sides, composed of other minor pyra-\\nmids. But there is not a flaw in its contour through-\\nout; not one of its myriads of component sides but\\nis as bright as a jeweller s facetted work (and far\\nfiner, if you saw it close). The crystal points are as\\nsharp as javelins their edges will cut glass with\\na touch. Anything more resolute, consummate,\\ndeterminate in form, cannot be conceived. Ilei e,\\non the other hand, is a erysfal of the same substance,\\nin a perfectly simple type of form a plain six sided\\nprism but from its base to its point, and it is\\nnine inches long, ithasnever for one instant made\\nup its mind what thickness it will have. It seems\\nto have begun by making itself as thick as it\\nthought possible with the quantity of material at\\nconimand. Still not being as thick as it would like\\nto be, it has clumsily glued on more substance at\\none of its sides. Then it has thinned itself, in a\\npanic of economy; then puffed itself out again\\nthen starved one side to enlarge another then\\nwarped itself quite out of its first line. Opaque,\\nrough-surfaced, jagged on the edge, distorted in the\\nspine, it exhibits a quite human image of decrepi-\\ntude and dishonor but the worst of all the signs\\nof its decay and helplessness, is that half-way up, a\\nparasite crystal, smaller, but just as sickly, has\\nrooted itself in the side of the larger one, eating out\\na cavity round its root, and then growing back-\\nwards, or downwards, contrary to the direction of\\nthe main crystal. Yet I cannot trace the least\\ndifference in purity of substance between the first", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0443.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "442 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nmost noble stone, and this ignoble and dissolute\\none. The impurity of the last is in its will, or\\nwant of will. Ethics of the Dust, p. 58.\\nThe Marbles.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The soft white sediments of the\\nsea draw themselves, in process of time, into smooth\\nknots of sphered symmetry; burdened and strained\\nunder increase of pressure, they pass into a nascent\\nmarble scorched by fervent heat, they brighten\\nand blanch into the snowy rock of Paros and\\nCarrara. Ethics of the Dust, i 140.\\nThese stones, Avliich men have been cutting into\\nslabs, for thousands of years, to ornament their\\nIjrincipal buildings with, and which, under the\\ngeneral name of marble, have been the delight\\nof the eyes, and the wealth of architecture, among\\nall civilized nations ai e precisely those on which\\nthe signs and brands of these earth-agonies have\\nbeen chiefly struck; and there is not a purple vein\\nnor flaming zone in them, which is not the record\\nof their ancient torture. Ethics of the Dust, p. IIG,\\nThe substance appears to have been ijrepai ed\\nexpressly in order to afford to human art a perfect\\nmeans of carrying out its purposes. They are ot\\nexactly the necessary hardness neither so soft as\\nto be incapable of maintaining themselves in deli-\\ncate forms, nor so hard as always to require a blow\\nto give effect to the sculptor s touch the mere\\npressure of his chisel produces a certain effect upon\\nthem. The color of the Avhite varieties is of exquis-\\nite delicacj-, owing to the partial translucency\\nof the pure rock and it has always ajopeai-ed to\\nme a most wonderful ordinance one of the most\\nmarl ed pieces of purpose in the creation\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that all\\nthe variegated kinds should be comparatively\\nopaque, so as to set off the color on the surface,\\nwhile the white, which if it had been opaque would\\nhave looked somewhat coarse (as, for instance,\\ncommon chalk does), is rendered just translucent\\nenough to give an impression of extreme purity,\\nbut not so translucent as to interfere iu the least", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0444.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 MINERALS. 443\\nwith the distinctness of any forms into which it is\\nwrought.\\nThe colors of variegated marbles are also for the\\nmost part very beautiful, especially those composed\\nof purple, amber, and green, with Avhite and\\nthere seems to be something notably attractive to\\nthe human mind in the vague and veined laby-\\nrinths of their arrangements. They are farther\\nmarked as the prepared material for human work\\nby the dependence of their beauty on smoothness\\nof surface for their veins are usually seen but\\ndimly in the native rock and the colors they\\nassume under the action of weather are inferior to\\nthose of the crystallines it is not until wrought and\\nl)olislied by man that they shoAv their character.\\nFinally, they do not decompose. The exterior sur-\\nface is sometimes destroyed by a sort of mechanical\\ndisrujition of its outer flakes, but rarely to the ex-\\ntent in Avhieh such action takes place in other\\nrocks and the most delicate sculptures, if executed\\nin good marble, will remain for ages undeterio-\\nY-dXeA.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, IV., p. 141.\\nMinerals and Minerals.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When I was a boy I\\nused to care about pretty stones. I got some\\nBristol diamonds at Bristol, and some dog-tooth\\nspar in Derbyshire my whole collection had cost\\nperhaps three half-crowns, and was worth consider-\\nably less and I knew nothing whatever, rightly,\\nabout any single stone in it could not even spell\\ntheir names but words cannot tell the joy they\\nused to give me. Now, I have a collection of min-\\nerals worth, perhaps, from two to three thousand\\npounds and I know more about some of them\\nthan most other people. But I am not a whit hap-\\npier, either for my knowledge, or possessions, for\\nother geologists dispute my theories, to my grievous\\nindignation and discontentment and I am miser-\\nable about all my best specimens, because there are\\nbetter in the British Museum. Fors Ckwigera.\\nThe Colors of Clay, Lime, and Flint.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nature\\nseems to have set herself to make these three sub-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0445.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "444 A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nstances as interesting to us, and as beautiful for us,\\nas she can. The clay, being a soft and changeable\\nsubstance, she doesn t take much pains about, as\\nwe have seen, till it is baked she brings the color\\ninto it only when it receives a permanent form.\\nBut the limestone and flint she paints, in her own\\nway, in their native state and her object in paint-\\ning them seems to be much the same as in lier\\npainting of flowers to draw us, careless and idle\\nhuman creatures, to watch her a little, and see\\nwhat she is about that being on the Avhole good\\nfor us, her children. For Nature is always carry-\\ning on very strange work with this limestone and\\nflint of hers laying down beds of them at the bot-\\ntom of the sea building islands out of the sea\\nfilling chinks and veins in mountains with curious\\ntreasures petrifying mosses, and trees, and shells;\\nin fact, carrying on all sorts of business, subtei\\nranean or submarine, which it would be highly\\ndesirable for us, who profit and live by it, to notice\\nas it goes on. And apparently to lead us to do this,\\nshe makes picture-books for us of limestone and\\nflint and tempts us, like foolish children as we\\nare, to read lier books by the pretty colors in them.\\nThe pretty colors in her limestone-books form those\\nvariegated marbles which all mankind have taken\\ndelight to polish and build with from the beginning\\nof time and the pretty colors in her flint-books\\nform those agates, jaspers, cornelians, bloodstones,\\nonyxes, cairngorms, chrysoprases, which men have\\nin like manner taken delight to cut, and polish,\\nand make ornaments of, from the beginning of\\ntime and yet, so much of babies are they, and so\\nfond of looking at the pictures instead of reading\\nthe book, that I question whether, after six thou-\\nsand years of cutting and polishing there are above\\ntwo or three ijeople out of any given hundred, who\\nknow, or care to know, how a bit of agate or a bit\\nof marble Avas made, or painted.\\nHow it was made, may not be always verj easy to\\nsay but with what it was painted there is no man-\\nner of qviestion. All those beautiful violet veinings", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0446.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE-MINERALS. 445\\nand variet?ations of the marbles of Sicily and Spain,\\nthe fiiowinii; orange and amber colors of those of\\nSiena, the deep russet of the Rosso ahtico, and the\\nblood-color of all the precious jaspers that enrich\\nthe temples of Italy and, finally, all the lovely\\ntransitions of tint in the pebbles of Scotland and\\nthe Rhine, Avhich form, though not the most pre-\\ncious, by far the most interesting portion of our\\nmodern jewellers Avork all these are painted by\\nnature with this one material only, variously pro-\\nportioned and applied\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the oxide of iron that stains\\nyour Tunbridge springs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 T/je Two Paths, p. 110.\\nCompetition^ vs. Co-operatiox.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Exclusive of\\nanimal decay, we can hardly arrive at a more abso-\\nlute type of impurity, than the mud or.slimeof a\\ndamp, over-trodden path, in the outskirts of a\\nmanufacturing town. I do not say mud of the\\nroad, because that is mixed with animal refuse; but\\ntake merely an ounce or two of the blackest slime\\nof a beaten footpath, on a rainy day, near a manu-\\nfacturing town. That slime we shall find in most\\ncases composed of clay (orbrickdust, Avhich is burnt\\nclay), mixed with soot, a little sand and water. All\\nthese elements are at helpless war with each other,\\nand destroy reciprocalh each other s nature and\\npower competing and fighting for place at everj\\ntread of your foot sand squeezing out clay, and\\nclay squeezing out water, and soot meddling every-\\nwhere, and defiling the whole. Let us sup^sose that\\nthis ounce of mud is left in perfect rest, and that\\nits elements gather together, like to like, so that\\ntheir atoms may get into the closest relations\\npossible.\\nLet the clay begin. Ridding itself of all foreign\\nsubstance, it gradually becomes a white earth,\\nalready very beautiful, and fit with help of con-\\ngealing fire, to be made into finest porcelain, and\\npainted on, and be kept in kings palaces. But\\nsuch artificial consistence is not its best. Leave it\\nstill quiet, to follow its own instinct of unity, and\\nit becomes, not only white but clear not only", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0447.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "U(i A nUSKIN ANTHOLOar.\\nclear, but hard not only clear and bard, but so\\nset tbat it can deal with ligbt in a wonderful Avay,\\nand gather out of it the loveliest blue rays only, re-\\nfusing the rest. We call it then a sapphire.\\nSuch being the consummation of the clay, we give\\nsimilar permission of quiet to the sand. It also be-\\ncomes, first, a white earth then proceeds to grow\\nclear and hard, and at last arranges itself in mys-\\nterious, infinitely fine parallel lines, which have the\\npower of reflecting, not merely the blue rays, but\\nthe blue, green, purple, and red rays, in the great-\\nest beauty in which they can be seen through any\\nhard material whatsoever. We call it then an opal.\\nIn next order the soot sets to Avork. It cannot\\nmake itself white at first but, instead of being dis-\\ncouraged, tries harder and harder; and comes out\\nclear at last and the hardest thing in the world\\nand for the blackness that it had, obtains in ex-\\nchange the power of reflecting all the rays of the\\nsun at once, in the vividest blaze that any solid\\nthing can shoot. We call it then a diamond.\\nLast of all, the water purifies, or unites itself;\\ncontented enough if it only reach the form of a dew-\\ndrop but if we insist on its i^roceeding to a more\\npei fect consistence, it crystallizes into the shape of\\na star. And, for the ounce of slime which we had\\nby political economy of comijetition, we have, by\\npolitical economy of co-operation, a sapphire, an\\nopal, and a diamond, set in the midst of a star of\\nsnow.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ifofZerw Painters, V., pp. 176, 177.\\nCHAPTER IV.\\nClouds.\\nAll clouds are so opaque that, however delicate\\nthey may be, you never see one through another.\\nSix feet depth of them, at a little distance, will\\nwholly veil the darkest mountain edge. And\\nthis opacity is, nevertheless, obtained without", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0448.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE-CLOUDS. 447\\ndestroying the gift they have of letting broken\\nlight througli them, so that, between us and the\\nsun, they may become golden fleeces, and float as\\nhelds of \\\\iE\\\\\\\\t.~ Modern Painters, V., pp. 137, 138.\\nAll lovely clouds, remember, are quiet clouds\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nnot merely quiet in appearance, because of their\\ngreater height and distance, but quiet actually,\\nhxed for hours, it may be, in the same form and\\nplace. I have seen a fair-weather cloud high over\\nConiston Old Man-not on the hill, observe, but a\\nvertical mile above it-stand motionless, changeless\\nfor twelve hours together. From four o clock in\\nthe afternoon of one day I watched it through the\\nmght by the north twilight, till the dawn struck it\\nwith full crimson, at four of the following July\\n^^ovning.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Art of England, \\\\).\\\\m.\\nOUTLiXK fG A Cloud.-How is a cloud outlined\\ntrranted whatever you choose to ask, concerning its\\nmaterial, or its aspect, its loftiness and luminous-\\nness-how of its limitation What hews it into a\\nheap, or spins it into a web Cold, it is usually\\nshapeless, I suppose, extending over large spaces\\nequally, or with gradual diminution. You cannot\\nhave in the open air, angles, and wedges, and coils\\nand cliffs of cold. Yet the vapor stops suddenly\\nsharp and steep as a rock, or thrusts itself across\\nthe gates of heaven in likeness of a brazen bar or\\nbi-aids Itself in and out, and across and across, like\\na tissue of tapestry; or falls into ripples, hke sand:\\nor into waving shreds and tongues, as fire. On\\nwhat anvils and wheels is the vapor pointed, twisted,\\nhammered, whirled, as the potter s clay By what\\nhands IS the incense of the sea built up into domes\\nof marble -^.-Modern Painters, V., p. 124.\\nCloud LusTREs.-The gilding to our eyes of a\\nburnished cloud depends, I believe, at least for a\\nmeasure of its lustre, upon the angle at which the\\nrays incident upon it are reflected to the eye, just\\nas much as the glittering of the sea beneath it-or\\nthe sparkling of the windows of the houses on the\\n\u00c2\u00bbi\\\\ove.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Storm Cloud, Lect. II.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0449.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "448 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAttached Clouds. The opposed conditions of\\nthe higher and lower orders of clond, M ith the bal-\\nanced intermediate one, are beautifully seen on\\nmountain summits of rock or earth. On snowy ones\\nwihey are far more complex but on rock summits\\nthere are three distinct forms of attached cloud in\\nserene weather the first that of cloud veil laid\\nover them, ancT falling in folds through their\\nravines (the obliquely descending clouds of the\\nentering chorus in Aristoi^hanes) secondly, the\\nascending cloud, Avhich develops itself loosely and\\nmdei^endently as it rises, and does not attach itself\\nto the hillside, while the falling veil cloud clings to\\nit close all the way down and lastly the throned\\nuloud, which rests indeed on the mountain summit,\\nwith its base, but rises high above into the sky, con-\\ntinually changing its outlines, but holding its seat\\nperhaps all day long. Storm Cloud, Lect. II.\\nCirrus Clouds.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Their chief characters are\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFirst, Symmetry They are nearly always ai--\\nlanged in some definite and evident order, common-\\nly in long ranks reaching sometimes from the zen-\\nith to the horizon, each rank composed of an infinite\\nnumber of transverse bars of about the same length,\\neach bar thickest in the middle, and terminating in\\na traceless vaporous point at each side the ranks\\nare in the direction of the Avind, and the bars of\\ncourse at right angles to it these latter are com-\\nmonly slightly bent in the middle. Secondly, Sliarja-\\nness of Edge The edges of the bars of the upper\\nclouds which are turned to the wind, are often the\\nsharpest Avhich the sky shows no outline M hat-\\never of any other kind of cloud, however marked\\nand energetic, ever approaches the delicate decis-\\nion of these edges. Thirdly, Multitude The deli-\\ncacy of these vapors is sometimes carried into such\\nan infinity of division, that no other sensation of\\nnumber that the earth or heaven can give is so\\nh\\\\\\\\\\\\)re g,i-.i\\\\e.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fourthly, Purity of Color They are\\ncomposed of the purest aqueous vapor, free from all\\nfoulness of earthly gases, and of this in the lightest", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0450.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 CLOUDS. 449\\nand most ethereal state in which it can be, to be\\nA isible. Their colors are more pure and vivid,*\\nand their white less sullied than those of any other\\ncXond^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Lastly, Variety Variety is never so con-\\nspicuous, as when it is united with symmetry. The\\nperpetual change of form in other clouds, is monot-\\nonous in its very dissimilarity, nor is difference\\nstriking where no connection is implied but if\\nthrough a range of barred clouds, crossing half the\\nheaven, all governed by the same forces and falling\\ninto one general form, there be yet a nuirked and\\nevident dissimilarity between each member of the\\ngreat mass-\u00c2\u00abone more finely drawn, the next more\\ndelicately moulded, the next more gracefully bent\\neach broken into differently modelled and var-\\niously numbered groups, the variety is doubly\\nstriking, because contrasted with the perfect sym-\\nmetry of which it forms a pa.Yi.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters,\\nI., pp. 390-393.\\nThk Storm-Cloud of the Ninetkenth Cea\\nTURY. The first time I i-ecognized the clouds\\nbrought by the plague-wind as distinct in character\\nwas in walking back from Oxford, a,fter a hard day s\\nwork, to Abingdon, in the early spring of 1871. It\\nwould take too long to give you any account this\\nevening of the particulars which drew my attention\\nto them but during the following months I had\\ntoo frequent opportunities of verifying my first\\nthoughts of them, and on the first of July in that\\nyear wrote the descrijotion cf them which begins the\\nFors Clavigera of August, thus\\nIt i;; the first of July, and I sit down to write by\\nthe dismalest light that ever yet I wrote by; name-\\nly, the light of this mid-summer morning, in mid-\\nEngland (Matlock, Derbyshire), in the year 1871.\\nFor the sky is covered with grey clouds not rain-\\ncloud, but a dry black veil, which no ray of sun-\\nshine can pierce partly diffused in mist, feeble\\nmist, enough to make distant objects unintelligible,\\nyet without any substance, or wreathing, or color\\nof its own. And everywhere the leaves of the trees\\nare shaking fitfully, as they do before a thunder-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0451.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "450 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nstorm only not violently, but enough to show the\\npassing to and fro of a strange, bitter, blighting\\nwind. Dismal enough, had it been the first morn-\\ning of its kind that summer had sent. But during\\nall this spring, in London, and at Oxford, through\\nmeagre March, through changelessly sullen April,\\nthrough despondent May, and darkened June,\\nmorning after morning has come grey-shrouded thus.\\nAnd it is a new thing to me, and a very dreadful\\none. I am fifty years old, and more and since I\\nwas five, have gleaned the best hours of my life in\\nthe sun of spring and summer mornings and I\\nnever saw such as these, till now. Amd the scien-\\ntific men are busy as ants, examining the sun, and\\nthe moon, and the seven stars, and can tell me all\\naliout them, I believe, by this time and how they\\nmove, and what they are made of.\\nAnd I do not care, for my part, two copper\\nspangles how they move, nor what they are made\\nof. I can t move them any other way than they go.\\nnor make them of anything else, better than they\\nare made. But I would care much and give much,\\nif I could be told where this bitter wind comes from,\\nand what it is made of. For, perhaps, with fore-\\nthought, and fine laboratory science, one might\\nmake it of something else.\\nIt looks i^artly as if it were made of poison-\\nous smoke very possibly it may be there are\\nat least two hundred furnace chimneys in a\\nsquare of two miles on every side of me. But mere\\nsmoke would not blow to and fro in that wild way.\\nIt looks more to me as if it were made of dead men s\\nsouls such of them as are not gone yet Mdiere they\\nhave to go, and may be flitting hither and thith-\\ner, doubting, themselves, of the fittest place for\\nthem.\\nSince that Midsummer day, my attention, how-\\never otherwise occupied, has never relaxed in its\\nrecord of the phenomena characteristic of the\\nplague-wind and I now define for you, as briefly\\njks possible, the essential signs of it\\n1. It is a wind of darkness:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 all the former condi-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0452.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094CLOUDS. 461\\ntions of tormenting winds, wliether from the north\\nor east, were more or less capable of co-existing\\nwith sunlight, and often with steady and bright\\nsunlight but whenever, and wherever the plague-\\nwind blows, be it but for ten minutes, the sky is\\ndarkened instantly. 2. It is a malignant quality of\\nwind unconnected with any one quarter of the com-\\npass it blows indifferently from all, attaching its\\nown bitterness and malice to the worst characters\\nof the proper winds of each quarter. It will blow\\neither with drenching rain, or dry rage, from the\\nsouth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 with ruinous blasts from the west\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Avith\\nbitterest chills from the north and with venomous\\nblight from the east. Its own favorite quarter,\\nhowever, is the south-west, so that it is distinguished\\nin its maligiiity equally from the Bise of Provence,\\nwhich is a north wind always, and from our own\\nold friend, the east. 3. It always blows tremulously,\\nmaking the leaves of the trees shudder as if they\\nwere all aspens, but with a peculiar fitfulness\\nwhich gives them and I watch them this moment\\nas I write an expression of anger as well as of fear\\nand distress. You may see the kind of quivering,\\nand hear the ominous whimpering, in the gusts\\nthat precede a great thunder-storm but plague-\\nwind is more pa;iic-struck, and feverish and its\\nsound is a hiss instead of a wail. 4. Not only\\ntremulous at every moment, it is also intermittent\\nwith a rapidity quite unexampled in former weather.\\nThere are, indeed, days and weeks, on which it\\nblows without cessation, and is as inevitable as the\\nGulf Stream but also there are days when it is\\ncontending with healthy weather, and on such\\ndays it will remit for half an hour, and the sun will\\nbegin to show itself, and then the wind will come\\nback and cover the whole sky with clouds in ten\\nminutes and so on every half-hour, through the\\nwhole day; so that it is often impossible to go on\\nwith any kind of drawing in color, the light being\\nnever for two seconds the same from morning till\\nevening. 5. It degrades, while it intensifies, ordi-\\nnary storm.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0453.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "452 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nTake the following sequences of accurate descrip-\\ntion of thunderstorm, with plague-wind\\nJune 22, 1876.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Thunderstorm; pitch dark, with\\nno blackness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 hut deep, high, fllthiness of lurid,\\nyet not sublimely lurid, smoke-cloud; dense manu-\\nfacturing mist fearful squalls of shivery wind,\\nmaking Mr. Severn s sail quiver like a man in a\\nfever-fit all about fovir, afternoon but only two\\nor three claps of thunder, and feeble, though near,\\nflashes. I never saw such a dirty, weak, foul storm.\\nIt cleared suddenly, after raining all afternoon, at\\nhalf-past eight to nine, into jjure, natural weather,\\nlow rain-clouds on quite clear, green, wet hills.\\nAugust 13, 1879. Quarter to eight, morning.\\nThunder returned, all the air collapsed into one\\nblack fog, the hills invisible, and scarcely visible\\nthe opposite shore heavy rain in short fits, and\\nfrequent, though less formidable, flashes, and\\nshorter thunder. While I have written this sentence\\nthe cloud has again dissolved itself, like a nasty\\nsolution in a bottle, with miraculous and unnat-\\nural rapidity, and the hills are in sight again.\\nHalf-past eight.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Three times light and three times\\ndark since last I wrote, and the darkness seeming\\neach time as it settles more loathsome, at last stop-\\nping my reading in mere blindness. One lurid\\ngleam of white cumulus in upper lead-blue sky,\\nseen for half a minute through the sulphuro s\\nchimney-pot vomit of blackguardly cloud beneath,\\nwhere its rags were thinnest.\\nAugust 17, 1879. Raining in foul drizzle, slow\\nand steady; sky jiitch-dark, and I just got a little\\nlight by sitting in the bow- window; diabolic clouds\\nover everything and looking over my kitchen\\ngarden yesterday, I found it one miserable mass of\\nweeds gone to seed, the roses in the higher garden\\nputrefied into brown sponges, feeling like dead\\nsnails and the half-ripe strawbei-ries all rotten at\\nthe stalks.\\nFebruary 22, 1883.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Yesterday a fearfully dark\\nmist all afternoon, with steady, south plague-wind\\nof the bitterest, nastiest, poisonous blight, and fret-\\nful flutter. I could scarcely stay in the wood for\\nthe horror of it. To-day, really rather Ijright blue,\\nand bright semi-cumuli, with the frantic Old Man\\nblowing sheaves of lancets and chisels across the\\nlake not in strength enough, or whirl enough, to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0454.jp2"}, "455": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BITS OF THOUGHT. 453\\nraise it in spray, but tracing every squall s outline\\nin black on the silvery grey waves, and whistling\\nmeanly, and as if on a flute made of a file.\\n6. And now I come to the most important sign of\\nthe plague-wind and the plague-cloud that in\\nbringing on their peculiar darkness, they blanch\\nthe sun instead of reddening it. I should have\\nliked to have blotted down for you a bit of plague-\\ncloud but Heaven knows, you can see enough of\\nit nowadays without any trouble of mine and if\\nyou want, in a hurry, to see what the sun looks like\\nthrough it, you ve only to throw a bad half-crown\\ninto a basin of soap and waXew\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Storm-Cloud, Lect.\\nI., pp. 36-35.\\nCHAPTER V.\\nBits op Thought.\\nRusKO s First Piece of Published Writij^g.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094I do not think the causes of the color of trans-\\nparent water have been sufficiently ascertained. I\\ndo not mean that effect of color which is simply op-\\ntical, as the color of the sea, which is regulated by\\nthe sky above, or the state of the atmosphere but\\n1 mean the settled color of transparent water, which\\nhas, when analyzed, been found pure. Now,\\ncopper will tinge water green, and that very\\nstrongly but water thus impregnated will not be\\ntransparent, and will deposit the copper it holds in\\nsolution upon any piece of iron which may be\\nthrown into it. There is a lake in a defile on the\\nnorth-west flank of Snowdon, which is supplied by\\na stream, which previously passes over several veins\\nof copper this lake is, of course, of a bright ver-\\ndigrise green, but it is not transparent. Now, the\\ncoloring effect of Avhich I speak, is well seen in the\\nwaters of the Rhone and Rhine. The former of\\nthese rivers, when it enters the Lake of Geneva,\\nafter having received the torrents descending from", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0455.jp2"}, "456": {"fulltext": "454 A BUSKIN- ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe mountains of the Valais, is fouled with nmd, or\\nwhite with the calcareous matter which it holds in\\nsolution. Having deposited this in the Lake Le-\\nman (thereby forming- an immense delta), it issues\\nfrom the lake perfectly pure, and flows through the\\nstreets of Geneva so transparent, that the bottom\\ncan be seen 20 feet below the surface, yet so blue,\\nthat you might imagine it to be a solution of indigo.\\nIn like manner, the Rhine, after purifying itself in\\nthe Lake of Constance, flows forth, colored of a\\nclear green and this under all circumstances, and\\nin all weathers. It is sometimes said that this arises\\nfrom the torrents which supply these rivers gener-\\nally flowing from the glaciers, the green and blue\\ncolor of which may have given rise to this opinion;\\nbut the color of the ice is jiureiy optical, as the frag-\\nments detached from the mass appear simply white.\\nPerhaps some correspondent can afford me some\\ninformation on the subject. Magazine of Natural\\nHistory, 1834.\\nEnvy among Scientific Men.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The retardation\\nof science by envy is one of the most tremendous\\nlosses in the economy of the present century. Unto\\nthis Last, p. 51.\\nRuskin s Opinion of Modern Science, written\\nIN 1853. That modern science, Avith all its addi-\\ntions to the comforts of life, and to the fields of ra-\\ntional contemplation, has placed the existing races\\nof mankind on a higher platform than any that\\npreceded them, none can doubt for an instant and\\nI believe the position in Avhich we find ourselves is\\nsomewhat analogous to that of thoughtful and la-\\nborious youth succeeding a restless and heedless\\nint einKiy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of Fe/lice, III., p. 166.\\nPure Scientific Research never Rewarded.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094My ingenious friends, science has no more to do\\nwith making steam-engines than with making\\nbreeches though she condescends to help you a\\nlittle in such necessary (or it may be, conceivably,\\nin both cases, sometimes unnecessary) businesses.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0456.jp2"}, "457": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BITS OF THOUGHT. 455\\nScience lives only in quiet places, and with odd peo-\\nple, mostly poor.\\nYou cannot be simple enough, even in April, to\\nthink I got my three thousand pounds Avorth of\\nminerals by studying mineralogy Not so they\\nwere earned for me by hard labor my father s in\\nEngland, and many a sunburnt vineyard-dresser s\\nin Spain. Fors, I., p. 44.\\nWe are glad enough, indeed, to make our profit\\nof science we snap up anything in the way of a\\nscientific bone that has meat on it, eagerly enough;\\nbut if the scientific man comes for a bone or a crust\\nto us, that is another story. Sesame and Lilies,\\np. 56.\\nThe Vibrations op the Ttmpa;^um.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is quite\\ntrue that the tympanum of the ear vibrates under\\nsound, and that the surface of the water in a ditch\\nvibrates too but the ditch hears nothing for all\\nthat and my hearing is still to me as blessed a\\nmystery as ever, and the interval between the ditch\\nand me, quite as great. If the trembling sound in\\nmy ears was once of the marriage-bell which began\\nmy happiness and is now of the passing-bell which\\nends it, the difference between those two sounds to\\nme cannot be counted by the number of concus-\\nsions. Athena, p. 50.\\nThe Study op Natural History. For one man\\nwho is fitted for the study of words, fifty are fitted for\\nthe study of things, and were intended to have a per-\\npetual, simple, and religious delight in watching the\\nprocesses, or admiring the creatures, of the natural\\nuniverse. Deprived of this source of pleasure, no-\\nthing is left to them but ambition or dissipation\\nand the vices of the upper classes of Europe are, I\\nbelieve, chiefly to be attributed to this single cause.\\nStones of Venice, III., p. 216.\\nOnly simple Tools needed.- A quick eye, a\\ncandid mind, and an earnest heart, are all the\\nmicroscopes and laboratories which any of us need\\nand with a little clay, sand, salt, and sugar, a man\\nmay find out more of the methods of geological phe-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0457.jp2"}, "458": {"fulltext": "456 A RUSKIlsr ANTHOLOGY.\\nnojiienon than ever wei-e knoAvn to Sir Charles\\nLyell. In Montibus Sanctis, p. 25.\\nNondescript Species of Animals. Between\\nthe gentes, or races of animals, and between the\\nspecies, or families, there are invariably links\\nmongrel creatures, neither one thing nor another\\nbut clumsy, blundering, hobbling, misshapen things.\\nYou are always thankful when you see one that you\\nare not it. They are, according to old philosophy,\\nin no process of development up or down, but are\\nnecessary, though much pitiable, where they are.\\nThus betw^een the eagle and the trout, the mongrel\\nor needful link is the penguin. Well, if you ever\\nsaw an eagle or a windhover flying, I am sure you\\nmust have sometimes wished to be a windhover\\nand if ever you saw a trout or a dolphin swimming,\\nI am sure, if it was a hot day, you wished you could\\nbe a trout. Btit did ever anybody wish to be a pen-\\nguin Deucalion, p. 182.\\nWould peep and botanize upon their Moth-\\ner s Grave. Men who have the habit of cluster-\\ning and harmonizing their thoughts are a little too\\napt to look scornfully upon the harder workers who\\ntear the bouquet to pieces to examine the stems.\\nThis was the chief narrowness of Wordsworth s\\nmind he could not understand that to break a rock\\nwith a hammer in search of crystal may sometimes\\nbe an act not disgraceful to liviman nature, and\\nthat to dissect a flower may sometimes be as proper\\nas to dream over it whereas all experience goes to\\nteach us, that among men of average intellect the\\nmost useful members of society are the dissectors,\\nnot the dreamers. Modern Painters, HI., p. 309.\\nThe Spectrum op Blood.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My friend showed\\nme the rainbow of the rose, and the rainbow of the\\nviolet, and the rainbow of the hyacinth, and the\\nrainbow of forest leaves being born, and the rain-\\nbow of forest leaves dying.\\nAnd, last, he showed me the rainbow^ of blood. It\\nwas but the three hundredth part of a grain, dis-\\nsolved in a drop of water and it cast its measured", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0458.jp2"}, "459": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BITS OF THOUGHT. 457\\nbars, forevei recognizable now to human sight, on\\nthe chord of tlie seven colors. And no drop of that\\nred rain can now be shed, so small as that the stain\\nof it cannot be known, and the voice of it heard out\\nof the ground. Time and Tide, p. 110.\\nMoDBRX Scientific Knowledge an Asses\\nBridge. The fact is that the greater quantity of\\nthe knowledge which modern science is so saucy\\nabout, is only an asses bi idge, which the asses all\\nstop at the top of, and which, moreover, they can t\\nhelp stopping at the top of for they have from the\\nbeginning taken the wrong road, and so come to a\\nbroken bridge a Ponte rotto over the River of\\nDeath, by which the Pontifex Maximus allows thein\\nto pass no step farther.\\nFor instance having invented telescopes and\\nphotography, you are all stuck up on your hobby-\\nhorses, because you know how big the moon is,\\nand can get pictures of the volcanoes in it But\\nyou never can get any more i\\\\\\\\ii,n 2nctures of these,\\nwhile in your own planet there are a thousand vol-\\ncanoes which yoia may jump into, if you have a\\nmind to; and may one day jierhaps be blown sky\\nhigh by, whether you have a mind or not. The\\nlast time the great volcano in Java was in erup-\\ntion, it threw out a stream of hot water as big as\\nLancaster Bay, and boiled twelve thousand jjeople.\\nThat s what I call a volcano to be interested about,\\nif you want sensational science.\\nBut if not, and you can be content in the wonder\\nand the power of Nature, without her terror, here\\nis a little bit of a volcano, close at your very doors\\nYewdale Crag, which I think will be quiet for\\nour time and on Avhich the Anagallis tenella, and\\nthe golden potentilla, and the sun-dew grow to-\\ngether among the dewy moss in peace. And on the\\ncellular surface of one of the blocks of it, you may\\nfind more beauty, and learn more precious things,\\nthan with telescope or photograph from all the\\nmoons in the milky way, though every drop of it\\nwere another solar system.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i)et(ca7fow, pp. 142, 143.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0459.jp2"}, "460": {"fulltext": "458 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nMr. Darwin s Account op the Peacock s\\nFeathe:r. I went to it myself, hoiking to leai-n\\nsome of the existing laws of life which regulate the\\nlocal disposition of the color. But none of these\\nappear to be known and I am informed only that\\npeacocks have grown to be jjeacocks out of brown\\npheasants, because the young feminine brown\\npheasants like fine feathers. Wherevipon I say to\\nmyself, Then either there was a distinct species of\\nbrown pheasants originally born with a taste for\\nfine feathers and therefore with remarkable eyes\\nin their heads, which would be a much more won-\\nderful distinction of species than being born with\\nremarkable eyes in their tails,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or else all pheas-\\nants would have been peacocks by this time!\\nAnd I trouble myself no more about the Darwinian\\ntheory. Ragle s Nest, p. 112.\\nScience and Song.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You have, I doubt not, your\\nnew science of song, as of nest-building: and I am\\nhappy to think you could all explain to me, or at\\nleast you will be able to do so before you pass your\\nnatural science examination, how, by the accurate\\nconnection of a larynx with a bill, and by the ac-\\ntion of heat, originally derived from the sun, upon\\nthe muscular fibre, an undulatory motion is pro-\\nduced in the larynx, and an opening and shutting\\none in the bill, which is accompanied, necessarily, by\\na piping sound. Eagle s Nest, p. 41.\\nThere are Sciences op the Arts, too.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It has\\nbecome the permitted fashion among modern math-\\nematicians, chemists, and apothecaries, to call them-\\nselves scientific men, as oi^posed to theologians,\\npoets, and artists. They know their sphere to be a\\nseparate one; but their ridiculous notion of its being\\na peculiarly scientific one ought not to be alloAved\\nin our Universities. There is a science of Morals, a\\nscience of History, a science of Grammar, a science\\nof Music, and a science of Painting and all these\\nare quite beyond comparison higher fields for\\nhuman intellect, and require accuracies of intens^r", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0460.jp2"}, "461": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BITS OF THOUGHT. 459\\nobservation, than either chemistry, electricity, or\\ngeology. Ariadne, p. 85.\\nThe Cult of Ugliness.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 And the universal in-\\nstinct of blasphemy in the modern vulgar scientific\\nmind is above all manifested in its love of what is\\nugly, and natural enthralment by the abominable;\\nso that it is ten to one if, in the description of a\\nnew bii d, you learn much more of it than the enum-\\nerated species of vermin that stick to its feathers\\nand in the natui-al history museum of Oxford, hu-\\nmanity has been hitherto taught, not by portraits\\nof great men, but by the skulls of cretins. Storm\\nCloud, Lect. II., 30.\\nSciEXCE m. Art. It is very fine, sculptors\\nand painters say, and very useful, this knocking\\nthe light out of the sun, or into it, by an eternal\\ncataract of planets. But you may hail away, so,\\nfor ever, and you will not knock out what we can.\\nHere is a bit of silver, not the size of half-a-crown,\\non which, with a single hammer stroke, one of us,\\ntwo thousand and odd years ago, hit out the head\\nof the Apollo of Clazomenae. It is merely a matter\\nof form; but if any of you philosophers, with your\\nwhole planetary system to hammer with, can hit\\nout such another bit of silver as this, we will take\\noff our hats to you. For the present, we keep\\nthem on. Ethics of the Dust, p. 127.\\nRivers not deepening but filling up their\\nBeds.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Niagara is a vast Exception and Decep-\\ntion. The true cataracts and falls of the great\\nmountains, as the dear little cascades and leaplets\\nof your own rills, fall where they fell of old that\\nis to say, wherever there s a hard bed of rock for\\nthem to jump over. They don t cut it away\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and\\nthey can t. They do form pools heneath in a mys-\\ntic way, they excavate them to the depth which\\nwill break their fall s force and then they excavate\\nno move.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Deucalioii, p. 136.\\nDecay in the Scale op animated Life.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\ndecomposition of a crystal is not necessarily impure\\nat all. The fermentation of a wholesome liquid be-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0461.jp2"}, "462": {"fulltext": "460 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngins to admit the idea slightly the decay of leaves\\nyet more; of flowers, more; of animals, Avith greater\\npainfulness and terribleness in exact proportion to\\ntheir original vitality and the foulest of all cor-\\nruption is that of the body of man and, in his\\nbody, that which is occasioned by disease, more\\nthan that of natural death.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 llodern Painters, V.,\\np. 174.\\nGeology. Though an old member of the Geolog-\\nical Society, my geological observations have\\nalways been as completely ignored by that society\\nas my remarks on political economy by the direc-\\ntors of the Bank of England. In Moidibns iSancti s.\\nI do not believe that one in a hundred of our\\nyouth, or of our educated classes, out of directly\\nscientific circles, take any real interest in geology.\\nAnd for my own part, I do not wonder,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for it seems\\nto me that geology tells us nothing really interest-\\ning. It tells us much about a world that once Avas.\\nBut, for my part, a world that only was, is as lit-\\ntle interesting as a world that only is to be. I no\\nmore care to hear of the forms of mountains that\\ncrumbled away a million of years ago to leave room\\nfor the town of Kendal, than of forms of mountains\\nthat some future day may swallow up the town of\\nKendal in the cracks of them. I am only inter-\\nested so ignoble and unspeculative is my disposi-\\ntion in knowing how God made the Castle Hill of\\nKendal, for the Baron of it to build on, and how he\\nbrought the Kent through the dale of it, for its peo-\\nl^le and flocks to drink of.\\nAnd these things, if you think of them, you Avill\\nfind are precisely what the geologists cannot tell\\nyou. They never trouble themselves about matters\\nso recent, or so visible and while you niaj always\\nobtain the most satisfactory information from them\\nrespecting the congelation of the whole globe out\\nof gas, or the direction of it in space, there is i-eally\\nnot one who can exjilain to you the making of a\\npebble, or the running of a rivulet. Deucalion,\\np. 137.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0462.jp2"}, "463": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE-BITS OF THOUGHT. 401\\nThere are, broadly, three great demonstrable\\npnriotls of the Earth s history: That in which it\\nwas crystallized that in which it was sculptured\\nand that in which it is now being unsculptured, or\\ndeformed. These three periods interlace with eacli\\nother, and gradate into each other as the periods\\nof liuman life do. Something dies in the child on\\nthe day that it is born something is born in the\\nman on the day that he dies nevertheless, his life\\nis broadly divided into youth, strength, and decrep-\\nitude. In such clear sense, the Earth has its three\\nages of their length we know as yet nothing, except\\nthat it has been greater than any man had imagined.\\nThe First Period. But there was a period, or a\\nsuccession of periods, dui-ing which the rocks which\\nare now hard were soft and in wliich, out of entirely\\ndifferent positions, and under entirely different con-\\nditions from any now existing or describable, the\\nmasses, of which the mountains you now see are\\nmade, were lifted and hardened, in the positions\\nthey now occupy, though in what forms we can now\\nno more guess than we can the original outline of\\nthe block from the existing statue.\\nThe Second Period. Then, out of those raised\\nmasses, more or less in lines compliant with their\\ncrystalline structure, the mountains we now see were\\nhewn, or worn, during the second period, by forces\\nfor the most part differing both in mode and vio-\\nlence from any now in operation, but the result of\\nwhich was to bring the surface of the earth into a\\nform approximately that which it has possessed as\\nfar as the records of human history extend. The\\nArarat of Moses s time, the Olympus and Ida of\\nHomer s, are practically the same mountains now,\\nthat they wei-e then.\\nThe Third Period. Not, however, without some\\ncalculable, though superficial, change, and that\\nchange, one of steady degradation. For in the\\nthird, or historical jieriod, tlie valleys excavated in\\nthe second period, are being filled up, and the moun-\\ntains hewn in the second period, worn or ruined\\ndown. In tlie second era the valley of the Rhone", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0463.jp2"}, "464": {"fulltext": "462 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwas being cut deeper every day; now it is every day\\nbeing filled up with gravel. In the second era, the\\nscars of Derbyshire and Yorkshire were cut white\\nand steep now they are being darkened by vegeta-\\ntion, and crumbled by frost. You cannot, I repeat,\\nseparate the periods with precision but, in their\\ncharacters, they are as distinct as youth from age.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Deucalion, pp. 22, 23.\\nThe Discovery by James Forbes of the vis-\\ncous Nature op Glacier Ice. Professor Agas.siz,\\nof Neuchatel, had then [1841] been some eight or\\nten years at work on the glaciers had built a cabin\\non one of them walked a great many times over\\na great many of them described a number of their\\nphenomena quite correctly; proposed, and in some\\ncases performed, many ingenious experiments upon\\nthem and indeed done almost everything that\\nwas to be done for them except find out the one\\nthing that we wanted to know.\\nAs his malicious fortune would have it, he invited\\nin that year (1841) a man of acute brains James\\nForbes to see what he was about. The invitation\\nwas accepted. The visitor was a mathematician\\nand after examining the question, for discussion of\\nwhich Agassiz was able to supply him with all the\\ndata except those which were essential, resolved to\\nfind out the essential ones himself. Which in the\\nnext year (1842) he quietly did and in 1843 solved\\nthe problem of glacier motion forever: announcing,\\nto everybody s astonishment, and to the extreme\\ndisgust and mortification of all glacier students\\nincluding my poor self, (not the least envious, I\\nfancy, though with as little right to be envious as\\nany one) that glaciei S wei-e not solid bodies at all,\\nbut semi-liqviid ones, and ran down in their beds\\nlike so much treacle.\\nBut fancy the feelings of poor Agassiz in his Hotel\\ndes Neuchatelois To have had the thing under his\\nnose for ten years, and missed it There is nothing\\nin the annals of scientific mischance (perhaps the\\nti uer word would be scientific dulness) to match\\nit certainly it would be difficult for provocation", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0464.jp2"}, "465": {"fulltext": "SCIENCE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 BITS OF THOUGHT. 463\\nto be more bitter, at least, for a man who thinks,\\nas most of our foolish modern scientific men do\\nthink, that there is no good in knowing anything\\nfor its own sake, but only in being tlie first to find\\nit out.\\nNor am I prepared altogether to justify Forbes\\nin his method of proceeding, except on the terms of\\nbattle which men of science have laid down for\\nthemselves. Here is a man has been ten years at\\nhis diggings has trenched here, and bored there,\\nand been over all the ground again and again, ex-\\ncept just where the nugget is. He asks one to din-\\nner and one has an eye for the run of a stream\\none does a little bit of pickaxing in the afternoon\\non one s own account and walks off Avith his nug-\\nget.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ors, II., pp. 90, 91.\\nA Glacier is a River of Honey. Above all\\nsubstances that can be proposed for definition of\\nquality, glacier ice is the most defeating. For it is\\npractically plastic but actually viscous; and that\\ntothe full extent. You can beat or hammer it, like\\ngold and it will stay in the form you have bcatfen\\nit into, for a time and so long a time, that,\\non all instant occasions of plasticity, it is practi-\\ncally plastic. But only have patience to wait long\\nenough, and it will run down out of the form you\\nhave stamped on it, as honey does, so that actvially\\nand inherently, it is viscous, and not plastic.\\nDeucalion, p. 56.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0465.jp2"}, "466": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0466.jp2"}, "467": {"fulltext": "PART V.\\nNATUflE AND LITERATURE.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0467.jp2"}, "468": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0468.jp2"}, "469": {"fulltext": "A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nPART V.-NATURE AND LITERATURE.\\nCHAPTER I.\\nNature.\\nThe Air. The deep of air that surrounds the\\nearth enters into union with the earth at its surface,\\nand with its waters so as to be the apparent cause\\nof their ascending into life. First, it warms them,\\nand shades, at once, staying the heat of the sun s\\nrays in its own body, but warding their force with\\nits clouds. It warms and cools at once, with traffic\\nof balm and frost so that the white wreaths are\\nwithdrawn from the field of the Swiss peasant by\\nthe glow of Libyan rock. It gives its own strength\\nto the sea forms and fills every cell of its foam\\nsustains the jjrecipices, and designs the valleys of\\nits waves gives the gleam to their moving under\\nthe night, and the white fire to their plains under\\nsunrise lifts their voices along the rocks, bears\\nabove them the spray of birds, pencils through\\nthem the dimpling of unfooted sands. It gathers\\nout of them a portion in the hollow of its hand\\ndyes, with that, the hills into dark blue, and their\\nglaciers with dying rose inlays with that, for sap-\\nphire, the dome in which it has to set the cloud\\nshapes out of that the heavenly flocks divides\\nthem, numbers, cherishes, bears them on its bosom,\\ncalls them to their journeys, waits by their rest;\\nfeeds from them the brooks that cease not, and\\nstrews with them the dews that cease. It spins and\\nweaves their fleece into wild tapestry, rends it, and\\n467", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0469.jp2"}, "470": {"fulltext": "468 A HUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nrenews and flits and flames, and whispers, among\\nthe golden threads, thrilling them with a plectrum\\nof strange fire that traverses them to and fro, and\\nis enclosed in them like life.\\nIt enters into the surface of the earth, subdues it,\\nand falls together with it into fruitful dust, from\\nwhich can be moulded flesh; it joins itself, in dew, to\\nthe substance of adamant and becomes the green\\nleaf out of the dry ground; it enters into the separ-\\nated shapes of the earth it has tempered, commands\\nthe ebb and flow of the current of their life, fills their\\nlimbs with its own lightness, measures their exist-\\nence by its indwelling pulse, moulds upon their lips\\nthe words by Avhich one soul can be known to\\nanother is to them the hearing of the ear, and the\\nbeating of the heart and, passing away, leaves\\nthem to the peace that hears and moves no more.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Athena, p. 78.\\nClouds among the Hills- There is more beau-\\nty in a single wreath of early cloud, pacing its way\\nup an avenue of pines, or pausing among the points\\nof their fringes, than in all the white heaps that fill\\nthe arched sky of the plains from one horizon to\\nthe other. And of the nobler cloud manifestations\\nthe breaking of their troublous seas against the\\ncrags, their black spi-ay sparkling with lightnirig\\nor the going forth of the morning along their pave-\\nments of moving marble, level-laid between dome\\nand dome of snow of these things there can be as\\nlittle imagination or understanding in an inhabi-\\ntant of the plains as of the scenery of another\\nplanet than his o\\\\wi\\\\.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, IV., p. 373.\\nThe Cumulus Cloud. I have never succeeded\\nin drawing a cumulus. Its divisions of surface are\\ngrotesque and endless, as those of a mountain\\nperfectly defined, brilliant beyond all power of color,\\nand transitory as a dream. Even Turner never at-\\ntempted to paint them, any more than he did the\\nsnows of the high Alps. Modern Painter s, V.,\\np. 140.\\nRaijV in Temperate Climes. The great Angel\\nof the Sea rain the Angel, observe, the messen-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0470.jp2"}, "471": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. -iGO\\nger sent to a special place on a special errand. Not\\nthe diffused perpetual presence of the burden of\\nluist, but the going and returning of intermittent\\ncloud. All turns upon that internuttence. Soft\\nmoss on stone and rock cave-fern of tangled glen\\nwayside well \u00e2\u0080\u0094perennial, patient, silent, clear;\\nstealing through its square font of rough-hewn\\nstone ever thus deep\u00e2\u0080\u0094 no more\u00e2\u0080\u0094 which the winter\\nwreck sullies not, the summer thirst wastes not, in-\\ncapable of stain as of decline\u00e2\u0080\u0094 where the fallen leaf\\nfloats, undecayed, and the insect darts undefiling.\\nCressed brook and ever-eddying river, lifted even\\nin flood scarcely over its stepping-stones,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but\\nthrough all sweet summer keeping tremulous music\\nwith harp-strings of dark water among the silver\\nfingering of the pebbles. Far away in the south the\\nstrong river Gods have all hasted, and gone down\\nto the sea. Wasted and burning, white furnaces\\nof blasting sand, their broad beds lie ghastly and\\nbare but here the soft wings of the Sea Angel\\ndroop still with dew, and the shadows of their\\nplumes falter on the hills strange laughings, and\\nglitterings of silver streamlets, born suddenly, and\\ntwined about the mossy heights in trickling tin-\\nsel, answering to them as they wave. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 154.\\nThe Hurrica:xe Storm.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The fronting clouds\\ncome leaning forward, one thrusting the other\\naside, or on impatient, ponderous, impendent, like\\nglobes of rock tossed of Titans\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Ossa on Olympus\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094but hurled forward all, in one Avave of cloud-\\nlava\u00e2\u0080\u0094 cloud whose throat is as a sepulchre. Fierce\\nbehind them rages the oblique wrath of the rain,\\nwhite as ashes, dense as showers of driven steel\\nthe pillars of it full of ghastly life Rain-Furies,\\nshrieking as they fly scourging, as with whips of\\nscorpions the earth ringing and trembling under\\nthem, heaven wailing wildly, the trees stooped\\nblindly down, covering their faces, quivering in\\nevery leaf with horror, ruin of their branches fly-\\ning by them like black stubble.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J/bcZeni Painters.\\nv., p. 156.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0471.jp2"}, "472": {"fulltext": "470 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe Miracles of Ice and Frost.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Every crys-\\ntalline substance has a brick of a particular form\\nto build with, usually, in some angle or modification\\nof angle, quite the minei-al s own special property\\nand if not absolutely peculiar to it, at least pecu-\\nliarly used by it. Thus, though the brick of gold,\\nand that of the ruby-colored oxide of copj)er, are\\nalike cubes, yet gold gi ows trees with its bricks,\\nand ruby copper weaves samite with them. Gold\\ncannot plait samite, nor ruby copper branch into\\ntrees and ruby itself, with a far more convenient\\nand adajDtable form of brick, does neither the one\\nnor the other. But ice, which has the same form\\nof bricks to build with as ruby, can, at its pleasure,\\nbind them into branches, or weave them into wool\\nbuttress a polar cliff with adamant, or flush a\\ndome of Alp with light lovelier than the ruby s.\\nDeucalion, p. 220.\\nIcicles, and all other such accretions of ice formed\\nby additions at the surface, by flowing or dropping\\nwater, are always, Avhen unaffected by irregular\\nchanges of temperature or other disturbing acci-\\ndents, composed of exquisitely transparent vitreous\\nice (the water of course being supposed transparent\\nto begin with) compact, flawless, absolutely smooth\\nat the surface, and presenting on the fracture, to\\nthe naked eye, no evidence Avhatever of crystalline\\nstructure. They will enclose living leaves of holly,\\nfern, or ivy, without disturbing one fold or fringe\\nof them, in clear jelly (if one may use the word of\\nanything frozen so hard), like the dantiest candy-\\nings by Parisian confectioner s art, over glace fruit,\\nor like the fixed juice of the white currant in the\\npei fect confiture of Bar-le-Duc and the frozen\\ngelatine melts, as it forms, stealthily, serenely,\\nshowing no vestige of its crystalline power push-\\ning nowhere, pulling nowhere revealing in disso-\\nlution, no secrets of its structure affecting flexile\\nbi anches and foliage only by its weight, and letting\\nthem rise when it has passed away, as they rise after\\nbeing bow-ed under rain.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0472.jp2"}, "473": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITER ATUIiE-NA TUBE.\\n5\u00c2\u00bb:ij\\nA small cascade, falling lightly, and shattering\\nitself only into drops, will always do beautiful\\nthings, and often incomprehensible ones. After\\nsome fortnight or so of clear frost in one of our\\nrecent hard winters at Coniston, a fall of about\\ntwenty-five feet in the stream of Leathes-water,\\nbeginning with general glass basket-making out of\\nall the light grasses at its sides, built for itself at\\nlast a complete veil or vault of finely interwoven\\nice. under which it might be seen, when the em-\\nbroidery was finished, falling tranquilly: its strength\\nbeing then too far subdued to spoil by overloading\\nor over-laboring the poised traceries of its incandes-\\ncent canopy. Deucalion, pp. 217-319.\\nThe Earth-veil.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The earth in its depths must\\nremain dead and cold, incapable except of slow\\ncrystalline change; but at its surface, which human\\nbeings look upon and deal with, it ministers to\\nthem through a veil of strange intermediate being\\nwhich breathes, but has no voice moves, but can-\\nnot leave its appointed place passes through life\\nwithout consciousness, to death Avithout bitterness;\\nwears the beauty of youth, v\u00c2\u00bbdthout its passion\\nand declines to the weakness of age, without Its\\nregret.\\nAnd in this mystery of intermediate being, en-\\ntirely subordinate to us, with which we can deal as\\nwe choose, having just the greater power as we\\nhave the less responsibility for ourtreatment of the\\nunsuffering creature, most of the pleasures which\\nwe need from the external world are gathered, and\\nmost of the lessons we need are written, all kinds\\nof precious grace and teaching being united in this\\nlink between the Earth and Man wonderful in\\nuniversal adai)tation to his need, desire, and disci-\\npline God s daily preparation of the earth for him,\\nwith beautiful nieans of life. First a carpet to\\nmake it soft for him then, a colored fantasy of\\nembroidery thereon then, tall spreading of foliage\\nto shade him from sun-heat, and shade also the\\nfallen rain, that it may not dry quickly back into", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0473.jp2"}, "474": {"fulltext": ":it A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthe clouds, but stay to nourish the springs among\\nthe moss. Stout wood to bear this leafage easily\\nto be cut, yet tough and light, to make houses for\\nhim, or instruments (lance-shaft, or plough-handle,\\naccording to his temi^er) useless it had been, if\\nharder; useless, if less fibrous; useless, if less\\nelastic. Winter comes, and the shade of leafage\\nfalls away, to let the sun warm the earth the\\nstrong boughs remain, breaking the strength of\\nwinter winds. The seeds which are to prolong the\\nrace, innumerable according to the need, are made\\nbeautiful and palatable, varied into infinitude of\\n-appeal to the fancy of man, or provision for his\\nservice cold juice, or glowing spice, or balm, or\\nincense, softening oil, perserving resin, medicine of\\nstyptic, febrifuge, or lulling charm and all these\\npresented in forms of endless change. Fragility or\\nforce, softness and strength, in all degrees and as-\\npects unerring uprightness, as of temple pillars,\\nor undivided wandering of feeble tendrils on the\\nground mighty resistances of rigid arm and limb\\nto the storms of ages, or wavings to and fro with\\nfaintest pulse of summer streamlet. Roots cleav-\\ning the strength of rock, or binding the transcience\\nof the sand crests basking in sunshine of the\\ndesert, or hiding by dripping spring and lightless\\ncave foliage far tossing in entangled fields, be-\\nneath every wave of ocean clothing with varie-\\ngated, everlasting films, the peaks of the trackless\\nmountains, or ministering at cottage doors to every\\ngentlest j)assion and simplest joy of humanity.\\nModer7i Painters, V., pp. 6-17.\\nBranches and Leaves. Branches float on the\\nwind more than they yield to it; and in their tossing\\ndo not so much bend under a force, as rise on a\\nwave, which penetrates in liquid threads through\\nall their sprays. Modern Painters, V., p. 79.\\nCaprice is an essential source of branch beauty:\\nbeing in reality the written story of all the branch s\\nlife of the theories it formed, the accidents it suf-\\nfered, the fits of enthusiasm to which it yielded ixx", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0474.jp2"}, "475": {"fulltext": "NATUPxE AND LIT Eli ATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 473\\ncertain delicious warm springs tlie disgusts at\\nweeks of east wind, the mortifications of itself for\\nits friends sakes or the sudden and successful in-\\nventions of neAV ways of getting out to the sun.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 84.\\nPaint a leaf indeed Above-named Titian has\\ndone it: Correggio, moreover, and Giorgione and\\nLeonardo, very nearly, trying hard. Holbein, three\\nor four times, in precious pieces, highest wrought.\\nRaphael, it may be, in one or two crowns of Muse\\nor Sibyl. If any one else, in later times, we have\\nto consider. Modern Painters, p. 49.\\nThe leaves of the herbage at our feet take all\\nkinds of strange shapes, as if to invite us to ex-\\namine them. Star-shajoed, heart-shaped, spear-\\nshaped, arrow-shaped, fretted, fringed, cleft, fur-\\nrowed, serrated, sinuated in whorls, in tufts, in\\nspires, in wreaths endlessly expressive, deceptive,\\nfantastic, never the same from footstalk to blossoiu\\nthey seem perpetually to tempt our watchfulness,\\nand take delight in outstripping our wonder. And\\nobserve, their forms are such as will not be visibly\\ninjured by crushing. Their complexity is already\\ndisorded jags and rents are their laws of being\\nrent by the footstep they betray no harm. Modern\\nPainters, V., p. 109.\\nBy a power of which I believe no sufficient ac-\\ncount exists, as each leaf adds to the thickness of\\nthe shoot, so each shoot to the branch, so each\\nbranch to the stem, and that with so perfect an\\norder and regularity of duty, that from every leaf\\nin all the countless crowd at tlie tree s summit, one\\nslender fibre, or at least fibre s thickness of wood,\\ndescends through shoot, through spray, through\\nbranch, and through stem and having thus added,\\nin its due proportion, to form the strength of the\\ntree, laboi s yet farther and more painfully to pro-\\nvide for its security and thrusting forward into\\nthe root, loses nothing of its miiihty energy, until,\\nmining through the darkness, it has taken hold in\\ncleft of rock or depth of earth, as extended as the\\nsweep of its green crest in the free air.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0475.jp2"}, "476": {"fulltext": "474 A EUSKIJSr ANTHOLOGY.\\nThese ridges, which rib the shoot so distinctly,\\nare not on the ascending jiart of it. They are the\\ncontributions of eacli successive leaf thrown out as\\nit ascended. Every leaf sent down a slender cord,\\ncovering and clinging to the shoot beneath, and in-\\ncreasing its thickness. Each, according to his size\\nand strength, wore his little strand of cable, as a\\nspider his thread and cast it down the side of the\\nsijringing tower by a marvellous magic irresisti^\\nble The fall of a granite pyramid from an Alp\\nmay perhaps be stayed the descending force of\\nthat silver thread shall not be stayed. It will split\\nthe rocks themselves at its roots, if need be, rather\\nthan fail in its work. 3Iodern Painters, V.,\\npp. 55, 57.\\nEvery single leaf-cluster presents the general as-\\npect of a little family, entirely at unity among\\nthemselves, but obliged to get their living by va-\\nrious shifts, concessions, and infringements of the\\nfamily rules, in order not to invade the privileges\\nof other peo^^le in their neigliborhood. And in the\\narrangement of these concessions there is an exquis-\\nite sensibility among the leaves. They do not grow\\neach to his own liking, till they run against one\\nanother, and then turn back suVk ly but by a\\nwatchful instinct, far apart, tliey anticipate their\\ncompanions coui ses, as ships M sea, and in every\\nnew unfolding of their edgt^d tissue, guide them-\\nselves by the sense of eacp other s remote j^resence,\\nand by a watchful penetration of leafy purj^ose in\\nthe far future. iSo that every shadow which one\\ncasts on the next, ind every glint of sun which each\\nreflects to the next, and every touch which in toss\\nof stovm each receives from the next, aid or arrest\\nthe development of their advancing form, and di-\\nrect, as will be safest and best, the curve of every\\nfold and the current of every vein. Modern Paint-\\ners, v., pp. 46, 47.\\nTo conclude, then, we find that the beauty of\\nthese buildings of the leaves consists, from the first\\nfitep of it to the last, in its showingtheir jjerfect fel-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0476.jp2"}, "477": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094NATURE. 475\\nlowship and a single aim uniting them under cir-\\ncumstances of various distress, trial, and pleasure.\\nWithout the fellowship, no beauty without the\\nsteady purpose, no beauty without trouble and\\ndeath, no beauty without individual pleasure,\\nfreedom, and caprice, so far as mav be consistent\\nAvith the universal good, no beauty.\\nTree-loveliness might be thus lost or killed in\\nmany ways. Discordance would kill it of one leaf\\nwith another disobedience would kill it of any\\nleaf to the ruling law indulgence would kill it,\\nand the doing away with pain or slavisli symme-\\ntry would kill it. and the doing away with deliglit.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 88.\\nFlowers. All plants are composed of essen-\\ntially two parts the leaf and root one loving the\\nlight, the other darkness one liking to be clean,\\nthe other to be dirty one liking to grow for the\\nmost part up, the other for the most part down\\nand each having faculties and purposes of its own.\\nBut the pure one, which loves the light, has, above\\nall things, the purpose of being mai ried to another\\nleaf, and having child-leaves, and children s chil-\\ndren of leaves, to make the earth fair for ever. And\\nwhen the leaves marry, they put on wedding-robes,\\nand are more glorious than Solomon in all his glory,\\nand they have feasts of honey, and we call them\\nFlowers. For6% I., p. 63.\\nFew people care about flowers. Many, indeed,\\nare fond of finding a new shape of blossom, caring\\nfor it as a child cares about a kaleidoscope. Many,\\nalso, like a fair service of flowers in the greenhouse,\\nas a fair service of plate on the table. Many are\\nscientificallj^ interested in them, though even these\\nin the nomenclature rather than the flowers. And\\na few enjoy their gardens but I have never heard\\nof a piece of land, which would let well on a build-\\ning lease, remaining unlet because it was a flowery\\npiece. I have never heard of parks being kept for\\nwild hyacinths, though often of their being kept for\\nwild beasts. And the blossoming time of the year", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0477.jp2"}, "478": {"fulltext": "476 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbeing principally spring, I perceive it to be the mind\\nof most people, during tliat period, to stay in\\ntowns.\\nFlowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary\\nhumanity: children love them; quiet, tender, con-\\ntented ordinary people love them as they grow\\nluxurious and disorderly people rejoice in them\\ngathered They are the cottager s treasure and in\\nthe crowded town, mark, as with a little broken\\nfragment of rainbow, the windows of the w^orkers\\nin whose heart rests the covenant of peace. Pas-\\nsionate or religious minds contemplate them with\\nfond, feverish intensity the affection is seen se-\\nverely calm in the works of many old religious\\nl^ainters, and mixed with more open and true\\ncountry sentiment in those of our own pre-K.a-\\nphaelites. To the child and the girl, the peasant\\nand the manufacturing operative, to the grisette\\nand the nun, the lover and monk, they are pre-\\ncious always. But to the men of supreme power\\nand thoughtfulness, precious only at times sym-\\nbolically and pathetically often to the poets, but\\nrarely for their own sake. They fall forgotten\\nfrom the great workmen s and soldiers hands.\\nSuch men will take, in thankfulness, crowns of\\nleaves, or crowns of thorns not crowns of\\nflowers.\\nA curious fact, this Here are men whose lives\\nare spent iia the study of color, and the one thing\\nthey will not paint is a flower Anything but that.\\nA furred mantle, a jewelled zone, a silken gown, a\\nbrazen corslet, nay, an old leathern chair, or a\\nwall-paper if you will, with utmost care and de-\\nlight but a flower by no manner of means, if\\navoidable. When the thing has perforce to be\\ndone, the great painters of course do it rightly.\\nTitian, in his eai-ly work, sometimes carries a blos-\\nsom or two out with affection, as the columbines in\\nour Bacchus and Ariadne. So also Holbein. But\\nin his later and mightier work, Titian will only\\npaint a fan or a wristband intensely, never a flower.\\nThe utuiost that Turner ever allows in his fore-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0478.jp2"}, "479": {"fulltext": "NATCRE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 477\\ngrounds is a Wcitev-lily or two, a cluster of heath\\nor fox ilove, a thistle sometimes, a violet or daisy,\\nor a l)iud\\\\veed-bell; just enough to lead the eye into\\nthe understanding of the rich mystery of his more\\ndistant leafage.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J/ocZer?^ Painters, V., pp- 104-108.\\nThe Pine Tree.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Ahnost the only pleasure I\\nhave myself in re-reading my okl books is my sense\\nof having at least done justice to the ]i\\\\x\\\\ii.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Frondes\\nAyrestes, p- 28.\\nWhen the sun rises behind a ridges of pines, and\\nthose pines are seen from a distance of a mile or\\ntwo, against his light, the whole foruj of the tree,\\ntrunk, branches, and all, becomes one frostwork\\nof intensely brilliant silver, which is relieved against\\nthe clear sky like a burning fringe, for some dis-\\ntance on either side of the s\\\\xn.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of Venice,\\nI., p. 345.\\nThe pine is trained to need nothing, and to endure\\neverything. It is resolvedly whole, self-contained,\\ndesiring nothing but rightness, content with re-\\nstricted completion. Tall or short, it will be\\nstraight. Small or large, it will be round. It may\\nbe permitted to these soft lowland trees that they\\nshould make themselves gay with show of blossom,\\nand glad with pretty charities of fruitfulness. We\\nbuilders with the sword have harder work to do\\nfor man, and must do it in close-set troops. To\\nstay the sliding of the mountain snows, which\\nwould bury him to hold in divided drops, at our\\nsword-points, the rain, which would sweep away\\nhim and his treasure-fields to nurse in shade\\namong our brown fallen leaves the tricklings that\\nfeed the brooks in drought to give massive shield\\nagainst the winter wind, which shrieks through the\\nbare branches of the plain such service must\\nwe do him steadfastly Avhile we live. Our bodies,\\nalso, are at his service softer than the bodies of\\nother trees, though our toil is harder than theirs.\\nModern Painters, V-, p. 95.\\n1 can never without awe stav long under a great", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0479.jp2"}, "480": {"fulltext": "il9, A tiUSKtN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAlpine cliff, far from all house or work of men,\\nlooking up to its companies of pine, as they stand\\non the inaccessible juts and perilous ledges of the\\nenormous wall, in quiet multitudes, each like the\\nshadow of the one beside it upright, fixed, spec-\\ntral, as troops of ghosts standing on the walls of\\nHades, not knowing each other dumb for ever.\\nYou cannot reach them, cannot cry to them; those\\ntrees never heard human voice they are far above\\nall sound but of the winds. No foot ever stirred fallen\\nleaf of theirs. All comfortless they stand, between\\nthe two eternities of the Vacancy and the Rock\\nyet with such iron will, that the rock itself looks\\nbent and shattered beside them fragile, weak, in-\\nconsistent, compared to their dark energy of deli-\\ncate life, and monotony of enchanted pride\\nunnumbered, unconquerable. Modern Painters,\\nv., p. 96.\\nA pine cannot be represented by a round stroke,\\nnor by an upright one, nor even by an angular one;\\nno conventionalism will express a pine it must be\\nlegitimately drawn, with a light side and a dark\\nside, and a soft gradation from the top downwards,\\nor it does not look like a pine at all. Most artists\\nthink it not desirable to choose a subject which in-\\nvolves the drawing of ten millions of trees be-\\ncause, supposing they could even do four or five in\\na minute, and worked for ten hours a day, their\\nIjicture would still take them ten years befoie they\\nhad finished its pine forests. For this, and other\\nsimilar reasons, it is declared usually that Switzer-\\nland is ugly and unpicturesque but that is not so;\\nit is only that loe cannot paint it. If we could, it\\nwould be as interesting on the canvas as it is in re-\\nality and a painter of fruit and flowers might just\\nas well call a human figure unpicturesque, because\\nit was to him unmanageable, as the ordinary land-\\nscape-effect painter speak in depreciation of the\\nAlps. Modern Painters, IV., p. 311.\\nThe Northern peoples, century after century,\\nlived under one or other of the two great powers of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0480.jp2"}, "481": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LtTSRATURE-NATURE. 479\\nthe Pine and the Sea, both infinite. They dwelt\\namidst the forests, as they wandered on the waves,\\nand saw no end, nor any other horizon still the\\ndark green trees, or the dark green waters, jagged\\nthe dawn with their fringe, or their foam. And\\nwhatever elements of imagination, or of wari ior\\nstrength, or of dome.stic justice, were brought down\\nby the Norwegian and the Goth against the disso-\\nluteness or degradation of the South of Europe,\\nwere taught them under the green roofs and wild\\npenetralia of the pine. Modern Painters, V.,\\np. 100.\\nThe Cereal Grasses. We find another element\\nof very complex effect added to the others which\\nexist in tented plants, namely, that of minute,\\ngranular, feathery, or downy seed-vessels, mingling\\nquaint brown punctuation, and dusty tremors of\\ndancing grain, with the bloom of the nearer fields\\nand casting a gossamered grayness and softness of\\nplumy mist along their surfaces far away myste-\\nrious evermore, not only with dew in the morning\\nor mirage at noon, but with the shaking threads of\\nfine arborescence, each a little belfry of grain-bells,\\nall a-chime. 3Ioder7i Painters, V., p. 113.\\nA Blade op Grass. Gather a single blade of\\ngrass and examine for a minute, quietly, its narrow\\nsword-shaped strip of fluted green. Nothing, as it\\nseems there, of notable goodness or beauty. A very\\nlittle strength, and a very little tallness, and a_few\\ndelicate long lines meeting in a point, not a per-\\nfect point neither, but blunt and unfinished, by no\\nmeans a creditable or apj)arently much cared-for\\nexample of Nature s workmanship made, as it\\nseems, only to be trodden on to-day, and to-mor-\\nrow to be cast into the oven and a little pale and\\nhollow stalk, feeble and flaccid, leading down to the\\ndull brown fibres of roots. And yet, think of it\\nwell, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers\\nthat beam in summer air, and of all strong and\\ngoodly trees, pleasant to the eyes and good for food\\nstately palm and pine, strong ash and oak,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0481.jp2"}, "482": {"fulltext": "480 A RUSKtK ANTHOLOGY.\\nscented citron, burdened vine there be any by\\nman so deeply loved, by God so highly graced, as\\nthat narrow point of feeble green. It seems to me\\nnot to have been without a peculiar significance,\\nthat our Lord, when about to work the miracle\\nwhich, of all that He showed, aj^pears to have been\\nfelt by the multitude as the most impressive tlie\\nmiracle of tlie loaves commanded the people to sit\\ndown by companies upon the green grass. He\\nwas about to feed them with the princijaal produce\\nof eartli and the sea, the simplest representations\\nof the food of mankind. He gave tliem the seed of\\nthe herb He bade them sit down upon the herb\\nitself, which was as great a gift, in its fitness for\\ntheir joy and rest, as its perfect fruit for their sus-\\ntenance thus, in this single order and act, when\\nrightly understood, indicating for evermore liow the\\nCreator had entrusted the comfort, consolation, and\\nsustenance of man, to the simjjlest and most de-\\nspised of all tlie leafy families of the eartli.\\nAnd Avell does it fulfil its mission. Consider wliat\\nwe owe merely to the meadow grass, to the covering\\nof the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the\\ncompanies of tliose soft, and countless, and peace-\\nful spears. The fields Follow but forth for a lit-\\ntle time the thouglits of all that we ought to recog-\\nnize in those Avords. All spring and summer is in\\nthem the walks by silent, scented jiaths the rests\\nin noonday heat the joy of herds and flocks tlie\\npower of all shepherd life and meditation the life\\nof sunlight upon the world, falling in emerald\\nstreaks, and falling in soft blue shadows, where\\nelse it would liave struck upon tlie dark inould, or\\nseorcliing dust pastures beside the pacing brooks\\nsoft banks and knolls of lowly hills thymy slopes\\nof down overlooked by the blue line of lifted sea,\\ncrisp lawns all dim with early dew, or smooth in\\nevening warmth of barred sunshine, dinted by\\nhappy feet, and softening in their fall the sound of\\nloving voices all these are summed in those simple\\nwords and these are not all.\\nWe may not measure to the full the depth of this", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0482.jp2"}, "483": {"fulltext": "MATURE AND LITERATURE-NATrUE. 481\\nheavenly gift, in our own land though still, as we\\nthink of it longer, the infinite of that meadow\\nsweetness, Shakespeare s peculiar joy, would open\\non us more and more, yet we have it but in part.\\nGo out, in the spring time, among the meadows\\nthat slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to the\\nroots of their lower mountains. There, mingled\\nwith the taller gentians and the white narcissus,\\nthe grass grows deep and free; and as you follow the\\nwinding mountain paths, beneath arching boughs\\nall veiled and dim with blossom paths that forever\\ndroop and rise over the green banks and mounds\\nsweejiing down in scented undulation, steep to the\\nblue water, studded hei e and therewith new-mown\\nheaps, filling all the air with fainter sweetness\\nlook up towards the higher hills, whei-e the waves\\nof everlasting green roll silently into their long-\\ninlets among the shadows of the pines; and we may,\\nperhaps, at last know the meaning of those quiet\\nwords of the 147th Psalm, He raaketh grass to\\ngrow upon the mountains. Modern Painters, III.,\\npp. 347-349.\\nLiCHE s OF THE RoCK. It is Strange to think ot\\nthe gradually diminished power and withdrawn\\nfreedom among the orders of leaves from the sweep\\nof the chestnut and gadding of the vine, down to\\nthe close-shrinking trefoil, and contented daisy,\\npressed on earth and, at last, to the leaves that\\nare not merely close to earth, but themselves a part\\nof it; fastened down to it by their sides, here and\\nthere only a wrinkled edge rising from the granite\\ncrystals. They will not be gathered, like the\\nflowers, for chaplet or love-token but of these the\\nwild bird will make its nest, and the Avearied child\\nhis pillow.\\nAnd, as the earth s first mercy, so they are its last\\ngift to us. AVhen all other service is vain, from\\nplant and tree, the soft mosses and gray lichen take\\nup their watch by the head-stone. The woods, the\\nblossoms, the gift-bearing grasses, have done their\\nimrts for a time, but these do service for ever.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0483.jp2"}, "484": {"fulltext": "482 A BUSKIN- ANTHOLOGY.\\nTrees for the builder s yard, flowers for the bride s\\nchamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave.\\nSharing the stillness of the unimpassioned\\nrock, they share also its endurance and while\\nthe winds of departing spring scatter the white\\nhawthorn blossom like drifted snow, and summer\\ndims on the parched meadow the drooping of its\\ncowslip-gold, far above, among the mountains, the\\nsilver lichen-spots, rest, starlike, on the stone and\\nthe gathering orange stain upon the edge of yonder\\nwestern peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand\\nyears. Modern Painters, V., pp. 116, 117.\\nTHE SEA.\\nDay by day, the morning winds come coursing to\\nthe shore, every breath of them with a green wave\\nrearing before it clear, crisp, ringing, merry-\\nminded waves, that fall over and over each other,\\nlaughing like children as they near the beach, and\\nat last clash themselves all into dust of crystal over\\nthe dazzling sweeps of sand. Stones of Venice, I.,\\np. 226.\\nThe Breaking of a Sea-wave against a Cliff.\\nOne moment a flint cave the next, a marble\\npillar,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the next a fading cloud. Harbors of\\nEngland.\\nThe Unshovelled Graves of the Sea.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\ncalm gray abyss of the sea, that has no fury and\\nno voice, but is as a grave always open, which the\\ngreen sighing mounds do but hide for an instant as\\nthey peiss. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Hai bors of England.\\nMoonlight on a swelling Sea. Let us stand\\non the sea-shore on a cloudless night, with a full\\nmoon over the sea, and a swell on the water. Of\\ncourse a long line of splendor will be seen on the\\nwaves under the moon, reaching from the horizon\\nto our very feet. But are those waves between the\\nmoon and us actually more illuminated than any", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0484.jp2"}, "485": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 483\\nother part of the sea Not one whit. The whole\\nsurface of the seals under the same fulUight, but\\nthe waves between the moon and us are the only\\nones Avhich are in a position to reflect that light\\nto our eyes. The sea on both sides of that path of\\nlight is in perfect darkness almost black. But is\\nit so from shadow Not so, for there is nothing to\\nintercept the moonlight from it it is so from posi-\\ntion, because it cannot reflect any of the rays Avhich\\nfall on it to our eyes, but reflects instead the dark\\nvault of the night sky. Both the darkness and the\\nlight on it, therefore\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and they are as violently con-\\ntrasted as may well be\u00e2\u0080\u0094 are nothing but reflections,\\nthe whole surface of the water being under one\\nblaze of moonlight, entirely unshaded by any inter-\\nvening object whatsoever.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 JL /to ?/J.9 of the Chace, I.,\\np. 188.\\nHe weigheth the Waters by Measure.\\nLet us go down and stand by the beach of it,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of the\\ngreat irregular sea, and count whether the thunder\\nof it is not out of time. One\u00e2\u0080\u0094 two here comes a\\nwell-formed wave at last, trembling a little at the\\ntop, but, on the whole, orderly. So, crash among the\\nshingle, and up as far as this grey pebble; now stand\\nby and watch Another Ah, careless wave why\\ncouldn t you haveiiept your crest on it is all gone\\naway into spray, striking up against the cliffs there--\\nI thought as much\u00e2\u0080\u0094 missed the mark by a couple of\\nfeet Another:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 How now, impatient one couldn t\\nyou have waited till your friend s reflux was done\\nwith, instead of rolling yourself up with it in that\\nunseemly manner? You go for nothing. A fourth,\\nand a goodly one at last. What think we of yonder\\nslow rise, and crystalline hollow, without a flaw\\nSteady, good wave not so fast not so fast where\\nare you coming to?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 By our architectural word,\\nthis is to bad two yards over the mark, and ever\\nso much of you in our face besides and a wave\\nwhich we had some hope of, behind there, broken\\nall to pieces out at sea, and laying a great white\\ntable-cloth of foam all the w^ay to the shore, as\\nif the marine gods were to dine off it Alas, for", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0485.jp2"}, "486": {"fulltext": "484 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nthese unhappy arrow shots of Nature she Aviil\\nnever hit her mark with those unruly waves of\\nhers, nor get one of them into the ideal shape, if Ave\\nwait for a thousand years. Stones of Venice, I.,\\np. 343.\\nTHE MOUNTAINS.\\nThe hills, which, as compared with living beings,\\nseem everlasting, are, in truth, as perishing as\\nthey its veins of flowing fountain weary the\\nmountain heart, as the crimson pulse does ours\\nthe natural force of the iron crag is abated in its\\nappointed time, like the strength of the sinews in a\\nhuman old age; and it is but the lapse of the longer\\nyears of decay which, in the sight of its Creator,\\ndistinguishes the mountain range from the moth\\nand the worm. Modern Painters, IV., p. 152.\\nDawn on the Mountains. Wait yet for one\\nhour, until the east again becomes purple and the\\nheaving mountains, rolling against it in darkness,\\nlike waves of a wild sea, are drowned one by one\\nin the glory of its burning watch the white gla-\\nciers blaze in their winding paths about the moun-\\ntains, like mighty serpents with scales of fire\\nwatch the columnar peaks of solitary snow, kind-\\nling downwards, chasm by chasm, each in itself a\\nnew morning their long avalanches cast down in\\nkeen streams brighter than the lightning, sending\\neach bis tribute of driven snow, like altar-smoke, up\\nto the heaven the rose-light of their silent domes\\nflushing that heaven about them and above them,\\npiercing Avith purer light through its purple lines of\\nlifted cloud, casting a new glory on every wreath\\nas it passes by, until the Avhole heaven one scarlet\\ncanopy is interwoven Avith a roof of Avaving f^auie,\\nand tossing, vault beyond vault, as Avith the drifted\\nwings of many companies of angels and then,\\nwhen you can look no more for gladness, and when\\nyou are bowed doAvn with fear and loA ^e of the\\nMaker and Doer of this, tell me who has best de-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0486.jp2"}, "487": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 485\\nJlvered this His message unto men Modern Paint-\\ners, I., p. 341.\\nMoR^ ING ijf THE MouNTAI^^s.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Level lines of\\ndewy mist lay stretched along the valley, out of\\nwhich rose the massy mountains\u00e2\u0080\u0094 their lower cliffs\\nin pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from\\nthe floating vapor, but gradually ascending till\\nthey caught the sunlight, which ran in sharp\\ntouches of ruddy color along the angular crags,\\nand pierced, in long level rays, through their\\nfringes of spear-like pine. Far above, shot up red\\nsplintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and\\nshivered into myriads of fantastic forms, with here\\nand there a streak of sunlit snow, traced down their\\nchasms like a line of forked lightning and, far be-\\nyond, and far above all these, fainter than the\\nHiorning cloud, but purer, and changeless, slept, in\\nthe blue sky, the utmost peaks of the eternal snow.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094King of the Golden River, p. 36.\\nDistance lends Enchantment.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is, in reality,\\nbetter for mankind that the forms of their common\\nlandscape should offer no violent stimulus to the\\nemotions that the gentle upland, browned by the\\nbending furrows of the jjlough, and the fresh sweep\\nof the chalk down, and the narrow winding of the\\ncopse-clad dingle, should be more frequent scenes\\nof human life than the Arcadias of cloud-capped\\nmountain or luxuriant vale; and that, while hum-\\nbler (though always infinite) sources of interest are\\ngiven to each of us around the homes to which we\\nare restrained for the greater part of our lives, these\\nmightier and stranger glories should become the\\nobjects of adventure at once the cynosures of the\\nfancies of childhood, and themes of the happy mem-\\nory, and the winter s tale of age. Modern Painters,\\nIV., p. 14.5.\\nThe Uses op Mountains.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is not, in reality, a\\ndegrading, but a true, large, and ennobling view of\\nthe mountain ranges of tl-.e world, if we compare\\nthem to heaps of fertile and fresh earth, laid up by\\na prudent gardener beside his garden beds, whence,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0487.jp2"}, "488": {"fulltext": "486 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nat intervals, he casts on them some scattering of new\\nand virgin ground. That which we so often lament\\nas convulsion or destruction is nothing else than\\nthe momentary shaking of the dust from the spade.\\nThe winter floods, which inflict a temporary devas-\\ntation, bear Avith them the elements of succeeding\\nfertility; the fruitful field is covered with sand and\\nshingle in momentary judgment, but in enduring-\\nmercy; and the great river, which chokes its mouth\\nwith marsh, and tosses terror along its shore, is but\\nscattering the seeds of the harvest of futurity, and\\npreparing the seats of unborn generations. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 111.\\nThe first use of mountains is of course to give\\nmotion to water. Evei-y fountain and river, from\\nthe inch-deep streamlet that crosses the village\\nlane in trembling clearness, to the massy and silent\\nmarch of the everlasting multitude of waters in\\nAmazon or Ganges, owe their play, and purity, and\\npower, to the ordained elevations of the earth,\\n(jrentle or steep, extended or abrupt, some deter-\\nmined slope of the earth s surface is of course\\nnecessary, before any wave can so much as over-\\ntake one sedge in its pilgrimage.\\nAnd how seldom do we enough consider, as we\\nwalk beside the margins of our pleasant brooks,\\nhow beautiful and wonderful is that ordinance, of\\nwhich every blade of grass that waves in their clear\\nwater is a perpetual sign that the dew and rain\\nfallen on the face of the earth shall find no resting-\\nplace shall find, on the contrary, fixed channels\\ntraced for them, from the ravines of the central\\ncrests down which they roar in sudden ranks of\\nfoam, to the dark hollows beneath the banks of low-\\nland pasture, round which they must circle slowly\\namong the stems and beneath the leaves of the lilies;\\npaths prepared for them, by which, at some ap-\\npointed rate of journey, they must evermore de-\\nscend, sometimes sIoav and sometimes swift, but\\nnever pausing the daily portion of the earth they\\nhave to glide over marked for them at each succes-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0488.jp2"}, "489": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 487\\nsi ve sunrise, the place which has known them know-\\ning them no more, and the gateways of guarding\\nmountains opened for them in cleft and chasm,\\nnone letting them in their pilgrimage and, from\\nfar off, the great heart of the sea calling them to\\nitself Deep calleth unto dee^.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters,\\nIV., p. 107.\\nThe great mountains lift the lowlands on their\\nsides. Let the readei- imagine, first, the appearance\\nof the most varied plain of some richly cultivated\\ncountry let him imagine it dark with graceful\\nwoods, and soft with deepest pastures let him fill\\nthe space of it, to the utmost horizon, with innum-\\nerable and changeful incidents of scenery and life\\nleading pleasant streamlets through its meadows,\\nstrewing clusters of cottages beside their banks,\\ntracing sweet footpaths through its avenues, and\\nanimating its fields with happy flocks, and slow\\nwandering spots of cattle and when he has wea-\\nried himself with endless imagining, and left no space\\nwithout some lovelinf^ss of its own, let him conceive\\nall this great plain, Avith its infinite treasures of\\nnatural beauty and happy human life, gathered up\\nin God s hands from one edge of the horizon to the\\nother like a woven garment; and shaken into deep,\\nfalling folds, as the robes droop from a king s\\nshoulders; all its bright rivers leaping into cataracts\\nalong the hollows of its fall, and all its forests rear-\\ning themselves aslant against its slopes, as a rider\\nrears himself back when his horse lilunges and all\\nits villages nestling themselves into the new wind-\\nings of its glens and all its pastures thrown into\\nsteep waves of greensward, dashed Avith dew along\\nthe edges of their folds, and sweeping down into\\nendless slopes, with a cloud here and there lying\\nquietly, half on the grass, half in the air; and he\\nwill have as yet, in all this lifted world, only the\\nfoundation of one of the great Alps. And whatever\\nis lovely in the lowland scenery becomes lovelier in\\nthis change the trees which grew heavily and\\nstiffly from the level line of plain assume strange", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0489.jp2"}, "490": {"fulltext": "488 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ncurves of strength and grace as they bend theui\\nselves against the mountain side they breatlie\\nmore freely, and toss their branches more carelessly\\nas each climbs higher, looking to the clear light\\nabove the topmost leaves of its brother tree the\\nflowers which on the arable plain fell befoi-e the\\nplough, now find out for themselves unapproach-\\nable places, where year by year they gather into\\nhappier fellowship, and fear no evil and the\\nstreams which in the level land ci*ept in dark eddies\\nby unwholesome banks, now move in showers of\\nsilver, and are clothed with rainbows, and bring\\nhealth and life wherever the glance of their waves\\ncan resich.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, IV., p. 106.\\nThe Difficulty of drawing a Mountain.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNothing is more curious than the state of embarrass-\\nment into which the unfortunate artist must soon\\nbe cast when he endeavors honestly to draw the\\nface of the simplest mountain clitf ^say a thousand\\nfeet high, and two or three miles distant. It is full\\nof exquisite details, all seemingly decisive and clear;\\nbut when he tries to arrest one of them, he cannot\\nsee it cannot find where it begins or ends and\\npresently it runs into another and then he tries\\nto draw that, but that will not be drawn, neither,\\nuntil it has conducted him to a third, which, some-\\nhow or another, made part of the first presently\\nhe finds that, instead of three, there are in reality\\nfour, and then he loses his place altogether. He\\ntries to draw clear lines, to make his work look\\ncraggy, but finds that then it is too hard he tries\\nto draw soft lines, and it is immediately too soft\\nhe draws a curved line, and instantly sees it should\\nhave been straight a straight one, and finds Avhen\\nhe looks up again, that it has got curved while he\\nwas drawing it. There is nothing for him but de-\\nspair, or some sort of abstraction and short-hand\\nfor cliff. Then the only question is, what is the\\nwisest abstraction; and out of the multitude of lines\\nthat cannot altogether be interpreted, w^hich are\\nthe really dominant ones so that if we cannot give", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0490.jp2"}, "491": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE-NATURE. 4S9\\nthe whole, we may at least give what Avill convey\\nthe most important facts about the aWn.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 20G.\\nThe Matterhorx.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Unlike the Chamouni aig-\\nuilles, there is no aspect of destruction about the\\nMatterhorn cliffs. They are not torn remnants of\\nseparating spires, yielding flake by flake, and band\\nby band, to the continual process of decay. They\\nare, on the contrary, an unaltered monument,\\nseemingly sculptured long ago, the huge walls re-\\ntaining yet the forms into which they Avere first\\nengraven, and standing like an Egyptian temple\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ndelicate-fronted, softly colored, the suns of un-\\ncounted ages rising and falling upon it continually,\\nbut still casting the same line of shadows from east\\nto west, still, century after century, touching the\\nsame purple stains on the lotus pillars while the\\ndesert sand ebbs and flows about their feet, as those\\nautumn leaves of rock lie heaped and weak about\\nthe base of the Cevyiri.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, IV.,\\np. 357.\\nMouxT Cervix.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It has been falsely represented\\nas a peak or tower. It is a vast ridged promontory,\\nconnected at its western root with the Dent d Erin,\\nand lifting itself, hke a rearing horse, with its face to\\nthe east. All the way along the flank of it, for half\\na day s journey on the Zmutt glacier, the grim black\\nterraces of its foundations range almost without a\\nbreak and the clouds, when their day s work h\\ndone, and they are weary, lay themselves down on\\nthose foundation steps, and rest till dawn, each\\nwith his leagues of gray mantle stretched along the\\ngrisly ledge, and the cornice of the mighty wall\\ngleaming in the moonlight, three thousand feet\\nSihoye.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of Venice, I., p. 69.\\nHigher up, the ice opens into broad white fields\\nand furrows, hard and di-y, scarcely fissured at all,\\nexcept just under the Cervin, and forming a silent\\nand solemn causeway, paved, as it seems, Avith\\nwhite marble from side to side broad enough for\\nthe march of an army in line of battle, but quiet as", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0491.jp2"}, "492": {"fulltext": "490 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\na street of tombs in a buried city, and bordered on\\neach hand by ghostly cliffs of that faint granite\\npurple which seems, in its far-away height, as un-\\nsubstantial as the dai k blue that bounds it the\\nwhole scene so changeless and soundless so re-\\nmoved, not merely from the presence of men, but\\neven from their thoughts so destitute of all life of\\ntree or herb, and so immeasurable in its lonely\\nbrightness of majestic death, that it looks like a\\nworld from which not only the human, but the\\nspiritual, presences had perished, and the last of its\\narchangels, building the great mountains for their\\nmonuments, had laid themselves down in the sun-\\nlight to an eternal rest, each in his white shroud.\\nModern Painters, IV., p. 255.\\nAn Arcadian Valley.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I do not know any dis-\\ntrict possessing more pure or uninterrupted fulness\\nof mountain character (and that of the highest\\norder), or which aj^pears to have been less dis-\\nturbed by foreign agencies, than that which bor-\\nders the course of the Trient between Valorsine and\\nMartigny.\\nThe paths which lead to it out of the valley of the\\nRhone, rising at first in steej) circles among the\\nwalnut trees, like winding stairs among the pillars\\nof a Gothic tower, retire over the shoulders of the\\nhills into a valley almost unknown, but thickly in-\\nhabited by an industrious and patient population.\\nAlong the ridges of the rocks, smoothed by old gla-\\nciers into long, dark, billowy swellings, like the\\nbacks of plunging dolphins, the peasant watches\\nthe slow coloring of the tufts of moss and roots of\\nherb which, little by little, gathei: a feeble soil over\\nthe iron substance then, supporting the narrow\\nstrip of clinging ground with a few stones, he sub-\\ndues it to the spade and in a year or two a little\\ncrest of corn is seen waving upon the rocky casque.\\nThe irregular meadows run in and out like inlets\\nof lake among these harvested rocks, sweet with\\nperpetual streamlets, that seem always to have\\nchosen the steepest places to come down, for the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0492.jp2"}, "493": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NAT UBE. 491\\nsake of the leaps, scattering tlieii* handfuls of crys-\\ntals this way and that, as the wind takes them, with\\nall the grace, but with none of the formalism, of\\nfountains; dividing into fanciful change of dash\\nand spring, j^et with the seal of their granite chan-\\nnels upon them, as the lightest play of human\\nspeech may bear the seal of past toil, and closing\\nback out of their spray to lave the rigid angles, and\\nbrighten with silver fringes and glassy films each\\nlower and lower step of sable stone until at last,\\ngathered all together again\u00e2\u0080\u0094 except, perhaps, some\\nchance drops caught on the apple-blossom, where it\\nhas bvidded a little nearer the cascade than it did\\nlast spring they find their way down to the turf,\\nand lose themselves in that silently with quiet\\ndepth of clear Avater furrowing among the grass\\nblades, and looking only like their shadow, but\\npresently emerging again in little startled gushes\\nand laughing hurries, as if they had remembered\\nsuddenly that the day was too short for them to get\\ndown the hill.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 3Iod\u00e2\u0082\u00acru Painters, IV., p. 340.\\nSlaty Precipices. Such precipices are among^\\nthe most impi essive as well as the most really dan-\\ngerous of mountain ranges; in many spots inaccess-\\nible with safety either from below or from above\\ndark in color, robed with everlasting mourning, for\\never tottering like a great fortress shaken by war,\\nfearful as much in their weakness as in their\\nstrength, and yet gathered after every fall into\\ndarker frowns and unhumiliated threatening; for\\never incapable of comfort or of healing from herb\\nor flower, nourishing no root in their crevices,\\ntouched by no hue of life on buttress or ledge, but,\\nto the utmost, desolate knowing no shaking of\\nleaves in the wind, nor of grass beside the stream\\nno motion but their own mortal shivering, the\\ndeathful crunabling of atom from atom in their\\ncorruioting stones knowing no sound of living\\nvoice or living tread, cheei ed neither by the kid s\\nbleat nor the marmot s cry haunted only by un-\\ninterrupted echoes from far off, wandering hither", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0493.jp2"}, "494": {"fulltext": "492 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nand thither among their Avails, iTnahle to escape,\\nand by the hiss of angry torrents, and sometimes\\nthe shriek of a bird that flits near the face of them,\\nand sweeps frightened back from under their sha-\\ndow into the gulf of air: and, sometimes, when the\\necho has fainted, and the wind has carried the\\nsound of the torrent away, and the bird has van-\\nished, and the mouldering stones are still for a\\nlittle time a brown moth, opening and shutting\\nits wings upon a grain of dust, may be the only\\nthing that moves, or feels, in all the waste of weary\\nprecipice, darkening five thousand feet of the blue\\ndepth of heaven. Modern Painters, IV., p. 261.\\nIt is almost impossible to make a cottage built in\\na granite country look absolutely miserable. Rough\\nit may be neglected, cold, full of aspect of hard-\\nship but it never can look/owZ; no matter how\\ncarelessly, how indolently, its inhabitants may live,\\nthe water at their doors will not stagnate, the soil\\nbeneath their feet will not allow itself to be trodden\\ninto slime, the timbers of their fences will not rot;\\nthey cannot so much as dirty their faces or hands\\nif they try do the worst they can, thei-e will still\\nbe a feeling of firm ground under them, and pure\\nair about them, and an inherent wholesomeness in\\ntheir abodes Avhich it will need the misery of years\\nto conquer. And, as far as I remember, the inhabi-\\ntants of granite countries have always a force and\\nhealthiness of character, more or less abated or mod-\\nified, of course, according to the other circumstances\\nof their life, but still definitely belonging to them,\\nas distinguished from the inhabitants of the less\\npure districts of the hills.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J/odern Painters; IV.,\\np. 126.\\nDistance in^eeded for Mouxtain Effects.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Are\\nnot all natural things, it may be asked, as lovely\\nnear as far away Nay, not so. Look at the\\nclouds, and watch the delicate sculpture of their\\nalabaster sides, and the rounded lustre of their\\nmagnificent rolling. They are meant to be beheld\\nfar away they Avere shaped for their place, high", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0494.jp2"}, "495": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 493\\nabove your head; approach theiu, and they fuse\\ninto vague mists, or whirl away in fierce fragments\\nof thunderous vapor. Look at the crest of the\\nAlp, from the far-away plains over which its light\\nis cast, whence human souls have communion with\\nit by their myriads. The child looks up to it in the\\ndawn, and the husbandman in the burden and\\nheat of the day, and the old man in the going down\\nof the sun, and it is to them all as the celestial city\\non the world s horizon dyed with the depth of\\nheaven, and clothed with the calm of eternity.\\nThere was it set, for holy dominion, by Him who\\nmarked for the sun his journey, and bade the moon\\nknow her going down. It was built for its place in\\nthe far-off sky approach it, and as the sound of\\nthe voice of man dies away about its foundations,\\nand the tide of human life shallowed upon the vast\\naerial shore, is at last met by the Eternal Here\\nshall thy waves be stayed, the glory of its aspect\\nfades into blanched fearfulness its purple walls\\nare rent into grisly rocks, its silver fretwork sad-\\ndened into wasting snow, the storm-brands of ages\\nare on its breast, the ashes of its own ruin lie sol-\\nennily on its white raiment. Stones of Venice, I.,\\np. 244.\\nFor every distance from the eye there is a peculiar\\nkind of beauty, or a different system of lines of\\nform the sight of that beauty is reserved for that\\ndistance, and for that alone. If you approach\\nnearer, that kind of beauty is lost, and another suc-\\nceeds, to be disorganized and reduced to strange and\\nincomprehensible means and appliances in its turn,\\nff you desire to perceive the great harmonies of the\\nform of a rocky mountain, you must not ascend\\nupon its sides. All is there disorder and accident,\\nor seems so sudden starts of its shattered beds\\nhither and thither ugly struggles of unexpected\\nstrength from under the ground fallen fragments,\\ntoppling one over another into more helpless fall.\\nRetire from it, and, as your ej e commands it more\\nand more, as you see the ruined mountain world", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0495.jp2"}, "496": {"fulltext": "494 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwith a wider glance behold dim sympathies begin\\nto bnsy themselves in the disjointed mass line\\nbinds itself into stealthy fellowship with line; group\\nby group, the helpless fragments gather them-\\nselves into ordered companies new captains of\\nhosts and masses of battalions become visible, one\\nby one, and far away answers of foot to foot, and of\\nbone to bone, until the powerless chaos is seen risen\\nup with girded loins, and not one piece of all the\\nunregarded heap could now be spared from the\\nmystic whole.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Stones of Veniee, I., p. 245.\\nIn a truly fine mountain or organic line, if it is\\nlooked at in detail, no one would believ^e in its\\nbeing a continuous curve, or being subjected to\\nany fixed law. It seems broken, and bending a thou-\\nsand waj S perfectly free and wild, and yielding to\\nevery impulse. But, after following with the eye\\nthree or four of its impulses, we shall begin to trace\\nsome strange order among them every added\\nmovement will make the ruling intent clearer; and\\nwhen the whole life of the line is revealed at last,\\nit will be found to have been, throughout, as obedi-\\nent to the true law of its course as the stars in their\\norbits. Modern Painters, IV., p. 295.\\nIlAPPixESS IX RURAL LiFE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 To watcli the corn\\ngrow, and the blossoms set to draw hard breath\\nover ploughshare or spade to read, to think, to\\nlove, to hope, to pray these are the things that\\nmake men happy; they have always had the power\\nof doing these, they never will have poAver to do\\nmore. The world s prosperity or adversity depends\\nupon our knowing and teaching these few things\\nbut upon iron, or glass, or electricity, or steam, in\\nno wiiie.^ Modern Painters, III., p. 320.\\nThe Loveliness of fruitful Landscape inex-\\nhaustible. The desert has its appointed place and\\nwork; the eternal engine, whose beam is the earth s\\naxle, whose beat is its year, and whose breath\\nis its ocean, will still divide imperiously to their\\ndesert kingdoms, bound with unfurrowable rock,\\nand swept by unarrested sand, their powers of frost", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0496.jp2"}, "497": {"fulltext": "NATUIiE AND LIT BEAT U RE-NAT UBE. dOo\\nand fire but the zones and lands between, habita-\\nble, will be loveliest in habitation. The desire of\\nthe heart is also the light of the eyes. No scene is\\ncontinually and untiringly loved, but one rich by\\njoyful human labor; smooth in field, fair in garden;\\nfull in orchard trim, sweet, and frequent in home-\\nstead ringing with voices of vivid existence. No\\nair is sweet that is silent it is only sweet when full\\nof low currents of under sound triplets of birds,\\nand murmur and chirp of insects, and deep-toned\\nwords of men, and wayward trebles of childhood.\\nUnto This Last, p. 88.\\nO S THE ASSERTED PROBABILITY OF THE DE-\\nSTRUCTION OF Natural Scexery. We may spare\\nour anxieties on this head. Men can neither drink\\nsteam, nor eat stone. No amount of ingenui-\\nty will ever make iron digestible by the million, nor\\nsubstitute hydrogen for wine. Neither the avarice\\nnor the rage of men will ever feed them, and how-\\never the apple of Sodom and the grape of Gomorrah\\nmay spread their table for a time with dainties of\\nashes, and nectar of asjDS so long as men live by\\nbread, the far-away vallej^s must laugh as they are\\ncovered with the gold of God, and the shouts of His\\nhappy multitudes ring round the wine-press and\\nthe -vfeW\u00e2\u0080\u0094Unto This Last, p. 87.\\nRuskin s Love of Crags aa^d Hills.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If the\\nscenery be resolutely level, insisting upon the dec-\\nlaration of its own flatness in all the detail of it,\\nas in Holland, or Lincolnshire, or Central Lombar-\\ndy, it appeai-s to me like a prison, and I cannot long\\nendure it. But the slightest rise and fall in the\\nroad a mossy bank at the side of a crag of chalk,\\nwith brambles at its brow, overhanging it a rip-\\nple over three or four stones in the stream by the\\nbridge\u00e2\u0080\u0094 above all, a wild bit of ferny ground under\\na fir or two, looking as if, possibly, one might see a\\nhill if one got to the other side of the trees, will in-\\nstantly give me intense delight, because the shadow,\\nor the hope, of the hills is in them. Modern Paint-\\ners, IV., p. 3G8.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0497.jp2"}, "498": {"fulltext": "496 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nNot Everybody can see a Landscape.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A cu-\\nriously balanced condition of the powers of uiind\\nis necessary to induce full admiration of any nat-\\nural scene. Let those powers be themselves inert,\\nand the mind vacant of knowledge and destitute\\nof sensibility, and the external object becomes lit-\\ntle more to us than it is to birds or insects we fall\\ninto the temper of the clown. On the other hand,\\nlet the reasoning powers be shrewd in excess, the\\nknowledge vast, or sensibility intense, and it will\\ngo hard but that the visible object will suggest so\\nmuch that it shall be soon itself forgotten, or be-\\ncome, at the utmost, merely a kind of key-note to\\nthe course of purposeful thought. Newton, prob-\\nably, did not perceive whether the apple which sug-\\ngested his meditations on gravity Avas withered or\\nrosy nor could Howard be affected by the pictur-\\nesqueness of the architecture which held the suf-\\nferers it was his occupation to relieve. 3Ioclern\\nPainters, III., p. 308.\\nThe ethical Significance op a Love of Nature.\\nIntense love of nature is, in modern times, char-\\nacteristic of persons not of the first order of intellect,\\nbut of brilliant imagination, quick sympathy, and\\nundefined religious principle, suffering also usually\\nunder strong and ill-governed passions. Our\\nmain conclusion is, that though the absence of the\\nlove of nature is not an assured condemnation, its\\npresence is an invariable sign of goodness of heart\\nand justness of moral j)^^ -^Pii though by no\\nmeans of moral jiractice that in proportion to the\\ndegree in Avhich it is felt, will 2)f obabli/ he the degree\\nin which all nobleness and beauty of character will\\nalso be felt that when it is originally absent from\\nany mind, that mind is in many other respects hard,\\nworldly, and degraded that where, having been\\noriginally present, it is repressed by art or educa-\\ntion, that repression appears to have been detri-\\nmental to the person suffering it and that where-\\never the feeling exists, it acts for good on the char-\\nacter to which it belongs, though, as it may belong", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0498.jp2"}, "499": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURJE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 49\\nto cliaracters weak in other respects, it may care-\\nlessly be mistaken for a soui-ce of evil in them.\\nTake, as conspicuous instances of men totally de-\\nvoid of love of nature, Le Sage and Smollett, and\\nyou will find, in meditating over their works, that\\nthey are utterly incapable of conceiving- a human\\nsoul as endowed with any nobleness whatever; their\\nlieroes are simply beasts endowed with some degree\\nof human intellect cunning, false, passionate,\\nreckless, ungrateful, and abominable, incapable of\\nnoble joy, of noble sorrow, of any spiritual percep-\\ntion or hope. I said, beasts with human intel-\\nlect but neither Gril Bias nor Roderick Random\\nreach, morally, tinything near the level of dogs\\nwhile the delight which the writers themselves feel\\nin mere filth and pain, with an unmitigated foul-\\nness and cruelty of heart, is just as manifest in\\never} sentence as the distress and indignation which\\nwith pain and injustice are seen by Shelley and\\nByron.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Modern Painters, III., pp. 311,328, 324.\\nNature ix the South axd i:s^ the North.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhile the Greek could hardly have trodden the for-\\nmal furrow, or plucked the clusters from The trel-\\nlised vine, without reverent thoughts of the deities\\nof field and leaf, who gave the seed to fructifj and\\nthe bloom to darken, the medieval knight plucked\\nthe violet to wreathe in his lady s hair, or strewed\\nthe idle rose on the turf at her feet, with little sense\\nof anything in the nature that gave them, but a\\nfrail, accidental, involuntary exuberance. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 215.\\nHow different must the thoughts about nature have\\nbeen, of the noble who lived among the bright mar-\\nble porticos of the Grreeiv groups of temple or palace\\nin the midst of a plain covered with corn and\\nolives, and by the shore of a sparkling and freighted\\nsea from those of the master of some mountain\\npromontory in the green recesses of Northern\\nEurope, watching night by night, from amongst\\nliis heaps of storm-broken stone, rounded into\\ntowers, the lightning of the lonely sea flash round", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0499.jp2"}, "500": {"fulltext": "498 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nthe sands of Harlech, or the mists changing their\\nshapes for ever, among the changeless pines, that\\nfringe the crests of Jura. Modern Painters, III.,\\np. 216.\\nIn the climates of Greece and Italy, the monoto-\\nnous sunshine, burning away the deep colors of\\neverything into white and gray, and wasting the\\nstrongest mountain sti-eams into threads among\\ntheir shingle, alternates with the blue-fiery thunder-\\ncloud, with sheets of flooding rain, and volleying\\nmusketry of hail. But throughout all the wild\\nujolands of the former Saxon kingdom of Northum-\\nbria, from Edwin s Crag to Hilda s-Cliff, the wreaths\\nof softly resting mist, and wandering to and fro of\\ncapricious shadows of clouds, and drooping swathes,\\nor flying fringes, of the benignant western rain,\\ncherish, on every moorland summit, the deejj fibred\\nmoss, embalm the myrtle, gild the asphodel, en-\\nchant along the valleys the wild grace of their\\nwoods, and the green elf-land of their meadows\\nand passing away, or melting into the translucent\\ncalm of mountain air, leave to the open sunshine a\\nworld with every creature ready to rejoice in its\\ncomfort, and every i-ock and flower reflecting new\\nloveliness to its light. Art of England, p. 94.\\nFrexch Landscape.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Much of the majesty of\\nFrench landscape consists in its grand and gray\\nvillage churches and tui-reted farm-houses, not to\\nspeak of its cathedrals, castles, and beautifully\\nplaced cities. Modern Painters, IV., p. 369.\\nOne op Turner s Loire Drawings.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is only\\na coteau, scarce a hundred feet above the river,\\nnothing like so high as the Thames banks between\\nhere and Reading only a coteau, and a recess of\\ncalm water, and a breath of mist, and a ray of sun-\\nset. The simplest things, the frequentest, the deai\\nest things that you may see any summer evening\\nby a thousand thousand streams among the low\\nhills of old familiar lands. Love them, and see\\nthem rightly Andes and Caucasus, Amazon and.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0500.jp2"}, "501": {"fulltext": "NAirUE AXI) LITERATURE-NATURE. 499\\nIndus, can give you no move.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Art of England,\\np. 70.\\nInjury to Swiss Scenery.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This first day of\\nMay, 18(59, I am writing wliere my work was begun\\nthirty-five years ago\u00e2\u0080\u0094 within siglit of the snows of\\nthe higlier Alps. In that half of the permitted life\\nof man, I have seen strange evil brought upon\\nevery scene that I best loved, or tried to make\\nbeloved by others. The light which once flushed\\nthose pale summits with its rose at dawn, and pui\\nple at sunset, is now umbered and faint the air\\nwhich once inlaid the clefts of all their golden crags\\nwith azure, is now defiled with languid coils of\\nsmoke, belched from worse than volcanic fires\\ntheir very glacier waves are ebbing, and tlieir\\nsnows fading, as if Hell had breathed on them the\\nwaters that once sank at their feet into crystalline\\nrest, are now dimmed and foul, from deep to deep,\\nand shore to shore. These are no careless words\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nthey are accurately, horribly, true. I know what\\nthe Swiss lakes were no pool of Alpine fountain\\nat its source was clearer. This morning, on the\\nLake of Geneva, at half a mile from the beach, I\\ncould scarcely see my oar-blade a fathom deep.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAthena, p. 4.\\nCluse and Chamouni.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The valley of Cluse,\\nthrough which unhappy travellers consent now to\\nbe invoiced, packed in baskets like fish, so only that\\nthey may cheaply reach, in the feverous haste\\nwhich has become the law of their being, the glen\\nof Chamouni whose every lovely foreground rock\\nhas now been broken up to build hotels for them,\\ncontains more beauty in half a league of it, than\\nthe entire valley they have devastated, and turned\\ninto a casino, did in its uninjured pride.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sesame\\nand Lilies, Preface, p. 22.\\nBells in the Valley op Cluse.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 But presently,\\nas I walked, the calm was deepened, instead of in-\\nterrupted, by a murmur first low, as of bees, and\\nthen rising into distinct harmonious chime of deep\\nbells, ringing in true cadences\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but I could not tell", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0501.jp2"}, "502": {"fulltext": "500 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwhere. The cliffs on each side of the valley of Cluse\\nvary from 1,500 to above 2,000 feet in height and,\\nwithovit absolutely echoing the chime, they so ac-\\ncepted, prolonged, and diffused it, that at first I\\nthought it came from a village high up and far\\naway among the hills; then presently it came down\\nto me as if from above the cliff under which I was\\nwalking then I turned about and stood still, won-\\ndering for the whole valley was filled with the\\nsweet sound, entirely without local or conceivable\\norigin and only after some twenty minutes walk,\\nthe depth of tones gradually increasing, showed\\nme that they came from the tower of Magians\\nin front of me but when I actually got into the\\nvillage, the cliffs on the other side so took up the\\nringing, that I again thought for some moments 1\\nwas wrong. Perfectly beautiful, all th* while, the\\nsound, and exquisitely varied from ancient bells\\nof perfect tone and series, rung with decent and\\njoyful art.\\nWhat are the bells ringing so to-day for it is no\\nfete I asked of a woman who stood watching at\\na garden gate.\\nFor a baptism, Sir.\\nAnd so I went on, and heard them fading back,\\nand lost among the same bewildering answers of the\\nmountain air. Deucalion, p. 51.\\nA Swiss RURAL Sce:ve.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A few steps only beyond\\nthe firs that sti etch their branches, angular, and\\nAvild, and white, like forks of lightning, into the air\\nof the ravine, and we are in an arable country of\\nthe most perfect richness the swathes of its corn\\nglowing and burning frouj field to field its pretty\\nhamlets all vivid with fruitful orchards and flowery\\ngardens, and goodly Avith steep-roofed storehouse\\nand barn its Avell-kept, hard, park-like roads ris-\\ning and falling from hillside to hillside, or disap-\\npearing among brown banks of moss, and thickets\\nof the wild raspberry and rose or gleaming\\nthrough lines of tall trees, half glade, half avenue,\\nwhere the gate opens, or the gateless path turns", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0502.jp2"}, "503": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LlTEIl AT U RE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 NATURE. 501\\ntrustedly aside, uii hindered, into the garden of\\nsome statelier house, surrounded in rural pride\\nwith its golden hives, and carved granaries, and\\nirregular domain of latticed and espaliered cottages,\\ngladdening to look upon in their delicate homeli-\\nness delicate, yet, in some sort, rude not like our\\nEnglish homes trim, laborious, formal, irreproach-\\nable in comfort but with a peculiar carelessness\\nand lariieness in all their detail, hai-monizing with\\nthe outlawed loveliness of their country. Modern\\nPainters, IV., p. 147,\\nGarde;^^ Walls. Your garden or park wall of\\nbi ick has indeed often an unkind look on the out-\\nside, but there is more modesty in it than vinkind-\\nness. It generally means, not that the builder of it\\nwants to shut you out from the view of his garden,\\nbut from the view of himself it is a frank state-\\nment that as he needs a certain portion of time to\\nhimself, so he needs a certain portion of ground\\nto himself, and must not be stared at when he digs\\nthere in his shirt-sleeves, or plays at leapfrog with\\nhis boys from school, or talks over old times with\\nhis wife, Avalking up and down in the evening sun-\\nshine. Besides, the brick wall has good practical\\nservice in it, and shelters you from the east wind,\\nand ripens your peaches and nectarines, and glows\\nin autumn like a sunny bank. And, moreover,\\nyour brick wall, if you build it properly, so that it\\nshall stand long enough, is a beautiful thing when\\nit is old, and has assumed its grave purple red,\\ntouched with mossy green. The Two Paths, p. 115.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0503.jp2"}, "504": {"fulltext": "502 A RU8KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nCHAPTER II.\\nLiterature.\\nThe more I see of wi iting the less I care for it\\none may do more with a man by getting ten words\\nspoken with him face to face, than by the black let-\\ntering of a whole life s thought. Fors, I., p. 239.\\nMen do not sing themselves into love or faith\\nbut they are incapable of true song, till they love,\\nand believe. Deucalion, p. 208.\\nNot one word of any book is readable by you ex-\\ncept so far as your mind is one with its author s,\\nand not merely his words like your words, but his\\nthoughts like your thoughts. Fors, I., p. 349.\\nYou think the function of words is to excite?\\nWhy, a red rag will do that, or a blast through a\\nbrass pipe. But to give calm and gentle heat to\\nbe as the south wind, and the iridescent rain, to all\\nbitterness of frost and bring at once strength, and\\nhealing. This is the work of human lips, taught of\\nGod.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mornings in Florence, p. 83.\\nBOOKS.\\nIf a book is worth reading, it is worth buying.\\nNo book is worth anything which is not worth\\nmticJi; nor is it serviceable, until it has been read,\\nand re-read, and loved, and loved again and\\nmarked, so that you can refer to the passages you\\nwant in it, as a soldier can seize the weapon he\\nneeds in an armory, or a housewife bring the spice\\nshe needs from her store. Bread of flour is good\\nbut there is bread, sweet as honey, if we would eat\\nit, in a good book and the family must be poor\\nindeed which, once in their lives, cannot, for such", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0504.jp2"}, "505": {"fulltext": "NATCHE A^ ^I) LITERATrRK-LITEliATURE. 503\\nmultipliable bai ley-loaves, pay their baker s bill.\\nWe call ourselves a rich jiation. and we are filthy\\nand foolish enough to thumb each other s books\\nout of circulating libraries. Sesame and Lilies i\\np. 55.\\nIn old times what a delicious thing a book used\\nto be in a chimney corner, or in the gai-den, or in\\nthe fields, Avhere one usedreally toread a book, and\\nnibble a nice bit here and there if it was a bride-\\ncakey sort of book, and cut oneself a lovely slice\\nfat and lean if it was a round-of-beef sort of book.\\nBut what do you do with a book now, be it ever so\\ngood You give it to a reviewer, first to skin it,\\nand then to bone it, and then to chew it, and then\\nto lick it, and then to give it you down your throat\\nlike a handful of pilau. And when you ve got it,\\nyou ve no relish for it, after all. Deucalion.\\nWhen you come to a good book, you must ask\\nyoui self, Am I inclined to work as an Australian\\nminer would? Are my pickaxes and shovels in\\ngood order, and am 1 in good trim myself, my\\nsleeves well up to the elljow, and my breath good,\\nand my temper? Sesame and Lilies, p. 36.\\nAs I meditate more and more closely what reply I\\nmay safely make to the now eagerly i)ressed ques-\\ntioning of my faithful scholars, what books I would\\nhave them read, 1 find the first broadlj^-swept defi-\\nnition may be Books written in the country.\\nNone worth spending time on, and few that are\\nquite safe to touch, have been written in towns.\\nAnd my next narrowing definition would be,\\nBooks that have good miisic in them that are\\nrightly-rhythmic a definition which includes the\\ndelicacy of perfect prose, such as Scott s and\\nAvhich eajcludes at once a great deal of modern\\npoetry, in which a dislocated and convulsed versi-\\nfication has been imposed on the ear in the attempt\\nto express uneven temper, and unprincij^led feel-\\ning. Fors, IV., p. o51.\\nVery ready we are to say of a book, How", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0505.jp2"}, "506": {"fulltext": "504 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngood this is that s exactly what I think i But\\nthe right feeling is How strange that is I never\\nthought of that before-, and yet I see it is true or\\nif I do not now, I hope I shall, some day. But\\nwhether thus submissively or not, at least be sure\\nthat you go to the author to get at his meaning,\\nnot to find yours. As we read, watching every\\naccent and expression, and putting ourselves\\nalways in the author s place, annihilating our own\\npersonality, and seeking to enter into his, so as to\\nbe able assuredly to say, Thus Milton thought,\\nnot Thus I thought in mis-reading Milton.\\nAnd by this process you will gradually come to\\nattach less weight to your own Thus I thought\\nat other times. Sesame and Lilies, pp. 36, 46.\\nThough few can be rich, yet every man who\\nhonestly exerts himself may, I think, still provide,\\nfor himself and his family, good shoes, good gloves,\\nstrong harness for his cart or carriage horses, and\\nstout leather binding for his books. And I would\\nurge upon every young man, as the beginning of his\\ndue and wise provision for his household, to obtain as\\nsoon as he can by the severest economy, a restricted,\\nserviceable, and steadily however slowly increas-\\ning series of books for use through life making his\\nlittle library, of all the furniture in his room, the\\nmost studied and decorative piece every volume\\nhaving its assigned place, like a little statue in its\\nniche, and one of the earliest and strictest lessons\\nto the children of the house being how to turn the\\npages of their own literary possesions lightly and\\ndeliberately, with no chance of tearing or dog s\\neeirs.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sesame and Lilies, Preface, 1871, p. 5.\\nIn my island of Barataria, when I get it well into\\norder. I assure you no book shall be sold for less\\nthan a pound sterling if it can be published\\ncheaper than that, the surplus shall all go into my\\ntreasury, and save my subjects taxation in other\\ndirections only people really poor, who cannot\\npay the pound, shall be supplied with the books", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0506.jp2"}, "507": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITEnATURE-LITERATURE. !-)05\\ntliey want fov nothing, in a certain limited qiian-\\ntity.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Joy For Ever, p. 44.\\nThere is a society continually open to us, of peo-\\nple who will talk to us as long as we like, whatever\\nour rank or occupation talk to us in the best\\nwords they can choose, and with thanks if we listen\\nto them. And this society, because it is so numer-\\nous and so gentle and can be kept waiting round\\nus all day long, not to grant audience, but to gain\\nit kings and statesmen lingering patiently in\\nthose plainly furnished and narrow anterooms,\\nour bookcase shelves.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^SeA-ame and Lilies, p. 32.\\nThis court of the past differs from all living aris-\\ntocracy in this it is open to labor and to merit,\\nbut to nothing else. No wealth will bribe, no name\\noverawe, no artifice deceiv^p, the guardian of those\\nElysian gates. In the deep sense, no vile or vulgar\\nperson ever enters there. At the portieres of that\\nsilent Faubourg St. Germain, there is but brief\\nquestion, Do you deserve to enter? Pass.\\nDo you ask to be the companion of nobles Make\\nyourself noble, and you shall be. Do you long for\\nthe conversation of the wise Learn to understand\\nit, and you shall hear it. But on other terms no.\\nIf yovi will not rise to us, we cannot stoop to you.\\nThe living lord may assume courtesy, the living\\nphilosopher explain his thought to you with con-\\nsiderable pain but here we neither feign nor inter-\\npret you must rise to the level of our thoughts if\\nyou would be gladdened by them, and share our\\nfeelings, if you would recognize our presence.\\nSesame and Lilies, p. 35.\\nYou ought to read books, as you take medicine,\\nby advice, and not advertisement.\\nBut you have no acquaintance, you say, among\\npeoijle who know good books from bad ones?\\nPossibly not and yet, half the poor gentlemen of\\nEngland are fain now-a-days to live by selling their\\nopinions on this subject. It is a bad trade, let me\\ntell them. Whatever judgment they have, likely\\nto be useful to the human beings about them, may", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0507.jp2"}, "508": {"fulltext": "506 A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nbe expressed in few words and those words of\\nsacred advice ought not to be articles of commerce.\\nLeast of all ought they to be so ingeniously con-\\ncocted that idle readers may remain content with\\nreading their eloquent account of a book, instead\\nof the book itself.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or^, I., pp. 274, 275.\\nIf you want to understand any subject whatever,\\nread the best book upon it, you can hear of not\\na review of the book. If you don t like the first\\nbook you try, seek for another but do not hope\\never to understand the subject without pains, by a\\nreviewer s help. Avoid especially that class of lit-\\nerature which has a knowing tone it is the most\\npoisonous of all. Every good book, or piece of\\nbook, is full of admiration and awe it may con-\\ntain firm assertion or stern satire, but it never\\nsneers coldly, nor asserts haughtily, and it always\\nleads you to reverence or love something with your\\nwhole heart. It is not always easy to distinguish\\nthe satire of the venomous race of books from the\\nsatire of the noble and pui-e ones but in general\\nyou may notice that the cold-blooded Crustacean\\nand Batrachian books will sneer at sentiment; and\\nthe warm-blooded, human books, at sin. Then, in\\ngeneral, the more you can restrain your serious\\nreading to reflective or lyric poetry, history, and\\nnatural history, avoiding fiction and the drama,\\nthe healthier your mind will become. Of modern\\npoetry keep to Scott, Wordsworth, Keats, Crabbe,\\nTennyson, the two Brownings, Lowell, Longfellow,\\nand Coventry Patmore, w^hose Angel in the House\\nis a most finished piece of writing, and the sweetest\\nanalysis we possess of quiet modern domestic feel-\\ning while Mrs. Browning s Aurora Leigh is, as far\\nas I know, the greatest poem which the century has\\nproduced in any language. Cast Coleridge at once\\naside, as sickly and useless and Shelley as shallow\\nand verbose; Byron, until your taste is fully formed,\\nand you are able to discern the magnificence in\\nhim from the wrong. Never read bad or common\\npoetry, nor write any poetry yourself j there is, per-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0508.jp2"}, "509": {"fulltext": "XATrnE AXT) LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 LITERATURE. 507\\nhaps, rather too much than too little in the world\\naXveenXy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Elements of Drawing, pp. 193, 194.\\nWrite pure English. Whenever you write or\\nread Englisli, write it pure, and make it pure, if ill\\nwritten, by avoiding all unnecessary foreign espe-\\ncially (jrreek forms of words yourself, and translat-\\ning them when used by others. Above all, make\\nthis a practice in science. Great part of the sup-\\nposed scientific knowledge of the day is simply bad\\nEnglish and vanishes the moment you ti anslate it.\\nDeucalion, p. 143.\\nDerivatiois^ of Words. The derivation of words\\nis like that of rivers there is one real source,\\nusually small, unlikely, and difficult to find, far up\\namong the hills then, as the word flows on and\\nconies into service, it takes in the force of other\\nAvords from other sources, and becomes quite\\nanother word often much more than one word,\\nafter the junction a word as it were of many\\nwaters, sometimes both sweet and bitter. Munera\\nPulveris, p. 361.\\nCoventry Patmore.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You cannot read him too\\noften or too carefully as far as I know he is the\\nonly living poet who always strengthens and\\npurifies the others sometimes darken, and nearly\\nalways depress and discourage the imagination\\nthey deeply seize. Sesame and Lilies, p. 89.\\nVirgil and Pope.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 These are the two most ac-\\ncomplished Artists, mei ely as such, whom I know\\nin literature. Lectures on Art, p. 49.\\nTrashy Poetry. AVith poetry second-rate in\\nquality no one ought to be allowed to trouble\\nmankind. There is quite enough of the best much\\nmore than we can ever read or enjoy in the length\\nof a life and it is a literal wrong or sin in any per-\\nson to encumber us with inferior work. I have no\\npatience with apologies made by young pseudo-\\npoets, that they believe there is some good in\\nwhat they have written that they hope to do bet-\\nter in tinie, etc. hioiae good I If there is not all", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0509.jp2"}, "510": {"fulltext": "508 A EUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngood, there is no good. If they ever hope to do bet\\nter, why do they trouble us now Let them rathei\\ncourageously burn all they have done, and wait for\\nthe better days. There are few men, ordinarily\\neducated, who in moments of strong feeling could\\nnot strike out a poetical thought, and afterwards\\njsolish it so as to be presentable. But men of sense\\nknow better than so to waste their time and those\\nwho sincerely love poetry, know the touch of the\\nmaster s hand on the chords too well to fumble\\namong them after him.\u00e2\u0080\u0094lfodern Painters, III.,\\np. 176.\\nPastoral Poetry.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The essence of pastoral\\npoetry is the sense of strange delightfulness is\\ngrass, which is occasionally felt by a man who has\\nseldom set his foot on it it is essentially the poetry\\nof the cockney, and for the most part corresponds\\nin its aim and rank, as compared with other litera-\\nture, to the porcelain shepherds and shepherdesses\\non a chimney-piece as compa,red wltli great works\\nof sculptui-e. Of course all good. poetry, descri[)tive\\nof rural life, is essentially pastoral, or has the effect\\nof the pastoral on the minds of men living in cities\\nbut the class of poetry which I mean, and which you\\nprobably understand, by the term pastoral, is that\\nin which a farmer s girl is spoken of as a\\nnymph, and a farmer s boy as a swain, and in\\nAvhich, throughout, a ridiculous and unnatural\\nrefinement is supposed to exist in rural life, merely\\nbecause the poet himself has neither had the cour-\\nage to endure its hardships, nor the Avit to conceive*\\nits Idealities. Lectures on Architecture, p. 191.\\nFirst and last Impressions.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Gfenerally speaks\\ning, I find that when we first look at a subject, we\\nget a glimpse of some of the greatest truths about\\nit as we look longer, our vanity, and false reason-\\ning, and half-knowledge, lead us into various wrong\\nopinions but as we look longer still, we gradual-\\nly return to our first impressions, onlj^ with a full\\nunderstanding of their mystical and inneiniost\\nreasons and of much beyond and beside them, not", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0510.jp2"}, "511": {"fulltext": "NATtrnE AND LlTFAtATrnB-LITEBATVEE. 509\\nthen known to us, now added (partly as a founda-\\ntion, partly as a corollary) to what at first we felt\\nor saw. Modern Patnters, IV., p. 61.\\nWordsworth. Wordsworth is simply a West-\\nmoreland peasant, with considerably less shrewd-\\nness than most border Englishmen or Scotsmen in-\\nherit and no sense of humor but gifted (in this\\nsingularly) with vivid sense of natural beauty, and\\na pretty turn for reflections, not always acute, but,\\nas far as they reach, inedicinal to the fever of the\\nrestless and corrupted life around him. Water to\\nparched lips may be better than Samian wine, but\\ndo not let us therefore confuse the qualities of wine\\nand water. I much doubt there being many inglo-\\nrious Miltons in our country churchyards but I\\nam very sure there are many Wordsworths resting\\nthere, who wei;e inferior to the renowned one only\\nin caring less to hear themselves talk.\\nI am by no meiins sure that his influence on the\\nstronger minds of his time was anyAvise hastened or\\nextended by the spirit of tunefulness under whose\\nguidance he discovered that Heaven rhymed to\\nseven, and Foy to boy. Tuneful nevertheless at\\nheart, and of the heavenly choir, I gladly and frank-\\nly acknowledge him and our English literature\\nenriched with a new and singular virtue in the\\naerial purity and healthful rightness of his quiet\\nsong but aerial only not ethereal and lowly in\\nits privacy of light.\\nA measured mind, and calm; innocent, unrepent-\\nant helpful to sinless ci-eatures and scatheless,\\nsuch of the flock as do not stray. Hopeful at least,\\nif not faithful content with intimations of immor-\\ntality such as may be in skipping of lambs, and\\nlaughter of children incurious to see in the hands\\nthe print of the nails. A gracious and constant\\nmind as the herbage of its native hills, fragrant\\nand pure yet, to the sweep and the shadow, the\\nstress and distress, of the greater souls of men, as\\nthe tufted thyme to the laurel wilderness of Tempe,\\nas the gleaming euphrasy to the dark branches of\\nY o(}ion-A.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fivtiun\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fair and Foul, pp. 4G-48.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0511.jp2"}, "512": {"fulltext": "510 A RUSKIN ANTHOIOQY.\\nBHAKEsrEARE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The intellectual measure of\\nevery man since born, in the domains of creative\\nthought, may be assigned to him, according to the\\ndegree in which he has been tauglit by Shakespeare.\\nMystery of Life, p. 113.\\nAt the close of a Shakespeare tragedy nothing re-\\nmains but dead march and clothes of burial. At\\nthe close of a Greek tragedy there are far-off sounds\\nof a divine triumph, and a glory as of resurrection.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 231.\\nWith a stern view of humanity, Shakespeare\\noined a sorrowful view of Fate, closely resembling\\nthat of the ancients. He is distinguished from\\nDante eminently by his always dwelling on last\\ncauses instead of first causes. Dante invariably\\npoints to the moment of the souTs choice which\\nfixed its fate, to the instant of the day Avhen it read\\nno farther, or determined to give bad advice about\\nPenestrino. But Shakespeare always leans on the\\nforce of Fate, as it urges the final evil and dwells\\nwith infinite bitterness on the power of the wicked,\\nand the infinitude of result dependent seemingly on\\nlittle things. A fool brings the last piece of news\\nfrom Vei ona, and the dearest lives of its noble\\nhouses are lost they might have been saved if the\\nsacristan had not stumbled as he walked. Othello\\nmislays his handkerchief, and there remains noth-\\ning for him but death. Haujlet gets hold of the\\nwrong foil, and the rest is silence. Edmund s run-\\nner is a moment too late at the prison, and the\\nfeather will not move at Cordelia s lips. Salisbury\\na moment too late at the tower, and Arthur lies on\\nthe stones dead. Goneril and lago have, on the\\nwhole, in this world, Shakespeare sees, much of\\ntheir own way, though they come to a bad end. It\\nis a pin that Death pierces the king s fortess wall\\nwith and Carelessness and Folly sit sceptred and\\ndreadful, side by side with the pin-armed skeleton.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Modern Painters, IV., p. 398.\\nGrERMA:N^ ScHWARMEREi.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A modern German,\\nwithout either invention or sense, seeing a rapid in", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0512.jp2"}, "513": {"fulltext": "JS/ATURE AND LITERATURE-LITERATURE. 511\\na river, will innnecliately devote the remainder of\\nthe day to the composition of dialogues between\\namorous water nymphs and unhappy mariners\\nwhile the man of true invention, power, and sense\\nwill, instead, set himself to consider whether the\\nrocks in the river could have their points knocked\\noff, or the boats upon it be made with stronger\\nhottoms.\u00e2\u0080\u0094JIodern Painters, III., p. 87.\\nCharacter-paintixg.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The power of conceiving\\npersonal, as opposed to general, character, depends\\non purity of heart and sentiment. The men who\\ncannot quit themselves of the impure taint, never\\ninvent character, properly so called they only in-\\nvent symbols of common humanity. Even Fielding s\\nAllworthy is not a chai-aeter, but a type of a simple\\nEnglish gentleman and Squire Western is not a\\ncharacter, but a type of the rude English squire.\\nBut Sir Roger de Coverley is a character, as Avell as\\na type; there is no one else like him and the mas-\\nters of Tullyveolan, Ellangowan, Monkbarns, and\\nOsbaldistone Hall, are all, whether slightly or\\ncompletely drawn, portraits, not mere symbols.\\nFors, II., p. 82.\\nFiction vs. strict Realism.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For some ten or\\ntwelve years I have been asking every good writer\\nwhom I knew, to write some part of what was ex-\\nactly true, in the greatest of the sciences, that of\\nHumanity. It seemed to me time that the Poet and\\nRomance- writer should become now the strict his-\\ntorian of days which professing the ojjenest proclam-\\nation of themselves, kept yet in secresy all that was\\nmost beautiful, and all that was most woful, in the\\nmultitude of their unshei^herded souls. And, during\\nthese years of unanswered petitioning, 1 have be-\\ncome more and more convinced that tlie wholesomest\\nantagonism to whatever is dangerous in tlie temper,\\nor foolish in the extravagance of Modern Fiction,\\nwould be found in sometimes substituting for the\\nartfully-combined improbability, the careful record\\nof providentially ordered Fact.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Story of Ida^\\nPreface.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0513.jp2"}, "514": {"fulltext": "512 A BUS KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAccurate ax^d inaccurate Work.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I gave three\\nyears close and incessant labor to the examination\\nof the chronology of the architecture of Venice\\ntAvo long winters being wholly spent in the draw-\\ning of details on the spot and yet I see constant!}\\nthat architects who pass three or four days in a\\ngondola going up and down thegi*and canal, think\\nthat tlieir first impressions are just as likely to be\\ntrue as my patiently wrought conclusions. Joy For\\nEver, I). 105.\\nI have been much impressed lately by one of the re-\\nsults of the quantity of our books; namely, the stern\\nimpossibility of getting anything understood, that\\nrequired patience to understand. I observe always,\\nin the case of my own writings, that if ever I state\\nanything which has cost me any trouble to ascer-\\ntain, and which, therefore, will probably require a\\nminute or two of reflection from the reader before\\nit can be accepted that statement wall not only\\nbe misunderstood, but in all probability taken to\\nmean something vei-y nearly the reverse of what it\\ndoes mean. Joy For Eoer, p. 104.\\nEars stretched wide.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I find the desire of\\naudiences to be audiences only becoming an\\nentirely pestilent character of the age. Everybody\\nAvants to hear, nobody to read, nobody to think. To\\nbe excited for an hour, and, if possible, amused to\\nget the knowledge it has cost a man half his life\\nto gather, first sweetened up to make it palatable,\\nand then kneaded into the smallest possible pills,\\nand to swallow it homwopathically and be wise\\nthis is the passionate desire and hope of the multi-\\ntude of the day.\\nIt is not to be done. A living comment quietly\\ngiven to a class on a book they are earnestly read-\\ning this kind of lecture is eternally necessary\\nand wholesome; your modern fire-working, smooth-\\ndowny curry- and- strawberry-ice-and-milk-punch-\\naltogether lecture is an entirely pestilent and abom-\\ninable vanity and the miserable death of poor\\nDickens, when he might have been Avriting blessed", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0514.jp2"}, "515": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LirERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 LITERATURE. 513\\nbooks till he was eighty, but for the pestiferous\\ndemand of the mob, is a very solemn warning to us\\nall, if we would take it.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Arrors of the Chace, 11.\\np. 115.\\nGabble of Fools.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 You avIU find, if you think\\ndeeply of it, that the chief of all the curses of this\\nunhappy age is the universal gabble of its fools, and\\nof the flocks that follow them, rendering the quiet\\nvoices of the wise men of all past time inaudible.\\nThis is, first, the result of the invention of printing,\\nand of the easy power and extreme pleasure to vain\\npersons of seeing themselves in print. When it\\ntook a twelvemonth s hard work to make a single\\nvolume legible, men considered a little the difference\\nbetween one book and another but now, when\\nnot only anybody can get themselves made legible\\nthrough any quantity of volumes, in a week, but\\nthe doing so becomes a means of living to them,\\nand they can fill their stomachs with the foolish\\nfoam of their lips, the univei-sal pestilence of false-\\nhood fills the mind of the world as cicadas do olive-\\nleaves, and the first necessity for our mental\\ngovernment, is to extricate from among the insect-\\nile noise, the few books and words that are Divine.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, IV., p. 116.\\nCritics.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Criticism is as impertinent in the world\\nas it is in a di awing-room. In a kindly and well-\\nbred company, if anybody tries to please th-em,\\nthey try to be pleased if anybody tries to astonish\\nthem, they have the courtesy to be astonished if\\npeople become tiresome, they ask somebody else to\\nplay, or sing, or what not but they don t ci iticise.\\nFor the rest, a bad critic is probably the most mis-\\nchievous person in the w^orld, and a good one the\\nmost helpless and unhappy: the more he knows, the\\nless he is trusted, and it is too likely he may become\\nmorose in his unacknowledged power. A good\\nexecutant, in any art, gives pleasiare to miiltitudes,\\nand breathes an atmosphere of praise, but a strong\\ncritic is every man s adversary\u00e2\u0080\u0094 men feel that he\\nknows their foibles, and cannot conceive that", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0515.jp2"}, "516": {"fulltext": "514 A HUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhe knows more. His praise to be acceptable, must\\nbe always nnqvialified his equity is an offense in-\\nstead of a virtue and the art of correction, which\\nhe has learned so laboriously, only fills his hearers\\nwith (liiigust.\u00e2\u0080\u0094AiTows of the Chace, II., p. 149.\\nBlackwood s Magazine.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This Magazine\u00e2\u0080\u0094 which\\nfrom the time that, with grace, judgment, and\\ntenderness peculiarly its own, it bid the dying\\nKeats back to his gallipots, to that in which it\\npartly arrested the last efforts, and shortened the\\nlife of Turner, did, with an infallible instinct for the\\nwrong, give what pain it could, and wither what\\nstrength it could, in every great mind that was\\nin anywise within its reach and made itself, to\\nthe utmost of its power, frost and disease of the\\nheart to the most noble spirits of England. Modem\\nPainteis, IV., p. 415.\\nMYTHS.\\nWilliam Tell. It is no matter how much, or\\nhow little, of the two first books of Livy may be lit-\\nerally true. The history of the Romans is the his-\\ntory of the nation which could conceive the battle\\nof the Lake Regillus. I have rowed in rough weath-\\ner on the Lake of the Four Cantons often enough\\nto know that the legend of Tell is, in literal detail,\\nabsurd but the history of Switzerland is that of\\nthe people who expressed their imagination of re-\\nsistance to injustice by that legend, so as to animate\\ntheir character vitally to this day. Eaglets Nest,\\np. 129.\\nCincinnatus.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Itis fatally certain that whenever\\nyou begin to seek the real authority for legends,\\nyou will generally find that the ugly ones have\\ngood foundation, and the beautiful ones none. Be\\nprepared for this and remember that a lovely\\nlegend is all the more precious when it has no\\nfoundation. Cincinnatus might actually have been\\nfound ploughing beside the Tiber fifty times over;", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0516.jp2"}, "517": {"fulltext": "NAT CUE AXD LlTEllATUIiE-LITEUATUEE. 515\\nand it might have signified little to anyone least\\nof all to you or me. But if Cincinnatus never was\\nso found, nor ever existed at all in flesh and blood\\nbut the great Roman nation, in its strength of con-\\nviction that manual labor in tilling the ground was\\ngood and honorable, invented a quite bodiless Cin-\\ncinnatus and set him, according to its fancy, in\\nfurrows of the field, and put its own words into his\\nmouth, and gave the honor of its ancient deeds into\\nhis ghostly hand this fable, which has no founda-\\ntion this precious coinage of the brain and con-\\nscience of a miglity people, you and I believe me\\nhad better read, and know, and take to heart, dili-\\ngently. Fors, I., p. 277.\\nOrigijv and Growth of Myths. The real mean-\\ning of any myth is that which it lias at the noblest\\nage of the nation among whom it is current. The\\nfarther back you pierce, the less significance you\\nwill find, until you come to the first narrow thought,\\nwhich, indeed, contains tlie germ of the accom-\\nplislied tradition; but only as tlie seed contains the\\nflower. As tlie intelligence and passion of the race\\ndevelop, they cling to and noarish their beloved\\nand sacred legend leaf by leaf it expands under\\nthe touch of more pure affections, and more deli-\\ncate imagination, until at last the perfect fable\\nburgeons out into symmetry of milky stem and\\nhonied heW.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Athena, p. 13.\\nIn all the most beautiful and enduring myths,\\nwe sliall find, not only a literal story of a real\\nperson not only a parallel imagery of moral\\nprinciple, but an underlying worship of natural\\nphenomena, out of which both have sprung, and\\nin which both forever remain rooted. Thus, from\\nthe real sun, rising and setting from the real\\natmosphere, calm in its dominion of unfading blue,\\nand fierce in its descent of tempest the Greek\\nforms first the idea of two entirely personal and\\ncorporeal gods, whose limbs are clothed in divine\\nflesh, and whose brows are crowned with divine\\nbeauty yet so real that the quiver rattles at their", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0517.jp2"}, "518": {"fulltext": "516 A B\u00c2\u00a5SKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nshoulder, and the chariot bends beneath their\\nweight. And, on the other hand, collaterally with\\nthese coi poreal images, and never for one instant\\nseparated from them, he conceives also two omni-\\npresent spiritual influences, of which one illumi-\\nnates, as the sun, with a constant fire, whatever in\\nhumanity is skilful and wise and the other, like\\nthe living air, breathes the calm of heavenly forti-\\ntude, and strength of righteous anger, into every\\nhuman breast that is pure and hrsive.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Athena,\\np. 11.\\nThe Myth op Athena. Athena is, physically,\\nthe queen of the air; having supreme power both\\nover its blessing of calm, and wrath of storm\\nand, spiritually, she is the queen of the breath of\\nman first of the bodily breathing, which is life to\\nhis blood, and strength to his arm in battle and\\nthen of the mental breathing, or inspiration, which\\nis his moral health and habitual wisdom wisdom\\nof conduct and of the heart, as opposed to the Avis-\\ndom of imagination and the brain moral, as dis-\\ntinct from intellectual inspired, as distinct from\\nilluminated. Athena, p. 16.\\nAthena is the air, giving life and health to all ani-\\nmals. She is the air, giving vegetative power to the\\nearth. She is the air, giving motion to the sea, and\\nrendering navigation possible. She is the air, nour-\\nishing artificial light, torch or lamplight as op-\\nposed to that of the sun, on one hand, and of co7i-\\nsuming fire on the other. She is the air, conveying\\nvibration of sound. Athena, p. 31.\\nDream of Neith and the Pyramid.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It was\\nnear evening and as I looked towards the sunset,\\nI saw a thing like a dark pillar standing where the\\nrock of the desert stoops to the Nile valley. I did\\nnot know there was a pillar there, and wondered at\\nit and it grew larger, and glided nearer, becoming\\nlike the form of a man, but vast, and it did not\\nmove its feet, but glided like a pillar of sand. And\\nas it drew nearer, I looked by chance past it to-\\nwards the sun and saw a silver cloud, which wa.-^", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0518.jp2"}, "519": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATUBE-LITERATURE. 51t\\nof ail the clouds closest to the sun (and in one place\\ncrossed it), draw itself back from the sun, suddenly.\\nAnd it turned, and shot towards the dark pillar;\\nleaping- in an arch, like an arrow out of a bow.\\nAnd I thought it was lightninjij but when it came\\nnear the shadowy pillar, it sank slowly down beside\\nit, and changed into the shape of a woman, very\\nbeautiful, and with a strength of deep calm in her\\nblue eyes. She was robed to the feet with a white\\nrobe and above that, to her knees, by the cloud\\nwhich I had seen across the sun; but all the golden\\nripples of it had become plumes, so that it had\\nchanged into two bright wings like those of a vul-\\nture, which wrapped round her to her knees. She\\nhad a weaver s shuttle hanging over her shoulder,\\nby the thread of it, and in her left hand, arrows,\\ntipped with fire.\\nAnd Neith drew herself to her height and I\\nheard a clashing pass through the plumes of her\\nwings, and the asp stood up on her helmet, and fire\\ngathered in her eyes. And she took one of the\\nflaming arrows out of the sheaf in her left hand,\\nand stretched it out over the heaps of claj And\\nthey rose up like flights of locusts, and spread\\nthemselves in the air, so that it grew dark in a mo-\\nment. Then Neith designed them places with her\\narrow point and they drew into ranks, like dark\\nclouds laid level at morning. Then Neith pointed\\nwith her arrow to the north, and to the south, and\\nto the east, and to the west, and the flying motes of\\nearth drew asunder into four great ranked crowds\\nand stood, one in the north, and one in the south,\\nand one in the east, and one in the west one\\nagainst another. Then Neith spread her wings\\nwide for an instant, and closed them with a sound\\nlike the sound of a rushing sea and waved her\\nhand towards the foundation of the pyramid, where\\nit was laid -on the brow of the desert. And the four\\nflocks drew together and sank down, like sea-birds\\nsettling to a level rock and when they met, there\\nAvas a sudden flame, as broad as the pyramid, and\\nas high as the clouds and it dazzled me and I", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0519.jp2"}, "520": {"fulltext": "518 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nclosed my eyes foi an instant and when I looked\\nagain, the pyramid stood on its rock, perfect and\\nl^urple with the liglit from the edge of the sinking\\nsun. Ethics of the Dust, pp. 25-28.\\nFICTION.\\nA Greek Vase the Type op right Fiction.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe best type of right fiction is a Greek vase, planned\\nrigorously, rounded smoothly, balanced symmetri-\\ncally, handled handily, lipped softly for pouring\\nout oil and wine. Painted daintily at last with\\nimages of eternal things. For ever shalt thou\\nlove, and she be fair.\\nPlanned rigorously I press the conditions\\nagain one by one it must be, as ever Memphian\\nlabyrinth or Norman fortress. Intricacy full of\\ndelicate surprise covered way in secrecy of accur-\\nate purposes, not a stone useless, nor a word, nor\\nan incident thrown away. Roundf^d smoothly\\nthe wheel of Fortune revolving with it in unfelt\\nswiftness like the world, its story rising like the\\ndawn, closing like the sunset, with its own sweet\\nlight for every hour. Balanced symmetrically\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094having its two sides clearly separate, its war of\\ngood and evil rightly divided. Its figures moving\\nin majestic law of light and shade. Handled\\nhandily so that, being careful and gentle, you can\\ntake easy gTasp of it and all that it contains.\\nLipped softly full of kindness and comfort.\\nAll beautiful fiction is of the Madonna.\\nTaking thus the Greek vase at its best time, for\\nthe symbol of fair fiction of foul, you may find\\nin the great entrance-room of the Louvre, filled with\\nthe luxurious orfhwerie of the sixteenth century\\ntypes perfect and innumerable Satyrs carved in\\nserpentine, Gorgons platted in gold, Furies with\\neyes of ruby, Scyllas with scales of pearl infinite-\\nly worthless toil, infinitely witless wickedness\\npleasure satiated with idiocy, passion provoked", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0520.jp2"}, "521": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 LITERATURE. olO\\ninto madness, no object of thought, or sight, or fan-\\ncy, but horror, mutilation, distortion, corruption,\\nagony of war, insolence of disgrace, and misery of\\ndeath. Fiction Fair and Foul, in Nineteeiith Cen-\\ntury, 1881, p. 516.\\nThk Literature of the Prison House.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The\\npleasure which we may conceive taken by the chil-\\ndren of the coming time, in the analysis of physical\\ncorruption, guides, into fields more dangerous and\\ndesolate, the expatiation of imaginative literature\\nand the reactions of moral disease upon itself, and\\nthe conditions of languid Ij^ monstrous character\\ndeveloped in an atmosphei e of low vitality, have\\nbecome the most valued material of modern fiction,\\nand the most eagerly di.scussed texts of modern\\nphilosophy.\\nIn the single novel of Bleak House there are nine\\ndeaths (or left for d-eaths, in the drop scene) care-\\nfully Avrought out or led up to, either by way of\\npleasing surprise, as the baby s at the brickmaker s,\\nor finished in their threatenings and sufferings,\\nwith as much enjoyment as can be contrived in the\\nanticipation, and as much pathology as can be con-\\ncentrated in the description. Under the following\\nvarieties of method\\nOne by assassination, Mr. Tulkinghorn. One by\\nstarvation, with phthisis, Joe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 One by chagrin,\\nRichard. One by spontaneous combustion, Mr.\\nKrook. One by sorrow, Lady Dedlock s lover.\\nOne by remorse. Lady Dedlock. One by insanity,\\nMiss Flite. One by paralysis. Sir Leicester. Be-\\nsides the baby, by fever, and a lively young French-\\nAvoman left to be hanged.\\nIn the work of the great masters death is always\\neither heroic, deserved, or quiet and natural (unless\\ntheir purpose be totally and deeply tragic, when\\ncollateral meaner death is perinitted, like that of\\nPolonius or Uoderigo). In 014 Mortality, four of\\nthe deaths BothwelTs, Ensign Grahame s, Mac-\\nbriar s, and Evandale s are magnificently heroic\\nBurley s and Oliphant s long deserved, and swift\\nthe troopers met in the discharge of their military", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0521.jp2"}, "522": {"fulltext": "520 A BUSKIJSr ANTHOLOGY.\\nduty and the old miser s, as gentle as the i^asslng\\nof a cloud, and almost beautiful in its last words of\\nnow unselfish\u00e2\u0080\u0094 care.\\nIn modern stories prepared for more refined or\\nfastidious audiences than those of Dickens, the\\nfunereal excitement is obtained, for the most part,\\nnot by the infliction of violent or disgusting death\\nbut in the suspense, the pathos, and the more or\\nless by all felt, and recognized, mortal phenomena\\nof the sick-room. The temptation, to weak writers,\\nof this order of subject is especially gi-eat, because\\nthe study of it from the living or dying model is\\nso easy, and to many has been the most impressive\\npart of their own personal experience while, if the\\ndescription be given even with mediocre accuracy,\\na very large section of readers will admire its truth,\\nand cherish its melancholy. But the masters\\nof strong imagination disdain such work, and those\\nof deep sensibility, shrink from it.* Only under\\nconditions of personal weakness, presently to be\\nnoted, would Scott comply with the cravings of his\\nlower audience in scenes of terror like the death of\\nFront-de-Boeuf. But he never once witlidrew the\\nsacred curtain of the sick-chamber, nor permitted\\nthe disgrace of wanton tears round the humiliation\\nof strength, or the wreck of beauty.\\nThe effectual head of the whole cretinous school\\nis the renowned novel in which the hunchbacked\\nlover watches the execution of his mistress from the\\ntower of Notre Dame and its strength passes grad-\\nually away into the anatomical jjreparations, for\\nthe general market, of novels like Poor 3Iiss Finch,\\nin which the heroine is blind, the hero epileptic,\\nand the obnoxious brother is found dead, with his\\nhands dro^jped off, in the Arctic regions.\\nThere is some excuse, indeed, for the pathologic\\nlabor of the modern novelist in the fact that h\u00c2\u00ab\\nNell, in the Old Curiosity S?iop,.was simply kiiled for the\\nmarket, as a butcher kills a lamb (see Fovster s Life), and Paul\\nwas wi itten under the same conditions of illness which affected\\nScott a part of the ominous palsies, grasping alike author and\\nsubject, both in Dc.mhey and Litth Duriit.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0522.jp2"}, "523": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE -LlTEIiA.TUIiE. 521\\ncannot easily, in a city population, find a lieaitliy\\nmind to vivisect but the greater part of such ama-\\nteur surgery is the struggle, in an epoch of wild lit-\\nerary competition, to obtain novelty of material.\\nThe varieties of aspect and color in healthy fruit,\\nbe it sweet or sour, may be within certain limits de-\\nscribed exhaustively. Not so the blotches of its\\nconceivable hlh^Xxt.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Fiction -Fair and Foul, pp.\\n5-16.\\nThe Mill on the Floss, is perhaps the most striking\\ninstance extant of this study of cutaneous disease.\\nThere is not a single person in the book of the\\nsmallest importance to anybody in the world but\\nthemselves, or whose qualities deserved so much as\\na line of printer s type in their description. \u00e2\u0080\u0094i^tciimi\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fair and Foul, in Nineteenth Century, October,\\n1881, p. 530.\\nSCOTT AND HIS NOVELS.\\nThe excellence of Scott s work is precisely in pro-\\nportion to the degree in which it is sketched from\\npresent nature. His fau)iliar life is inimitable his\\nquiet scenes of introductory conversation, as the\\nbeginning of Rob Roy and Redgauntlet, and all his\\nliving Scotch characters, mean or noble, from An-\\ndrew Fairservico to Jeanie Deans, are simply right,\\nand can never be bettered. But his romance and\\nantiquarianism, his knighthood and monkery, are\\nJill false, and he knows them to be false does not\\ncare to make them earnest enjoys them for their\\nstrangeness, but laughs at his own antiquarianism.\\nIt is pre-eminently in his faults and weaknesses\\nthat Scott is representative of the mind of his age\\nand because he is the greatest man born amongst\\nus, and intended for the enduring type of us, all our\\nprincipal faults must be laid on his shoulders, and\\nhe must bear down the dark marks to the latest\\na es. Nothing is more notable or sorrowful in\\nScott s mind than its incapacity of steady belief iu", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0523.jp2"}, "524": {"fulltext": "522 A BUSiay ANTHOLOGY.\\nanything. He neither cared for painting nor\\nsculpture, and was totally incapable of forming a\\njudgment about them. Throughout all his\\nwork there is no evidence of any purpose but to\\nwhile away the hour. Modem Painters, III., pp.\\n288-390.\\nThe dulness which many modern readers\\ninevitably feel, and some modern blockheads think\\nit creditable to allege in Scott, consists not a little\\nin his absolute piirity from every loathsome ele-\\nment or excitement of the lower passions. Nine-\\nteenth Century, Oct. 1881, p. 520.\\nScott at Ashestiel.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sir Walter Scott s life, in\\nthe full strength of it at Ashestiel, and early at Ab-\\nbotsford, with his literaiy work done by ten, or at\\nlatest twelve, in the morning and the rest of the\\nday spent in useful work with Tom Purdie in his\\nwoods, is a model of wise moral management of\\nmind and body, for men of true literary power.\\nFors, III., p. 241.\\nThe house of Ashestiel itself is only three or four\\nmiles above the junction of Tweed and Ettrick. It\\nhas been sorrowfully changed since Sir Walter s\\ndeath, but the essential make and set of the former\\nbuilding can still be traced.\\nThere is more excuse for Scott s flitting to Abbots-\\nford than I had guessed, for this house stands, con-\\nscious of the river rather than commanding it, on a\\nbrow of meadowy bank, falling so steeply to the\\nwater that nothing can be seen of it from the win-\\ndows. Beyond, the pasture-land rises steej^ three\\nor four hundred feet against the northern sky,\\nwhile behind the house, south and east, the moor-\\nlands lift themselves in gradual distance to still\\ngreater height, so that virtually neither sunrise nor\\nsunset can be seen from the dee^D-nested dwelling.\\nA tricklet of stream wavers to and fro down to it\\nfrom the moor, through a grove of entirely natural\\nwood oak, birch, and ash, fantastic and bewilder-\\ning, but nowhere gloomy or decayed, and carpeted\\nwith anemone. Between this wild avenue and the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0524.jp2"}, "525": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITERATURE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 LITERATURE. 523\\nhouse, the old garden remains as it used to be,\\nlarge, gracious, and tranquil its high walls swept\\nround it in a curving line like a war raujpart, fol-\\nlowing the ground the fruit-trees, trained a cen-\\ntury since, now with gray trunks a foot wide, flat-\\ntened to the wall like sheets of crag the strong\\nbars of their living trellis charged, when I saw\\nthem, with clusters of green-gage, soft bloomed into\\ngold and blue and of orange-pink magnum bo-\\nnum, and crowds of ponderous pear, countless as\\nleaves. Some open space of grass and path, now\\nall redesigned for modern needs, must always have\\ndivided the garden from what was properly the\\nfront of the house, where the main entrance is now,\\nbetween advanced wings, of which only the west-\\nAvard one is of Sir Walter s time: its ground floor\\nbeing the drawing-room, with his own bedroom of\\nequal size above, cheerful and luminous both, en-\\nfilading the house front with their large side win-\\ndows, which commanded the sweep of Tweed dow\u00c2\u00a9\\nthe valley, and some high masses of Ettrick Forest\\nbeyond, this view being now mostly shut olT by the\\nopposite wing, added for symmetry But Sir Wal-\\nter saw it fair through the morning clouds when he\\nrose, holding himself, nevertheless, altogether re-\\ngardless of it, when once at work.\\nAt Ashestiel and Abbotsford alike, his workroom\\nis strictly a writing-office, what windows they have\\nbeing designed to admit the needful light, with an\\nextremely narrow vista of the external M^orld.\\nCourtyard at Abbotsford, and bank of young wood\\nbeyond nothing at Ashestiel but the green turf of\\nthe opposite fells, with the sun on it, if sun there\\nwere, and silvery specks of passing sheep.\\nThe room itself, Scott s true memorial if the\\nScotch people had heart enough to know him, or\\nremember, is a small parlor on the ground-floor oi\\nthe north side of the house, some twelve feet deep\\nby eleven wide the single window little more than\\nfour feet square, or rather four feet cube, above the\\ndesk, which is set in the recess of the niossy wall,\\nthe light thus enteriiig in front of the writer, and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0525.jp2"}, "526": {"fulltext": "524 A JIUSKIN- ANTHOLOGY,\\nreflected a little from each side. This window is set\\nto the left in the end wall, leaving a breadth of\\nsome five feet or a little more on the fireplace side,\\nwhere now, brought here from Abbotsford, stands\\nthe garden chair of the last days.\\nContentedly, in such space and splendor of domi-\\ncile, the three great poems were written, Waverley\\nbegun and all the make and tenure of his mind\\nconfirmed, as it was to remain, or revive, through\\nafter time of vanity, ti ouble, and decay. A small\\nchamber, with a fair world outside such are the\\nconditions, as far as I know or can gather, of all\\ngreatest and best mental work. Fo7 Sf IV., pp.\\n349-351.\\nScott s choicest Romances.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The memorable\\nromances of Scott are eighteen, falling into three\\ndistinct groups, containing six each. The first group\\nis distinguished from the other two by characters\\nof strength and felicity which never more appeared\\nafter Scott was struck down by his terrifie illness in\\n1819. It includes Waverley, Guy llannering, The\\nAntiquary, Kob Boy, Old Mortality, and The Heart\\nof Midlothian. The second group, composed\\nin the three years subsequent to illness all but mor-\\ntal, bear every one of them more or less the seal of\\nit. They consist of the Bride of Lammermoor, Ivan-\\nhoe, the 3Ionastery the Abbot, Kenilworth, and the\\nPirate. The marks of broken health on all these\\nare essentially twofold prevailing melancholy, and\\nfantastic improbability.\\nThe last series contains two quite noble ones,\\nRedgaimtlet and Nigel two of very high value,\\nQuentin Durward and Woodstock and finally, the\\nJfonastery, and the Abbot. Fiction Fair and Foul,\\npp. 22-25.\\nWhy Scott s Heroes are Milk-Sops.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Scott\\nlived in a country and time, when, from highest\\nto lowest, but chiefly in that dignified and nobly\\nsevere middle class to which he himself belonged, a\\nhabit of serene and stainless thought was as natural\\nto the people as their mountain air. Women like", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0526.jp2"}, "527": {"fulltext": "NATURE ANT) LITERATUBB-LITEPxATURE. 525\\nRose Bradwartline and Ailie Dinmorit were the\\ngrace and guard of almost every household (God be\\npraised that the race of theiu is not yet extinct, for\\nall that Mall or Boulevard can do), and it has\\nperhaps escaped the notice of even attentive readers\\nthat the comparatively uninteresting character of\\nSir Walter s heroes had always been studied among\\na class of youths who were simply incapable of doing\\nanything seriously wrong and could only be em-\\nbarrassed by the consequences of their levity or\\nimprudence. Fictinn Fair and Foul, pp. 18, 19.\\nThe Vernacular in Scott s Novels.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The care-\\nful study of one sentence of Andrew Fairservice, in\\nRob Roy, will give us a good deal to think of. I take\\nthis account of the rescue of Gflasgow Cathedral at\\nthe time of the Refoi-mation.\\nAh it s a brave kirk nane o yere wigmaleeries\\nand curliewurlies and opensteek hems about it a\\nsolid, Aveeljointed mason-wark, that will stand as\\nlang as the warld, keep hands and guupowther\\natf it. It had amaist a douncome lang syne at the\\nReformation, when they i^u d doun the kirks of St.\\nAndrews and Perth, and thereawa to cleanse them\\no Papery and idolatry, and image-worship, and\\nsiir[)lices, and sielike rags o the muckle hure that\\nsitteth on seven hills, as if ane wasna braid eneugh\\nfor her auld hinder end. Sae the commons o Ren-\\nfrew, and o the Barony, and the Gorbals, and a\\nabout, they behoved to come into Glasgow ae fair\\nmorning, to try their hand on purging the High\\nKirk o Popish nicknackets. But the townsmen o\\n(xlasgow, they were feared their auld edifice might\\nsli[) the girths in gaun through siccan rough physic,\\nsae they rang the common bell, and assembled the\\ntrain-bands wi took o drum. By good luck, the\\nworthy Jauies Rabat was Dean o Guild that year\\n(and a gude mason he was himsell, made him the\\nkeener to keep up the auld bigging), and the trades\\nassembled, and offered downright battle to the\\ncommons, rather than their kirk should coup the\\ncrans, as others had done elsewhere. It wasna fur\\nhive o Paperie na, na nane could ever say that\\no the trades o Glasgow.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sae they sune came to\\nan agreement to take a the idolatrous statues of\\nsants (sorrow be on them out o their neuks.\\nAnd sae the bits o stane idols were broken in pieces", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0527.jp2"}, "528": {"fulltext": "526 A BUSKiy ANTHOLOGY.\\nby Seripture warrant, and flung into the Molendi-\\nnar burn, and the anld kirk stood as crouse as a\\ncat when the flaes are kainied aff her, and a body\\nwas ahke pleased. And I hae heard wise folks say,\\nthat if the same had been done in ilka kirk in Scot-\\nland, the Reform wad just hae been as pure as it is\\ne en now, and we wad hae mair Christian-like\\nkirks; for I hae been sae lang in England, that\\nnaething will drived out o my head, that the dog-\\nkennel at Usbaldistone-Hall is better than mony a\\nhouse o God in Scotland.\\nNow this sentence is in the first place a piece of\\nScottish history of quite inestimable and concen-\\ntrated value. Andrew s temperament is the type\\nof a vast class of Scottish shall we call it sow-\\nthistlian mind, which necessarily takes the view\\nof either Pope or saint that the thistle in Lebanon\\ntook of the cedar or lilies in Lebanon and the entire\\nforce of the passions Avhich, in the Scottish revolu-\\ntion foretold and forearmed the French one, is told\\nin this one jiaragraph; the coarseness of it, observe,\\nbeing admitted, not for the sake of the laugh, any\\nmore than an onion in broth merelj^ for its flavor,\\nbut for the meat of it the inherent constancy of\\nthat coarseness being a fact in this order of mind,\\nand an essential part of the history to be told.\\nSecondly, observe that this speech, in the religious\\npassion of it, such as there may be, is entirely sin-\\ncere. Andrew is a thief, a liar, a coward, and, in\\nthe Fair service from which he takes his name, a\\nhypocrite but in the form of prejudice, which is\\nall that his mind is capable of in the place of relig-\\nion, he is entirely sincere. lie does not in the least\\nl^retend detestation of image worship to please his\\nmaster, or any one else he honestly scorns the\\ncarnal morality as dowd and fusionless as rue-\\nleaves at Yule of the sermon in the ujiper cathe-\\ndral and Avhen wrapt in critical attention to the\\nreal savour o doctrine in the crypt, so com-\\npletely forgets the hypocrisy of his fair service as\\nto return his master s attempt to disturb him with\\nliard punches of the elbow.\\nThirdly. He is a man of nO mean sagacity, quite", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0528.jp2"}, "529": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITER ATUliE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 LITERATURE. 527\\nup to the average standard of Scottish common\\nsense\u00e2\u0080\u0094 not a low one; and, though incapable of\\nunderstanding any manner of lofty thought or\\npassion, is a shrewd measurer of weaknesses, and\\nnot without a spark or two of kindly feeling. See\\nfirst his sketch of his master s character to Mr.\\nHammorgaw, beginning: He s no a thegither sae\\nvoid o sense, neither and then the close of the\\ndialogue But the lad s no a bad lad after a and\\nhe needs some carefu body to look after him.\\nFourthly. He is a good workman knows his\\nown business well, and can judge of other craft, if\\nsound, or otherwise.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 All these four qualities of\\nhim must be known before we can understand this\\nsingle speech. Keeping them in mind, I take it up,\\nword by word.\\nYou observ^e, in the outset, Scott makes no at-\\ntempt whatever to indicate accents or modes of\\npronunciation by changed spelling, unless the\\nword becomes a quite definitely new and scarcely\\nwriteable one. The Scottish way of pronouncing\\n.James, for instance, is entirely i^eculiar, and ex-\\ntremely pleasant to the ear. But it is so, just be-\\ncause it does not change the word into Jeems, nor\\ninto Jims, nor into Jawms. A modern writer of\\ndialects would think it amusing to use one or other\\nof these ugly spellings. But Scott writes the name\\nin pure English, knowing that a Scots reader will\\nspeak it rightly, and an English one be wise in let-\\nting it alone. On the other hand he writes weel\\nfor well, because that word is complete in its\\nchange, and may be very closely expressed by the\\ndouble e. The ambiguous li s in gude and sune\\nare admitted, because far liker the sound than the\\ndouble M ould be, and that in hure for grace\\nsake, to soften the word j\u00e2\u0080\u0094 so also flaes for fleas.\\nMony for many is again ijositively right in\\nsound, and neiik differs from our nook in sense,\\nand is not the same word at all.\\nSecondly, observe, not a word is corrupted in any\\nindecent haste, slowness, slovenliness, or incapacity\\nof pronunciation. There is no lisping, drawling,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0529.jp2"}, "530": {"fulltext": "528 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nslobbering, or snuffling the speech is as clea^r as a\\nbell and as keen as an arrow and its elisions and\\ncontractions are either melodious, {na, for not,\\npu d, for pulled, or as normal as in a Latin\\nverse. The long words are delivered without the\\nslightest bungling and higging finished to its\\nlast g.\\nI take the important words now in their places.\\nBrave. The old English sense of the word in to\\ngo brave retained, expressing Andrew s sincere\\nand respectful admiration. Had he meant to insin-\\nviate a hint of the church s being too fine, he would\\nhave said hraw.\\nKirk. This is of course just as pure and unpro-\\nvincial a word as Kirche, or 6glise.\\nWliigmal eerie. I cannot get at the root of this\\nword, but it is one showing that the speaker is not\\nbound by classic rules, but will use any syllables\\nthat enrich his meaning. Nipperty-tipperty (of his\\nmaster s poetry-nonsense is another word of\\nthe same class. Curliewurlie is of course just as pure\\nas Shakespeare s Hurly-burly.\\nOpensteek hem.s. More description, or better of\\nthe later Gothic cannot be put into four syllables.\\nSteek, melodious for stitch, has a combined sense\\nof closing or fastening. And note that the later\\nGothic, being precisely what Scott knew best (in\\nMelrose) and liked best, it is, here as elsewhere,\\nquite as much himself as Frank, that he is laugh-\\ning at, when he laughs witJi Andrew, whose open-\\nsteek hems are only a ruder metaphor for his own\\nwillow-wreaths changed to stone.\\nGunpowther. Ther is a lingering vestige of the\\nFrench -dre\\nSyne. One of the melodious and mysterious\\nScottish words which have partly the sound of\\nwind and stream in them, and partly the range of\\nsoftened idea, which is like a distance of blue hills\\nover border land far in the distant Cheviot s\\nblue. Perhaps even the least sympathetic Eng-\\nlisher might recognize this, if he heard Old Long\\nSince vocally substituted for the Scottish words", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0530.jp2"}, "531": {"fulltext": "NATURE AND LITEEATUEE-LITERATURE. 529\\nto the air. I do not know the root but the word s\\nIjroper nieanins is not since, but before or after\\nan interval of some duration, as weel sune as\\nsyne. But first on Sawnie gies a ca Syne,\\nbauldly in she enters.\\nBehoved {to come).\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A rich word, with pecuhar\\nidiom, always used more or less ironically of any-\\nthing done under a partly mistaken and partly pre-\\ntended notion of duty.\\niicmn.\u00e2\u0080\u0094FnY prettier, and fuller in meaning than\\nsuch. It contains an added sense of wonder\\nand means properly so great or so unusual.\\nTook (o rfmm)-\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Classical tuck from Itahan\\ntoccata, the preluding touch or flourish, on any\\ninstrument (but see Johnson under word tucket,\\nquoting Othello). The deeper Scottish vowels are\\nused here to mark the deeper sound of the bass\\ndrum, as in more solemn Avarning.\\nBiggiug.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The only word in all the sentence of\\nwhich the Scottish form is less melodious than the\\nEnglish, and what for no, seeing that Scottish\\narchitecture is mostly little beyond Bessie Bell s\\nand Mary Gray s They biggit a bow re by yon\\nburn ide, and theekit it ow re wi rashes. But it\\nis pure Anglo-Saxon in roots see glossary to Fair-\\nbairn s edition of the Douglas Virgil, 1710.\\nCoup. Another of the much-embracing words\\nshort for upset, but with a sense of awkwardness\\nas the inherent cause of fall; compare Richie Moni-\\nplies (also for sense of behoved Ae auld\\nhirplin deevil of a potter behoved just to step in my\\nway, and offer me a pig (earthern pot^etym. dub.),\\nas he said just to put my Scotch ointment in\\nand I gave him a push, as but natural, and the tot-\\ntering deevil coupit owre amang his own pigs, and\\ndamaged a score of them. So also Dandle Din-\\nmont in the postchaise Od I hope they ll no\\ncoup us.\\nThe Crans. Idiomatic root unknown to me,\\nbut it means in this use, full, total, and without\\nrecovery.\\nMolendinar .\u00e2\u0080\u0094Yvoui molendinuni, the grinding-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0531.jp2"}, "532": {"fulltext": "530 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nplace. I do not know if actually the local name,,\\nor Scott s invention. Compare Sir Piercie s Molin-\\naras. But at all events used here with by-sense of\\ndegradation of the formerly idle saints to grind at\\nthe mill.\\nCrouse. Courageous, softened Avith a sense of\\ncomfort.\\nIlka. Again a word with azure distance, includ-\\ning the whole sense of each and every. The\\nreader must carefully and reverently distinguish\\nthese comprehensive words, which gather two or\\nmore perfectly understood meanings into one chord\\nof meaning, and are harmonies more than words,\\nfrom the above noted blunders between two half-\\nhit meanings, struck as a bad i^iano-player strikes\\nthe edge of another note. In English we have\\nfewer of these combined thoughts so that Shake-\\nspeare rather plays with the distinct lights of his\\nwords, than melts them into one. So again Bishop\\nDouglas spells, and doubtless spoke, the word\\nrose, differently, according to his purpose if as\\nthe chief or governing ruler of flowers, rois, but if\\nonly in her own beauty, rose.\\nChristian-like.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The sense of the decency and\\norder proper to Christianity is stronger in Scotland\\nthan in any other country, and the word Chris-\\ntian more distinctly opposed to beast. Hence\\nthe back-handed cut at the English for their over-\\npious care of dogs. Fiction Fair a7id Foul, pp.\\n87-33.\\nPOEMS BY RUSKIN.\\nSALTZBURG.\\nOn Salza s quiet tide the westei-iiig sun\\nGleams mildly; and the lengthening shadows dun,\\nChequered with ruddy streaks from spire and roof,\\nBegin to weave fair twilight s mystic woof,\\nTill the dim tissue, like a gorgeous veil,\\nWraps the proud city, in her beauty pale.\\nA minute since, and in the rosy light\\nDome, casement, spire, were glowing warm and bright;\\nA minute since, St. Rupert s stately shrine,\\nRich with the spoils of many a Nartzwald mine,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0532.jp2"}, "533": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGRArHICAL. 531\\nFlung back the golden glow; now, broad tiud vast,\\nThe shadows from yon ancient fortress cast,\\nLike the dark grasp of some barbaric power,\\nTheir leaden empire stretch o er roof and tower.\\nPoems, p. 7.\\nTHE OLD WATER-WIIKEL.\\nIt lies beside the river; where its marge\\nIs black with many an old and oarlcss barge,\\nAnd yeasty filth, and leafage wild and rank\\nStagnate and batten by the crumbling bank.\\nOnce, slow revolving by the industrious mill,\\nIt murmured, only on the S.ibbath still;\\nAnd evening winds its pulse-like beating bore\\nDown the soft vale, and by the winding shoi e.\\nSparkling around its orbed motion flew.\\nWith quick, fresh fall, the drops of dashing dew,\\nThrough noon-tide heat that gentle rain was flung,\\nAnd verdant round the summer herbage sprung.\\nNow dancing light and sounding motion cease.\\nIn these dark liours of cold continual peace;\\nThrough its black bars the unbroken moonlightflows,\\nAnd dry winds howl about its long repose\\nAnd mouldering lichens creep, and mosses gray\\nCling around its arms, in gradual decay,\\nAmidst the hum of men which doth not suit\\nThat shadowy circle, motionless and mute.\\nSo, by the sleep of many a human heart.\\nThe crowd of men may bear their busy part,\\nWhere withered, or forgotten, or subdued.\\nIts noisy passions have left solitude.\\nPoeins, p. 109.\\nCHAPTER III.\\nAutobiographical.*\\nI never wrote a letter in my life which all the\\nworld are not welcome to read if they will. Fors,\\nIII., p. 65.\\nI never read anything in si^ring-time (except the\\nAi, Ai, on the sanguine-flower inscribed Avith\\nwoe Time and Tide, p. 74.\\nCompare the Introduction to this volume.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0533.jp2"}, "534": {"fulltext": "532 A IWSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nNearly everything that I ever did of any use in\\nthis world has been done contrarj to the advice of\\nuiy friends and as my friends are unanimous at\\npresent in begging me never to write to news-\\npapers, I am somewhat under the impression that\\nI ought to resign my Oxford professorship, and try\\nto get a sub-editorship in the Telegraph. Fors, I.,\\np. 384.\\nLove of Money. I never part with a new sover-\\neign without a sigh and if it were not that I am\\nafraid of thieves, I would positively and seriously,\\nat this moment, turn all I have into gold of the\\nnewest, and dig a hole for it in my garden, and go\\nand look at it every morning and evening, like the\\nman in ^sop s Fables, or Silas Mai^ier. Fors, I.,\\np. 329.\\nHis Medieval Tendencies. I am no warped\\nwitness, as far as regards monasteries or if I am,\\nit is in their favor. I have always had a strong\\nleaning that way and have pensively shivered\\nwith Augustines at St. Bernard; and happily made\\nhay with Franciscans at Fesolt^ and sat silent\\nAvith Carthusians in their little gardens, south of\\nFlorence and mourned through many a day-\\ndream, at Melrose and Bolton. But the Avonder is\\nalways to me, not how much, but how little, the\\nmonks have, on the Avhole, done, with all that lei-\\nsure, and all that good- will. Ethics of the Dust,\\np. 92.\\nStealthy Charity. All the clergy in London\\nhave been shrieking against alms-giving to the\\nlower poor this whole Avinter long, till lam obliged,\\nAvhenever I Avant to give anybody a penny, to look\\nup and doAvn the street first, to see if a clergyman s\\ncoming. Fors, L, p. 48.\\nCapital PuNiSHMENT.^One of my best friends\\nhas just gone mad and all the rest say I am mad\\nmyself. But, if ever I murder anybody and, in-\\ndeed, there are numbers of people I should like to\\nmurder I won t say that I ought to be hanged; for\\nI think nobody but a bishop or a bank-director cau", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0534.jp2"}, "535": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGIlAnilCAL. 533\\nevei- be rogue enough to deserve hanging but I\\nparticularly, and with all that is left me of what I\\nimagine to be sound mind, request that I may be\\nimmediately shot. Fors, II., p. 319.\\nSt. Brun^o s Lilies. There was a pretty young\\nEnglish lady at the table d hote, in the Hotel du\\nMont Blanc at St. Martin s [1860], and I wanted to\\nget speech of her, and didn t know how. So all I\\ncould think of was to go half-way up the Aiguille\\nde Varens, to gather St. Bruno s lilies and I made\\na great cluster of them, and put wild roses all\\naround them as I came down. I never saw anything\\nso lovely and I thought to present this to her be-\\nfore dinner, but when I got down, she had gone\\naway to Chamouni. My Fors always treated me\\nlike that in affairs of the heart. Proserpina, p. 11.\\nThe Charge that he contradicts Himself.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nPerhaps some of my hearers this evening may oc-\\ncasionally have heard it stated of me that I am\\nrather apt to contradict myself. I hope I am ex-\\nceedingly apt to do so. I never met with a question\\nyet, of any importance, which did not need, for -the\\nI ight solution of it, at least one positive and one\\nnegative answer, like an equation of the second de-\\ngree. Mostly, matters of any consequence are three-\\nsided, or four-sided, or polygonal and the trotting\\nround a polygon is severe work for people any way\\nstiff in their opinions.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Ca//2,6r\u00c2\u00ab f?^e Inaugural Ad-\\ndress, p. 12.\\nA Communist of the Old School.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For, indeed,\\nI am myself a Communist of the old school\u00e2\u0080\u0094 reddest\\nalso of the red and was on the very point of say-\\ning so at the end of my last letter only the tele-\\ngram about the Louvre s being on fire stopped me,\\nbecause I thought the Communists of the new\\nschool, as I could not at all understand them, might\\nnot quite understand me. For we Communists of\\nthe old school think that our property belongs to\\neverybody, and everj body s property to us so of\\ncourse I thought the Louvre belonged to me as\\nmuch as to the Parisians, and expected they would", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0535.jp2"}, "536": {"fulltext": "534 A R US KIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nhave sent word over to me, being an Art Professor,\\nto ask whether I wanted it burnt down. But no\\nmessage or intimation to that elTect ever reached\\nme.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, I., p. 87.\\nNot altogether a Conservative. Consider\\nthe ridiculousness of the division of parties into\\nLiberal and Conservative. There is no op-\\nposition whatever between those two kinds of men.\\nThere is opposition between Liberals and Illiberals;\\nthat is to say, between people who desire liberty,\\nand vvho dislike it. I am a violent Illiberal but it\\ndoes not follow that I must be a Conservative. A\\nConservative is a person who wishes to keep things\\nas they are and he is opposed to a Destructive,\\nwho wishes to destroy them, or to an Innovator,\\nwho wishes to alter them. Noav, though I am an\\nIlliberal, there are many things I should like to de-\\nstroy. I should like to destroj most of the railroads\\nin England, and all the i-ailroads in Wales. I\\nshould like to destroy and rebuild the Houses of\\nParliament, the National Gallery, and the East End\\nof London and to destroy, without rebuilding, the\\nnew town of Edinburgh, the north suburb of Gen-\\neva, and the city of New York. Thus in many\\nthings I am the reverse of Conservative; nay, there\\nare some long-established things which I hope to\\nsee changed before I die but I Avant still to keep\\nthe fields of England green, and her cheeks red\\nand that girls should l)e taught to curtsey, and boys\\nto take. their hats off, Avhen a professor or otherwise\\ndignified person passes by and that kings should\\nkeep their crowns on their heads, and bishops their\\ncrosiers in their hands and should duly recognize\\nthe significance of the crown, and the use of the\\ncrook. Foi S, I., p. 5.\\nApologia pro Vita Sua.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Because I have passed\\nmy life in alms giving, not in fortune hunting;\\nbecause I have labored always for the honor of\\nothers, not my own. and have chosen rather to\\nmake men look to Turner and Luini than to form\\nor exhibit the skill of my. own hand; because I", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0536.jp2"}, "537": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGKAPIIICAL. 535\\nhave lowered my rents, and assured the comforta-\\nble lives of uiy poor tenants, instead of taking from\\nthem all I could force for the roofs they needed;\\nbecause I love a wood-walk better than a London\\nstreet, and would rather watch a seagull fly than\\nshoot it, and rather hear a thrush sing than eat\\nit finally, because I never disobej^ed my mother,\\nbecause I have honored all women with solemn\\nworship, and have been kind even to the unthank-\\nful and the evil, therefore the hacks of English art\\nand literature wag their heads at me, and the poor\\nwretch who pawns the dirty linen of his soul daily\\nfor a bottle of sour wine and a cigar, talks of the\\neffeminate sentimentality of Ruskin. For,s, II.,\\np. 195.\\nThe Bewickiax little Pig.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mr. Leslie Stephen\\nrightly says how much better it is to have a thick\\nskin and a good digestion. Yes, assuredly but\\nwhat is the use of knowing that, if one hasn t?\\nIn one of my saddest moods, only a week or two ago,\\nbecause I had failed twice over in drawing the\\nlifted hand of Giotto s Poverty utterly beaten\\nand comfortless, at Assisi, I got some wholesome\\npeace and refreshment by mere sympathy with a\\nBewiekian little pig in the roundest and conceited-\\nest burst of pig-blossom. His servant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a grave old\\nwoman, with much sorrow and toil in the wrinkles\\nof he? skin, while his was only dimpled in its divine\\nthickness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 was leading him, with magnanimous\\nlength of rope, down a grassy path behind the con-\\nvent stopping, of course, where he chose. Stray\\nstalks and leaves of eatable things, in various\\nstages of ambrosial rottenness, lay here and there\\nthe convent walls made more savory by their fumi-\\ngation, as Mr. Leslie Stephen says the Alpine pines\\nare by his cigar. And the little joyful darling of\\nDemeter shook his curly tail, and munched and\\ngruuted the goodnaturedest of grunts, and snuf-\\nfled the approvingest of snuffles, and was a balm\\nand beatification to behold and I would fain have\\nchanged places with him for a little while, or with", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0537.jp2"}, "538": {"fulltext": "5Se A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nMr. Leslie Stephen for a little while at luncheon,\\nsuppose anywhere but among the Alps. But it\\ncan t he.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., p. 307.\\nA SCHOLARLY ReCLUSB AND SCIENTIFIC ANA-\\nLYST. It is peremptorily not my business it is\\nnot my gift, bodily or mentally to look after other\\npeoples sorroAv, I have enough of my own and\\neven if I had not, the sight of pain is not good for\\nme. I don t want to be a bishop. In a most literal\\nand sincere sense, nolo episcopari.^^ I don t M^ant\\nto be an almoner, nor a counsellor, nor a Member\\nof Parliament, nor a voter for Members of Par-\\nliament. (What would Mr. Holyoake say to me if he\\nknew that I had never voted for anybody in my\\nlife, and never mean to do so I am essentially a\\nl^ainter and a leaf dissector and my powers of\\nthought are all purely mathematical, seizing ulti-\\nmate principles only never accidents a line is\\nalways, to me, length without breadth it is not a\\ncable or a crowbar and though I can almost\\ninfallibly reason out the final law of anything, if\\nwithin reach of my industry, I neither care for, nor\\ncan trace, the minor exigencies of its daily appli-\\nance. So, in every way, I like a quiet life and I\\ndon t like seeing people ci-y, or die and should\\nrejoice, more than I can tell you, in giving up the\\nfull half of my fortune for the poor, provided 1\\nknew that the public would make Lord Overstone\\nalso give the half of his, and other people who\\nwere independent give the half of theirs and then\\nset men who were I eally fit for such office to admin-\\nister the fund, and answer to us for nobody s perish-\\ning innocently and so leave us all to do Avhat we\\nchose with the rest, and with our days, in i^eace.\\nTime and Tide, p. 83.\\nRusKiN AS A Publisher.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I am not in the least\\nminded to compete for your audience with the\\nojiinions in your damp journals, morning and\\nevening, the black of them coming off on your\\nfingers, and beyond all washing, into your brains.\\nIt is no affair of mine whether you attend to me or", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0538.jp2"}, "539": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGIiAPHICAL. 537\\nnot but yours whollj my hand is weary of pen-\\nholding, my heart is siclc of tliinking for uiy own\\npart, I would not write you these pamphlets*\\nthough you would give me a barrel of beer, instead\\nof two pints, for them I write them Avholly for\\nyour sake I choose that you shall have them\\ndecently printed on cream-colored paper, and with\\na margin underneath, which you can write on, if\\nyou like. That is also for your sake it is a proper\\nform of book for any man to have who can keep\\nhis books clean and if he cannot, he has no busi-\\nness v.dth books at all it costs me ten pounds to\\nprint a thousand copies, and five more to give you\\na picture and a penny ofl my sevenpence to send\\nyou the book a thousand sixpences are twenty-five\\npounds when you have bought a thousand Forsot\\nme, I shall therefore have five pounds for my trouble\\nand my single shopman, Mr. Allen, five pounds for\\nhis we won t work for less, either of us not that\\nwe would not, were it good for j^ou but it would\\nbe by no means good. And I mean to sell all my\\nlarge books, henceforward, in the same way well*\\nprinted, well bound, and at a fixed price and the\\ntrade may charge a proper and acknowledged\\nprofit for their trouble in retailing the book. Then\\nthe public know what they are about, and so will\\ntradesmen I, the first producer, answer, to the\\nbest of my power, for the quality of the book\\npaper, binding, eloquence, and all: the retail-dealer\\ncharges what he ought to charge, openly and if\\nthe public do not choose to give it, they can t get\\nthe book. That is what I call legitimate business.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, I., p. 75.\\nAnother Reason for Publishing his own\\nBooks.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I wish entirely to resist the practice of\\nwriting for money eai-ly in life. I think an author s\\nbusiness requires as much training as a musician s,\\nand that, as soon as he can write really well, there\\nwould always, for a man of worth and sense, be\\nfound capital enough to enable him to be able to\\nLetters to the Woikiueuuncl Laboievs of Greut Britain,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0539.jp2"}, "540": {"fulltext": "538 A liCSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nprint, say, a hundred pages of his careful work\\nwhich, if the public were pleased with, they would\\nsoon enable him to print more. I do not think\\nyoung men should rush into print, nor old ones\\nmodify their books to please publishers. Arrows of\\nthe Chace, II., p. 146.\\nOn His Own Books.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I well yet remember my\\nfather s rushing up to the drawing-room at Heme\\nHill, with wet and flashing eyes, with the proof in\\nhis hand of the first sentences of his son s writing\\never set in type, Enquiries on the Causes of the\\nColor of the Water of the Rhone (Magazine of\\nNatural History, September, 1834 followed next\\nmonth by Facts and Considerations on the Strata\\nof Mont Blanc, and on some instances of Twisted\\nStrata observable in Switzerland. I was then fif-\\nteen). My mother and I eagei ly questioning the\\ncause of his excitement, It s it s only print,\\nsaid he! Alas how much the only meant!\\nDeucalion, p. 153.\\nIn matters of grammar and punctuation, my lit-\\nerary sponsor, Mr. W. H. Harrison, was inexorable,\\nand many a sentence in Modern Painters, which I\\nhad thought quite beautifully turned out after a\\nforenoon s work on it, had to be turned outside-in,\\nafter all, and cut into the smallest pieces and sewn\\nup again, because he had found out there Avasn t a\\nnominative in it, or a genitive, or a conjunction,\\nor something else indispensable for a sentence s de-\\ncent existence and position in life. Not a book of\\nmine for good thirty years, but went, every word\\nof it, under his careful eyes twice over\u00e2\u0080\u0094 often also\\nthe last revises left to his tender mercy altogether\\non condition he wouldn t bother me any more for\\ngood thirty years that is to say, from my first\\nverse-writing in Friendship s Offering at fifteen, to\\nmy last orthodox and conservative compositions at\\nforty-five. But when I began to utter radical sen-\\ntiments, and say things derogatory to the clergy,\\nmy old friend got quite restive absolutely refused\\nsometimes to pass even my most grammatical and", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0540.jp2"}, "541": {"fulltext": "AUTO BIOG RAP IIICAL.\\n539\\npunctuated paragraphs if their content. saA^red\\nof heresy or revolution and at last I was obli-ed\\nto print all my philanthropy and political economy\\non the sly.-J/*/ First Editor, University 3Iagazine,\\nApril, 1878.\\nPeople used to call n,e a good writer wh^n I wrote\\nmy first books now they say I can t write at all\\nbecause, for instance, if I think anybody s house is\\non fire, I only say, Sir, your house is on fire\\nwhereas formerly I used to say, Sir, the abode ui\\nwhich you probably passed the delightful days of\\nyouth is in a state of inflammation, and every-\\nbody used to like the effect of the two p s in pi-ob-\\nably passed, and of the two d s in delightful\\ndays. -Fors, 1., p- =309.\\nI have had what in many respects, I lx)ldly call\\nthe misfortune, to set my words somtimes prettily\\nto-ether not without a foolish vanity in the poor\\nkiuick that I had of doing so until I was heavily\\npunished for this pride, by finding that many peo-\\nple thought of the words only, and cared nothing\\nfor their meaning.-3/z/s\u00c2\u00abe/-Z/ of Life and its Arts,\\np. 103.\\nI have alwavshad three different ways of writing;\\none. with the single view of making myself under-\\nstood, in which 1 necessarily 6mit a great deal of\\nwhat comes into my head :-another, in which I say\\nwhat I think ought to be said, in what I suppose\\nto be the best words I can find for it (which is in\\nreality an affected style-be it good or bad) and\\nmv third way of writing is to say all that comes into\\nmy head for my own pleasure, in the first words\\nthat come, retouching them afterwards into (ap-\\nproximate) gYa.iinna.r.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Athena, p. 103.\\nThe only power which I claim for any of my\\nbooks, is that of being right and true as far as they\\nreach. None of them pretend to be Kosmoses\\nnone to be systems of Positivism or Negativism, on\\nwhich the earth is in future to swing instead ot on\\nits old worn-out poles ;-none of them to be works\\nof genius ;-none of them to be, more than all true", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0541.jp2"}, "542": {"fulltext": "540 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nwork must be, pious and none to be, beyond the\\npower of common people s eyes, ears, and noses,\\nsesthetic. They tell you that the world is so big,\\nand can t be made bigger that you yourself ai-e\\nalso so big, and can t be niade bigger, however you\\npuff or bloat yourself but that, on modern mental\\nnourishment, you may very easily be made smaller.\\nThey tell you that two and two are four, that gin-\\nger is hot in the mouth, that roses are red, and\\n^nuts black. Proserpina, p. 200.\\nA Deistmark Hill in 1871.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I have round me\\nhere at Denmark Hill seven acres of leasehold\\nground. I pay 50Z. a-year ground rent, and 250^.\\na-year in wages to my gardeners besides expenses\\nin fuel for hot-houses, and the like. And for this\\nsum of three hundred odd pounds a-year I have\\nsomej^ease and strawberries in summer; some cam-\\nellias and azaleas in winter; and good cream, and a\\nquiet place to walk in, all the year round. Of the\\nstrawberries, cream, and pease, I eat more than is\\ngood for me sometimes, of course, obliging my\\nfriends with a superfluous pottle or pint. The cam-\\nellias and azaleas stand in the ante-room of my\\nlibrary; and everybody says, when they come in,\\nhow pi etty and my young lady friends have\\nleave to gather what they like to put in their hair,\\nwhen they are going to balls. Meantime, outside\\nof my fenced seven acres owing to the operation\\nof the great universal law of supply and demand\\nnumbers of people are starving; many more, dying\\nof too much gin and many of their children\\ndying of too little milk and, as I told you in my\\nfirst Letter, for my own part, I won t stand this\\nsort of thing any longer.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ ors, I., p. 154.\\nReform-bxperimexts.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 On my own little piece\\nof mountain ground at Coniston, I grow a large\\nquantity of wood-hyacinths and heather, without\\nany expense worth mentioning but my only in-\\ndustrious agricultural operations have been the\\ngetting three pounds ten worth of hay, off a fiekl\\nfor which I pay six pounds rent; and the surround-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0542.jp2"}, "543": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGIIAPHICAL. 541\\ninf2:. with a costly wall six feet high, to keep out\\nvabbits, a kitchen garden, which, beiug terraced\\nand trim, my neighbors say is pretty; and which\\nwill probably, every third year, when the weatlier\\nis not wet, supply me with a dish of strawberries.\\nAt Carshalton, in Surrey, 1 have indeed had the\\nsatisfaction of cleaning out one of the springs of\\nthe Wandel. and making it pleasantly habitable by\\ntrout; bvit find that the fountain, instead of taking\\ncare of itself when once pure, as I expected it to do,\\nrequires continual looking after, like a child getting\\ninto a mess; and involves me besides in continual\\ndebate with the surveyors of tlie parish, who insist\\non letting all the roadwashings run into it. For\\nthe present, however, I persevere, at Carshalton,\\nagainst the wilfulness of the spring and the careless-\\nness of the parish; and hope to conquer both but\\nI have been obliged entirely to abandon a notion I\\nhad of exhibiting ideally clean street pavement in\\nthe centre of London in the pleasant environs of\\nChurch Lane, St. Giles s. Tliere I had every help\\nand encouragement from the authorities and\\nhoped, with the staff of two men and a young\\nrogue of a crossing-sweeper, added to the regular\\nforce of the i:)arish, to keep a quarter of a mile\\nsquare of the narrow streets v/ithout leaving so\\nmuch as a bit of orange-peel on the footway, or an\\negg-shell in the gutters. I failed, partly because I\\nchose too difficult a district to begin with, (the con-\\ntributions of transitional mud being constant, and\\nthe inhabitants passive,) but chiefly because I could\\nno more be on the spot mj^self, to give spirit to the\\nmen, when I left Denmark Hill for Coniston.\\nI next set up a tea-shop at 29, Paddington Street,\\nW-, (an establishment which my Fors readers may\\nas well know of,) to supply the poor in that neigh-\\nborhood with pure tea, in packets as small as they\\nchose to buy, witliout making a profit on the sub-\\ndivision larger orders being of course eqvially\\nacceptable from anybody who cares to liromote\\nhonest dealing. The result.of this experiment has\\nbeen my ascertaining that the poor only like to buy", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0543.jp2"}, "544": {"fulltext": "642 A nUSKIN^ ANTHOLOGY.\\ntheir tea where it is brilliantly lighted and eloquent-\\nly ticketed and as I resolutely refuse to compete\\nAvith my neighboring tradesmen either in gas or\\nrhetoric, the patient subdivision of my parcels by\\nthe two old servants of my mother s, who manage\\nthe business for me, hitherto passes little recognized\\nas an advantage by my uncalculating public.\\nAlso, steady increase in the consumption of spirits\\nthroughout the neighborhood faster and faster\\nslackens the demand for tea but I believe none\\nof these circumstances hjive checked my trade so\\nmuch as my own procrastination in painting my\\nsign. Owing to that total want of imagination\\nand invention which makes me so impartial and so\\naccurate a writer on subjects of political economy,\\nI could not for months determine whether the said\\nsign should be of a Chinese character, pleasant\\nEnglish, rose-color on green and still less how far\\nlegible scale of letters could be compatible, on a\\nboard only a foot broad, with lengthy enough elu-\\ncidation of the peculiar offices of Mr. Ruskin s\\ntea-shop. Meanwhile the business languishes,\\nand the rent and taxes absorb the profits, and\\nsomething more, after the salary of my good ser-\\nvants has been peiid.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, II., pp. 304-306.\\nREMINISCENCES OF CHILDHOOD.\\nI had Walter Scott s novels and the Iliad, (Pope s\\ntranslation,) for my only reading when I was a\\nchild, on week days: on Sundays their effect was\\ntempered by Rohinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim s\\nProgress my mother having it deeply in her heart\\nto make an evangelical clergyman of me. Fortu-\\nnately, I had an aunt more evangelical than my\\nmother and my aunt gave me cold mutton for\\nSunday s dinner, which as I much preferred it\\nhot greatly diminished the influence of the Pil-\\ngrims Progress, and the end of the matter Avas.\\nthat I got all the noble imaginative teaching of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0544.jp2"}, "545": {"fulltext": "AUTOBlOGMAPIIlrAL. 545\\nDefoe and Bunyan, and yet\u00e2\u0080\u0094 am not an evangeli-\\ncal clergyman.\\nWalter Scott and Pope s Homer wei*e reading of\\nmy own election, but my mother forced me, by\\nsteady daily toil, to learn long chapters of the\\nBible by heart as well as to read it every syllable\\nthrough, aloud, hard names -and all, from Genesis\\nto the Apocalypse, about once a year and to that\\ndiscipline patient, accurate, and resolute\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I owe,\\nnot only a knowledge of the book, which I find\\noccasionally serviceable, but much of my general\\npower of taking jjains, and the best part of my\\ntaste in literature.\\nThe aunt who gave me cold mutton on Sundays\\nwas my father s sister she lived at Bridge-end, in\\nthe town of Perth, and had a garden full of goose-\\nberry-bushes, sloping down to the Tay, with a door\\nopening to the water, which ran past it clear-brown\\nover the pebbles three or four feet deep; an infinite\\nthing for a child to look down into.\\nMy father began business as a wine-merchant,\\nwith no capital, and a considerable amount of debts\\nbequeathed him by my grandfather. He accepted\\nthe bequest, and paid them all before he began to\\nlay by anything for himself, for which his best\\nfriends called him a fool, and I, without expressing\\nany opinion as to his wisdom, which I knew in such\\nmatters to be at least equal to mine, have wj itten\\non the granite slab over his grave that he was an\\nentirely honest merchant. As days went on he\\nwas able to take a house in Hunter Street, Bruns-\\nwick Square, No. 54 (the Avindows of it, fortunately\\nfor me, commanded a view of a marvellous iron\\npost, out of which the water-carts were filled\\nthrough beautiful little trap-doors, by pipes like\\nboa-constrictors and I was never weary of con-\\ntemplating that mystery, and the delicious dripping\\nconsequent) and as years went on, and I came to\\nbe four or five years old, he could command a post-\\nchaise and psbiv for two months in the summer, by\\nhelp of which, with my mother and me, he went\\nthe round of his country customers (who liked to", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0545.jp2"}, "546": {"fulltext": "SU A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nsee tlie priuciijal of the lionse bis own traveller); so\\nthat, at a jog-trot pace, aud through the panoramic\\nopening of the fovir windows of a post-chaise, made\\nmore panoramic still to me because my seat Avas a\\nlittle bracket in front (for we used to hire the chaise\\nregularly for the two months out of Long Acre, and\\nso could have it bracketed and pocketed as we\\nliked), I saw all the high roads, and most of the\\ncross ones, of England and Wales, and great part\\nof loAvland Scotland, as far as Perth, where every\\nother year we spent the whole summer and I used\\nto read the Abbot at Kinross and the Monastery in\\nGlen Parg, which I confused with Grlendearg,\\nand thought that the White Lady had as certainly\\nlived by the streamlet in that glen of the Ochils, as\\nthe Queen of Scots in the island of Loch Leven.\\nIt happened also, which Avas the real cause of\\nthe bias of my after life, that my fathei* had a rare\\nlove of pictures. I use the word rare advisedly,\\nhaving never met with another instance of so in-\\nnate a faculty for the discernn)ent of true art, up\\nto the point possible without actual practice. Ac-\\ncordingly, wherever there was a gallery to be seen,\\nwe stopped at the nearest town for the night and\\nin reverentest manner I thus saw nearly all the\\nnoblemen s houses in England not indeed myself\\nat that age caring for the pictures, but much for\\ncastles and ruins, feeling more and more, as T grew\\nolder, the healthy delightof uncovetous admiration,\\nand perceiving, as soon as I could perceive any\\npolitical truth at all, that it was probably much\\nhappier to live in a small house, and have Warwick\\nCastle to be astonished at, than to live in Warwick\\nCastle, and have nothing to be astonished at\\nbut that, at all events, it would not make Bruns-\\nwick Square in the least more pleasantly habitable,\\nto pull Warwick Castle down. And, at this day,\\nthough I have kind invitations enough to visit\\nAmei ica, I could not, even for a couple of months,\\nlive in a country so miserable as to possess no cas-\\ntles.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^07-\u00c2\u00ab, L, pp. 129-133.\\nFuller Accouivt of the Rollo-Tours.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0546.jp2"}, "547": {"fulltext": "A UTOBIOGliA rillCAL. oio\\nold English chariot is the most luxurious of travel-\\nling carriages, for two persons, or even for two per-\\nsons and so much of third personage as I possessed\\nat three years old. The one in question was hung\\nhigh, so that we could see well over stone dykes and\\naverage hedges out of it; such elevation being at-\\ntained by the old-fashioned folding-steps, with a\\nlovely padded cushion fitting into the recess of the\\ndoor -steps which it was one of my chief travelling\\ndelights to see the hostlers fold up and down\\nthough my delight w^as painfully alloyed by envious\\nambition to be allowed to do it myself but I\\nnever was lest I should pinch my fingers.\\nThe dickey \u00e2\u0080\u0094(to think that I should never till\\nthis moment have asked myself the derivation of\\nthat word, and now be unable to get at it being,\\ntypically, that commanding seat in her Majesty s\\nmail, occupied by the Guard and classical, even\\nin modern literature, as the scene of Mr. Bob Saw-\\nyer s arrangements with Sam\u00e2\u0080\u0094 was thrown far back\\nin Mr. Telford s chariot, so as to give perfectly\\ncomfortable room for the legs (if one chose to travel\\noutside on line days), and to afford beneath it spa-\\ncious area to the boot, a storehouse of rearward\\nmiscellaneous luggage. Over which with all the\\nrest of forward and superficial luggage\u00e2\u0080\u0094 my nurse\\nAnne presided, both as guard and packer unri-\\nvalled, she, in the flatness and precision of her in-\\nlaying of dresses, as in turning of pancakes the\\nfine precision, observe, meaning also the easy wit\\nand invention of her art; for, no more in packing\\na trunk than commanding a campaign, is precision\\npossible without foresight.\\nPosting, in those days, being universal, so that at\\nthe leading inns in every country town, the cry\\nHorses out! down the yard, as one drove up,\\nAvas answered, often instantly, always within five\\nminutes, by the merry trot through the archway of\\nthe booted and bright-jacketed rider, w ith his ca-\\nparisoned pair there w^as no driver s seat in front\\nand the four large, admirably fitting and sliding\\nwindows, admitting no drop of rain when they", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0547.jp2"}, "548": {"fulltext": "546 A RUSKIN ANTHOLOGY,\\nwere \\\\x\\\\ and never sticking as they were let down,\\nformed one large moving oriel, out of which one\\nsaw the country round, to the full half of the hori-\\nzon. My own prospect was more extended still, for\\nmy seat was the little box containing my clothes,\\nstrongly made, with a cushion on one end of it; set\\nupright in front (and well forward), between my\\nfather and mother. I was thus not the least in their\\nway, and my horizon of sight the widest possible.\\nWhen no object of particular interest presented\\nitself, I trotted, keeping time with the postboy on\\nmy trunk cushion for a saddle, and whipped my\\nfather s legs for horses at first theoretically only,\\nwith dextrous motion of wrist but ultimately in a\\nquite practical and efHcient manner, my father\\nhaving presented me with a silver-mounted postil-\\nion s whip.\\nThe Midsummer holiday, for better enjoyment of\\nwhich Mr. Telford provided us with these luxuries,\\nbegan usually on the fifteenth of May, or there-\\nabouts my father s birthday was on the tenth\\non that day I was always allowed to gather the\\ngooseberries for his first gooseberry pie of the year,\\nfrom the tree between the buttresses on the north\\nwall of the Ilerne Hill garden so that we could not\\nleave before that festa. The holiday itself consisted\\nin a tour for ordei-s through half the English coun-\\nties and a visit (if the counties lay northward) to\\nmy aunt in Scotland.\\nThe mode of journeying was as fixed as that of\\nour home life. We went from forty to fifty miles a\\nday, starting always early enough in the morning\\nto arrive comfortably to four o clock dinner. Gen-\\nerally, therefore, getting off at six o clock, a\\nstage or two were done before breakfast, with the\\ndew on the grass, and first scent from the haw^-\\nthorns if in the course of the mid-day drive there\\nwere any gentleman s house to be seen or, better\\nstill, a lord s, or, best of all, a duke s my father\\nbaited the horses, and took my mother and me rev-\\nerently through the state rooms always sjieaking\\na little under our breath to the housekeeper, major-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0548.jp2"}, "549": {"fulltext": "AUTOniOGBAFHICAL. 547\\ndomo, or other authority in charge and gleaning\\nworshipfully what fragmentary iUustrations of the\\nhistory and domestic ways of the family might fall\\nfrom their lips. My father had a qviite infallible\\nnatural judgment in painting and though it had\\nnever been cultivated so as to enable him to under-\\nstand the Italian schools, his sense of the power of\\nthe nobler masters in northern work was as true\\nand passionate as the most accomplished artist s.\\nHe never, when I was old enough to care for what\\nhe himself delighted in, allowed me to look for an\\ninstant at a bad picture and if there were a Rey-\\nnolds, Velasquez, Vandyck, or Rembrandt in the\\nrooms, he would pay the surliest housekeepers into\\npatience until he had seen it to heart s content if\\nnone of these, I was allowed to look at Guido, Carlo\\nDolce, or the more skilful masters of the Dutch\\nschool\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Cuyp, Teniers, liobbima. Wouvermans\\nbut never any second-rate or doubtful examples.\\nI wonder how many of the lower middle class are\\nnow capable of going through a nobleman s house,\\nwith judgment of this kind; and yet with entirely\\nunenvious and reverent delight in the splendor of\\nthe abode of the supreme and beneficent being\\nwho allo^vs them thus to enter his paradise.\\nIf there were no nobleman s house to be seen,\\nthere was certainly, in the course of the day s jour-\\nney, some ruined castle or abbey some celebrated\\nvillage church, or stately cathedral. We had always\\nunstinted time for these and if I was at disad-\\nvantage because neither my father nor mother\\ncould tell me enough history to make the buildings\\nauthoritatively interesting, I had at least leisure\\nand liberty to animate them with romance in my\\nown fashion. \u00e2\u0080\u0094-Fors, III., pp. T-IO.\\nTours ox the Coxtixent.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Very early in Conti-\\nnental transits we had found out that the family\\ntravelling carriage, taking much time and ingenuity\\nto load, needing at the least three\u00e2\u0080\u0094 usually four-\\nhorses, and on Alpine passes six, not only jolted\\nand lagged painfully on bad roads, but was liable", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0549.jp2"}, "550": {"fulltext": "5^8 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nin every way to more awkward discomfitures tlian\\nligliter vehicles getting itself jammed in archways,\\nwrenclied with damage out of ruts, and involved\\nin volleys of justifiable reprobation among market\\nstalls. So when we knew better, my father and\\nmother always had their own old-fashioned light\\ntwo-horse carriage to themselves, and I had one\\nmade with any quantity of front and side pockets\\nfor books and picked-up stones and hung very\\nlow, with a fixed side-step, which I could get off or\\non with the horses at the trot and at any rise or\\nfall of the road, relieve them, and get my own\\nwalk, without troubling the driver to think of me.\\nProserpina, p. 223.\\nEarly Nurture.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 In mj^ childhood, for best and\\ntruest beginning of all blessings, I had been taught\\nthe perfect meaning of Peace, in thought, act, and\\nword. I never had heard my father s or mother s\\nvoice once raised in any question with each other\\nnor seen an angry, or even slightly hurt or offended\\nglance, in the eyes of either. I had never heard a\\nservant scolded, nor even suddenly, passionately.\\nor in any severe manner blamed. 1 had never seen\\na moment s trouble or disorder in any household\\nmatter nor anything whatever either done in a\\nhurry, or undone in due time.\\nNext to this quite priceless gift of Peace, I had\\nreceived the perfect understanding of the natures\\nof Obedience and Faith. I obeyed word, or lifted\\nfinger, of father or mother, simply as a ship her\\nhelm not only without idea of resistance, but\\nreceiving the direction as a part of my own life\\nand force, a helpful law, as necessary to me in\\nevery moral action as the law of gravity in leap-\\ning.\\nMy parents were\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in a sort\u00e2\u0080\u0094 visible powers of\\nnature to me, no more loved than the sun and the\\nmoon only I should have been annoyed and puz-\\nzled if either of them had gone out (how much,\\nnow, when both are darkened still less did I love\\nGod not that I had any quarrel with Him, or fear", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0550.jp2"}, "551": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 549\\nof Iliin but simply found what people told me\\nwas His service, disagreeable; and what people\\ntold me was His book, not entertaining.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^o/ s, II-,\\npp. 430, 427.\\nReligious Trainijn^g.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WhenI was a child, I lost\\nthe pleasure of some three-sevenths of my life be-\\ncause of Sunday for I always had a way of look-\\ning forward to things, and a lurid shade was cast\\nover the whole of Friday and Saturday by the hor-\\nrible sense that Sunday was coming, and inevitable.\\nNot that I was rebellious against my good mother\\nor aunts in any wise feeling only that we were all\\ncrushed under a relentless faith.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^or^, I,, p- 326.\\nMy mother took me very early to church where,\\nin spite of my quiet habits, and my mother s golden\\nvinaigrette, alwavs indulged to me there, and there\\nonly, with its lid unclasped that I might see the\\nwreathed, open pattern above the sponge, I found\\nthe bottom of the pew so extremely dull a place to\\nkeep quiet in, (my best story-books being also taken\\naway from me in the morning.) that\u00e2\u0080\u0094 as I have\\nsomewhere said before\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the horror of Sunday used\\neven to cast its prescient gloom as far back in the\\nweek as Friday\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and all the glory of Monday, with\\ni-hurch seven days removed again, was no equiv-\\nalent for it.\\nNothwithstanding, I arrived at some abstract in\\nmy own mind of the Rev. Mr. Howell s sermons\\nand occasionally\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in imitation of hiin, preached a\\nsermon at home over the red sofa cushions this\\nperformance being always called for by my mother s\\ndearest friends, as the great accomplishment of my\\nchildhood. The sermon was\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I believe\u00e2\u0080\u0094 some eleven\\nwords long very exemplary, it seems to me, in\\nthat respect-and I still think must have been the\\npurest gospel, for I know it began with People,\\nbe good. -Fors, II., p. 378.\\nBible Studies.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 As soon as I was able to read\\nwith fluency, my mother be-an a course of Bible\\nwork with me, which never ceased till I went to\\nOxford. She read alternate verses with me, watch-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0551.jp2"}, "552": {"fulltext": "550 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ning, at first, every intonation of my voice, and cor-\\nrecting the false ones, till she made me tindei stand\\nthe verse, if within my reach, rightly, and energet-\\nically. It might be beyond me altogether that\\nshe did not cai-e about; but she made sure that as\\nsoon as I got hold of it at all, I should get hold of it\\nby the right end.\\nIn this way she began with the first verse of Gene-\\nsis, and went straight through to the last verse of the\\nApocalypse; hard names, numbers, Levitical law,\\nand all and began again at Genesis the next day\\nif a name was hard, the better the exercise in pro-\\nnunciation if a chapter was tiresome, the better\\nlesson in patience if loathsome, the better lesson\\nin faith that there was some use in its being so\\noutspoken. After our chapters (from two to three\\na day, according to their length, the first thing\\nafter breakfast, and no interruption from servants\\nalloAved none from visitors, who either joined in\\nthe reading or had to stay upstairs and none from\\nany visitings or excursions, except real travelling),\\nI had to learn a few verses by heart, or repeat, to\\nmake sure I had not lost, something of what was\\nalready known and, with the chapters below\\nenumerated, I had to learn the whole body of\\nthe fine old Scottish paraphrases, which are good,\\nmelodious, and forceful verse; and to which, to-\\ngether with the Bible itself, I owe the first cultiva-\\ntion of my ear in sound. Fo7 s, II., p. 39G.\\nI opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the\\naccurate words of David about the killed lamb\\na small, closely, and vei-y neatly printed volume it\\nis, printed in Edinburgh by Sir D. Hunter Blair\\nand J. Bruce, Printers to the King s Most Excellent\\nMajesty, in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, and flexi-\\nble, but not unclean Avith much use, except that the\\nlower corners of the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and\\n32d Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark,\\nthe learning of those two chapters having cost me\\nmuch pains. My mother s list of the chapters with\\nAvhicli, learned every syllable accurately, she estab-\\nlished my soul in life, has just fallen out of it", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0552.jp2"}, "553": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGBAPHICAL. 551\\nExodus, chapters 15th and 20th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 2 Samuel, chap-\\nter 1st, from 17th verse to theeud.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 Kings, chapter\\n8th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Psalms, 23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd, 112th,\\n119th, 139th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Proverbs, chapters 2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th,\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Isaiah, chapter 58th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Matthew, chapters 5th, 6th,\\n7th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Acts, chapter 26th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 Corinthians, chapters\\n13th, 15th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 James, chapter 4th.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Revelation, chap-\\nters 5 th, 6th.\\nAnd truly, though I have ijicked up the elements\\nof a little further knowledge\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in mathematics,\\nmeteorology, and the like, in after life\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and owe\\nnot a little to the teaching of many people, this ma-\\nternal installation of my mind in tliat property of\\nchapters, I count very confidently the most pre-\\ncious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of\\nall my education.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -For.y, II., p. 213.\\nIt is only by deliberate effort that I recall the\\nlong morning hours of toil, as regular as sunrise-\\ntoil on both sides equal\u00e2\u0080\u0094 by which, year after year,\\nmy mother forced me to learn all the Scotch para-\\nphrases by heart, and ever so many chapters of the\\nBible besides, (the eighth of 1st Kings being one-\\ntry it, good reader, in a leisure hour allowing not\\nso much as a syllable to be missed or misplaced\\nwhile every sentence was required to be said ovei\\nand over again till she was satisfied with the accent\\nof it. I recollect a struggle between us of about\\nthree weeks, concerning the accent of the of in\\nthe lines\\nShaU any following spring revive\\nThe ashes of the urn\\nI insisting, partly in childish obstinacy, and partly\\nin true instinct for rhythm (being wholly carelesd\\non the subject both of urns and their contents), on\\nreciting it, The ashes of the urn. It was not, I\\nsay, till after three weeks labor, that n)y mother\\ngot the accent laid upon the ashes, to her mind.\\nBut had it taken three years, she would have done\\nit, having once undertaken to do it. And, assur-\\nedly, had she not done it, I had been simply an ava-\\nricious picture collector, or perhaps even a more", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0553.jp2"}, "554": {"fulltext": "552 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\navaricious money collector, to this day; and had\\nshe done it wrongly, no after-study would ev\u00c2\u00abr\\nhave enabled me to read so much as a single line\\nof verse. Fors, II., p. 70.\\nA Reminiscence. [Looking one day at a copy of\\nFront s Hotel de Ville, Brussels, done by him, when\\na young man, at Heme Hill, Ruskin exclaimed]\\nHad I been permitted at this time to put my whole\\nstrength into drawing and geology, my life, so far\\nas I can judge, would have been an entirely\\nharmonious and serviceable one. Bvit I was too\\nfoolish and sapless myself to persist in the healthy\\nbent and my friends mistook me for a genius,\\nand were minded to make me a poet, or a bishoj),\\nor a member of Parliment. Had I done heartily and\\nhonestly what they wished, it had also been well.\\nBut I sulked and idled, between their way and my\\nown, and went all to pieces, just in the years when I\\nought to have been nailing myself well together.\\nNotes 071 my Own Draioinys, etc., p. 113.\\nLove op the Sea. Whenever I could get to a\\nbeach it was enough for me to have the waves\\nto look at and hear and pursue and fly from. I\\nnever took to natural history of shells, or shrimps,\\nor weeds, or jelly-fish. Pebbles yes if there were\\nany otherwise, merelj^ stared all day long at\\nthe tumbling and creaming strength of the sea.\\nIdiotically, it now apjjears to me, wasting all that\\npriceless youth in mere dream and trance of ad-\\nmiration. It had a certain strain of Byronesque\\npassion in it, which meant something but it was\\na fearful loss of i\\\\va.e.\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fr(jeterita, p. 134.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0554.jp2"}, "555": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 553\\nLEAVES FROM RUSKIN S PRIVATE\\nACCOUNTS*\\ns.d\\nBalance in Bank, 20tli Jan. 1876 537 17 9\\nReceived: Mr. Allen, on Pub g Account 50\\nMr. Ellis, on ditto 700\\nLecture, London Institution 10 10\\n595 7 9\\nJan. 2^. Royal Insurance Co. (a). 37 10\\n27. F.Crawley (6) 35\\n31. Taxes on Amorial Bear-\\nings, etc 7 19\\nFeb. 4. Warren and Jones Tea for\\nShop 36 10\\n6. Buying a lad off who had\\nenlisted and repented 30\\n7. Christmas Gifts in Oxford 14 10\\n7. Klein (c) 5 00\\n7. Pocket Money 10 10\\n7. Crawley 5 00\\n8. Miss Rudkin, Clifford\\nStreet id) 14 14\\n11. Dr. Parsons if) 21\\n11, The Bursar of Corpusf/).. 37 7 3\\n13. Professor Westwood 50\\n14. Mr. Sly(;i), Coniston, Wat-\\nerheadlnn 33\\n19. Downs {i) 35\\n20. Subscriptions to Societies,\\nlearned and other (fc). 37 11\\n360 3\\nBalance Feb. 20 \u00c2\u00a3235 5 9\\n(a) Insurance on \u00c2\u00a315,000 worth of drawings and\\nbooks in my rooms at Oxford.\\nPaticulars of this account to be afterwards\\n[Published by him, from time to time, in Fors Clavigera,\\nas part of his official reports as Master of St. George s Guild.\\nThe one given above is accompanied by this foot-note]\\nMy friends (see a really kind article in the Monetary Gazette)\\nmuch doubt, and very naturally, the wisdom of this exposition.\\nI indeed expected to appear to some better advantage; but that\\nthe confession is not wholly pleasant, and appears imprudent,\\nonly makes it the better example. Fors [Fate] would have it", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0555.jp2"}, "556": {"fulltext": "554 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\ngiven iny Oxford assistant having just lost his\\nwife, and been subject to unusual expenses.\\n(c) My present valet, a delightful old German, on\\ntemporary service.\\n{d) Present, on my birthday, of a silk frock to\\none of my pets. It became her very nicely but I\\nthink there Avas a little too much silk in the\\nflounces.\\n(e) My good doctor at Coniston. Had to drive\\nover from Hawkshead every other winter day,\\nbecause I wouldn t stop drinking too much tea\\nalso my servants were ill.\\nAbout four times this sum will keep me com-\\nfortably all the year round here among my\\nOxford friends when I have reduced myself to the\\nutmost allowable limit of a St. George s Master s\\nincome 306 jjounds a year (the odd pound for luck).\\nig) For copies of the Book of Kells, bought of a\\npoor artist. Very beautiful, and good for gifts to\\nSt. George.\\n(h) My honest host (happily falsifying his name),\\nfor friends when I haven t houseroom, etc. This\\nbill chiefly for hire of carriages.\\n(i) Downs shall give account of himself in next\\nFors.\\n{k) s.\\nAthenaeum 7 7\\nAlpine Clu b 1 1\\nEarly English Text Society 10 10\\nHorticultural 4 4\\nGeological 2 2\\nArchitectual 1 1\\nHistorical 1 1\\nAnthropological 2 2\\nConsumption Hosjjital 3 3\\nLifeboat 5\\n\u00c2\u00a337 11\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fors, III., pp. 166, 167.\\nMy father left all his fortune to my mother and\\nme to my mother, thirty-seven thousand pounds*\\nand the house at Denmark Hill for life to me, a\\n15,00 Bank Stock.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0556.jp2"}, "557": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 555\\nhundred and twentj thousand,* his leases at\\nHeme and Denmark Hills, his freehold jjottery at\\nGreenwich, and his pictures, then estimated by\\nhim as worth ten thousand pounds, but now worth\\nat least three times that sum.\\nMy mother made two wills one immediately\\nafter my father s death the other\u00e2\u0080\u0094 (in {gentle\\nforgetfulness of all worldly things past) immedi-\\nately before her own. Both are in the same terms,\\nI leave all I have to my son. This sentence,\\nexi:)anded somewhat by legal artifice, remains yet\\npathetically clear, as the bi ief substance of both\\ndocuments. I have therefore to-day, in total\\naccount of my stewardship, to declare what I have\\ndone with a hundred and fifty seven thousand\\npounds and certain houses and lands besides. In\\ngiving which account I shall say nothing of the\\nshare that other people have had in counselling or\\nmis-counselling me nor of my reasons for what I\\nhave done. St. George s bishops do not ask people\\nwho advised them, or what they intended to do\\nbut only what they did.\\nMy first performance was the investment of fifty\\nthousand pounds in entirely safe mortgages,\\nwhich gave me five per cent, instead of three. I\\nvery soon, howev^er, perceived it to be no less desir-\\nable, than difficult, to get quit of these entirely\\nsafe mortgages. The last of them that was worth\\nanything came conveniently in last year (see Fors\\naccounts). I lost about twenty thousand pounds\\non them, altogether.\\nIn the second place, I thought it rather hard on\\nmy father s relations that he should have left all\\nhis money to me only; and as I was very fond of\\nsome of them, indulged myself, and relieved my\\nconscience at the same time, by giving seventeen\\nthousand pounds to those I liked best. Money\\nAvhicli has turned out to be quite rightly invested,\\nand at a high interest and has been fruitful to me\\nof many good things, and much haj^piness.\\nI count Consols as thousands, forty thousand of this were in\\nstocks.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0557.jp2"}, "558": {"fulltext": "556 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nNext I parted with some of my pictures, too large\\nfor the house I proposed to live in, and bought\\nothers at treble the price, the dealers always assur-\\ning me that the public would not look at any pic-\\nture which I had seen reason to part with and\\nthat I had onlj my own eloquence to thank for the\\nprices of those I wished to buy.*\\nI bought next a collection of minerals (the\\nfoundation now of what are jn-eparing Sheffield\\nand other schools) for a stipulated sum of three\\nthousand pounds, on the owner s statement of its\\nvalue. It proved not to be worth five hundred. I\\nwent to law about it. The lawyers charged me a\\nthousand pounds for their own services gave me\\na thousand pounds back out of the three and\\nmade the defendant give me another five hundred\\npounds worth of minerals. On the whole, a satis-\\nfactory legal performance; but it took two years in\\nthe doing, and caused me much worry; the lawyers\\nspending most of the time they charged me for, in\\ncross-examining me, and other witnesses, as to\\nwhether the agreement was made in the front or\\nthe back shop, with other particulars, interesting\\nin a picturesque point of view, but wholly irrele-\\nvant to the business.\\nThen Brantwood was offered me, whidi I bought,\\nwithout seeing it, for fifteen hundred pounds (the\\nfact being that 1 have no time to see things, and\\nmust decide at a guess or not act at all).\\nThen the house at Brantwood, a mere shed of\\nrotten timber and loose stone, had to be furnished,\\nand repaired. For old acquaintance sake, I went\\nto my father s upholsterer in London, (instead of\\nthe country Coniston one, as I ought,) and had five\\npounds charged me for a footstool, the repairs also\\nl,)roving worse than complete rebuilding and the\\nFortune also went always against me. I gave carte-Nanche\\nat Christie s for Turner s drawing of Terni (five Indies by\\nseven), and it cost me Ave hundred pounds. I put a limit of\\ntwo hundred on the Roman Forum, and it was bouglit over\\nme for a hundred and fifty, and I gnash my teeth whenever I\\nthink of it, because a commission had been given up to three\\nhundred.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0558.jp2"}, "559": {"fulltext": "AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL. 557\\nmoving one s chattels from London, no small mat-\\nter. I got myself at last settled at my tea-table,\\none summer evening, with my view of the lake\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for\\na net four thousand pounds all told. I afterwards\\nbuilt a lodge nearly as big as the house, for a mar-\\nried servant, and cut and terraced a kitchen gar-\\nden out of the steep wood another two thou-\\nsand transforming themselves thus into utilities\\nembodied in material objects but these latter\\noperations, under my own immediate direction,\\nturning out approvable by neighbors, and, I\\nimagine, not unprofitable as investment.\\nAll these various shiftings of harness, and getting\\ninto saddle, with the furnishing also of my rooms\\nat Oxford, and the pictures and universal acquisi-\\ntions aforesaid may be very moderately put at\\nfifteen thousand for a total. I then proceeded to\\nassist my young relation in business with result-\\nant loss as before related of fifteen thousand of\\nwhich indeed he still holds himself responsible for\\nten, if ever able to pay it but one of the jjieces of\\nthe private message sent me, with St. Ursiila s on\\nChristmas Day, was that I should forgive this debt\\naltogether. Which hereby my cousin will please\\nobserve, is very heartily done and he is to be my\\ncousin as he used to be, without any more thought\\nof it.\\nThen, for my St. George and Oxford gifts\u00e2\u0080\u0094 there\\nare good fourteen thousand gone nearer fifteen\\neven after allowing for stock prices, but say\\nfourteen.\\nAnd finally, you see what an average year of\\ncarefully restricted expense .has been to me Say\\n\u00c2\u00a3o,500 for thirteen years, or, roughly, seventy\\nthousand; and we have this I hope not beyond\\nme sum in addition\\nLoss on mortgages \u00c2\u00a320,000\\nGift to relations 17,000\\nLoss to relations 15,000\\nHarness and stable expenses 15,000\\nSt. George and Oxford 14,000\\nAnd added yearly spending 70,000\\n\u00c2\u00a3151,000\\nBrant Westmoreland for steep.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0559.jp2"}, "560": {"fulltext": "558 A IIU8K1X ANTHOLOGY.\\nThose are the clearly stateable and memorable\\nheads of expenditure\u00e2\u0080\u0094 more I could give, if it were\\nneedful still, when one is living on one s capital,\\nthe melting away is always faster than one expects;\\nand the final state of affairs is, that on this 1st of\\nApril, 1877, my goods and chattels are simply these\\nfollowing\\nIn funded cash six thousand Bank Stock, Avorth,\\nat x^resent prices, something more than fifteen\\nthousand i)Ounds.\\nBrantwood worth, certainly with its house, and\\nfurnitures, five thousand.\\nMarylebone freehold and leaseholds\u00e2\u0080\u0094 three thou-\\nsand five hundred.\\nGreenwich freehold twelve hundred.\\nllerne Hill leases and other little holdings\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thii\\nteen hundred.\\nAnd pictures and books, at present lowest auction\\nprices, worth at least double my Oxford insurance\\nestimate of thirty thousand but put them at no\\nmore, and you will find that, gathering the wrecks\\nof me together, I could still now retire to a mossy\\nhermitage, on a little property of fifty-four thou-\\nsand odd pounds more than enough to find me\\nin meal and cresses. So that I have not at all yet\\nreached my limit proposed in Munera Pulveris\u00e2\u0080\u0094oi\\ndying as poor as possible, nor consider myself\\nready for the digging scenes in Timon of Athens.\\nAccordingly, I intend next year, Avhen St. George s\\nwork really begins, to redress my affairs in the fol-\\nlowing manner\\nFirst. I shall make over the Marylebone prop-\\nerty entirely to the St. George s Company, under\\nMiss liiirs superintendence always. I have already\\nhad the value of it back in interest, and have no\\nbusiness now to keep it any more.\\nSecondly. The Greenwich property was my\\nfather s, and I am sure he would like me to keep it.\\nI shall keep it therefore; and in some way, make it\\na Garden of Tuileries, honorable to my father, and\\nto the London he lived in.\\nThirdly. Brantwood I shall keep, to live u^ion.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0560.jp2"}, "561": {"fulltext": "AUrOBIOGRAnnCAL. 559\\nwith its present servants necessary, all, to keep it\\nin good order; and to keep me comfoi table, and fit\\nfor my work. I may not be able to keep quite so\\nopen a house there as I liave been accustomed to\\ndo that remains to be seen.\\nFourthly. My Heme Hill leases and little pro-\\nperties that bother me, I shall make over to my pet\\ncousin whose children, and their donkey, need\\ngood supplies of bread and butter, and hay she\\nalways promising to keep my old nursery for a\\nlodging to me, when I come to town.\\nFifthly. Of my ready cash, I mean to spend to\\nthe close of this year, another three thousand\\npounds, in amusing myself with such amusement\\nas is yet possible to me at Venice, and on the\\nAlps, or elsewhere; and as, at the true beginning\\nof St. George s work, I must quit myself of usury\\nand the Bank of England, I shall (at some loss you\\nwill find, on estimate) then buy for myself twelve\\nthousand of Consols stock, which, if the nation\\nhold its word, will provide me with three hundred\\nand sixty pounds a-year the proper degrees of the\\nannual circle, according to my estimate, of a bach-\\nelor gentleman s proper income, on which, if he\\ncannot live, he deserves speedily to die. And this,\\nwith Brantwood strawberries and cream, I will for\\nmy own poor part, undertake to live upon, uncom-\\nplainingly, as Master of St. Greorge s Company or\\ndie. But, for my dependants, and customary char-\\nities, further provision must be made or such\\ndependencies and charities must end. Virtually, I\\nshould then be giving away the lives of these peo-\\nple to St. George, and not my own.\\nWherefore,\\nSixthly. Though I have not made a single farthing\\nby my literary work last year,* I have paid Messrs.\\nHazell, Watson, and Viney an approximate sum of\\n\u00c2\u00a3800 for printing my new books, which sum has been\\nprovided by the sale of the already printed ones. I\\nhave only therefore now to stop working; and I shall\\nCounting from last April fool s day to this.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0561.jp2"}, "562": {"fulltext": "560 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY\\nreceive regular pay for my past work a gradually\\nincreasing, and I have confidence enough in St.\\nGeorge and myself to say an assuredly still increas-\\ning, income, on which I have no doubt I can suflB-\\nciently maintain all my present servants and pen-\\nsioners and perhaps even also sometimes indulge\\nmyself with a new missal. New Turner drawings\\nare indeed out of the question but, as I have al-\\nready thirty large and fifty or more ?mall ones, and\\nsome score of illuminated MSS., I may get through\\nthe declining years of my aesthetic life, it seems to me,\\non those terms, resignedly, and even spare a book or\\ntwo\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or even a Turner or two, if needed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to my St.\\nGeorge s schools.\\nNow, to stop working for the press, will be very\\npleasant to me not to say medicinal, or even\\nnecessary very soon. But that does not mean\\nstopping work. Deucalion and Proserpina can go\\non far better without printing; and if the public\\nwish for them, they can subscribe for them. In\\nany case, I shall go on at leisure, God willing, with\\nthe works I have undertaken.\\nLastly. My Oxford professorship will provide\\nfor my expenses at Oxford as long as I am needed\\nthere.\\nSuch, Companions mine, is your Master s posi-\\ntion in life; and such his plan for the few years of\\nit which may yet remain to him. You will not, I\\nbelieve, be disposed wholly to deride either what I\\nhave done, or mean to do but of this you may be\\nassured, that my spending, whether foolish or wise,\\nhas not been the Avanton lavishness of a man who\\ncould not restrain his desires; but the deliberate\\ndistribution, as 1 thought best, of the wealth I had\\nreceived as a trust, while I yet lived, and had power\\nover it. For what has been consumed by swind-\\nlers, your modern principles of trade are answer-\\nable for the rest, none even of that confessed to\\nhave been given in the partiality of affection, has\\nbeen bestowed but in real self-denial. My own\\ncomplete satisfaction would have been in buying\\nevery Turner drawing I could afford, and passing", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0562.jp2"}, "563": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 561\\nquiet days at Brantwood between my garden and\\nmy gallery, praised, as 1 should have been, by all\\nthe \\\\vt)rld, for doing good to myself.\\n1 do not doubt, had God condemned me to that\\nselfishness, He would also have inflicted on me the\\ncurse of liappiness in it. But He has lead me by\\nother ways, of which my friends who are wise\\nand kind, neither as j^et praising me, nor condemn-\\ning, may one day be gladdened in witness of a\\nnobler issue. Fors, IV., pp. 17-32.\\nCHAPTER IV.\\nOdds and Ends.\\nThe Chef-d ceuvre of Man. \u00e2\u0080\u0094The greatest thing\\na liuman soul ever does in this world is to see\\nsomething, and tell what it saw in a plain way.\\nHundreds of people can talli for one who can think,\\nbut thousands can think for one who can see. To\\nsee clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion, all in\\none. Modern Painters, III., p. 386.\\nThe Diffusion of Taste. As I Avas walking up\\nFleet Street the other day, my eye caught the title\\nof a book standing open in a bookseller s window.\\nIt was On tlie necessity of tlie diffusion of taste\\namong all classes. Ah, I thought to mj self, my\\nclassifying fi-iend, when you have diffused your\\ntaste, wliere will your classes be? Croiau of Wild\\nOlive, Lect. II., p. 47.\\nDrowned in Wonder.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The true miracle, to my\\nmind, would not be in the sun s standing still, but\\nIS in its going on We are all of us being swept\\ndown to death in a sea of miracle; we are drowned\\nin wonder, as gnats in a Rhine wdiirlpool. Fors,\\nIII., p. 313.\\nExtreme Fatigue. Fatigue yourself, but once,\\nto utter exhaustion, and to the end of life you shall\\nnot recover the former vigor of your frame. Let\\nheart-sickness pass beyond a certain bitter point,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0563.jp2"}, "564": {"fulltext": "562 A BUSKIlsr ANTHOLOGY,\\nand the heart loses its life forever. Sesame and\\nLilies, Preface, 1871, p. 13.\\nThe Decisive Instant.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 There is a decisive in-\\nstant in all matters and if you look languidly,\\nyou are sure to miss it. Nature seems always, some-\\nhow, trying to make you miss it. I will see that\\nthrough, you must say, without turning my\\nhead or you won t see the trick of it at all.\\nMornings in Florence, p. 37.\\nMusic and Song.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Music is the nearest at hand,\\nthe most orderly, the most delicate, and the most\\nperfect, of all bodily pleasures it is also the only\\none which is equally heljjful to all the ages of man\\nhelpful from the nurse s song to her infant, to the\\nmusic, unheard of others, which often, if not most\\nfrequently, haunts the death-bed of pure and inno-\\ncent sj^irits. Time and Tide, p. 46.\\nAll right human song is the finished expression,\\nby art, of the joy or grief of noble persons, for right\\ncauses. And accxirately in proportion to the Tight-\\nness of the cause, and purity of the emotion, is the\\npossibility of the fine art. A maiden may sing of\\nher lost love, but a miser cannot sing of his lost\\nmoney. LecUires on Art, p. 47.\\nThe only really beautiful piece of song which I\\nheard at Verona, during several month s stay there\\nin 1869, Avas the low chant of girls unwinding the\\ncocoons of the silkworm, in the cottages among the\\nolive-clad hills on the north of the city. Never any\\nin the streets of it there, only insane shrieks of\\nReijublican populace, or senseless dance-music,\\nplayed by operatic-military bands. Fors, II., p. 50.\\nSolomon. Some centuries before the Christian\\nera, a Jew merchant largely engaged in business on\\nthe Gold Coast, and reported to have made one of\\nthe largest fortunes of his time (held also in repute for\\nmuch practical sagacity), left -among his ledgers\\nsome general maxims concerning wealth, which have\\nbeen preserved, strangely enough, even to our own\\ndays, They were held in considerable resjject by", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0564.jp2"}, "565": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 563\\nthe most active traders of the middle ages, espe-\\ncially by the Venetians, who even went so far in\\ntheir admiration as to place a statue of the old\\nJew on the angle of one of their principal j)ublic\\nbuildings. Of late years these Avritings have fallen\\ninto disrepute, being ojjposed in every particular\\nto the spirit of modern commerce.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ?7\u00c2\u00abto 2 his Last,\\np. 43.\\nThe Fatigued Imagination.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Whenever the\\nimagination is tired, it is necessary to find for it\\nsomething, not more admirable but less admirable\\nsuch as in that weak state it can deal with then\\ngive it peace, and it will recover.\\nI well recollect the walk on which I first found\\nout this; it was on the winding road fronj Sallenche,\\nsloping up the hills toward St. Gervais, one cloud-\\nless Sunday afternoon. The road circles softly be-\\ntween bits of rocky bank and mounded iDasture\\nlittle cottages and chapels gleaming out from,\\namong the trees at every turn. Behind me, some\\nleagues in length, rose the jagged range of the\\nmountains of the Reposoir on the other side of\\nthe valley, the mass of the Aiguille de Varens,\\nheaving its seven thousand feet of cliff into the air\\nat a single effort, its gentle gift of waterfall, the\\nNant d Arpenaz, like a pillar of cloud at its feet\\nMount Blanc and all its aiguilles, one silver flame,\\nin front of me marvellous blocks of mossy granite\\nand dark glades of pine around me but I could\\nenjoy nothing, and could not for a long while\\nmake out what was the matter with me, until at\\nlast I discovered that if I confined myself to one\\nthing and that a little thing a tuft of moss, or a\\nsingle crag at the top of the Varens, or a wreath or\\ntwo of foam at the bottom of the Nant d ArjDenaz,\\nI began to enjoy it directly, because then I had\\nmind enough to put into the thing, and the enjoy-\\nment arose from the quantitj^ of the imaginative\\nenergy I could bring to bear upon it. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 157.\\n_ An Olds Paper.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If any journal would limit", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0565.jp2"}, "566": {"fulltext": "5Gi A nUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nitself to statements of well-sifted facts, making itself\\nnot a news paper, but an olds i^aper, and\\ngiving its statements tested and true, like old wine,\\nas soon as tilings could be known accurately; choos-\\ning also, of tlie many things that might be known,\\nthose which it was most vital to know, and sum-\\nming them in few words of pure English, I cannot\\nsay whether it would ever pay well to sell it; but I\\nam sure it would pay well to read it, and to read\\nno other. Fors, I., p. 29.\\nRebuilding op Warwick Castle.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I am at this\\nhour endeavoring to find work and food for a boy\\nof seventeen, one of eight people two married\\ncouples, a woman and her daughter, and this boy\\nand his sister\u00e2\u0080\u0094 who all sleep together in one room,\\nsome 18 ft. square, in the heart of London and\\nyou call upon me for a subscription to help to\\nrebuild Warwick Castle.\\nSir, I am an old and thoroughbred Tory, and as\\nsuch I say, If a noble family cannot rebuild their\\nown castle, in God s name let them live in the\\nnearest ditch till they can.\\nThe sum of what I have to say in this present\\nmatter may be put in few words.\\nAs an antiquary which, thank Heaven, I am\\nI say, Part of Warwick Castle is burnt\u00e2\u0080\u0094 tis pity.\\nTake better care of the rest.\\nAs an old Tory which, thank HeaA^en, I am 1\\nsay, Lord Warwick s house is burned. Let Lord\\nWarwick build abetterif hecan^a worseif he must;\\nbut in any case, let him neither beg nor borrow.\\nAs a modern renovator and Liberal which,\\nthankHeaven, lam not I would say, Byallmeans\\nlet the public subscribe to build a spick-and-span\\nnew Warwick Castle, and let the pictures be\\ntouched up, and exhibited by gas light let the\\nfamily live in the back rooms, and let there be a\\ntable cVhute in the great hall at two and six every\\nday, 2s. 6cZ. a head, and let us have Guy s bowl for\\na dinner he\\\\\\\\. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Arrotos of the Chace, I., pp. 148-150.\\nGardens and Libraries. The human race may", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0566.jp2"}, "567": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 5G5\\nbe projoerly divided by zoologists into men who\\nhave gardens, libraries, or works of art and who\\nhave none and tlie former class will include all\\nnoble persons, except only a few who make the\\nworld their garden or museum while the\\npeople who have not, or, Avhich is the same thing,\\ndo not care for gardens or libraries, but care for\\nnothing but money or luxuries, will include none\\nbut ignoble persons only it is necessary to un-\\nderstand that I mean by the term garden as\\nmuch the Carthusian s plot of ground fifteen feet\\nsquare between his monastery buttresses, as I do\\nthe grounds of Chatsworth or Kew and I mean\\nby the term art as much the old sailor s print of\\nthe Arethusa bearing up to engage the Belle Poule,\\nas I do Raphael s Disputa, and even rather\\nmore.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. Joy For Ever, pp. 111-113.\\nConcerning Handwriting. The scholar who\\namong my friends does the most as well as the best\\nwork, writes the most deliberately beautiful hand\\nand that all the hands of sensible people agree in\\nbeing merely a reduction of good print to a form pro-\\nducible by the steady motion of a pen, and are there-\\nfore alwaj^s round and extremelj upright, becom-\\ning more or less picturesque according to the humor\\nof the writer, but never slurred into any unbecoming\\nspeed, nor subdued by any merely mechanical habit,\\nwhereas the writing of foolish people is almost\\nalways mechanically monotonous and that of\\nbegging-letter writers, with rare exception, much\\nsloped, and sharp at the turns. Fors, W~., ]i. 371.\\nThk Theatre. The idea of making money by a\\ntheatre, and making it educational at the same\\ntime, is utterly to be got out of people s heads.\\nYou don t make money out of a Ship of the Line,\\nnor should you out of a church, nor should you\\nout of a College, nor should you out of a Theatre.\\nArrows of the Chace, II., p. 172.\\nWords to Shoemakers. You are to make shoes\\nwith extremest care to please your customers in all\\nmatters which they ought to ask by fineness of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0567.jp2"}, "568": {"fulltext": "566 A liUSKiy ANTHOLOGY.\\nfit, excellence of work, and exactitude of compli-\\nance with special orders but you are not to please\\nthem in things which they ought not to ask. It is\\n2/OW7 business to know how to protect, and adorn,\\nthe human foot. When a customer wishes you\\nreally to protect and adorn his or her foot, you are\\nto do it with finest care but if a customer wishes\\nyou to injure their foot, or disfigure it, you are to\\nrefuse their pleasure in those particulars, and bid\\nthem\u00e2\u0080\u0094 if they insist on such dis-sevviee\u00e2\u0080\u0094to go else-\\nwhere. You are not, the smiths of you, to put\\nhorseshoes hot on hoofs; and you are not, the shoe-\\nmakers of you, to make any shoes with high heels,\\nor with vulgar and iiseless decorations, or if made\\nto measure\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that will pinch the wearer. Fors, IV.,\\np. 29.\\nLegal Documents. Do you not see how infinite-\\nly advantageous it would be for me (if only I could\\nget the other sufferers under this black letter liter-\\nature of legal papers to be of my mind), to clap the\\nlawyer and his clerk, once for all, fairly out of the\\nway in a dignified almshouse, with parchment un-\\nlimited, and ink turned on at a tap, and mainte-\\nnance for life, on the mere condition of their never\\ntroubling humanity more, with either their script-\\nures or opinions on any subject. Foi S, I., p. 216.\\nDyspepsia. I believe that a large amount of the\\ndreamy and sentimental sadness, tendency to rev-\\nerie, and general patheticalness of modern life re-\\nsults merely from derangement of stomach; holding\\nto he Grreek life the same relation that the feverish\\nnight of an adult does to a child s sleep.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ifo(Zer?i\\nPainters, III., p. 200.\\nCuttle-pish Misanthropy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I came by surprise,\\nthe other day, on a cuttle-fish in a pool at low tide.\\nOn being touched with the point of my umbrella,\\nhe first filled the pool with ink, and then finding\\nhimself still touched, in the darkness, lost his\\ntemper, and attacked the umbrella with much\\npsyche, or anima, hugging it tightly with all his\\neight arms, and making efforts, like an impetuous", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0568.jp2"}, "569": {"fulltext": "07)7)5 AND ENDS. 5GT\\nbaby with a coral, to get it into his mouth. On my\\noffering hiiu a finger instead, he sucked that Avith\\ntwo or three of his arms, with an apparently ma-\\nlignant satisfaction, and, on being shaken off, re-\\ntired with an air of frantic misanthroi^y into the\\ncloud of his ink. Now, it seems to me not a little\\ninstructive to reflect how entirely useless such a\\nmanifestation of a superior being was to his cuttle-\\nfish mind and how fortunate it was for his fellow-\\noctopods that he had no command of pens as well\\nas ink, nor any disposition to write on the nature\\nof umbrellas or of men. Contemporary Review, 1871.\\nProving a Nkgative.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nothing delights a true\\nblockhead so much as to prove a negative to\\nshow that everybody has been wrong. Fancy the\\ndelicious sensation, to an empty-headed creature,\\nof fancying for a moment that he has emptied\\neverybody else s head as well as his own nay,\\nthat, for once, his own hollov bottle of a head has\\nhad the best of other bottles, and has been first\\nempty; first to know\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nothing. Ariadne, p. 38.\\nThe House Fly. I believe we can nowhere find\\na better type of a perfectly free creature than in the\\ncommon house fly. Nor free only, but brave; and\\nirreverent to a degree which I think no human\\nrepublican could by any philosophy exalt himself\\nto. Strike at him with your hand and to\\nhim, the mechanical fact and external aspect of the\\nmatter is, Mdiat to you it would be, if an acre of red\\nclay, ten feet thick, tore itself up from the ground\\nin one massive field, hovered over you in the air for\\na second, and came crashing down with an aim.\\nThat is the external aspect of it the inner aspect,\\nto his fly s mind, is of a quite natural and unim-\\nportant occurrence one of the momentary condi-\\ntions of his active life. He steps out of the way of\\nyour hand, and alights on the back of it. Athena,\\np. 112.\\nLogic. Any man who can reason at all, does it\\ninstinctivelj and takes leaps over intermediate syl-\\nlogisms by the score, yet never misses his footing at", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0569.jp2"}, "570": {"fulltext": "m A RUSKiy ANTHOLOnY.\\nthe end of the leap but he who cannot instinc-\\ntively argue, might as well, with the gout in both\\nfeet, try to follow a chamois hunter by the help of\\ncrutches, as to follow, by the help of syllogism, a\\nperson who has the right use of his reason. 3Iodern\\nPainters, III., p. 11.\\nSystem-makers.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I suspect that system-makers,\\nin general, are not of much more use, each in his\\nown domain, than, in that of Pomona, the old\\nwomen who tie cherries upon sticks, for the more\\nconvenient portableness of the same. To cultivate\\nwell, and choose well, your cherries, is of some im-\\nportance but if they can be had in their own wild\\nway of clustering about their crabbed stalk, it is a\\nbetter connection for them than any other and, if\\nthey cannot, then, so that they be not bruised, it\\nmakes to a boy of a j^ractical disposition, not much\\ndifference whether he gets them by handfuls, or in\\nbeaded symmetry on the exalting stick. Modern\\nPainters, III., p. 18.\\nGipsy Fortune-telling.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The poor servant-\\nmaid who has hoped that in the stars above might\\nbe read, by the stained Avanderer s dark eyes,\\nsome twinkling sentence of her narrow destiny, is\\nbelow contempt, forsooth, in the minds of persons\\nwho believe, on the delicatest suggestion of Mr.\\nTiggs and the Board, that it is the placid purpose\\nof Heaven, through its rolling years forevermore, to\\npay them forty per cent, on their unpaid-up capi-\\ntal, for smoking their cigars and picking their\\nteeth. Roadside Songs of Tuscany, p. 201, Eng. Ed.\\nFishing Boats. I doubt if ever academic grove\\nwere half so fit for profitable meditation as the\\nlittle strip of shingle between two black, steep over-\\nhanging sides of stranded fishing-boats. The\\nclear, heavy water-edge of ocean rising and falling\\nclose to their bows, in that unaccountable way\\nwhich the sea lias always in calm weather, turning\\nthe pebbles over and over, as if with a rake, to look\\nfor something, and then stopping a moment down\\nat the bottom of the bank, and coming up again", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0570.jp2"}, "571": {"fulltext": "ODDS AXD E^^DS. 56d\\nwith a little nni and clash, throwing a foot s depth\\nof salt crystal in an instant between you and\\nthe round stone you were going to take in your\\nhand, sighing alfthe while as if it would infinitely\\nrather be doing something else. And the dark\\nflanks of the fishing-boats all aslope above, in\\ntheir shining quietness, hot in the morning sun,\\nrusty and seamed with square patches of plank\\nnailed over their rents, just rough enough to let the\\nlittle flat-footed fisher-children haul or twist them-\\nselves up to the gunwales, and drop back again\\nalong some stray rope; just round enough to\\nremind us, in their broad and gradual curves, of\\nthe sweep of the green surges they know so well,\\nand of the hours wlien those old sides of seared\\ntimber, all ashine with the sea, plunge and dip into\\nthe green purity of the mounded waves more joy-\\nfully than a deer lies down among the grass of\\nspring, the soft white cloud of foam opening\\nmomentarily at the bows, and fading or flying\\nhigh into the breeze where the sea-gulls toss and\\nshriek,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the joy and beauty of it, all the while, so\\nmingled with the sense of unfathomable danger,\\nand the human effort and sorrow going on perpet-\\nually from age to age, waves rolling for ever, and\\nwinds moaning for ever, and faithful hearts trusting\\nand sickening for ever, and brave lives dashed\\naway about the rattling beach like weeds for\\never and still at the helm of every lonely boat,\\nthrough starless night and hopeless dawn, His hand,\\nwho spread the fisher s net over the dust of the\\nSidonian palaces, and gave into the fisher s hand\\nthe keys of the kingdom of heaven. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Harbors of\\nEngland, pp. 9-10.\\nShips of the Lixe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It will always be said of\\nus with unabated reverence They Built Ships\\nOF THE Line. Take it all in all, a Ship of the\\nLine is the most honorable thing that man, as a\\ngregarious animal, has ever produced.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i?ar o?s of\\nEngland, p. 12.\\nThe Bow of a Ship.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 That rude simplicity of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0571.jp2"}, "572": {"fulltext": "570 A llUSKm ANTHOLOGY.\\nbent plank that can breast its way through the\\ndeath that is in the deei^ sea, has in it the soul of\\nshipping. Beyond this we may have more work,\\nmore men, more money; Ave cannot have more mir-\\nacle. The boat s bow is naively perfect com-\\nplete without effort. The man wTio made it knew\\nnot he was making anything beautiful, as he bent\\nits jilanks into those mysterious, ever changing\\ncurves. It grows under his hand into the image of\\na sea-shell the seal, as it were, of the flowing of\\nthe great tides and streams of ocean stamped on its\\ndelicate rounding. He leaves it, when all is done,\\nwithout a boast. It is simple work, but it will keep\\nout water. And every plank thenceforward is a\\nFate, and has men s lives wreathed in the knots of\\nit, as the cloth-yard shaft had their deaths in its\\nplumes.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Har or^ of England, p. 112.\\nFox-HuNTiKG. Reprobation of fox-hunting on\\nthe ground of cruelty to the fox is entirely futile.\\nMore pain is caused to the draught-horses of London\\nin an hour by avariciously overloading them, than\\nto all the foxes in England by the hunts of the year;\\nand the rending of body and heart in human death,\\ncaused by neglect, in our country cottages, in any\\none winter, could not be equalled by the death-\\npangs of any quantity of foxes.\\nThe real evils of fox-hunting are that it wastes\\nthe time, misapplies the energy, exhausts the wealth,\\nnarrows the capacity, debases the taste, and abates\\nthe honor of the upper classes of this country and\\ninstead of keeping, as your correspondent Forest-\\ner supposes, thousands from the work-house,\\nit sends thousands of the poor, both there, and into\\nthe grave.\\nThe athletic training given by fox-hunting is ex-\\ncellent; and such training is vitally necessary to\\nthe upper classes. But it ought always to be in real\\nservice to their country in personal agricultural\\nlabor at the head of their tenantry and in extend-\\ning English life and dominion in waste regions,\\nagainst the adverse powers of nature. Let them", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0572.jp2"}, "573": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 571\\nbecome Captains of Eiiiigration hunt clown the\\nfoxes that spoil the Vineyard of the World and\\nkeep their eyes on the leading hound, in Packs of\\nMen. Arrows of the Chace, II., p. 118.\\nChildren in Art.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If you will overpass quickly\\nin your minds what you reuiember of the treasures\\nof Greek antiquity, you Avill find that, among them\\nall, you can get no notion of what a Greek little girl\\nwas like. Matronly Junos, and tremendous Deme-\\nters, and Gorgonian Minervas, as many as you\\nplease but for my own part, always speaking as a\\nGoth, I had much rather have had some idea of the\\nSpartan Helen dabbling with Castor and Pollux\\nin the Eurotas,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 none of them over ten years\\nold.\\nI noted the singular defect in Greek art, that it\\nnever gives you any conception of Greek children.\\nNeither\u00e2\u0080\u0094 up to the thirteen century -does Gothic\\nart give you any conception of Gothic children\\nfor, until the thirteenth century, the Goth was not\\nperfectly Christianized, and still thought only of\\nthe strength of humanity as admirable in battle or\\nvenerable in judgment, but not as dutiful in peace,\\nnor happy in simplicity.\\nBut from the moment when the spirit of Christi-\\nanity had been entirely interpreted to the Western\\nraces, the sanctity of womanhood worshipped in the\\nMadonna, and the sanctity of childhood in unity\\nwith that of Christ, became the light of every\\nhonest hearth, and the joy of every pure 9,nd\\nchastened soul. Till at last, bursting out like\\none of the sweet Surrey fountains, all dazzling\\nand pure, you have the radiance and innocence or\\nreinstated infant divinity showered again among\\nthe flow^ers of English meadows by Mrs. Allingham\\nand Kate Greenaway.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^r^ of England, pp. 45,\\n61-63.\\nThe Child-angels.- [Here is a pretty descrip-\\ntion of the work of ministering angels, as shown\\nin Richter s lovely illustrati-o-ns of the Lord s\\nPrayer]", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0573.jp2"}, "574": {"fulltext": "572 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nThe real and living death-angel, girt as a pilgrim\\nfor journey, and softly crowned with flowers, beck-\\nons at the dying mother s door child-angels sit\\ntalking face to face with mortal children, among\\nthe flowers hold them by their little coats, lest\\nthey fall on the stairs Avhisper dreams of heaven\\nto them, leaning over their pillows carry the\\nsound of the church bells for them far through the\\nair and even descending lower in service, fill little\\ncups with honey, to hold out to the weary bee.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMhics of the Dust, p. 135.\\nThe Ve^^etian Doggie.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It was to be drowned,\\nsoon after its eyes had opened to the light of sea\\nand sky, a poor worthless wet flake of floss silk it\\nhad like to have been, presently. Toni pitied it.\\npulled it out of the water, bought it for certain\\nsous, brought it home under his arms. What it\\nlearned out of his heart in that half-hour, again,\\nSt. Theodore knows but the mute spiritual creat-\\nure has been his own, verily, from that day, and\\nonly lives for him. Toni, being a pious Toni as\\nwell as a pitiful, went this last autumn, in his holi-\\nday, to s ee the Pope but did not think of taking\\nthe doggie with him, (who, St. Theodore would\\nsurely have said, ought to have seen the Pope too).\\nWhereupon, the little silken mystery Avholly re.-\\nfused to eat. No coaxing, no tempting, no nurs-\\ning, would cheer the desolate-minded thing from\\nthat sincere fast. It would drink a little, and was\\nwarmed and medicined as best might be. Toni\\ncame back from Rome in time to save it but it\\nwas not its gay self again for many and many a day\\nafter the terror of such loss, as yet again possible,\\nweighing on the reviving mind, (stomach, sujipos-\\nably, much oiit of order also). It greatly dislikes\\ngetting itself wet for, indeed, the tangle of its mor-\\ntal body takes half a day to dry some terror and\\nthrill of uncomprehended death, perhaps, remain-\\ning on it, also, who knows but once, after this\\nterrible Roman grief, running along the quay\\ncheerfully beside rowing Toni, it saw him turn the", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0574.jp2"}, "575": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 573\\ngondola s head six feet aside, as if going away. The\\ndog dashed into the water hke a mad thing. See,\\nnow, if aught but deatli part thee and me. Fors,\\nIII., p. 413.\\nHeaven lies about us in our Infancy.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 What\\ndo you suppose makes all men look back to the\\ntime of childhood with so much regret, (if their\\nchildhood has been, in any moderate degree,\\nhealthy or peaceful) That rich charm, which the\\nleast possession had for us, was in consequence of\\nthe poorness of our treasures. That miraculous\\naspect of the nature around us, was because we had\\nseen little, and knew less. Every increased posses-\\nsion loads us with a new weariness every piece of\\nnew knowledge diminishes the faculty of admira-\\ntion and Death is at last appointed to take us\\nfrom a scene in which, if we wei-e to stay longer, no\\ngift could satisfy us, and no miracle surprise.\\nEagle s Nest, p. 58.\\nAs to school and college studies making you very\\nhappy, I know something, myself, of nearly all\\nthese matters not much, but still quite as much as\\njnost men under the ordinary chances of life, with\\na fair education, are likely to get together and I\\nassure you the knowledge does not make mehappj-\\nat all. When I was a boy I used to like seeing the\\nsunrise. I didn t know, then, there were any spots\\non the sun now I do, and am alwaj S frightened\\nleast any more should come. When I was a boy,\\n1 used to care about pretty stones. I got some\\nBristol diamonds at Bristol, and some dog-tooth\\nspar in Derbyshire my whole collection had\\ncost, perhaps three half-crowns, and was worth\\nconsidei-ably less and I knew nothing whatever,\\nrightlj about any single stone in it could not\\neven spell their names but words cannot tell the\\njoy they used to give me. Now, I have a collection\\nof minerals worth, perhaps, fi-om two to three thou-\\nsand pounds; and I know more about some of them\\nthan most other people. But I am not a whit hap-\\npier, either for my knowledge, or possessions, fox*", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0575.jp2"}, "576": {"fulltext": "D74 A nUSKlN ANTHOLOGY.\\nother geolog ists dispute my theories, to my grievous\\nindignation and discontentment and I am miser-\\nable about all my best specimens, because there\\nare better in the British Museum.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 i^ orif, I., p. 43.\\nNo toy you can bestow will supersede the pleas-\\nure the child has in fancying something that isn t\\nthere and the most instructive histories you can\\ncompile for it of the wonders of the world will never\\nconquer the interest of the tale which a clever child\\ncan tell itself, concerning the shipwreck of a rose-\\nleaf in the shallows of a rivulet.\\nOne of the most curious proofs of the need to chil-\\ndren of this exercise of the inventive and believ-\\ning power, the hesoin de croire, which precedes\\nthe besoin (Vaimer, you will find in the way you\\ndestroy the vitality of a toy to them, by bringing it\\ntoo near the imitation of life. You never find a\\nchild make a pet of a mechanical mouse that runs\\nabout the floor ^of a poodle that yelps of a\\ntumbler who jumps upon Avires. The child falls in\\nlove with a quiet thing, with an ugly one nay, it\\nmay be, with one, to us, totally devoid of meaning.\\nMy little ever-so-many-times-grand cousin, Lily,\\ntook a bit of stick with a round knob at the end of\\nit for her doll one day nursed it through any\\nnumber of illnesses with the most tender solicitude;\\nand, on the deeply-important occasion of its hav-\\ning a new nightgown made for it, bent down her\\nmother s head to receive the cofidential and timid\\nwhisper Mamma, perhaps it had better have no\\nsleeves, because, as Bibsey has no arms, she mightn t\\nlike it. Art of England, pp. 54-55\\nNational Traits. 1 have seen much of Irish\\ncharacter, and have watched it closely, for I have\\nalso much loved it. And I think the form of fail-\\nure to which it is most liable is this, that being gen-\\nerous-hearted, and wholly intending always to do\\nright, it does not attend to the external laws of\\nright, but thinks it must necessarily do right\\nbecause it means to do so, and therefore does wrong\\nwithout finding it out and then wlien the conse-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0576.jp2"}, "577": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 675\\nQUences of its wrong come uiwu it, or upon others\\nconnected with it, it cannot conceive tliat the\\nwrong is in anywise of its causing or of its doing,\\nbut flies into wratli, and a strange agony of desire\\nfor justice, as feoling itself wholly innocent, which\\nleads it farther astray, until there is nothing that it\\nis not capable of doing with a good conscience.\\nMystery of Life, p. 132.\\nScottish ast Irish Valor\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This much remains\\nof Arthurian blood in us, that the richest fighting\\nelement in the British army and navy is British\\nnative,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that is to say, Highlander, Irish, Welsh,\\nand CoTni h.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Pleasures of England, p. 22.\\nThe battles both of Waterloo and Alma were\\nwon by Irish and Scots by the terrible Scots\\nGreys, and by Sir Colin s Highlanders. Your thin\\nred line, was kept steady at Alma only by Colonel\\nYea s swearing at them. Pleasures of England,\\np. 53.\\nThe Scottish Character.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is strange that,\\nafter much hunting, I cannot find authentic note\\nof the day when Scotland took the thistle for her\\nemblem and I have no space (in this chapter at\\nleast) for tradition but, with whatever lightness\\nof construing we may receive the symbol, it is ac-\\ntually the truest that could hav^e been found, for\\nsome conditions of the Scottish mind. There is no\\nflower which the Proserpina of our Northern Sicily\\ncherishes more dearly and scarcely any of us\\nrecognize enough the beautiful power of its close-\\nset stars, and rooted radiance of ground leaves\\nyet the stubbornness and ungraceful rectitude of\\nits stem, and the besetting of its wholesome sub-\\nstance with that fringe of offence, and the forward-\\nness of it, and dominance, I fear to lacess some of\\nmy dearest friends if I went on let them rather,\\nwith Bailie Jarvie s true conscience, take their\\nScott from the inner slielf in their heart s library\\nwhich all true Scotsmen give him, and trace, with\\nthe swift reading of memory, the characters of\\nFergus M lvor, Hector M lntyre, Mause Headrigg,", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0577.jp2"}, "578": {"fulltext": "576 A BUSKIN ANTHOLOGY.\\nAlison Wilson, Richie Mouiplies, and Andrew\\nFairservice and then say, if the faults of all these,\\ndrawn as they are with a precision of touch like a\\nCorinthian sculptor s of the acanthus leaf, can be\\nfound in anything like the same strength in other\\nraces, or if so stobbornly folded and starched nioni-\\nplies of irritating kindliness, selfish friendliness,\\nlowly conceit, and intolerable fidelity, are native\\nto any other spot of the wild earth of the habitable\\nglobe. In exact opposition to the most solemn\\nvirtue of Scotland, the domestic truth and tender-\\nness breathed in all Scottish song, you have this\\nspecial disease and mortal cancer, this woody-fibri-\\nness, literally, of temper and thought the consum-\\nmation of which into pvirc lignite, or rather black\\nDevil s charcoal the sap of the birks of Aberfeldy\\nbecome cinder, and the blessed juices of them,\\ndeadly gas, you may know in its pure blackness\\nbest in the work o f the greatest of these ground-\\ngrowing Scotchmen, Adam Smith.\\nNo man of like capacitj^ I believe, born of any\\nother nation, could have deliberately, and with no\\nmomentary shadow of suspicion or question, for-\\nmalized the spinous and monstrous fallacy that hu-\\nman commerce and policy are natiiraUy founded on\\nthe desire of every man to possess his neighbor s\\ngoodii.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Proserpina, pp. 87-89.\\nScotch Streets axd Scotch Lassies. I observe\\nthe good j)eople of Edinburgh rejoice proudly at\\nhaving got an asphalt esplanade at the end of\\nPrince s Street, instead of cabbage-sellers. Alas\\nmy Scottish friends; all that Prince s Street of yours\\nhas not so much beauty in it as a single cabbage-\\nstalk, if you had eyes in your heads, rather the\\nextreme reverse of beauty and there is not one of\\nthe lassies who now stagger up and down the burn-\\ning marie in high-heeled boots and French bonnets,\\nwho would not look a thousand-fold prettier, and\\nfeel, there s no counting how much nobler, bare-\\nheaded but for the snood, and bare-foot on old-\\nfashioned grass b}^ the Nor loch side, bringing", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0578.jp2"}, "579": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 577\\nhome from market, basket on arm, pease for papa s\\ndinner, and a bunch of cherries for baby.- ^f)t.\\nMark s Best, p. 31.\\nThe French and German Natures.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A French-\\nman is selfish only when he is vile and lustful but\\na German, selfish in the purest states of virtue and\\nmorality. A Frencliman is arrogant only in ignor-\\nance but no quantity of learning ever makes a\\nGerman modest. Sir, says Albert Diirer of his\\nown work, (and he is the raodestest German I\\nknow,) it cannot be better done. Luther se-\\nrenely damns the entire gospel of St. James, be-\\ncause St. James happens to bo not percisely of his\\nown opinions.\\nAccordingly, when the Germans get command of\\nLombardy, they bombard Venice, steal her pictures,\\n(which they can t understand a single touch of,)\\nand entirely ruin the country, morally and pliysi-\\ncally, leaving behind them misery, vice, and intense\\nhatred of themselves, wlierever their accursed feet\\nhave trodden. They do precisely the same thing\\nby France crush her, rob her, leave her in misery\\nof rage and shame and return home, smacking\\ntheir lips, and singing Te Deums.\\nBut when tlie Frencli conquer England, their\\naction upon it is entirely beneficent. Gradually,\\nthe country, from a nest of restless savages, be-\\ncomes strong and glorious; and having good ma-\\nterial to work upon, tliey make of us at last a nation\\nstronger than themselves.\\nThen the strength of France pei islies, virtually,\\nthrough the folly of St. Louis her piety evapor-\\nates, her lust gathers infectious poAver, and the\\nmodern Cite rises round the Sainte Chapelle. Fors,\\nIL, p. 184.\\nFrench Insensibility. I was beguiled the other\\nday, by seeing it announced as a Comedie, into\\ngoing to see Frou-Frou. Most of you probably\\nknow that the three first of its five acts are comedy,\\nor at least playful drama, and that it plunges doAvn,\\nin the two last, to the sorrowfulest catastrophe of", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0579.jp2"}, "580": {"fulltext": "578 A EUSKIIf ANTHOLOGY.\\nall conceivable though too frequent In daily life\\nin which inetrievable grief is brought about by\\nthe passion of a moment, and the ruin of all that\\nshe loves, caused by the heroic error of an entirely\\ngood and unselfish person. The sight of it made\\nme thoroughly ill, and I was not myself again for\\na week.\\nBut, some time afterwards, I was speaking of it\\nto a lady who knew French character well and\\nasked her how it was possible for a j^eople so quick\\nin feeling to endure the action before them of a sor-\\nrow so poignant. She said, It is because they\\nhave not sympathy enough they are interested\\nonly by the external scene, and are, in truth, at\\npresent, dull, not quick in feeling. My own French\\nmaid went the other evening to see that very play\\nwhen she came home, and I asked her what she\\nthought of it, she said, it was charming, and she\\nhad amused herself immensely. Amused but is\\nnot the story very sad Oh, yes, mademoiselle, it\\nis bien triste, but it is charming and then, how\\npretty Frou-Frou looks in her silk dress\\nEagle s Nest, p. 51.\\nThe Swiss States of the Forest. Beneath\\nthe glaciers of Zermatt and Evolena, and on the\\nscorching slopes of the Valais, the peasants re-\\nmained in an aimless torpor, unheard of but as the\\nobedient vassals of the great Bishopric of Sion.\\nBut where the lower ledges of calcareous rock were\\nbroken by the inlets of the Lake Lucerne, and brac-\\ning winds penetrating from the north forbade the\\ngrowth of the vine, compelling the peasantry to\\nadopt an entirelj^ pastoral life, was reared another\\nrace of men. Their narrow domain should be\\nluarked by a small green spot on every map of\\nEurope. It is about forty miles from east to\\nwest as many from north to south yet on that\\nshred of rugged ground, while every kingdom\\nof the world around it rose or fell in fatal change,\\nand every multitudinovis race mingled or wasted\\nitself in various dispersion and decline, the sim-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0580.jp2"}, "581": {"fulltext": "ODDS AND ENDS. 679\\n])le shepherd dynasty remained changeless. There\\nis no record of their origin. They are neither\\nGoths, Burgundians, Romans, nor Germans. They\\nhave been for ever Helvetii, and for ever free.\\nModern Painters, V., p. 101.\\nThe Italian Peasantry. The people of Italy\\nare dying for need of love: only in returning love\\nfor love they become themselves, and enter into\\npossession of their own souls by the gift of them.\\nI have learned this not from Francesca only.\\nStrangely, another dear American friend, Charles\\nEliot Norton, with his wife and family, residing in\\nItaly I forget how long (I was with them in their\\nvilla near Siena in 1873), were the first to tell me\\nthis quite primary character of the Italian peasan-\\ntry. Their own princes have left them, and abide\\nin their great cities no one cares for the moun-\\ntaineers and their surprise, in the beginning, at\\nfinding any one living amidst them who could love\\nihem; their answer, in the end, of gratitude flowing\\niiie the Fonte Branda, as he described them to me,\\nhave remained ever since among the brightest and\\nthe SMoidest beacons, and reproaches, of my own too\\nselfish ^Ke- Roadside Songs of Tuscany, p. 313.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0581.jp2"}, "582": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX.\\n-RPSKTl^ S WRITINGS IN CLASSIFIED GROUPS.\\nWITH THE DATES OF TIKST PUBLICATION.\\nPAINTING.\\nModern Painters\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1843-1860.\\nVarious Papers on Pre-Raphaelitism -1851-1883.\\nGiotto and liis Works in Padna\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1853.\\nThe Harbors of England (Letterpress to Engravings of Turner\\nDrawings)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1856.\\nRelation Between Michael Angelo and Tnitoret\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1872.\\nMornings in Florence (Chiefly Guide-books to Florentine\\nPaintings)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1875-1877.\\nSt. Mark s Rest\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1877.\\nNotes by Mr. Ruskin on his Drawings by the late J. M. W. Tur-\\nner\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1878.\\nThe Art of England\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1883.\\nMISCELLANEOUS ART WRITINGS.\\nTlie Two Paths (Lectures on Art in its Application to Decora-\\ntion and Manufacture) 1859.\\nLectures on Art 1870.\\nAriadne Florentina (Engraving)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1873.\\nVal d Arno (Lectures on Tuscan Art)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1874.\\nLaws of Fgsole (Elements of Drawing)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1877.\\nArrows of the Cliace, Vol. I. (Miscellaneous Newspaper Arti-\\ncles)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1880.\\nThe Art of England (Leeh, Du Maurier, etc.)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1883.\\nRoadside Songs of Tuscany (Notes on Miss Francesca Alexan-\\nder s Drawings)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1883.\\nARCHITECTURE.\\nSeven Lamps of Architecture 1849.\\nStones of Venice\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1851-1853.\\nEdinburgh Lectures on Arcliitecture (I. and H.) 1853.\\n580", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0582.jp2"}, "583": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX. 581\\nThe Two ruths (Lecture IV., Influence of Imagination on Archi-\\ntecture)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1859.\\nBible of Amiens\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1881.\\nArrows of the Chace, I., pp. 122-161\u00e2\u0080\u00941880.\\nSCULPTURE.\\nStones of Venice\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1851-1853.\\nAratra Pen telici -1872.\\nECONOMIC WORKS.\\nUnto This Last\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1860.\\nIMunera Pulveris\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1862.\\nCrown of Wild Olive\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1866.\\nTime and Tide, by Weare and Tyne\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1867.\\nFors Clavlgera (Here and There)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1871-1878.\\nA Joy Forever\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1880.\\nNOTE.^Compare also article on Usury In Contemporary Review, 1880, p 316, et\\n6eq.; and Home and its Economies in the same Review for May 1873. Also Arrows\\nof the Chace, VoL II.\\nSCIENCE.\\n(-Ethics of the Dust\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1866.\\nIn Montibus Sanctis, Part I.-1885. V Mineralogy.\\n(.Deucalion\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1875-1880. j\\nf Deucalion\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1875-1880. I Geolosv.\\nI Modern Painters, Vol. IV. (Blountains)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1856. j\\nf Proserpina\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1879. 1 Botany.\\nI Modern Painters, Vol. V. (Leaves)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 IbfaO. J\\nr Storm-Cloud of the Nineteenth Century -1884. 1 ci^mig\\n1 Modern Painters, Vol. V.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1860. J\\nLove s Meinie\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1873 (Birds).\\nThe Eagle s Nest (Relation of Science to Art)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1872.\\nAthena, Queen of the Air (Myths)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1869.\\nArrows of the Chace (Miscellaneous)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1880.\\nEDUCATION.\\nElements of Perspective\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 59.\\nSesame and Lilies (Books and Reading, and Education of Girls)\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00941865.\\nFors Clavigera (See especially Letters L.-LIV., also XCV.)\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1871-187S.\\nElements of Drawing\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1857.\\nInstructions in Elementary Drawing\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1872.\\nLaws of Fesole (Best Work on Drawing)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1877.\\nProsei-pina (Botany)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1879.\\nA Museum or Picture Gallery (Six Letters in London Art\\nJournal for June and August, 1880).\\nLITERATURE.\\nKing of the Golden River (Fairy Tale)\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1851.\\nModern Painters, Vol. lU.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1856.\\nFiction, Fair and Foul {Nineteenth Century, 1880, 1881).", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0583.jp2"}, "584": {"fulltext": "582 AFPENBIX.\\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY.\\nFors Clavigera\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1871-1878.\\nNotes by Mr. Ruskin on his Drawings by the late J. M. W.\\nTurner\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1878.\\nMy First Editor. An Antobiograpliical Reminiscence {Uni-\\nversity Magazine, April, 1878).\\nPrseterita. Outlines of Scenes and Thoughts perhaps worthy of\\nMemory in my Past Life\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1885.\\nFIVE BEST WORKS.\\nModern Painters.\\nUnto This Last.\\nCrown of Wild Olive.\\nFors Clavigera (first half of it).\\nSesame and Lilies.\\nBEST SINGLE WOEK.\\nModern Painters.", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0584.jp2"}, "585": {"fulltext": "INDEX.\\nPAGE\\nAakon 4-, l\\nAccurate work 512\\nAchilles 65\\nAddress, of convict 419\\nAdmiration, element of education 269\\nAdmiration, Hope, and Love 335\\nAgassiz. Prof. Louis A i\\nAge, old 8:i9\\nAir, the 467\\nAH Baba 414\\nAmericans, the, 420, 421 civil war of 249\\nAmerican girls in Italy, 397-399\\nAmiens 167\\nAnatomy, destructive to art 40\\nAncestors 29\\nAngelico 88, 89\\nAngels, Guardian 361\\nApollo Belvidere 27, 168\\nArcadian Valley 490\\nArchitect, materials of 151\\nArchitecture, 142-165; a and sculpture, 143. 144; five orders, 144;\\nmedium-sized blocks in. 145; of cities, 147, 148; suburban, 148;\\nEuropean, 152; Roman, Lombard and Arabian styles, 152, 153;\\nGothic, 154-161; (Gothic not the work of the clergy, 154; not\\nderived from vegetation, 155; true sources of, 156; poetry of\\nGothic terms, 158; Gothic porch, 158; arch. 158; how to tell\\ngood Gothic, 159-161;) Renaissance, 161-163; decoration of a.,\\n164 asymmetry and vital carving 164\\nArt. Proceeds from the heart, 21; art and mechanism, 22; defi-\\nnitions of, 21 and 22; not teachable by rules, 22, 23, 29, 30; con-\\nditions of a school of, 23; grass, flowers, etc.. 24; world s\\nfocus of, 21; rooted in moral nature. 24. 25: connoisseurs of,\\n25, 27; a. and nature-stud j 26; best art not always wanted,\\n26; discipline in art-work, 29; earliest a. linear, 31; creative\\npower in, 33; quality, not quantity, of art-study desirable, 33;\\nthree rules of. 33 the same for all time, 33; Etruscan a., 33;\\ndestruction of, 34; criticism of 35. 36; a. in the history of\\nnations, 41-44; a. in Middle Ages, 46-50: finish, 50-56; g reat\\na. and great men, 60-67; perambulant, 81, 82; should not be\\ntoo familiar, 146; any a. is good, 313; a. in England, 360; bad\\nart in religion, 365-367; there is a science of, 458; science vs.\\nart, 459; children in 571\\nArt-education, 298-314; to foster art-genius in a youth. 301 great-\\nest art cannot be taught, 301-303: young folks in picture-gal-\\nleries. 307, 308; color, 299; drawing, 299-307; museums. .309-315\\nArtist, definition of, 22; society and the a., 25; boi-n. not made,\\n29; reveals liimself in his work, 31; the British, 61, 62; gen-\\ntleness of 75\\nAsceticism, three forms of 331\\nAssociation of ideas 68\\nAstronomy 297\\nAudiences (smooth-downy-curry, etc) 513", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0585.jp2"}, "586": {"fulltext": "584 INDEX.\\nPAGE\\nAuthorship, 502 (comp. Writing); realism, 511; invention, 510;\\naccurate work 513\\nBeauty, among the Greeks, 28; distinguished from truth 28, 39\\nBetting 353\\nBewick 136\\nBible, 367-369; characters not yet painted 89\\nBills, running up 354\\nBirds 427-433\\nBishops 373-375\\nBlackfriars Bridge 149\\nBlackwood s Magazine 514\\nBlake, William 134\\nBoats 568\\nBooks. 416, 503-507; reading a book in the leisurely fashion of\\nold, 503; best books written in country, 503; get the author s\\nmeaning, not your own, 504: stout, well-bound books, 504\\nprice of, 504: tlie patient fellows in leathern jackets. 505: the\\ncharmed circle of the great authors. 505; the poor ti-ade of\\nthe reviewer, .505, 506; some of Ruskin s favorites, .506; too\\nmany. 513; Ruskinonhisown, 536-.540; (comp. Librui-ies,\\\\^4.)\\nBotany, 432-440; 296-297 (teaching of j; nomenclature 4.34\\nBourges cathedral 58\\nBoy, and dog-flght 337\\nBoys 289, 392\\nBrantwood, 12, .556. See Coniston, 540.\\nBrick and terra-cotta 145\\nBrowning, Robert 49\\nBuffoonery 69\\nBurne-Jones 131\\nCacti 338\\nCapital, a ploughshare the type of, 205; investments of, 206; in-\\nterest-takers, 206; invested, 210-214; (cp. 351.)\\nCapital punishment 331\\nCapitalists, 194, 210-214; (see 360, 361.)\\nCaricature 138\\nCark and Care 345\\nCarly le, on the fine arts 51\\nCarpaccio s Princess 399\\nCasket-talismans of knowledge 347\\nCathedrals, 149-151 English c, 150; French c 1.55\\nCervin, Mt 489\\nChaiuouni 499\\nCharacter-painting 511\\nCharities, 318. See Ruskin.\\nCheapness 232\\nCliiaroscuro 125, 139\\nChild-angels 571-573\\nChildren, in art, 571 parable of the 256-258\\nChimnej s 359\\nChirography 565\\nChiron... 65\\nChristianity, theatrical, 360; in the Middle Ages 379\\nChurch, going to, 357; the English .371-378\\nCinnamon 434\\nCinderella 390\\nClay, Ume. and flint 443-445\\nClassic style 46\\nClassical school 106-109\\nClaude 107, 108, 114\\nClergy 371-378\\nClouds, 446-453; Storm-CIoud of the Nineteenth Century, 449-\\n453: among hills, 468; cumulus cloud 468\\nCluse, bells of 499\\nColor. 123-130, 299; color-sense with the Greeks, 126; among the\\nChinese and Hindoos, 127: dead c 128: five laws of, 129, 1.30;\\nin sculpture, 164; of cla.y, lime, and flint 443-445", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0586.jp2"}, "587": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 888\\nPAGE\\n263\\nCommunism 222\\nCoinimine of 1871 aac.\\nCoinpetitiou, among minerals j^ ^2\\nComposition 241 540\\nConiston 333\\n(.oiiseieiice 3g5\\nConsecrated water gg^\\nConsecrated ground aqq\\nConstitution, the British -^j ^gg\\nConsumption of wealth g ggg\\nConventionalism ^^jj\\nConvict, the ggj\\nCooking 225 226\\nCooperation o.ji\\nCo-operative Trade Guilds gj\\nCopies 26\\nCopyists inn\\nCorreggio, 52, 56 best work by iX^\\nCottage, English 2jg\\nCottager 349\\nCountryman and Cit 265\\nCountry life 402\\nCourtship 35, 36\\nCriticism, 513; art 343\\nCross, one s 395\\nCross, engraving of the .j3g\\nCruilishank ^q 44^\\nCrystals 30 144 170\\nCrystal Palace 5g5\\nCuttle fish, the jOg\\nCuyp\\n362\\nD.\\\\NTE i u\\nDarwin, 458 (peacocks feather).\\nDebt, national. 212; getting into\\nDecay of life-forms ggo\\nDecisive instant 56-58\\nDecoration 540\\nDenmark Hill 33(j\\nDependence g^\\nDesign, imagination in 369-371\\nDevil, the 3gg\\nDinrer-party with Christ 207\\nDixDM, Thos 73\\nDoggie, the in^na\\nDoges, tombs of the 359\\nDolUvr. Father j4q\\niJl^wili^Snctness in; 61 V free iiand \u00e2\u0096\u00a0in, 2C3; p.^portion:^ 299;\\nra ki c 803: treasuring, 304: errors of the existing school,\\n30] perspective. 306. 307; drawing Greek mountains 300\\nI )ress. in historical painting 352-354\\nl\u00c2\u00bb iiik 153\\nDucal Palace 32\\nDuke of Wellington, statue of ^q\\nI iiier. /_ i()i^ 106\\nDutch art 5g5\\nDyspepsia\\n40\\nEaolk s hooded eye 4.^^\\nEarth veil, the ggO\\nEdgevvorth, Miss", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0587.jp2"}, "588": {"fulltext": "586 INDEX.\\nPAQH\\nelective sj^stem, 274; virtue instinctive, 275; labor and schol-\\narship, 276; grammar of music, 276; emulation bad. 277; com-\\npetition injurious, 277-279; words, 279, 280; beautiful speaking,\\n281, 282; reading aloud; seeing things, 282; sympathy,\\n283; bright children and stupid, 283-285; unjustifiable anibi-\\ntiou of would-be geniuses, 283-285; how to be wise, 285; edu-\\ncation of children, 287-298; telling what they have seen or\\nheard, 287; ed. for different spheres, 288; nature as an edu-\\ncator, 288; learning by heart, 288; riding and sailing, 289; boys\\nof St. George s Guild, 289; grammar, 290; lying, 290; self-\\nreliance, 290; history, 290; English ideas of education, 291;\\nsentimental lies in children s books, 291; boys aud squirrels,\\n292; ideal elementary scliool, 293; decorations of school-\\nrooms, 294; teaching science, 295; Sir W. Scott, 295-298; ed.\\nin art, 298-314; teaching adjusted to capacity, 298; color, 299;\\nmuseums 309-315\\nEels 427\\nEgotism 329\\nEliot, George 521\\nElocution 281 282\\nEmployment 193,194\\nEngland, green fields in, 264; cruellest and foolishest nation on\\nthe earth, 417, 418; John Bull as a small peddler 418\\nEnglish nation, the bull the type of, 403; always wanting to kill\\nsomething, 404; destruction of landscapes by, 404-406; con-\\nscience of 414\\nEngraving 133, 155\\nEquality 421\\nEtching 138\\nEtruscan art 33\\nEva, in Uncle Tom s Cabin 27\\nExchange, analyzed 234, 235\\nExecutions of poor 220\\nExpenditure of wealth 235-238\\nFacts, looking them in the face 332\\nFaith 503\\nFancy 67\\nFate, confronting of 66\\nFathers, our, imitation of 29\\nFatigue 561\\nFields, green 264\\nFiction, 518-530; literature of prison-house, 519-521; Scott, 521;\\nand realism 511\\nFinish 50-56\\nFishing-boats 568\\nFislimongers 372, 373\\nFlaxman 138\\nFlorentine art 73\\nFlowers, 475-477; final cause of seed 436\\nFools 338\\nForbes. James 462\\nFortune-telling 508\\nFortunes, large 202, 203\\nForty Thieves 414\\nFountain 541\\nFox-hunting 570\\nFra Angelico 128\\nFrance (commune of 1S71) 222\\nFrancesca Alexander) 574\\nFraud, in trade 227-230\\nFree hand 263\\nFree trade 233, 235\\nFrench, the, 572; Insensibility of 573\\nFrench landscape 109\\nFresh air and light 264-2G7\\nFriendship s Offering 538\\nFruit 437", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0588.jp2"}, "589": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 68t\\nPAQB\\nGardens 564\\nGardening 392\\nGarden walls 5^1\\nGarlic 438\\nGentlemanliness 354-357\\nGeography 298\\nGeology.. 460-462\\nGermans, the\\nGerman Sciiwarmerei 510\\nGiotto, 130: great colorist, 75, 76; his O 76\\nGirl, little g. with large shoes 216\\nGirls, 389-403; are to be happy, 389; Cinderella, 390; reading the\\nBible, 390; cooking, 391; sewing and dress-making, 391; bits\\nof work for, 39^; gardening for, 39-^; cruelly of, 393; vanity\\nof, 394; two mirrors 395; general hints on edncation of, 396,\\n397; American girls in Italy, 397-399; courtship 402\\nGlaciers 463.463\\nGlass 59, 60\\nGod, existence of, 3,58; and nature 361\\nGold of knowledge, invisible 347\\nGold coin 186\\nGothic. See Architecture.\\nGothic palaces of Venice 94, 95\\nGovernment, 358-264; necessity of law, 260, 261; American 421\\nGrass 479^81\\nGreek, 73; G. ideal is design, 28; G. art in general, 44-46; religion\\nof. 378, 379; tragedy, 510; vase, type of fiction, 518; children. 571\\nGreenaway, Miss Kate 110, 571\\nGriffith Gaunt 416\\nGrotesque, definition of the 33\\nHabits, little 340, 341\\nHandwriting f i?i\\nHarrison, Mr. W. H 538\\nHawthorn (bush)\\nHeaven ^So\\nHedgehogs and grapes ocn o-i\\nHell and the Devil a\\\\1\\nHeroines, modern 4].^\\nHistorical painting i^i,\\nHolbein 41-2\\nHolyoake, Geo. Jacob\\nHomes, permanent. 146; suitable 14\\nHonest man. 184 (is that all?).\\nHorse, at railway station 3J.)\\nHorses and wine 41.5\\nHotel, Umf raville 411;\\nHuman work as ornament\\nHunt, William 4\\nHurricane 469\\nIce and frost 470, 471\\nIdleness i^Jh\\nIdolatry \u00e2\u0080\u00a2S\\nIlluminated windows, 136; manuscripts. 135,136; wntmg 399\\nImagination, in art, 67-70; basis of sympathy, 345; fatigue of... _ 563\\nImitation and finish or i\\nImmortality *4\\nImpressions, first and also last ^0\u00c2\u00ab\\nIndia, resource for lovers 415\\nInstinct\\nInterest. 210-214; (comp. 251.)\\nInvention and composition\\nInvention (of the Germans) \u00c2\u00b0i\\nIrreverence l}p\\nItalian peasantry 5\\nItaly 39(-399", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0589.jp2"}, "590": {"fulltext": "588 INDEX.\\nKerosene 421\\nKings, mosquitoes, or gad-flies, 259; real 40t), 410\\nKnowledge, meat of 270\\nLabor, 191-194, (cp. 243. 244,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 machinery,) 221-225; paid at fixed\\nrate, 221 head and hand compared 221\\nLabor and Capital 206-210, 217-219\\nLaborer s pension 219\\nLand 238-243\\nLandscape, modern profanation of. and low idea of. 47, 48; (see\\n109-111 and 56;i;) destruction of, in Great Britain, 404-406;\\naesthetic aspects of, 494-^96; French, 498; Swiss 499-501\\nLaw 565\\nLawyers 185\\nLawerv 335\\nLeaves 439, 472-475\\nLectures, 512. Comp. Audiences.\\nLeech, John 138, 139\\nLegal documents 565\\nLeonardo, 29, 114; as finisher 51\\nLeslie 74\\nLe ters of alphabet in art 356\\nLewis, John 139\\nLiberty 262-264, 421\\nLibraries, 564 national 275\\nLichens 481\\nLife, a mystery, 332; gradation of 364\\nLiquor Question 352-354\\nLiterature 502-531\\nLiturgies 371, 372\\nLogic 567\\nLondon (a squirrel-cage) 412-414\\nLongfellow 49\\nLoire river 498\\nLords of Great Britain, Raskin on, 406-410; strong-bodied pau-\\npers 408-414\\nLovers 415\\nLove-making, modern 330\\nLowell, James Russell 346\\nLuxury 236\\nLuini 29,84\\nMachinery 243,244\\nMantegna 73\\nMaimfactory chimneys 359\\nMarbles, the 442, 443\\nMassacio 109\\nMasters, the 60-67; 222, 223\\nMatterhorn 489\\nMcCosh, Rev. James 363\\nMeliorism 333\\nMemory of great artists 68\\nINlerchant. function of, in a state, 226-230; heroism needed 227-230\\n]\\\\letaphj sicians 363\\nMichael Angelo. 38-40. 51, 56 (best work).\\nMiddle Ages, 46-.50; castles in the, 144; asceticism in, 331; Chris-\\ntianitj in 379\\nMillais 131\\nBlillionaire, the beggared 238\\nMill on the Floss 521\\nMilton 363\\nMinerals, 440-446; Ruskin s 556\\nMiracles 561\\nMirrors, the two 395\\nMob. the 403-419\\nModern Painters. 538; do., vol. II 361\\nMoney, 1S5. 186. 189: defined, 19. ill-got 330\\nMoney-making mob 183", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0590.jp2"}, "591": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 589\\nFAQB\\n.317, 318\\nthe cross fitted to the back -i^^\\nMoss ,-,i,y.- :,Vj,.i,iJie Ages 47; dawn ontheV484; morn-\\ni^fou: disrance !485,4 4; uses, 485-488 drawing a\\nm., 488; slaty precipices -5\\nMiirillo .309-315\\nMusl^ grammaV of; 276 in Ruskiii s Utopia; 3|0\\nMusic and song 514-518\\nMyths\\nNations, three books of, 21; intense life, or vitality, of, 184; a\\nNatux^^-^ril^alsignificauce of loveof:490;497; u. inth\u00c2\u00ab\\nNat^^ih\u00c2\u00a3?^-y:29n^:456;inmuseums;;:;;:::.;;;:;:::::;;3.o,3n\\nNegative, proving a ...203\\nNoblesse S i --i:,:-: 89, 431 574\\nNorton, Professor Charles Ehot 28\\nNude, the\\n438\\nOat. 421\\nOil 70\\nOil-painting 438\\nOnion 330\\nOpinions, always changing 340\\nOptimism 437\\nOrange 36, 37\\nOrnament, human work as 286\\nOxford Park 286\\nOxford students, advice to\\nPAIKTIKO, 70-130; i. Ih. ^^^^^l^!:J!l\\nr ^;%J.etr^ a.^d ^p. ^^ftu^ of touch 74, English\\nParS^^llS,223rstatueofstrasbou;-gin.-.-.v.;;;;;;;;;..366\\nParties, national 387\\nPassion of Christ 507\\nPatmore, Coventry ^75\\nPauvre Enfant 055\\nPeace, two kinds 4.-,8\\nPeacock 338\\nPeople, foolish 433\\nPerfumes 3O6, 307\\nPerspective 363\\nPhilosophers .38\\nPhotography, in art 194, 195\\nPicnic Party, the great. ..._ 39^ 40\\nPicture, most precj^ous jn the woikl v- -gj- p perambu-\\n\u00c2\u00b0S 8l ^2r|aIi^rl^s, ^e^^X^ t^^r. urJ^e? glass .^^313\\nPicturesque, the 535\\nPig. the Bewickiaa 85\\nPigments 477-479\\nPines 170\\nPfea, in middle ages, 49; duomoof ^gg\\nPisano, Niccola 435\\nPlant 58\\nPlate, gold and silver 348\\nPocock, Thomas", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0591.jp2"}, "592": {"fulltext": "590 INDEX.\\nPAGE\\nPoetry, and painting. 74; trashy poetry, 507; pastoral, 508; Ras-\\nkin s 530, 531\\nPoetical justice 330\\nPolitical economy. Compare under specific heads, as Demand\\nand Supply, Money, etc. (comp. also 408); defined, 181-\\n183; summed up, 10, 17; distinguished from mercantile eoon-\\nomy, 182; object of, 183; currency. 185, 180; money, 185, 186;\\nintrinsic value, 186; wealth, 189-191 wealth, money, and riches\\ndefined, 189; property defined, iS5; on cooperative trade-\\nguilds, see 321 (see also 314-319).\\nPolitics, young men in, 260; machinery and p 263\\nPoor, executions of the 220\\nPope 507\\nPoppy 437\\nPorcelain-painting 85\\nPortrait-painting 71\\nPotter, Paul 105\\nPound piece, the English 31\\nPoussin, Nicolo 108, 109\\nPoverty, origin of, 206 210; 214-220; little girl with large shoes,\\n216 Savoyard cottage 216\\nPrayer 857, :i58\\nPre-Raphaelitism 130-132\\nProdigal Son 361\\nProfanity 334\\nProfessions, in Ruskin s Utopia 321\\nProperty, defined, 235 (comp. Wealth, Riches, etc.).\\nProtestant Blind Pension Society 348\\nProvincial art 61, 64\\nPucelle 222\\nPulpit, of to-day 375-378\\nQueen of May 360\\nRailroads, 240-243, nation should own, 242; to Hell 404\\nRain 468\\nRapliael. 38-40, 51, 56 (best work), 73, 87, 139 (chiaroscuro).\\nReade, Chailes 416\\nReading aloud 281, 282\\nRealism, 511; of great artists 64\\nRed ink 15\\nReh gion, 357-380; r. and women, 386; evangelical people, 357,\\n3 )S; prayer. 357, 358; church, .3.57; English r. a mockery, 359;\\nleligious life, when possible, 361; bad religious art, 365-367;\\nof tlie Greeks 378\\nRembrandt 54, 134, 139\\nRent 239\\nReverence 336\\nReynolds, Sir Joshua 58\\nRiches, 189 (definition), 194-210; power and opportunities of,\\n1 98-201 and 203. 204 origin of 206-210, 237\\nRichter, illustrations of 571, 572\\nRivers, geologically considered 459\\nRoland 222\\nRoot of plant 485\\nRo.ssetti 1.31\\nRubens 106\\nRural life 265, 494\\nRuskin, John, childhood, 11; teacher in London and Cambridge,\\n12; personal appearance, 19; Carlyle and R., 13; st\\\\ le of, 14.\\n15; cardinal dates in his art-life, 15; art-teachings summed\\nup, 15; religion, 15, 16; charities. 16; political economy of,\\n16. 17; paints Lake of Como, 52; first piece of published writ-\\ning, 453; any one welcome to read his letters, .531 Ai, Ai,\\n531; his friends, .532; love of money, 532: nied);i?val tenden-\\ncies. 532; charity by stealth, 532; on capital punishment, .5.32\\nSt. Bruno s lilies. .533; contradictions of, 533; conimnnist or\\nthe old school, 533; not altogether a conservative, 534; Apolo-", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0592.jp2"}, "593": {"fulltext": "INDEX. M\\nPAGE\\ngia because I have passed my life, etc.), S34; in Assisi,\\n535; thinks his proper business is science, 536; nolo episco-\\npari, 53(j; as a publisher. 536-538; about his own books, 536-\\n540; first printed piece, 538; how he ivrites, 539; at Denmark\\nHill, 540; reform experiments, 540-. 542 (tea-shop, etc.); remi-\\nniscences of childhood, 542-553; tours with parents, 543-548;\\nearly religious traiuiugr and Bible studies, 549-552; love of the\\nsea. 552; leaves from Ruskin s accounts, 553-561; Brantwood\\nbought, 556; his collection of minerals, 556; wishes to die\\npoor.\\n558\\nSaintship 3\\nlalvltor ....75.110,111,128\\nSap\\nSavoyard cottage 216\\nSavoyaid guide 5\\nSciences, system in teaching, 279, 453-463 (miscellaneous); envy\\nin, 454; Ruskin s opinion of, 454; researches of science never\\nrewarded, 454; analysts, 456; modern, 457; genesis of song,\\n458; sciences of the arts 458\\nScientists, religion of the earlier 362\\nScott. Sir Walter, dislikes dry scientific sch\u00c2\u00abol-books, 295 (note);\\nhis novels, 521-530; at Ashestiel, 522-524; best romances, 524;\\nheroes, 524 Scotch dialect in novels. 525-530\\nSculpture, stone dolls, 27 color in, 164; vital carving, 164, 166,\\n167; portrait s., 166; on the choir at Amiens, 167; on Greek\\ncoins 356, 35r\\nSea, 482-484 (comp. Boats, 568, 569).\\nSeaweeds 338\\nSeeing things 561\\nSel L-sacriflce 330\\nSensitiveness 345\\nSerpents 425-427\\nServant-maid ^68\\nServants 349-352\\nSeven Lamps of Architecture, see pp. 163, 164.\\nSev/ing 391\\nShafton, SirPiercie 6*\\nShakespere 510\\nShip, painted 37\\nShips of the line, 569; bow of s 569\\nShoemakers 5fi5\\nSisters of Chanty 386, 38i\\nSistine Chapel J3\\nSky,bluefire\\nSlavery, American and English 220\\nSlugs, of a lettuce 407\\nSoldiers, 184, 227, 228, 255; the true, 254; advice to 2.54\\nSolomon 562\\nSong 562\\nSpectrum of blood ISb\\nSpending of wealth 235, 2.38\\nSpjder 24.3\\nSpin 389\\nSpring at Carshalton 541\\nSquires. English ^ilS\\nSquirrels and boys g\\nSt. Brimo s lilies 533\\nSt. George s Guild, 17, 18; education of boys in, 289; details of,\\n314-322; creed 318\\nSt. George and the dragon 31, 107, 108\\nSt. Mark s 173-177\\nStamped paper 140\\nStars, of stinking hydrogen \u00e2\u0080\u00a2ioo\\nStealing nVo t!i\\nSteam machinery 243, 244\\nSteam -nightingale ~4J\\nStones of Venice", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0593.jp2"}, "594": {"fulltext": "m INDEX.\\nPAOS\\nStudy, of a subject 508\\nSupply and Demand 233-225\\nSwiss cottages and peasants 346\\nSwiss sceneiy 499-501\\nSwiss States of the Forest 573\\nSymbols 34\\nSympathy 345\\nSystem-makers 568\\nSystem in science 279\\nTaste, diffusion of 561\\nTaxation 210-214; comp. 251\\nTea-shop 541,542\\nTelegraph, the 417\\nTen Commandments, the modern 344\\nTeniers 74, 106\\nTerra-cotta 151, 171\\nTheatre 414,565\\nTicino river 226\\nTintoret, 38-40, 52, 56; 101-104 (San Rocco, massacre, Last Judg-\\nment) ruined pictures in 1851 187\\nTitian 99, 104, 109, 114\\nTobacco 24,353\\nTombstones, new kind, see 358 344\\nTourists, advice to 26\\nTower, needs no help 332\\nTrade, 226-238; making and selling of bad goods, 230, 231; middle-\\nmen, 233; free trade 233,234\\nTrees, see 471-475 the pine 477^77\\nTribune, the, in Florence 313\\nTruth, dislike of 334\\nTurner, 63; as finisher, 51; anecdotes and judgments on, 111-123;\\nTurner and Lawrence in the Exhibition, 115; Emerson and\\nTurner. 116; kindness of, 116; the Splugen drawing, 117-120;\\nwill, 120; slave-ship, 120-122; as a colorist, 126, 127; Loire,\\ndrawing of, 498; drawing of Terni 566 (n.)\\nTympanum 455\\nUgliness, cult of 456\\nUlverstone 241\\nUmfraville Hotel 416\\nUndones, not the Dones 335\\nUnprodigal Son 361\\nUpper Classes 194-205\\nValley, Arcadian 490\\nVase 518\\nVenetian character, 97, 98; painting, 99-105; glass 59\\nVenice, 90-97; religion of, 98 (and note) and 99; source of the\\nRenaissance style, 161; tombs of the doges, 171-173; first re-\\ncorded words of 359\\nVerona 24\\nVeronese, 54, 104, 109; as finisher 52\\nVicarious salvation 359\\nVirgil 507\\nVirtue 329\\nVulgar, the 137\\nVulgarity 854-857\\nWages, not determined by competition\\nWalls, garden\\nWar, 244-258: as a game, 245; w. the foundation of the arts, 846;\\nw an evil, 247-48; modern war, 248-356; American w., 349;\\nsteel traps, 250; England and Poland in 59, 252; girl mur-\\ndered, 252; dream-parable of 256-258\\nWar and t ixation 211-214; comp. 251\\nWarwick Oastle, rebuilding 564\\nWaves 483-484", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0594.jp2"}, "595": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 593\\nPAGE\\nWealth, 189-191 196-205; no w. but life; eidolon of, 200; spending\\nof 235-238\\nWords, 279; derivation of 509\\n\\\\Vords\\\\vorth 507\\nWordsworth school-house 291\\nWork, (see Labor;) good w. ill paid, 192; people ashanied of.. 333, 334\\nAVorkingmen 221-225\\nWomen, 380-403; women and religion, 386; see 329; as artists,\\n380; women s work, 381-383; public duties, 382; power of, 383;\\nw. and their lovers, 383 dress, 384-386; w. and religion, 380-\\n389; girls 389-103\\nWoodcuts 136-138\\nWoolwich Infant 407\\nWriting (authorship), 502 good English 507\\nYorkshire 243\\nYoung men in politics 260", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0595.jp2"}, "596": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0596.jp2"}, "597": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0597.jp2"}, "598": {"fulltext": "MAY 16 1900\\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process.\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nTreatment Date: May 2009\\nPreservationlechnologies\\nA WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION\\n1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive\\nCranberry Township, PA 16066", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0598.jp2"}, "599": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0599.jp2"}, "600": {"fulltext": "mm\\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\n014 527 270 1", "height": "2651", "width": "1601", "jp2-path": "artliferuskinant00rusk_0600.jp2"}}